The Fall of Lady Westwood Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  About This Book

  Also By Trent Evans

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Excerpt

  Other Books by Trent Evans

  From The Author

  The Fall of Lady Westwood

  (The Chronicles of Muurland — Book #1)

  Trent Evans

  About This Book

  Decades of prosperity have left the realms of man happy, healthy ... and complacent. Bounty, fertility, and a bright future lay ahead for all, or so it would seem. For during these happy times, the enemies of men have planned, and gathered — and waited. All across the land, complacency, arrogance, and decadence have left the world of man vulnerable, weak, ripe for the taking.

  For decades the nocturne have bided their time, bolstered their numbers, and sown the seeds of man's downfall. Now the time has come to crush the armies of men, for wiping human civilization from the earth, and enslaving her peoples.

  Caught in a terrifying series of events, one family, torn asunder by the whims of a jaded, cruel noblewoman, seeks to be reunited. Two young spirits long to taste that first sweetness of lust. And a father's love for his daughter drives him to the unthinkable.

  Evil has come to the realms of men ― and only the power of love has the chance to save it.

  Publisher's Warning: Intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!

  This novel features the following themes: explicit BDSM sexuality, including MF, MFM, FF, pony play, vampirism, and graphic violence.

  40595 words (144 pages).

  * * * *

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  Also by Trent Evans

  (Published by Tritium Press)

  A Message of Love

  Maintenance Night

  What She’s Looking For

  Dominion Trust Series

  Night Beach

  Her Troika — The Complete Story(Parts I — V)

  Cover Design by Rachel A Olson (http://nosweatgraphics.weebly.com/)

  This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  The book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.

  For mature readers only.

  Copyright © 2012 by Trent Evans

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  Westwood Manor

  Ryndra’s world was her Mistress’ pussy. Kneeling under the table, the lace tablecloth against her blonde hair, she lapped at the dripping slit before her. The Mistress’ trim thighs surrounded her on both sides, and in the quiet dark between those thighs all Ryndra could see, feel and smell was her Mistress’ sex. Conversation was taking place above her, in a world wholly separate from her own. Down there the only communication for her were the sharp pinches from Mistress’ fingers, a hand entwined in her hair, urging her tongue to greater efforts, deeper penetration.

  “Gods, I can hear her lapping like a dog under there, Miriam.” The voice of her Lord was relaxed, full of mirth.

  “Quiet down, girl,” the Mistress said, her voice thick.

  Ryndra cringed at the bite in her tone, fearing what it might lead to. A displeased Mistress meant more pain, more humiliation for her. She thrust her tongue deeper, her lips numb against the wiry pubic hair of the plump outer labia.

  Her Mistress sighed, patting Ryndra on the back of the head. Pleased.

  Thank the Gods.

  “What’s she doing down there anyway? Lawrence has already selected her. She should be readying for the journey.”

  Ryndra felt delicate fingers comb through her hair, the long nails making her scalp tingle.

  “You men had to take my favorite scullery maid. I’m not letting her go one minute before I have to.”

  “Not exactly scullery duties you’ve got her performing, Miriam.” A booted foot stroked Ryndra’s hip, and she resisted leaning into it. She really did like her Lord. Even though he could swing a stout cane (and Ryndra had been subject to it more than once), she never found him callous or cruel. And his aftercare following a sound whipping was almost worth the pain. He was a stark contrast to the sadistic Mistress, whose cunt she now found herself sounding with an increasingly tired tongue.

  Just let me lick it and get it over with. Please.

  But it was never that easy. The Mistress’ swollen clit, protruding from its hood taunted her. It was the key to temporarily ending Ryndra’s ordeal, and it was a mere breath from her lips and tongue.

  It might as well have been a thousand miles away.

  Her Mistress held out as was her pleasure, prolonging her enjoyment of Ryndra’s oral skills.

  “I intend to enjoy her while I still have the chance, Andrus. Three months is too long to be without her skills.”

  Ryndra could hear the smile in her Lord’s deep voice. “What about your stout-bottomed girl from the auctions? Tani, was it?”

  “She’s been transferred to the fields. Escott says her strong hindquarters are wasted here in the house.”

  “Pity, that. I enjoyed seeing that big bottom of hers spread out for the cane.”

  “Lucien showed me a few of the things he’s been doing with his fillies. I really wish you’d have come to the stables during our last visit, love.”

