“Montressor”
by Metrion
by Metrion
This story takes place in a very feudal land, a land that was ruled by a king and separated amongst his nobles. The countryside they shared beneath their king was flowing with fields and boasted forests roaming with game. There were small farms resting outside the the manors and castles that occasionally dotted the landscape, and these were tended by local farmers and serfs. Most of the food the farms raised when to the manor itself, and its lord and lady.
There was one nobleman who had one of the largest homes, a sprawling castle that housed himself, his brother, his brother's wife, and their son. The castle was decorated with rich tapestries and ornaments, and it was cared for by many servants. Around it were clustered the small homes and farms of its serfs.
There was one who dwelt in the castle that was neither lord, serf or servant. This man was a freelance mercenary, and one that had grown to be feared throughout the kingdom. He was called by the name Montressor, and over the years he had proved himself to be one of the best spies, thieves, and assassins in the land. He looked as frightening as he was, garbed in black, with heavy black boots and a faceless cloth mask that he wore over his features. He was a shadowy figure, bigger and more muscled than any knight, and he seemed even more fearsome because he did not wear armor to protect himself.
When this man wasn't out on private missions, or doing what the house's lord wanted, he stayed in the castle, and kept mostly to himself. He had been granted his own quarters. The servants disliked walking near it and in turn Montressor practically ad a whole half wing to himself. The only time a servant visited was by choice, when it was the only route, when something had to be cleaned or his food was delivered to him. They did their best to ignore his presence, and he did not care for theirs.
But there was one servant that, whenever she was around, he found his masked eyes would secretly turn her way. She was very small and still childlike, with long black hair that fell past her shoulder blades, and large eyes that reminded him of the deer he sometimes liked to hunt. But what this man noticed most about her was her bare servant feet and her smooth olive skin.
He did not see this servant much, so it was oddly pleasant when he caught her doing menial tasks, scrubbing the floor or opening the castle's large curtains. She wore a plain dress, one that was frayed and soiled at its hem, which fell about her knees, and she always looked as if she had been in the vicinity when someone had been dusting the chimney. But that smooth, golden skin shone through all of that somehow, and with a trained eye he could look at her and study her petite form without ever turning his head and giving himself away.
Montressor possessed, for reasons unknown to even himself, a strange interest, absurdity bridled with something passionate and almost merciless. It was a desire he could usually ignore but that one servant girl made it come rushing back to him whenever he saw her. Sometimes he almost believed she teased him, when he saw her pull her hair forward over her shoulders, exposing the nape of her neck, or when she would momentarily stretch her body, arching her spine. He almost believed it, but he doubted there was anyone else who felt this way, much less could sense it in others.
There was no one he could share this desire with, and it slowly compounded over the months, during the time he spent in the castle to the times he was away, performing his dark deeds. He had no friends to confide in, and he didn't dare indulge with anyone. When he lay in his bed he began to wish she was there, open to him and his touch. He imagined her with him, beneath him and his fingertips, her flesh quivering, and as he succumbed to dark fantasy he began to wonder at the possibility of it happening outside of his head—for real.
Women, especially servants, had little rights and privileges compared to the larger, meaner sex. Montressor knew well of the brothels that mistreated its slaves, knew well the countless women who were taken by men stronger than they were, with no justice given to them. Even here, in this wealthy castle, the young girls were coaxed into beds, and they obliged regardless of their own desires.
Montressor did not care for these despicable actions, but they could give him cover to do what he really wanted...
One night, after nearly two weeks of careful pondering and guilty fantasy, he feigned a casual walk through the castle. It took him almost an hour, but he finally located the girl. She was carefully cleaning a large, flowing red curtain that draped over one of the manor's impressive windows. After this she would probably head for the servants' quarters to sleep before the next day of work. He felt both nervous and excited as he watched her, in a different way than spying, fighting, and other mercenary work made him feel.
Montressor called her to him. The girl turned her head, and her eyes noticed him for the first time. They widened. He motioned for her to come to him, and after a few heartbeats she tremblingly walked over to him. She was wearing only her slim dress and whatever covering her hair gave her shoulders. Montressor looked over her olive skin and small feet nervously scraping the carpet, and a strange thrill flooded him. He liked it.
“Don't be afraid, my dear,” he told her gently. “What is your name?”
“Ch-Chell,” she said.
What a unique name. Soft and sweet.
“I was just hoping that I could pull you from your duties for a mere moment. There is a painting in my room...” Here she started to pull away, and he grasped on arm gently, “that has been ignored by the servants who clean it. I would like for you to clean it for me quickly.”
