The Forbidden Room (Fairy Tales Behaving Badly) (2 page)

The servants in the castle appeared friendly enough, though like the old servant who had arranged her arrival, they were not keen on providing information about her fiance. “What kind of man is the Marquise of Eddom?” She had asked one of the maids who helped her dress every morning.

The woman was evasive. “He is a wealthy man, milady, one of the most influential in the kingdom.”

“But what of his character? Does he… does he mistreat any of the help, for instance?”

To this, surprisingly, the woman took offense. “I have been with the master many years, milady, and he has always treated us with the utmost respect, unlike many other nobles that come to mind. People as powerful as he have their share of enemies, and it’s them spreading those gossip, I’m sure. He’s been a good lord to us always. Took most of us in when we had nowhere else to go, mind, and we all respect his wish for privacy when we can.” Melisande swiftly apologized, and the woman left satisfied.

It was when she was exploring the other rooms of the castle on the third day of her stay that she found herself standing before the strange, secret room she had been warned against entering. Melisande had never been contrary before, but regardless of what the maid had told her, she felt that her own safety was still at stake.
I must know what lies beyond this door
, she thought,
if only for my piece of mind
. After all, what harm can one look do?

Much to her surprise, it opened at a touch. Even more puzzled than ever, Melisande stepped in.

Her eyes widened. The walls of the room were painted a deep shade of blue, and it was filled with strange objects, the likes of which she had never seen before. The first thing she saw was a large bronze statue, twisted in some unnatural way. It was only after she drew nearer that she realized these were not grotesque abstract sculptures, but the figures of a man and a woman, writhing against each other. The woman was sprawled before the man, her legs parted before him. Her lover had taken hold of her hips, and was in the process of burying his large shaft inside her, head thrown back as he roared out a wordless release. Melisande backed away, and nearly walked into another statue, this time of a man who had impaled a young girl against an ivory wall, sneering into her terrified face even as her legs remained locked around his waist. The man was lifting her up in his arms, his member pushing into her.

Melisande spun, a hand pressed against her mouth. She could see statues in varying, indecent positions; a woman being driven into from behind by one man while she greedily sucked at another’s shaft; a queer, satyr-like creature taking a helpless young maiden while he feasted on her breasts; a bound woman, being passed around from one man to the next, seven in all.

And there were more. There were strange implements scattered within the room; some she recognized, and others she did not. She saw riding crops strung along a line, saw a strange wooden plank affixed to chains that hung from the ceiling, and four metal restraints mounted on a wall.

An odd, heady weakness washed over her, a sudden ache in her loins she could not explain as she took in all these contraptions, and she backed away from the room, eager to put all these wicked thoughts behind her, all these wicked things.

Despite the trembling in her knees she was able to stumble out, remembering to close the door behind her. She stumbled her way back to her room where she collapsed, shuddering, onto the bed. She should be sickened by what she’d seen inside that queer blue room, she thought. She should be disgusted.

Instead, her hand stole down her dress, slipping past her skirts to touch herself, tentative, ashamed to find the wetness leaking out between her legs. “This is madness,” she moaned into her pillow, even as her inexperienced finger traced a circle against the shift she wore, but not daring to go any further. “This is not right.”

She slept poorly that night, strange fitful dreams of being surrounded by those bronze statues, of knowing there was something else in the darkness waiting for her - something more dangerous, frightening….

The maid who helped her into her gown the next morning was visibly upset by the faint circles underneath her eyes. Melisande was quick to reassure her, blushing, that she was alright, and that she had been homesick, which had been enough to pacify the girl.

She spent the better part of the afternoon distracting herself with the garden. But as evening approached she could not help but be drawn again, to that room at the far end of the hall. She could not understand why the statues there excited her so, why she could not keep from shuddering with pleasure at the sight of the tools that lay within that room, at what they suggested. She tried to resist the urge to look in, but she could not.

“One last look,” she told herself, as she stepped through the door. “One last look, and then I shall be done with this forever.”

The statues and implements were where she had last seen them. Heart racing, Melisande walked past many of the frozen figurines in a queer daze, heat once more pooling in her loins as her eyes took in the debased acts sculpted for posterity. She stopped before one of them, a young girl crawling on the ground, while a man took her from behind. There was something insidiously familiar about this bronze female, and Melisande found her hand lifting, almost of its own accord, to reach behind the girl, to touch the man’s metal cock, half-sheathed inside his lover.

“A pity,” a voice murmured behind her. “I had been expecting to wait until our marriage.”

With a gasp, Melisande turned. Standing before her was a dark-haired man, tall enough that her head only came up against his chest. His eyes were an intriguing shade of green, like a cat’s, and he had a handsome, intelligent face that hinted of cruelty. The intensity of his gaze pinned her to the spot, and she felt her legs grow weak, unable to summon the strength to move or run even if she tried. Surely this must be the Marquise of Eddom. Her
fianc
é
.

“I am sorry,” she blurted out, her cheeks burning, from the things she had seen in the room, from the shame of having been disobedient, and from the fear of what he might do to her now that he has discovered her where she should not have been.

“I come home early from my trip, eager to meet my betrothed, and this is what greets me. It would appear you are not quite as docile or as obedient as I had been led to believe.” His eyes studied her, and what she saw there sent an unexpected thrill through her body, at the mixture of possessiveness and lustful anger in his gaze.

“It will never happen again,” she whispered, unable to think of anything else to vindicate her actions.

“There are the rules to consider, kitten. Did not my servant tell you all who step inside this room must receive punishment?” The way he lingered on that last word made her shiver. “Did you not agree to this?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“Then I must be a man of my word. Raise yourself onto my table.”

There was a long wooden table in the room, suggestively bare. Trembling, she did as he had instructed, settling herself on the edge of it, looking back at him with frightened blue eyes.

