Debauched Desires Bundle: (Rough BDSM MMF) Page 3

  STOCKADE

  Debauched Desires #2

  by

  Claudia Balvenie

  Copyright 2014.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  All characters are above the age of 18

  CHAPTER 1

  Emi awoke the next morning rested and refreshed. There was nothing quite like becoming another person for a night, taking on their skin, feeling what they would feel.

  The person that she was in real life would never think to go up to the hotel room with a man and a woman she'd just met, let alone initiate the encounter. But when she was in character, anything was possible.

  The day before she'd been a dark and sexy sorceress and enjoyed the punishment that went along with that. Today she was craving the full abandon of allowing someone else to be completely in control. That meant it was time for a far more innocent look than she'd had previously.

  So Emi scrounged around her hotel room for the granola bars she'd packed in case she was too busy to stop and eat. That often happened in these conventions, there was so much to do that she simply couldn't listen to her stomach. She ate it while waiting for a bath to soothe her aching muscles from the previous days activities and plan out her day.

  This was the first real day of the convention and a lot of the big ticket events would be going on that morning. She really didn't care much about seeing famous actors, but she did love to go to the art show or through the dealer rooms at the beginning of the con. They just got too crowded and sweaty for her tastes as the masses of people arrived. Today most of the con goers would still be in line to get their badges, so she'd have some quieter time.

  To go along with her more innocent look for the day, she put on a typical medieval peasant outfit. Still, being the attention whore that she was, Emi had sewn the costume to present her ample breasts to their best effect. The effect was more tavern wench than any true peasant would display, she was certain. But this was her fantasy, she would do as she pleased.

  The scooped peasant shirt was cinched together by a half corset around her waist. It was made of a supple brown leather that was soft to her touch. The ties that ran down her back pulled it tightly together. Her long skirt was of a forest green and stopped at her ankles. She wore comfortable leather boots under the whole ensemble.

  Still all of this screamed “archer” more than “peasant” to her. And indeed, if she'd grabbed a bow and used her own thick, black locks in a ponytail she believed that would work. That was not what she was going for. She wanted to exude innocence so that she would attract some predator who wished to violate that. Would he or she know that she was not as innocent as she presented? Of course. That was part of the game. And that game is why she spent all her time and money for these conventions.

  So in order to play up her desire, she had already made up a high quality blond wig into long, braided pig tails. She had a pale skin tone so the blond was just as attractive on her as her natural raven. The only difference was her makeup. She use paler pinks to bring out the rosiness of her cheeks. She tried to be as natural with it as possible, often heavy makeup would detract from the look she desired.

  Finally before she left, she added a long white cloak. It had a hood that she pulled over her head, partially obscuring her face. She could play this up demurely. A basket was the last prop that she grabbed, partially because it added a red-riding hood effect but partially because she might buy something in the dealer rooms.

  She hid her ID, debit card, and room key in a hidden pocket inside of her corset, then bid adieu to her room. If she were lucky, she would not see it tonight either.

  CHAPTER 2

  The dealers had actually moved this year to a much larger area, taking up two whole floors of one of the hotels. It made sense after all. The convention existed to make money. With nearly fifty thousand tickets sold this year the dealers were set to make bank. And who was she to complain? She had come here before doing anything else.

  She was glad to not feel the press of the unwashed masses as she made her way through the winding rooms. It was only slightly crowded this day. She even caught a few lustful gazes. That was good, it meant that her costume design would resonate, even if it was not from a specific intellectual property. Of course, it could just be her boobs. Either way.

  As she passed through one booth to another she became irritated. Why exactly had she hurried down here? It was the same mass marketed crap she could get online any day of the week. Dozens of shirts with clever sayings from popular televisions shows dotted booth walls. But a row over, the same shirts were available from another booth. Other people sold trading cards or comic books. Then there were dozens of places to buy any sort of dice you could desire. Beyond the normal ten or six side die, you could get one hundred sided die and any number in between. She'd had her own set for years, never felt the need to buy more. The ones she had rolled just fine.

  No, it was the artwork and author booths that most caught her eye. She spent some time going through the prints, purchasing a few for her home. She swore this time she'd actually take them to get matted and framed. This time. Really.

  She'd spent two full hours meandering through the booths and their myriad collections before finally reaching the back corner of one of the floors. There, set up for all of the world to see, was a full blown medieval set. Part was set up as a peasant house with props set up exactly as one would expect – a hay filled bed, a hearth, a small wooden table and chairs. Across from it was a large stone wall stretching all the way to the ceiling. It was furnished on the outside and in just like a castle. The drawbridge was open, a portcullis hung down. Inside tapestries lined the walls and a feather bed complete with a thick canopy lay.

