Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon Page 4

  The creature wore a hood which obscured his face, and the robe covering his body was a sooty charcoal gray. His enormous hands were cold and clammy like that of a dead man. As I quivered in fear, the beast grunted and growled softly. Oh, yes, the sounds were human alright. Even the guards made sounds like that at the barracks when they tore into their dinner. An odd feeling of revulsion mixed with excitement overcame my senses. As he groped and pinched and poked my body, his fingers eventually made their way between my legs. My heart raced, and my body trembled. I wanted to scream! But nothing came out of me but pathetic gasps and whimpers.

  After several minutes of this, a strange series of sensations began to build inside of me. I was quite surprised at how I responded to him! I didn’t react the same as before during my trial that day. This was somehow different than when those revolting inquisitors up in the castle were groping and probing me with clammy fingers. There was no audience observing me this time either. No King Arthur and his advisors watching me being fondled by those awful men and no doubt trying to conceal their own arousal. No, this time I was all alone with my wicked captor; and he had absolute control of me. Maybe that’s what excited me.

  Yes, oddly enough I slowly started to become aroused. Though I was certainly quite terrified of him touching me down there with those icy, dirty fingers; snarling lustfully, I began quivering with excitement when his fingers eventually found my vulva. I shouldn’t have felt anything but revulsion and disgust, yet for some reason, I experienced those feelings and much, much more! Strange as it may sound, especially given what I’d just endured in the Great Hall, I experienced a depraved sense of lustful stimulation, and perhaps that was due in large part to my desperate mind urging me to find a way to cooperate with my new captor until an opportunity presented itself.

  Perverse yet meticulous, the creature then leaned in with his head to lick and suckle my rigid nipples. I gasped at first with shock, but then sighed passionately when I saw how he was being so gentle with them. Sensing I might be enjoying what he was doing to me, he snorted and growled along with my soft cries and occasional coos. Never releasing his other hand from my crotch, he grasped and gently nibbled on both of my nipples, one after the other, until after several minutes—I began to shudder!

  His leather-hooded face bobbed and moved about my ample chest as I shook and quivered, never biting hard, never creating pain, and all the while continuing to pleasure my private area with his fingers. He seemed to know how to find things rather quickly, I must say, and knew just what to do once he found what he was looking for! I knew I needed to feel disgusted and try to squirm away. But my instinct was to adapt to whatever he wanted from me, much like the ogre from my dream. After all, he was my captor now. I was his prisoner…and what’s more it felt rather nice!

  He took immediate notice of this; and when I began to shake uncontrollably he kept on going and increased the speed of his massaging, rubbing, fondling, and groping of my crotch, as well as the licking and biting and suckling of my breasts. He kept on rubbing, faster and faster still, until I found myself nearing a rather lovely climax!

  No longer did I mind the smell of the dungeon, nor the foul odors from the creature pleasuring me between my legs. His hood obscured his face but also smelled of charcoal and fish guts. I was aware of these things sure, but not really caring any more you see? I no longer cared that I was in a darkened cave with a disgusting monster who was just as likely to rip the flesh from my body and devour me at any moment. My body was saying YES, pleasure me; and my mind was trying to accept the new reality I faced. This creature now possessed me, and whatever that entailed I had to accommodate him.

  I tried imagining I was with the ogre of my dreams during my mandrake-induced sleep. The ogre wasn’t there to hurt me as I recalled, he was merely preparing me for his fellow ogres back at their secret lair. I tried remembering the dream—and the gnomes—and the giant endowment the ogre had. It made my current situation feel slightly tolerable. If I was wrong after all; and he really meant to hurt me, I figured I’d better try not thinking about it for the time being.

  Yet after a while, as a wonderful orgasm built up inside of me, he unexpectedly discontinued his rough stimulations and skillful manipulations. Left me right at the very edge of ecstasy! This snapped me out of my spell. Would he now abuse me? I feared he might. Teasing and prodding me so well and for so long, perhaps now was to be my brutal punishment.

