Bound & Bound – the Curse and the Captives – - 16. Chapter 16: Lady on the Loggia

Chapter 16: Lady on the Loggia

FROM WITHIN LORD LASZLO'S chamber, he heard the outer door of his antechamber open and close. He knew who it would be at this time of morning, so inevitably – as it always did – he felt his pulse quicken in anticipation.

He had been up earlier and had all of his necessaries attended to, in fact, he had then slipped back into bed to await the official start of his day.

A light rap sounded on his bedroom door, and Laszlo rose from his bed by tearing off the linen sheets and calling out "Enter."

He stood erect and stretched, pulling forearms and elbows over his head to loosen tight shoulder muscles. He held himself rigid at the waist and rotated his upper torso.

His lordship wore only the knee-length linen nightshirt he was accustomed to sleeping in, and the one that allowed easy access over the top of it to adjust and pull up on his scrotum. Laszlo scratched there lingeringly as his eyes watched his door open.

As he suspected, Louis was on the other side. This handsome youth was barely eighteen years of age, but already as large as a full-grown man, for his height was only a hand's breadth shorter than Laszlo. The lord's favourite attendant and companion also sported the physique of a young man about to come into the full flower of his manhood. The Steward of the Basin was brimming with quiet confidence and the demure attitude of a warrior-in-training who was eager to learn, and even more eager to please.

Secretly, the lord of the place smiled to himself to realize how much this invariable morning routine meant to him. The rising, the readying of his preparations followed by a few moments of quiet contemplation in bed – and then this. Every morning the arrival of Louis and his impish grin, plus the way the youth would toss his ashen-colored head down once Laszlo's gaze lingered too long, which it invariably did, would make Laszlo optimistic about the prospects of the forthcoming day.

"Good morning, My Lord."

"Louis, how fare things with the castle today?"

"All is well, Your Lordship."

Laszlo caught a faint smile play about the lad's rosy lips as he dared to meet his master's eyes. He was dressed in green velvet today – a doublet that descended to end only slightly above the boy's mid-thigh. He had on the lord's favourite parti-coloured tights – the left leg in ochre, and the right in indigo – while black side-laced leather slippers accented his feet.

Lord Laszlo watched as the page strode across him room and to the closet. The boy disappeared within it.

"Is Lady Gretza roused?" he called after his steward.

The young man instantly reappeared with a dark suit of clothes for his master's person.

"Yes, My Lord. She was dressed and has had her levée."

"Ah…" Laszlo stretched again. "I needed to sleep in today." As Louis got to within half a stride from him, the lord's mood suddenly changed to one of close inspection. His hand went out to stay the lad. "How is it you always seem to know when I wish to rise?"

The boy's fair hair and grey eyes bowed demurely under his master's intimate scrutiny.

"I, My Lord, just know."

Laszlo released him. The boy set the clothes on the bed and returned to attend the man by remaining on his left, and by being silent. He waited with hands crossed below his belt line.

Lord Laszlo glanced there before facing the youth and raising his arms. Louis stepped into his lordship's body and lifted off his master's nightshirt.

For the briefest of moments, their hand and chest were in intimate contact, and Laszlo again found himself inhaling the scent rising from Louis' immaculate hair. This too was an unaccountably pleasant highlight of his morning routine. The boy's fragrance was always clean and youthful. Louis was the lord's favourite for many reasons, and daily Laszlo received confirmation that his choice for Steward of the Basin was a sound one. The youth's proximity to his flesh always aroused anticipation of the lad's chief function.

Louis turned with the warm nightshirt and carefully laid it out flat in the bed for him to fold later.

Laszlo, standing there naked, watched as his page picked up a pair of silk drawers and turn towards him. In deliberately unhurried motions, the youth sank to his knees before his master.

The lord of the place adjusted himself, and delighted that Louis never averted his eyes from that sight. Then he placed a hand for support on the boy's shoulder and lifted a foot. The page slipped one leg hole over Laszlo's foot and set it back on the floor; he lifted the other leg and repeated.

In another moment, the boy stood, and in the same motion drew up his lordship's underwear.

Laszlo inhaled deeply as Louis turned to retrieve his master's shirt. He said, while he lifted his arms for the boy, "I trust my Steward of the Basin also fares well?" He could almost feel a sparkle come to his eyes.