  And as impressive as all of that was, especially inside a dealer room, none of it captured her eye or imagination as much as what lay between.

  There, built atop a set of stone stairs, lay a perfect representation of a stockade.

  Her breathing quickened almost instantly. She could not tear her eyes away from it. She'd wanted to be put inside of one almost since she'd began to learn about sex and bondage. It was something she'd never tried and there were few enough of those.

  “Like that, do you?” A masculine voice sounded behind her. She could feel the change in the air as he moved to stand next to her, a bit too intimately than someone who wanted a casual conversation. She felt the air change again as he leaned forward, whispering into her ear.

  “You know the real punishment of the stockade, don't you?” He chuckled softly, and pulled an errant blond curl behind her ear. “It's not just for being made uncomfortable. It's not for the masses to hurl rotten food at you and jeer.”

  She finally pried her eyes away from it and glanced to her most welcome companion. He was older than her, late thirties she judged, but still in full costume. She did not recognize the outfit and assumed it was original. He wore dusty, worn beige pants and a full leather vest over an equally dusty off white shirt. The bandanna around his neck and the large hat he wore gave him an aura a Spanish or cowboy look. She couldn't place it. He just looked like some sort of lone wolf, rebel, outrider.

  He was thin and muscular, his light brown hair just as dusty as the rest of his clothing. In truth, she would have been attracted to this man even without the costume.

  His intense blue eyes found her own and searched there, no doubt seeking a specific response to his words.

  She must not forget the innocence that she intended to portray. She clutched her basket close to her chest and spoke. “I've heard rumors that people are taken advantage of if they are left in overnight.” She deliberately did not go into specific details, that was not what this outrider was attracted to.

  He laughed darkly when she turned to face him. He leaned forward then, leaning his whole body on his arm, which he'd placed on the booth wall behind her. She did not
flinch away even as he once again leaned down, his lips next to her ear. He smelled like horses and the forest and fresh air.

  “Oh yes. As soon as the night would fall then the true punishment would begin. All of the men of the town would come out, through the night, taking turns on the poor woman who'd been locked inside the stockade.” He leaned back again, his eyes searching hers. Then they roamed lower and he slipped one inside of her cloak. He pulled it back just enough to take in a good view of her large breasts presented by the peasant shirt but not enough that anyone else could see.

  “The things they would do to that poor woman...” he trailed off and let go of her cloak, letting it close again naturally. “Well, I would be remiss to subject such an innocent young maiden as yourself to the descriptions.”

  Inwardly she chuckled. He was perfect. She nodded once.

  “Course I'd be happy to show you how it worked.” He chuckled then and his head turned to the stockade, sitting unused with the rest of the props.

  She made her face indigent, though she was anything but. “I have committed no crime worthy of such treatment!” she blurted, astonished.

  His grin was cruel. “Have you now, missy? You are so terribly innocent? Why I saw you turn my neighbor into a frog just last Tuesday. Saw it with my very own eyes I did. Witchcraft is punishable by the stockade or even death you know.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You wouldn't dare.”

  “Wouldn't I?” He then grabbed the side of her cloak in a full fist and pulled it open. “If not witchcraft, then harlotry. No proper maiden should ever dress in such a way, not in our town.”

  “I don't...” she stammered, but knew her character, the unnamed peasant woman, would have no way to defend against his words.

  A small smile touched his lips and he released her cloak. She could tell he was dropping character. “Seriously, if you are interested, I can get us back in after hours.”

  She grinned herself. “Absolutely. When?”

  “Nine PM. But I warn you, anything goes. This will not be gentle.”

  “Nor would I expect it to be.”

  “Safe word is 'congress'. That's mostly because anytime I think of 'congress' I can't think of sex anymore. Safe action is tapping your left foot three times in rapid succession.”

  She nodded. She knew the action was in case he'd rendered her unable to speak. She felt her excitement was nearly at a peak.

  “Oh, last thing. Character name is Hank Rhodes. “

  “Rosalind Stone.”

  He grinned again and slipped right back into character. He took her hand in his own gloved one and raised it to his lips. He very slowly and deliberately kissed her knuckles.

  “I look forward to getting to know you, Rosalind. Very well.”

  He left then and she sank back against the wall of the booth hoping no one else had seen the exchange. She began to fan herself with her badge. She had no idea how she was going to pass the time between morning and nine pm.

