Solomon’s Twins
By Matt Nicholson
Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Matt Nicholson
Smashword Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions with strong BDSM themes. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
It seemed like hours since they had blindfolded and gagged the Duchess of Trent, dragged from her bedchamber and carried bodily up the untended spiral stairs that led to the long-forgotten torture suite at the top of the tower. In reality, it had only been minutes since she’d been shackled and left untended, but her shoulders were already beginning to ache from her arms being stretched upward. Her hips were almost as sore from her legs being spread too wide.
When the heavy wooden door finally creaked open again, her heart began racing. The heavy tread of boots closed the distance between the door and herself. Fear clutched at her heart, but she was determined not to show it.
The sound of boot steps stopped just inches in front of her. For a moment, it was silent. Then a hand reached beneath the neck of her chemise and closed around the underside of her left breast, fishing it out as if it were a cod. The fingers were softer, less calloused, than her abductors’ had been, but far more cruel. The crushing grip slipped up to her nipple, manipulating something thin and scratchy around it with practiced speed and efficiency. Had she not already been so humiliated, she would have been mortified at how the tip of her breast hardened and puckered at her assailant’s indelicate touch.
A coarse loop closed around the base of her turgid nipple, brutally choking the sensitive flesh and sending a spike of pain coursing through her breast. In moments, her other nipple was similarly bound. The cruel hands left her, but the tugging at the tips of her breasts told her the torment wasn’t done. Seconds later she screamed around the mouthful of cloth as a vicious yank wrenched at her nipples, stretched her areoles long and tight and lifted her full breasts toward the ceiling. A voice that spoke of silk and malevolence broke the fading echoes of her scream and the rasping of her breath.
“Sleep well, Duchess. I trust you will be ready to chat by morning.”
The door creaked closed and slammed behind him.
~~~
By the time the door creaked open again, the minutes had run into hours. Her shoulders felt torn from their sockets, her hips and legs were an endless pain. Aside from the dull burning chafe just below the prickly cord, her nipples, however, had long since gone numb. That lack of pain worried her far more than the rest, or even the rats that skittered and squealed only feet away.
Unable to do anything but worry about her situation, she’d had the entire time to ponder and finally place the voice. It belonged to her husband’s half-brother, William McHenry, now self-proclaimed “Baron of Trent.” She held her breath, waiting for his vile voice to break the silence, or his smooth hands to molest her again.
Instead, a far lighter tread crossed the room and shuffled before her. When the gentle touch of honest hands caressed her thighs, she froze, daring to breathe only when they lifted her chemise and slid up the curve of her bottom, stroking her in a way only one person had ever done before. She dared to gasp as his lips brushed her belly and drifted down into the auburn curls below. Though it should not have been the time or the place, despite the pain, her loins reacted automatically to her savior’s touch. If the gag had allowed her to whisper his name, she would have. Avery. The Duchess’ Stable-hand and lover.
His fingers slipped around the tight curves beneath her womanhood, touching her from behind as his lips found their folds from the front. Her legs began to buckle as his mouth closed around her sex and the tip of his tongue teased her most tender bud. A shock of pain reminded her about her stricken nipples, though it was all she could do to stop. Fearing the guards would hear, she did her best to quiet her moans, not quite succeeding when he closed his fingers, pulled her to him, buried his face and probed her deepest recesses with his tongue.
In a very short time, she ceased to care about the pain in her breasts. In fact, now that the circumstances were hers, it only served to make her more randy, wanting only to feel his swollen manhood inside her. Her loins throbbed, her sex was tingling, and she was wet enough to take him no matter his size. She whimpered when he refused to stop, fearing she would explode without knowing his cock. And then it was there, its round, swollen tip pressing into her.
He stood fully, slamming himself deep and lifting her from the floor. His hands grasped her rear, spreading and probing as he hammered her hard enough that her breasts bounced. Agony enveloped their tortured tips. Her moans rose in pitch, but she had ceased to care, especially given the loud slapping rhythm of their loins.
When his breathing became a rasping sound in her ears, she knew his climax would follow and, with the next violent collision, he did just that. It took him several loud, almost brutal thrusts to finish, filling her with jets of hot seed. Instead of seeing to her needs as was always his way, he simply lowered her gently to the floor, and held her until she found the strength to stand on her own.
She felt his lips brush her cheek, his breath against his ear. “Forgive me, my lady, but he said he’d kill my mum and sister…”
And, with that, he was gone, leaving nothing but thick, warm seed trickling down her thigh and frustrated desire to rescue her from her pain.
~~~
“You look well-used this morning, m’lady.”
Though she could not see him, she knew her captor now. Unable to retort, she pulled herself up as best as she could, determined to hide both her humiliation and her fatigue, despite what she imagined her appearance to be.
His hands worked behind her neck. Moments later, the binding fell from her mouth and he pulled the cloth away.