"Your lordship does me a great honour to inquire. I am fit and strong, and as always, looking forward to being companion to my lord's day." Louis brought the shirt down and came in close to lace up the collar.

Laszlo's gaze bent down upon the boy. A playful notion made him ask, "A strapping young man like you must sport regularly with the young women and girls of the castle."

As Laszlo suspected, the boy's reaction was simultaneously silent and tell-tale; the page's alabaster complexion reddened. Then the youth's grey eyes rose fully and carefully into Laszlo's gaze.

"I am well versed in the ways to give pleasure, My Lord."

"What do you mean, Louis?"

The boy swallowed and after a brief coating of his lips with saliva, said confidently, "I sometimes worry that our regimen is not enough for his lordship's appetite. I would like to assure you that I know ways to fully satiate my lord's deep-seeded frustrations." His fingers lingered on the side of the slit of bare chest hair peeking through Laszlo's shirt collar. "As you know, I like to serve you in all ways, in body and mind as well as in heart and soul."

Laszlo gently took the youth's hands and held them away from him. He kissed them, and laced their fingers together. "I do not want to hurt you, boy."

"You won't, sir. For although I have yet to receive such attention – as after all, I only seek to serve you – I have applied this lovemaking technique on a particular young woman. It’s through her pleasure and careful guidance for me that I can likewise instruct your lordship on how to enter me." Louis gripped harder with his right hand and withdrew his left; he placed the palm of his freed touch where it meant the most. It lingered a grasping embrace over the growing bulge beneath the thin membrane of his lordship's undergarment. "Also, by using my paramour's reaction as a means to gauge, I know I shall enjoy my lord's pleasure as deeply as you do."

Laszlo stepped back; he dropped the one hand and pulled out of the lad's grasp from down below. He paused to gather his thoughts, but still held the boy by the wrist of the hand he removed from his crotch. "You scandalize me, boy. But tell me, who is this female you speak of?"

The page passively let himself be restrained. "Must I reveal that, My Lord?" The boy cast his grey eyes down upon Laszlo's naked feet.

"Well, if you do not tell me, I will project every wayward glance you make, and to every woman, as innuendo of rendezvous – that includes my wife. So, you had better tell me, and do it now."

Laszlo puzzled at the pained flinching he saw before him. He glanced hurriedly to his right; he had raised the boy's wrist and dug into it with fingernails and force.

He let it drop instantly, and pulled the pageboy's face into his chest. He stroked the fine and fragrant hair of the young man and felt instant regret.

The boy said softy, "It is Lady Maria, sir."

A puzzled question came from Laszlo. "Gretza's chief lady-in-waiting..?"

The young man pushed back slightly to hold Laszlo's eyes. He said with some desperate urgency, "She and I, sir – are in love. We have intercourse, but I protect her maidenhood and virginity. I would never rob her future husband of a treasure to which I had no proper claim."

In the lord's mind, an unaccountably stimulating scene unfolded itself: the golden lad before him now, his wife's lady-in-waiting, and himself. They were naked, and he – as their absolute lord and master – had legal right to 'enter' them both.

His member was now rock hard and insistent, but he did not realize the fact until both of Louis' hands manipulated him through the silk burn of his undergarment.

His sight faltered, his lips parted and released a breathy sigh. Near his cheek he felt the persuasively soft breath of his favourite ask, "May I please be allowed to serve my lord?"

Laszlo moistened his suddenly dry lips. "For now, young man, I ask only that you fetch the basin."

The lord of the castle watched as a smile crept across the boy's full mouth with upturned corners. "Yes, Milord – with pleasure."

˚˚˚˚˚

Winter had been a wild one, but with the return of warm weather, Lady Gretza had taken to strolling the second floor loggia again. She did this for exercise, in addition to a means to contemplate matters deep and serious. It seems for some, the ordinary action of feet in motion promotes cognitive listlessness to also pick up heel and perambulate as well.

Down in the courtyard, there was some activity, but she neither focused on it, nor had any indication that anyone down there seem to take notice of her.

The loggia was about the width needed for three grown men to pass by without having to turn. Substantial stone columns rose from a solid balustrade to arch voids in fancy Gothic tracery.

