The Castle of Solange - Pt. 3

Deena's pleading was convincing enough. Perhaps, the altered warrior thought, because she did hunger to touch herself. But she still possessed a warrior's discipline, even if her skin was as pale as snow. Tienna's face relaxed into a genuine smile.

"I remember my first orgasm once I learned that I belonged to Mistress. It's the best. You can actually feel yourself surrender to her. Do you mind if I watch?"

Deena felt her wrists slip apart. She flexed her arms experimentally, feeling the muscles stretch under her skin. For a moment, she considered ignoring the will to escape, tof ind the Princess, and to flee this horrible place. Her hand moved down to her thigh, now as pale as the rest of her. She wanted to touch herself, to plunge her finger into her wet quim until she was screaming, the last of her weakened resistance gone. All that would be left would be Deena the Dancer, another slave to Solange.

"Yes," Deena sighed, "you can watch. But come a little closer."

The harlequin face hovered over hers. It seemed that the clowngirl might kiss her. And that Deena might allow it on her path to eternal servitude. Deena seized the girl by the back of her head and pulled her down against the edge of the table. Her forehead struck the solid stone with a dull thunk! sound. Tienna was able to register surprise before the lights went out and the harlequin collapsed to the ground beside the table. Deena sat up and reached to the shackles at her wrists. They were held in place by simple iron spikes and were easily removed. Despite her sudden freedom, Deena found it difficult to dismount the table, contenting herself with her fingers stroking the now-ivory skin of her legs. they were so smooth, so pale. Her skin was alight with the touch. It felt incredible to caress herself, to enjoy the body that she had trained all her life to be a weapon, and now served so well as an instrument of pleasure.

"Focus," she told herself, forcing her hands away from her flesh. She swung her thick legs over the side of the table and slipped to the floor. When she landed, she gave a little flourish, as if Deena was performing for an audience. think of the applause, her body whispered, think of how pleased Mistress would be at seeing the way Deena could dance and leap and tumble.

Deena smacked herself, her pale cheeks tinging at the force of it. Her head cleared some, however, and she replaced her body with that of Tienna, fixing the shackles on the buxom clowngirl's wrists and ankles. Part of her screamed that doing so was betrayal, that Tienna had been so kind as to give her a name and a role in the castle's circus, but Deena tore her gaze from the lovely young woman, reminding herself Tienna had once had a name of her own and a fate that did not include a life at Solange's command. Perhaps when her work was done, Deena would free her, too, and they would claim their own names once more.

The halls turned at odd angles, lit by torches that sputtered and sparked with arcane magic. The flames gave off no heat. Deena discovered quickly that to stop and stare at the flame was a sure way to lose oneself. The licking flame drew one in, and Deena felt as if she had given up valuable minutes staring dumbly at the torch before she realized its effect. It was as if everything in the castle was designed to ensnare anyone who dared traffic its halls.

Deena was careful to keep her attention focused on the halls, aiming for any sign of elevation. Solange, and so the Princess, would not be in the bowels of the castle where Deena wandered. They would be higher up. For the life of her, the warrior could not find any sign of stairs. Her frustration was doubled by the fact that part of her still wanted to submit, to sit in the floor and pout until someone came for her. Whoever that might be would certainly complete Deena's journey into slavery. And what a sweet release that would be...

She could feel Solange inside her.

"You are mine," the Sorceress' voice hissed like the breath of a snake, "and you must serve me. No matter how much you wish otherwise..."

And then she heard the words again, "No matter how much you wish otherwise."

How much did she wish to b free? That was the question that dogged her all the way t the foot of the stairs. When she saw the stone steps leading up and out of the torch-strewn halls, she felt a moment of surety. Yes, she had stumbled with the harlequin, but she had broken free of her influence. While her name might have been taken from her, her resolve had not. She mounted the steps, realizing only then that her sword was taken from her. That meant she would need to arm herself. Certainly, there would be weapons in a sorceress's keep. That gave her renewed purpose. Arm herself, find the Princess, slay the sorceress. And when the bards sang of her success, they would call her Deena the White. Her thick muscles tensed with anticipation, and she climbed into the light.

The first room she reached was a great hall, empty but well-kept. A dining table sat in the center, awaiting guests and the serving of some great feast. What Deena surmised was that where there was a dining hall, there was a kitchen. And that meant knives and cleavers and great forks to skewer meat. It meant weapons. Two doors sat in each of the long walls. One of them had to be the kitchen. Deena moved quietly through the room, the hardened leather armor stark against her pale skin. It would not reveal her, however.

Her elation gave way to anger when she realized that behind each of the doors was a hallway, leading deeper into the castle, She would have to continue her explorations. Unarmed. And still trailed by the constant presence of the sorceress, reminding her that no matter how she struggled, she would serve in the end.