“Lie down,” he said, stripping himself of the dark gloves he wore, “and open your legs.”

Melisande closed her eyes, letting her thighs fall apart. She heard him approach, felt him lift her skirts up over her waist, exposing the small, plain shift she wore underneath. She felt him rub against the cloth, pressing up against her soft places, and she whined despite herself.

Almost immediately, a sharp slap was administered to her buttocks. “Did I tell you to make a sound, Melisande?” Another smack followed, and her body jerked.

“No, my lord,” she moaned.

“You will make no noise, my little slut.” The word sent another thrill through her, the obvious need in his voice inflaming her own. “Lift yourself up. Watch me punish you.”

She complied, whimpered again, when he forced her legs close only long enough to draw the smallcloth down her legs, and then spread them apart again. She made herself watch as the man reached down, tracing a finger along her mound, at the pink valley within. She watched as he slowly opened up her nether lips, stroked at the round nub there with his rough thumb, flicking against the sensitive flesh. Melisande bit her lip in desperation, and it took every fiber of her being not to cry out and risk more penalties. He moved lower, the tip of his finger probing into her, and she shuddered, at the feeling of being pierced there for the very first time.

“Have you done this before, Melisande?” The finger pushed deeper into her, and she had to lift one hand for her teeth to sink into, muffling the little groans she made. He rubbed against her tight walls, which clamped down on the intruding digit, gripping it hard. “Have you ever taken a man inside your beautiful little pussy?”

When she did not answer immediately, his other hand moved to smack her buttocks again, hard. “Answer me!”

“No,” Melisande moaned out as he added another finger, forcing her tight walls to stretch around them until he reached the barrier that was her maidenhead. “Ah, and there is the proof,” he rasped. “You disappoint me, Melisande. I would have taken you properly like a good husband, made you come on our marriage bed the way I would a proper little wife. But as you have disobeyed one simple order…” He withdrew his fingers, and she whined, feeling empty. She was unaware of what he intended until she felt something cold and metallic locking into place around her ankle. There was a small chain built into the table, she realized, and it now held her leg immobile.

“… now I have no choice but to fuck you like the little wanton whore you want to be.”

He did the same to her other leg, affixing another chain there, leaving her spread-eagled and helpless. Now he returned to the curls between her thighs, parting her there once more.

“Never disobey me again, Melisande.”

She nodded, and bit her lip as he used both his thumbs to spread her lips, so sure he could see all the way into her depths. He leaned forward, his face burying itself between her legs, and his tongue darted out.

“Oh!” Melisande bucked up, as he lapped at her pink folds, tracing the quivering little nub there before sucking gently on it. She could not stop the cries from spilling out of her mouth as he increased the pleasure, teeth grazing against her most delicate flesh. She squealed when he added his finger again, sawing back and forth inside her even as his mouth drank in her dewy wetness, even as his tongue swirled and stabbed.

And then she felt another finger, wet from her juices, pressing against the puckered entrance between her cheeks.

“No!” She tried to struggle. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined that anyone would seek to - to put it inside her
that
way….

He responded with another slap, her buttocks already red from his previous abuse. “You swore to obey me, little slut!” He snarled.

Her backside burning, Melisande could only moan this time, but did not resist while he continued to open her up, the finger penetrating her inch by burning inch even as another slid into the wet depths of her willing entrance. “Do you know what this is, Melisande? Here are two of my fingers, sliding their way into your willing pussy. Say it for me, Melisande. Tell me what my fingers are doing.”

“They’re… they’re sliding up my… “ she moaned, “oh! My willing
pussy
.”

“Good girl. And where is my other finger, my dear?” The digit flexed inside her, making her squirm.

“It… it’s inside my… backside.”

“In your ass, Melisande. My finger is fucking your sweet little ass. Say it.”

“Your finger is… fucking my… my sweet, little ass.”

“Good.” His mouth came down on her again, and Melisande was lost to the feelings that took her all at once. Two fingers, moving in and out of her pussy. Another finger, stretching the dark entrance between her cheeks; so much more harder and rougher than the others, skewering her with long, furious strokes. And then his mouth, his expert tongue flicking at her sweet nub, coaxing her into greater and greater heights… until Melisande exploded, arching off the table with a long scream as her walls clenched around him, so intense she wished for it to stop, and yet at the same time to never do.

She was limp and quivering by the time he withdrew his fingers, the evidence of her wetness pooling at the edge of the table and dripping down into the stone floor. “Very good, Melisande.” Her would-be husband said, and she felt him undo the metal clasps that bound her ankles. “You have done well. But I am afraid I must now complete the rest of your punishment.”

He forced her on her hands and knees so that she was facing away from him, her buttocks lifted off the table. In this position he chained her ankles again, moved up to also chain her wrists, so she could not move her body at all. Frantic at what he might do to her, Melisande tried to look behind her, and saw him with a black riding crop in his hands. “No,” she gasped, her struggles increasing.

“Yes,” he mocked, taking pleasure in her fear. “Do not be too afraid, my sweet. This is a special invention of mine, built for pleasure as much for pain.” She could feel the rough leather sliding up her bare thighs, coming to rest against her core, and she groaned. “Permit me to demonstrate.”

The tip of the crop flicked against her, and Melisande’s body jerked forward, straining to get away from it despite the futility of her actions. Her fiance showed her no mercy. Again and again, the torturous whip landed against her buttocks, sending shots of electricity through her. It was pain, but one that carried with it the promise of ecstasy. Her cheeks were red and sensitive to the touch by the time he was done with her, and it only took a finger running along the shape of her thighs to make her moan in desperation. Her hips were gyrating without her knowing it, unconsciously seeking out more.