The slightly rough paving stones hurt Lady Gretza's thinly-shod shoes, but she did not care, for in her mind, the discomfort caused while she strolled was taken and used as physical proof of how uncomfortable she felt living here; she wanted nothing so much as to quit this backwater outpost and return to the glittering world of a princely court.

A harried young woman came running along the loggia towards her.

The girl was hiking the front hem of her silk skirts, and the lady of the place saw she that was clutching something in her right hand.

The young woman – her chief lady-in-waiting – came to a stop about a pace away, and curtsied.

"Milady, a letter has arrived." The teen girl held up the missive like it was a sacred relic.

Lady Gretza took it, did not glance at it, and said, "You may go."

The young woman curtsied again, and strode a few steps backwards in preparation to take leave of her mistress. With bowed head the young woman turned to go.

"Maria..?"

The girl stopped. "Milady."

Gretza stalked up intimidatingly to her lady-in-waiting. She began to circle the girl and delicately perceived an all-too familiar odour coming off of the young and attractive flesh. She bent down so that her chin was nearly on top of the girl's right shoulder blade. She said softly and with rounded and open-sounding intonations, "I may call upon your most valuable services in the near future. I find I am in need of resolution upon a pressing and highly sensitive matter, and must take matters into my own capable hands. I trust that when I do call upon you, I shall be able to enlist your utmost discretion, and naturally, your silence."

Maria glanced sheepish over to her mistress' eyes and nodded awkwardly.

Gretza stepped boldly in front of her servant and said perfunctorily, "Now, you may go – but be careful, girl. A child at your age, and conceived in this place, would be a very unfortunate thing for you."

Maria curtsied and quickly scrambled away in abject fear.

Lady Gretza could smell that the young woman just parted from her company was no virgin. Although she suspected the youthful maidenhead was not damaged, she could nonetheless perceive the pervasive trait of someone's manhood being diffuse within her attendant. Obviously, she suspected she knew how the act was accomplished, and admired that the place Maria chose to carry her carnality was a wise one. She had power to manipulate the young woman with this knowledge, and the lady of the place intended to use that to her full advantage. But also, secretively, the dangerous knowledge of her lady-in-waiting's 'secret implantation' sent a powerful thrill cascading down Gretza's spine.

It was only after the full indulgence in these thoughts that Lady Gretza remembered to look at what she was clutching tightly in her now-sweaty palm.

Raising it up to the light, the elaborate figure of the salutation on the exterior of the correspondence immediately revealed itself as the recognizable handwriting of her cosset and minion, Razvan.

The lady casually glanced around to ensure her privacy was still maintained, then slipped a finger between the paper and the cinnabar-coloured wax seal; this seal impression was made by a ring Lady Gretza had provided to him. In point of fact, this ring was hexed with her powerful will to control him, and she swelled with magical pride every time she saw his dutiful use of it.

She stood with a shoulder against a column, held the letter rakishly to the light and read its contents. It was in code, but she knew the cipher's key by heart.

To my most illustrious Lady Gretza,

Prince Radu the Handsome, who is as fair as report paints in estimation, has agreed to your ladyship's suggested course of secret action. Independently, Prince Vlad is intrigued by Lord Laszlo's proposal of alliance, and has acquiesced to accompany me back with neither guards nor retinue. The prince and I shall start our return journey within the fortnight. Your ladyship may ready all plans as necessary for our imminent arrival.

Your faithful vassal,

servant and retainer,

Razvan.

Sealed by my hand at Targoviste Castle, on this third day of April, in the year of our Lord, fourteen hundred and sixty-one.

She folded the letter and tried to suppress the unsightly impiety of her delight. She did so via the self-satisfied smile she was total mistress over, and which she had crafted over the years to hide almost everything she thought or felt.

Tucking the dispatch into the folds pf her skirt where a hidden pocket could receive it, her thoughts drifted onto contemplation of Razvan.

In her way she despised him – as she did all men who submitted to her will and pleasure to the detriment of their own safety and self-determination. In regards to her minion specifically, she sneered internally at the question of what morbid satisfaction he achieved out of complicity. On the balance scales of her dark powers, she knew that talent alone could not outweigh but a quarter of his total passivity, so that meant the majority of his enthrallment was something he actively maintained via a set of daily decisions.

Lady Gretza felt a small flush of pleasure arise from between her legs as she began to walk again. Activity in the courtyard had settled down into a midday languor.