She followed him; what else could she do?
In his room, the fireplace against the wall had been lit, and the flames created eerie shadows on the dim walls. Chell's large eyes browsed for the painting, but she couldn't find it amongst his bedchamber. His quarters were rich and languid, like the rest of the manor, though only the deep black curtains, and large black bed hinted at this. Any other signs of wealth, including paintings, were stripped away.
Chell murmured in fear as Montressor's hands fell on her shoulders and he led her to the bed. He lay her down and slowly positioned himself over her. He didn't bother telling her that he had lured her here with a lie; she undoubtedly knew, now. The girl's breath was catching, and her fingers gripped the blanket beneath her in fear. He felt a moment of hesitation, and he almost told her to leave before reminding himself that he wasn't going to harm her; what he was about to do was strange and childish, but nothing more.
“M-master—” she began.
“It's alright,” he told her gently, “I'm not going to hurt you. "I'm just going to explore you for a little while. This will be painless. Just be good and then I will let you leave."
She quivered as he removed his heavy gloves and put his hands on her. Before she knew it he was lifting her dress off, leaving only her small undergarments. His hands started gliding up and down her body and she started giggling in her whimpering, falling against the bed. Her eyes were wide with surprise but clouded with confusion as he tickled his fingers over her bare skin.
Montressor felt his breath catch as she writhed beneath him, begging him to stop. He only increased his actions, pinning her down with one hand and tickling her tiny round belly with his other. Chell was pressing herself against the bed, as if trying to sink through it to get away, and her mouth was muffled in the blanket's folds. Montressor turned her head back, so that her small giggles wouldn't be suppressed.
This went on for many minutes. He finally remembered that she couldn't take what he was doing to her forever, so he stopped, and watched his captive with rapt attention as she tried to compose herself beneath him. Her breathing began to return to normal, and her laughter had subsided. But her face was becoming red with embarrassment.
"I am sorry," he spoke to her, though he wasn't sure he really meant it. "But...I have to keep doing this."
Chell gazed up at him, and the confusion he had seen before returned. She could not comprehend his strange attack on her. "Is--is this all you want of me, master?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes," he said, stroking her elegant neck. "Do as I want and then I will let you go. I promised I would not hurt you, remember?" His fingertips slid down to start the next round, and Chell started to pull away. It was no use—he started on her again, this time rolling off her and pulling her over his knee, spidering his hands over her abdomen. The girl laughed against her will in his lap, writhing and pleading with him.
His tickling of the helpless servant continued for a long while, until Montressor finally noted how the moon had shifted in the sky. By this point Chell was shaking and giggling almost soundlessly, and they were now on the floor where he had given her his most concentrated efforts.
"P-please, master, I can't take anymore," she said to him when she could speak again. Montressor was kneeling above her strewn body, and with a tired smile on her face, she hugged his knee. "Please don't make me do this anymore."
Montressor sat down, and pulled her partially into his lap. "I won't...not tonight," he said. He tilted his head and studied her. "But didn't you like it at all?"
Chell shifted. "I...do not know, master," she said. “It is torture."
"I think you liked it a little bit," he told her, lifting her hair with his hand and moving it between his fingers. "It's nice getting a little attention, isn't it? No one here touches you softly, or delights in you. Surely you liked how it felt a little."
Chell hid herself behind her hair, ducking her head and letting the black wave shield her again reddening face.
Hm. "I'll let you go now," Montressor told her finally. "But I do not want you telling anyone what we did tonight...or what we will do in the future, do you understand?"
Chell stared at him as she realized his intentions were not merely for tonight. After a moment, she nodded. "But won't anyone notice me coming and going sometimes, master?"
"Yes," he said. He reached toward her and carefully ripped the undergarment that protected her breast, making a noticeable tear down one side. He ruffled her hair a bit more, and instructed her to slap herself on her cheek, a slightly difficult task. This action left a reddened mark that shone against her skin.
"Everyone will be led to assume that I am merely taking you into my bed with me," he told her. "And if the other girls here inquire about what we do, act ashamed or coy, as if I am bedding you."
Chell left, haphazardly slipping her dress around her, and Montressor watched her go. He lurched inside, wanting to spring after her like a great cat and capture her again, but he forced himself to wait. Tomorrow night would not stay at bay forever. He could take her again tomorrow, after the sun went down.
(To be continued)
Question--do you guys like reading a story's update in the original thread, or in new threads? I am used to using one thread until the story is finished, but I haven't seen that done a lot here so I thought I'd check in first.
Oh and I believe I got the name "Chell" from the name Czel, but obviously it's spelled a little different.