  But he did not. Never harmed me in any way. Instead, he untied me from the rope over my head, but kept my wrists shackled, as he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He then carried me like a prized pet, down the passageway behind us to a “room” carved into the wall of the tunnel. It wasn’t another cell; it was a private bedchamber, and as he carried me I noticed my captor was a very large being who had to stoop to make it through the entrance.

  There was a stove hewn from the rock, with a chimney rising upward through the cavern ceiling. There was a table with a couple of benches, some pots and pans, and even some cooking utensils. Vile let me down to my feet, then led me into the room like a captured prisoner, but also with great care as though he was concerned that I might stumble. I was barefoot, and my naked body was shivering from the cold. He sat me down on the bed and removed his cloak which had previously covered him from shoulders to ankles. Then he gently wrapped it around me.

  I warmed myself and bundled up carefully using my bound wrists as best I could, pinching the robe around my neck. My first thought was about how chilled I was, so I soothed myself and tried to ward off the uncontrollable shaking. But then it occurred to me how polite and gentlemanly this creature was. That said, when I looked up again I could now see his naked body. So covered in soot and grime he was, I could hardly tell at first that he was even human!

  Vile was not terribly deformed, disfigured, nor even grotesque, like the stories that had been told about him, only a slight hunch to the left side of his back which curved him slightly to one side. Otherwise he was quite wiry, very tall, and rather muscular. He wore no undergarments and his now-exposed penis was long, thin, and to my astonishment, circumcised, like that of a Christian! No, this was certainly no beast at all.

  He wore a leather harness that crossed his chest and stomach; plus a metal ring located at the center to hold the straps together. The straps continued wrapping around his hips then under and through his crotch. A second ring was located over his scrotum so that his penis and testicles poked through it.

  On his head was a leather hood with eye slits to see through, which came down just past the tip of his nose. When his mouth was open, I could see his teeth and nothing else. I sat on the bed and warmed myself by pulling the robe around me, grasping it with bound hands about my neck. The woolen robe was old and had now turned into a dingy dark gray from years of soot collecting on it in the dungeon. It also smelled wet and musty from years of being worn by a naked man inside a dark cave! But it was well-made; and obviously by someone like me, who knew the craft.

  No, this was certainly not an Ogre—not a creature either. This was indeed a very tall and incredibly dirty, full grown man.

  Chapter 3

  Alone with Vile

  Vile went over and made a big fire inside a brick oven fireplace that had a chimney pipe extending into the ceiling of the cave. This perhaps explained how people said they could often hear screams coming from the earth below. In fact it seemed every sound he made reverberated into a bizarre distortion of itself. As these sounds wound through that long pipe to the surface, anyone up there in Camelot would have heard a symphony of disturbing noises.

  It also explained how prisoners were believed to have been transformed into demons or had their souls removed from them. Sounds coming from below would have been altered dramatically. The pathetic pleas and terrified screams would likely seem barely human and quite horrifying to a listener above.

  Vile began heating up a pot of water; and as the fire began to warm the room, he started to cut up vegetab
les and make a soup! Of course I must say when he first pulled out a large cauldron and a sharp knife I thought for a moment he might actually be going to cook me for dinner. But instead, he put some smoked ham hocks into the pot of water with the vegetables…causing the whole chamber to eventually smell like delicious stew. Apparently, I was not going to be on the menu, but instead sharing it.

  So, was he going to torture me and then have dinner? I sat and warmed myself while wondering as to my fate. Meanwhile, he went and got some old bread and after a while, the room turned rather warm and cozy. Yet despite my apprehensions, soon enough Vile was setting a table for the two for us to have dinner together! I had a place set for me and Vile was serving us a tasty porridge made with leeks, carrots, potatoes, celery, parsley, thyme, sage, and smoked pork. There was even a platter served with day-old bread to use in dipping into the hearty soup; along with two earthenware bowls he’d clearly brought from his own home. They certainly didn’t look like he’d made them down here in the dungeon. Likely no castle servant had made them either.