She wondered if Razvan derived the sort of near-sexual titillation that a submissive does in the bedroom. What is the source of the desire to feel most vulnerable in the context of being used and abused by the person the ghillie or gimp regards as superior? – for the weak supplies the one in charge with all the power, and they do so actively, with a flush of pleasure.

The nascent thrill slowly rose through her spine as she strolled, and settled as a tingling in her wrists and nipples.

It was almost as if his very feelings of inadequacy were not only suppressed, but became flaunted through exhibition. Gratification for the sycophant came only in knowing the 'master' was pleased, in that and only that.

Lady Gretza's arousal continued; the waving sensation of a cresting heat made her hands strike out to a column for momentary support.

In the courtyard she spied that the younger Turkish well-digger was pausing in his labours – he was sweaty and wearing only a loincloth. Junayd and the Romanian serfs were on one side ripping off chunks from a stale loaf and passing it around.

"Where is that soldier Turk..?" she found herself whispering.

Her mind was still working on Razvan's weakness and how its exploitation gratified him. This gloating sensation of knowing she was the source of his private, sexual hedonism goaded her growing excitement even more. He, like most people in the world, was only compliantly drawn to that which he was always intended, and thus his culpability in his own entrapment to her powers was powerfully enticing to her.

The lady closed her eyes; her bodily sensations had caused every pore to relax and open. Heat escaped her enwrapped body, and the silk of her undergarments radiated it back onto her skin.

She imagined a scene where Razvan was alone in his chamber. The lamp light was low, there was darkness from the outside, and his back was turned to her. She approached stealthily and saw his arms were busy with motion. His eyes were tightly shut; his mouth partially open and exhaling excited breaths. She came to the point of being able to peek over his shoulder, and she saw his hands were abusing himself; his member was engorged and about ready to release. In her mind's clairvoyant vision, she could peer behind the eyes that he pinched closed in fantasy, and knew he was thinking about her. He was thinking about her callous disregard for him, and how the very nature of his passivity is Razvan's greatest source of pleasure.

Lady Gretza opened her eyes. The first pre-wave of a threatening orgasm was caught and held as a breath trying to escape her throat. She gripped the stone pier so that the crook of her elbow embraced it around in a tight embrace; the side of her face came to rest helplessly on its flinty coldness, and she held her body back from climaxing too soon.

The appearance of the Herculean slave made her open her eyes more fully. He too was nearly naked, and again the sweat dabbing his silky body hair gave his form the lustre of glinting bronze from head to foot.

Via her sixth sense, she knew there was a sexual overtone to what she was witnessing him do right now, but what exactly it was, she could only speculate.

The Turkish soldier's attention was trained on his overseer. That man was alone, off to one side, with a pitcher of ale and his substantial plate of roast pork.

Ahmed knew the greasy Stefan Karolyi was watching him, so the slave went to where the bucket of water was, and to where Stefan had a clear sightline to him. Once at the water source, the Turk drew a full piggin of the cool liquid, and let the dripping excess pause glinting in the sun.

He turned so that his full torso was facing the taskmaster, kicked his legs far apart, and gently raised the water over his head.

As he poured it slowly – the Turk's eyes trained on Stefan's greedy leer – his hands languidly worked the water in at his chest, his abdomen, and then slowly lingered on his crotch.

Lady Gretza's hand found her own pinpoint of arousal through the folds of her secret pocket. She pleasured herself.

Stefan drained his beer, stood and went over to where Ahmed was standing wet and glorious in his exposed flesh.

He made body contact with the Turk and removed the piggin from the other man's grasp. Then, with one hand, he raised it to his lips, while he used his other hand to guide Ahmed's fingers to press and explore Stefan's erection over the man's tights...

A gasp caught in Lady Gretza's throat. She was about to climax.

…The men in a dance of control and danger held one another's eyes.

Wave upon wave of heat radiated up through her vagina, where it was instantly moistened and enhanced by a flood of released wetness from within its walls. Her mind reeled; her eyes began to close; her fingers came up to her mouth for her to clamp down upon. She tried to control her desire to scream.

Lastly, as she was overcome with convulsive pleasure, she saw Ahmed break the sexual tension with a suggestive grimace and an aggressive grabbing of his own very notable erection.