  CHAPTER 3

  It turned out not to be too hard to keep herself occupied. She wandered into several panels and listened to everyone talk. The fun part of this con was the ever present television channel that was piped into literally every room of the five host hotels. Whether you were waiting in line for a panel or back in your room you could watch these little clips that were primarily made to excite the crowd.

  She imagined this was what it was like to be into sports. The hype running through the crowd excited her down to her very toes. And every so often she would think on the events of the evening and she'd get flushed with excitement. Clearly this man knew exactly what he wanted. She couldn't wait to see what he had in mind.

  At nine sharp she came around to the back entry way that he'd suggested they meet at. Perhaps she should have been concerned, meeting a stranger in such a dark area but her lust outweighed her sense. As she walked up, he was standing outside taking a long drag on a cigarette. His eyes were all for her, memorizing the way she walked.

  “You made it,” he said, smoke blowing from his nostrils.

  She simply nodded.

  “And you are up for anything? Because I have a lot planned in here. I had to make promises in order to get use of the set...” he trailed off.

  A wan smile crossed her lips. “As long as the storyline is intact, I am yours.”

  He returned the grin. “And you won't upset me if you use any safe signals.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you, I want this. Once I'm through this door, I will only be Rosalind until I leave again.”

  “Just what I wanted to hear.” He tossed the cigarette to the ground and smashed it with his foot. He opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “After you.”

  With that she stepped into darkness.

  CHAPTER 4

  Rosalind had always obeyed the law. She was a good girl. But despite her best efforts to keep to herself and to keep her family safe, she kept attracting the wrong sort of attention.

  Her father was a simple farmer. She had grown up poor but happy. She would assist her mother in all of the womanly chores necessary to keep a farm running and to keep her father and her four brothers fed.

  One day an outrider came through their farm, begging water from her mother. He had some story of being out ranging for the king's army, and there having been a huge battle. He was racing back to tell the castle of details but only needed a sip of water before he died of thirst.

  Rosalind brought him not only water, but food as well. Though they were poor her family would share anything they had, especially with someone who'd been protecting their lands. How could they not?

  But once he saw Rosalind, he forgot his mission to the king. He immediately tried to take her alone into the barn. She refused. He tried again, to corner her outside of her home. She again refused. She tried to explain that as much as she appreciated what he was doing for their country, she could not give up the only bargaining tool she had for her future. She could not give him her maidenhood.

  The outrider was not a man to be spurned. He went inside the walled city and began a campaign against Rosalind, swearing he saw her working magics. The people of the city believed themselves to be better than any of the farmers of the country, and quickly believed his words. They sent him out to fetch her and bring her back for trial.

  And so Rosalind was forced forward, her hands held tightly behind her back by the outrider, into the center of town. Before her, near the castle itself, the stocks stood.

  She had a quick intake of breath and tried to turn to him. They were not alone. A portly priest stood nearby, his religious book held in his hand. He was in long black robes and wore a strange hat. Another man she assumed was the king sat nearby, reclining in the only nice chair in the square. He was drinking from a large stein of ale. He was another large man, though it was muscles, not fat, that covered his body. She felt in the air, there were still others nearby. Though they did not show their faces. Why would they? The accuser, the outrider was here. The king to pass judgment. The priest to see her to her last rites?

  She had not expected others here. But she should have. She glanced behind her to the outrider who held her forearms together, fast. He simply grinned at her surprise. He whispered into her ear while pulling her back to his body. “Didn't think it'd be just me, did ya darling?”

  The priest stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. He nodded to Rosalind. “Is this the young lady?”

  The outrider nodded. A quick kick with his boot swept her feet out from under her. She was suddenly on her knees in front of the priest.

  “Rosalind Stone,” the priest began, his booming voice carrying beyond the grassy area in which they stood to the rest of the village. “A witness has come forward against you. You stand accused of witchcraft and harlotry. What do you plead?”

  She jerked forward, trying to pull from the outrider's grip. He was too strong. “I am no witch, Sir! Nor am I a wanton woman! I have protected my maidenhood for my husband to
be.”

  While she was speaking, the outrider casually reached forward with his free hand to pull one side of her cloak to the side. Her pale mounds glowed in the pale moonlight, capturing the priests attention. The king sat his drink down and walked to where she was kneeling to have a look. He grinned at the girl before reaching down and squeezing one of her enormous breasts. “I don't think we need witness testimony for harlotry,” the king proclaimed.

  The priest nodded again before continuing down his scroll. The outrider jerked her cloak untied and roughly pulled it from her neck, discarding it behind him. She knelt then, knowing she was showing far too much skin to escape their wrath.