  A while later, with dinner prepared and two steaming bowls of soup sitting on the table, Vile finally came over to me and gently unlocked my shackles so that I could stand up and come to the table for dinner. I was gradually calming down and warming up. Theorizing that the kindly old wizard Merlin had given me to this person as a gift, not to torture, kill, eat or abuse, I slowly came to believe that I was sent to this man as a companion to live with him, in his dungeon!

  What’s more, this hooded fellow—who quite frankly had a rather nice body from the neck down I must say—was making dinner for his new plaything. This was my first glimmer of hope that I might survive the night. I resolved right then and there that I would try and fully satisfy him—whenever he finally decided that he wanted me that is—all his lusts and desires. I’d beg him to make love to me repeatedly if that’s what he liked; and please him in every way possible so to preserve my own life. If this was indeed to be my home after all—and if this man had absolute control of my fate—I’d best comply. Maybe he’d set me free someday, if I succeeded in pleasing him!

  Then again, who could tell what tomorrow might bring? What if I wasn’t a gift to him from Merlin? What if Merlin was merely protecting Arthur by getting rid of me? Maybe this person really was a cruel brutish man who intended to harm me! Maybe he’d kill me before morning. Maybe he’d lose interest and murder me a month or even a year from now. I just didn’t know. All I knew was that I was alive for the time being.

  Vile very politely gestured to me to go sit at the table and join him for dinner. Still he spoke no words; simply beckoned me to come eat with him. No argument there. I hopped up and went over to the table to sit down for dinner. It was tasty and filling. I was famished from languishing in my room while awaiting my trial, then being stuck in that awful town pillory all night without a thing to eat. I sopped up the broth with chunks of stale bread and cooed with delight at how flavorful the food was. Vile, who had sat patiently and waited while I took my first bite to see if I liked it, then grunted softly when he saw me devouring his culinary creation.

  Clearly pleased with himself, Vile smiled underneath the lower edge of his mask and began to eat as well, snorting, nodding, and grunting approval at seeing me wolfing down the soup he’d made. In a little while, I’d finished the whole bowl. He served me a second without me even asking, and politely cut up some more bread for me. I couldn’t finish the second bowl; instead leaned back relaxing when I simply could not muster another bite. I patted my tummy and made sounds of contentment, smiling at my captor. He was looking back at me through the slits of his leather hood.

  Full of scrumptious food, I could finally ponder my situation while I watched my captor still eating his soup. I could now look at what my life had led me to. What would have been God’s judgment regarding me thus far in my directionless existence? What was I really? And who was I for that matter? A seamstress? A peasant? A handmaiden? No. I was an adulteress…a temptress. Yes that’s what I’d become. And yet was I irredeemably evil for the things I’d done, and therefore facing ultimate punishment for my sins? Was I being given another chance, or was I being damned to suffer pain and torment down here in this cave for the remainder of my pathetic life—however much longer that might be?

  Hadn’t my life begun with such hope and meaning? Did it all go wrong somewhere without me trying hard enough to prevent it? Did I need to be taught a lesson finally, or was God through with me now? Thrown away by the world, was I being discarded and relegated to the depths of the earth to be the eventual victim of the infamous Creature of the Dungeon? These thoughts tortured my mind while I watched my sooty captor finish off yet a second bowl of porridge; broth slurped from a large spoon and dripping down his greasy but masculine chin.

  Wasn’t I someone who showed promise once, only to be corrupted by lust and selfish human needs? Once a respected handmaiden to the Princess Morgana, only to fall from grace due to temptations of the flesh? Or was I merely that naughty peasant girl who spread my affections far too freely in my youth, like chaff to the wind, and surrendered my virtue all too willingly?

  It began to depress me as I watched him eat; and surely for a time I forgot about my current predicament. However I eventually realized I had to push these sad thoughts from my mind and focus on my own survival, if that was indeed even possible anymore.

  After dinner, I hesitated on just how to talk to him; but decided if he was truly slow-minded, perhaps I could still communicate with him using gestures…and maybe he understood English, too. I said ever so slowly and deliberately, “Thank you…so very much, Vile. You’re a won-der-ful cook. I really enjoyed it. And I’m dee-ply grateful to you…and Merlin…for saving me.” Vile said nothing. Instead he stood and picked up the bowls, cleared off the remaining dishes, and returned to sit with me at the table.