She took a moment to let the cotton feeling diminish before she spat toward his voice. “William McHenry, you dare!”
He laughed. “I am flattered you remember be m’lady. It was just one party-filled afternoon, after all. In any case, of course I ‘dare’. Though there are so many things you could be speaking of I hardly know what else to say.”
“You know full well what I am speaking of? You have me kidnapped, tortured and raped. The Duke will have your head on a pike.”
“I am quite certain my brother will want my head on a pike for many other things ahead of this, m’lady.”
He began untying her blindfold. “Besides I hardly think the terms ‘torture’ and ‘rape’ are appropriate. After all, it is hardly rape when you enjoyed yourself so—at the hands of a clandestine lover, no less. Nor is it torture when your cries of ecstasy entertain my guards, and your inner thighs and womanhood have such a naughty glaze, despite what must have been an unfortunately frustrating outcome for you.”
The cloth fell from her eyes. Given the dim lighting in the chamber, it took them only moments to adjust. Her nipples, the first things she saw, were midnight blue nearing black. Choked so tightly that she could hardly see the cord around them, they pointed at the ceiling totally without feeling. Beneath them, her aureoles were stretched taffy-thin.
Besides the beating they took during the…visit, she had been unable to stay her exhaustion. The searing pain in her breasts each time she collapsed was her all-to-frequent wake up call. As a result, traces of both dried and fresh blood dyed the hemp cord around her nipples crimson and streaked the distended flesh. Regardless of her sometimes prurient tastes that often led to minor injuries not far from these, her heart started racing at the sight.
“Get them off!”
"You know, m’lady, it would be such a simple matter to get back to the comfort of your bedchamber, brushing those lovely red curls and having your every whim catered to by your servants once again. Perhaps that stable hand you have become so fond since your husband’s recent disappearances could pay you another visit, in more comfortable surroundings of course. He seems quite thorough under better circumstances."
McHenry pretended to miss the momentary look of fury that flashed across her face. He chose instead to raise an eyebrow and curl a corner of his lip in disdain while brushing a black gloved fingertip across the top of the cobweb-covered stocks. "This dust must be wreaking havoc on your complexion, m’lady. Such disrepair amazes me from one as meticulous as the Duke of Trent. In any case, I am certain that a hot bath and a warm cup of honey mead would ease those aching shoulders and sooth that parched throat."
He glanced knowingly at her breasts. “Not to mention other, more distressed, parts.”
He turned back toward the captive woman and casually picked up the tail of her snow-white chemise, wiping it over his filthy fingertip. "The location of your husband would save you from so much more unpleasantness, Duchess."
Having heard enough prattle, she spat in his direction. “I said, remove this cord. This instant!”
The Baron casually dropped the chemise and leaned forward, breathing conspiratorially into her ear. "You know, I hear gangrene can be singularly unpleasant m’lady. I can only imagine how such a living rot must feel, particularly at the tips of your bosom. It would be such a shame. They really are quite fetching, especially when they pucker."
“You can rot in hell, William McHenry.”
His laugh echoed through the chamber yet again. “Your choice of words may be intuitive, m’lady.” Turning his back on her, he began for the door.
“Baron! I order you to remove these bindings from my…person, immediately!” Her voice was tainted with desperation.
He stopped in mid-stride and sighed. “Typically, I do not take orders from usurpers, however, if you insist, Duchess.” Slowly, he drew a dagger from its jewel-encrusted scabbard and turned.
“This may hurt a bit.” He took one step forward and sliced the razor-sharp blade sideways across the underside of her right nipple. As she screamed, he did the same with the left.
Both cords popped free and flew toward the ceiling. The combination of the dagger’s violation and the hot blood that burned back into the choked flesh, set her breasts on fire with raw pain. Her breasts dropped heavily back beneath her dirty white night blouse, angled lines of crimson welling across the lower sides of their tips as they fell. By the time they stopped bouncing, two cerise stains had begun to spread in growing circles across the front of the chemise.
While she gasped for breath and tried to regain her composure, he thrust the dagger tip up, piercing the thin fabric between her breasts and ripping the blade up through the garment’s neck. Then, after sheathing the blade, he violently tore the nightgown away from her chest, and then off her body entirely.
As the torn cloth fell to the dirty floor, she stood naked save for her obsidian brooch and earrings. While shamefully aware of the mostly-dried glaze of body fluids and seed coating her inner thighs almost to her knees, she tried to contain her horror as she watched her blood trickle down her breasts and onto her belly.
Following her gaze, McHenry cupped her tits like small melons, their lower curves fitting nicely in his palms. He hefted them lightly, bouncing them lightly up and down as if judging their weight. “I believe that it was your God’s Solomon that once commented about his wife’s luscious breasts being as perfect as twin deer, or some such, was it not?”