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leave her. Her body had betrayed her in that disturbing incident; her reason tossed aside as so much wasted dust. She could ignore that moment as a clutter of senseless feelings and images, which converging on her all at once, played havoc with her sanity. Such an explanation seemed sound enough; but then, she knew it simply wasn’t true.
     
    Late one evening, when Slave Charlotte thought herself bedded for the night, Caius came to her cell, unlocking the door and pulling her into a corridor, which led to the dungeon stairs. It had been nearly a month since she’d surfaced in the common world. So used to her dim subterranean home, the brightly torch-lit halls of Mountbane’s castle assaulted her eyes, nearly blinding her sight until she could adjust to the glare. She was made to crawl on her hands and knees, led along by a leash, tugged when she was prone to hesitate. Where she’d become accustomed to the naked world of Caius’ dungeon, her swift and unexpected appearance in this presumably more civil climate renewed her embarrassment.
    Her shame became more real than ever, when she was forced into a dining hall filled with drunken revelers. Mountbane sat at the center of a circular table, flanked on either side by fondling slaves. Dressed as whores—in the fashion of the times—their sprite looking costumes left little for the hungering eyes of a lust-driven man to imagine. Each wore a halter of such flimsy cloth that their breasts spilled freely, leaving naked nipples popping out with every move. Next to Mountbane’s face, this Lord of Ilusia had only to turn his head in order to suckle at one pert nipple or another. In the space of Charlotte’s first shocking sixty seconds in the brothel atmosphere, her would-be husband turned one of his slave tarts over his lap; and where her skirt was cut apart, he bared her fat behind and spanked it red, while the laughing beauty giggled and tittered through the raunchy circus. She was immediately pressed into service at her master’s crotch. Pushed to her knees, she buried his prick inside her mouth, suckling it as avidly as he’d sucked her tits. Meanwhile, the master’s second whore coiled her way about his face with hands and mouth as he reached inside her skirt and played with the wet snatch at the apex of her thighs. The scenes on either side of Mountbane reflected the master’s licentious activity. Slave/whores, gentlemen and dapper aristocrats were almost screwing on the tables. One randy cunt was impaled by Sir Ellemore’s fat purple prick as the old gent clutched her disheveled hair in his fist, and rode her like a horse. She bellowed almost as obnoxiously as a fucked animal, though the sound only made sense in the brawling theatre of lecherous pleasure.
    Charlotte had only seconds to appraise the rude affair before she was lifted to a standing rack, her manacled limbs tied to the four corners so she was spread wide in the shape of an X, forced to face the rowdy entertainment. To pretend she wasn’t there, she closed her eyes, thinking this her best defense against her defenseless plight. And yet, her small moment of comfort was quickly dashed as the sound of Mountbane’s voice rose above the mirth.
    The bound young woman opened her eyes to see her husband’s sneer, and then a false face of concern as he withdrew from his harlots, rose to his feet, and sauntered around the table to where Charlotte hung bound.
    “My, my, my, what have we here?” he stared in her eyes to gloat, then turned to his friends, “I would have preferred to present my bride in the usual manner, kind sirs, but it seems that she wishes to take a more circuitous route to surrender. I thought we might help her this evening.” Turning back, he nestled the key inside the lock of her chastity belt and freed her of the device—an act so rare now, she felt more naked than ever without the restraint.
    His inebriated company began to shout their tributes.
    “Why, Lord, you’ve made her