  He looked at me for a very, very long time; and it gradually became unnerving the longer he sat there. As I searched for something to say I could see his eyes peering out at me through his hood. He was no longer looking me up and down though. For a moment I worried he was deciding precisely how he was going to torture me. It scared me, thinking about that, I must say! After all, we were still in a castle dungeon, and no doubt somewhere nearby us was a torture chamber. So I figured I’d better come up with something else to talk about. His eyes only seemed to stare blankly into mine, so in desperation I opened up the robe I was wearing and let it slip over my shoulders, revealing my cleavage. I also no longer bothered speaking slowly. By now I could tell he understood English just fine. I could see it in his eyes.

  I deduced that if he was after all, just a man like most any other man; then maybe a more basic approach was in order. Maybe I could change his mind about hurting me, in other words. I said mischievously, “My-my…it’s really warmed up in here, Vile. Almost cozy.” Then I giggled. Again, he said nothing. He only stared. And breathed.

  For a long while we sat, both silent. I searched his eyes looking for a reaction; and he sat there studying me as well. So I finally said, “I kind of like it here with thee.” He only stared. No reaction still. Then I peeled the robe down to my waist. My breasts were exposed now. I said, in a sultry voice, “I’ll uh, confess…if thou wishes me to.” Then I smiled mischievously. No reaction to this either.

  Meanwhile, the fire was dying down now, and I felt a draft again from the caverns outside our room. The seduction routine clearly wasn’t working, so I re-bundled myself in the robe, pulling it up over my shoulders. But then another thought occurred to me. The robe? Who’d made it? Maybe he’d react to that! And what of the bowls? They were clearly brought from a home somewhere. Someone had once taught him to cook. He even bothered to have a bed to sleep in. Maybe he’d once had a wife, and even if he never had a wife, he’d certainly had a mother once upon a time.

  In a kind, soft voice I said, “And uh, many thanks for letting me use the robe. This was very well made—by a person who really knows how to knit,
I can tell. It’s beautiful…I’ve never seen its equal.” I saw him smile proudly and after a few moments his eyes seemed to be glistening through the slits in his hood. Success! I’d found something that struck a chord with him! My mind raced for something else to say. His smile continued, and his eyes began to look me up and down once more.

  Sensing progress, I went on. “Myself, I love to knit even in my spare time; and I’m fairly good really. But Vile, whoever made this, she wast truly an artist.” And suddenly, in rather clear English that completely shocked me, Vile finally spoke. His voice was raspy at first from lack of regular use, but his English was clearly that of a regular everyday person you might meet anywhere in Cornwall. He was certainly not slow-minded after all.

  He growled, “Yes…she was. My wife,” cough “made it for me years ago.” Then, he bowed his head and carefully untied his hood from the back, gently removing it! This took a while. I braced myself for the unveiling. What would he look like? My heart raced with excitement!

  Soon sitting before me was a surprisingly attractive, slightly older man, about mid-thirties, with a shaved head and dark circles around his eyes from the soot in the cave. He was quite ruggedly handsome like the Captain of the Guard. But he also had a kindly, almost humorous face that smiled sadly back at me. After several moments, he once again had to clear his throat but said, “My name,” cough “is actually Alguin. My wife Allora made it for me years ago.” His smile brightened from merely saying her name. Then he got a very dark, sad expression. Clearly, by the look in his pained watering eyes, she was no longer with him.

  Without even hesitating—without even thinking about it really—reacting to my instincts to comfort another human being who was clearly still suffering with grief—I slid toward him and put my arm around his bicep, then patted his forearm sweetly. He flinched a bit, as I moved toward him, but then relaxed and sighed. I said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Thou must miss her terribly, and here I am acting this way. Shame be upon me.” Then with my other hand I pulled the robe tight around my neck and rested my head on his shoulder, kissing his bare skin and embracing his arm tightly. He didn’t move at first, then ever so slightly he reached up with his other hand and patted mine.