  Silverware clinked on the dishes above. Ryndra watched slippered feet pace quickly alongside the table. Another of the maids serving breakfast in Ryndra’s stead.

  “Farrier had much to discuss, as usual. He was just grateful that Lucien was there to distract you from the terrible boredom of things like politics or even ruling. I think you’re obsessed with Lucien’s methods, Miriam. It’s unhealthy.”

  Her Mistress laughed, and used a tight grip on Ryndra’s hair to press her face harder against her sex.

  Ryndra shivered, even as she tried to keep her tongue working between the folds. Being sent to the fields made service in the household seem like a pleasant vacation. She pitied poor Tani.

  “Yes, well —” Miriam drew in a breath as Ryndra sucked the inner labia into her mouth.”—I‘ll have to see about replacing either her or our little Ryndra here since you’re so cruelly depriving me of her.”

  Her Lord grunted. “There is another auction in Wyndhaven in three weeks time. Plus there are the weekly judicial sentences in Steerton. Surely, some disobedient lass or rebellious wife has found herself in Magistrate Riordan’s dock?”

  The Mistress’ firm grip in Ryndra’s hair twisted slightly. Pain seared her scalp, and she planted her lips against the Mistress’ soft wetness to muffle her yelp.

  “That won’t do, Andrus. The judicial sentences are at most six weeks. I’m not interested in seeing a girl taken from me just as I get her training up to satisfactory levels.”

  “What then, my dear?”

  Ryndra watched the Mistress’ finger point at the swollen clit. Ryndra attacked the hard nodule with her tongue, hope stealing into her heart that this ordeal at least, was close to the end.

  Her Mistress hissed, bucking her sex repeatedly against Ryndra’s tongue. She took a tight grip of Ryndra’s long hair once more and rubbed her face all over the drenched flesh of her cunt. Ryndra’s hands fluttered in their b
ounds at the small of her back. She hated being bound that way when servicing her demanding Mistress. It was as if the sadistic woman was using Ryndra’s face to masturbate her cunt.

  Finally, with a long, breathy moan, the Mistress came, soaking Ryndra’s lips and tongue with her juices. The Mistress kept Ryndra’s face pressed against her sex for several long moments, her nose painfully mashed against the hard pubic bone. She inhaled heavily, the spicy scent of her Mistress’ pussy permeating everything. She knew she’d go to sleep in her miserable bunk that night with the smell of her Mistress’ juices on her lips and cheeks; she was typically forbidden from washing her Mistress’ exudations from her face following a servicing.

  The Mistress pushed her away, covering her sex with her dress. The fingers snapped, and Ryndra crawled out from under the table to kneel next to the woman’s chair. A finger lifted her chin, and she looked up into the glittering eyes of her tormentor.

  “I’ll miss you, little girl. Serve your Captain and your Lord well.”

  Ryndra was dismissed with a push against her cheek. She tried to ignore her nakedness as she rose from her knees, her gaze on the floor. She had to get out of the room. Safety lay in being away from the cruel woman as soon as possible. But it was not be. The Lord’s voice stopped her just as she made it to the doorway leading to the kitchens.

  “Wait there, girl.” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

  She froze, not sure if she was to turn around. She stayed where she was, the feel of their assessing regard of her naked buttocks less mortifying than having to turn her bare sex to them.

  “So, what will you do my dear Miriam?”

  Ryndra felt goose-flesh rise on her arms. An edge had crept into her Lord’s voice, something she’d rarely ever heard.

  “I’ve a few ideas. It’s not important — I’ll manage.”

  “Tell me.”

  Ryndra felt like a toy that had been left in the middle of a floor, waiting for someone to trip over it. She wanted to flee the room more than anything, but training — and fear — kept her planted to her spot.

  Don’t move and perhaps you’ll be dismissed. Please.

  “Come here, girl.” Her heart sank, but she dutifully responded, moving to stand next to her Lord’s chair. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering a moment on the dark blonde curls between her thighs. She felt the humiliating blush spread across her chest and neck.

  “Leave him alone, Miriam. I’m warning you.”

  Her Mistress, color showing in her cheeks, glared at Lord Andrus. “What are you talking about? Leave whom alone?

  Her Lord’s hand clasped Ryndra’s hip, startling her. “You know who I speak of. Don’t defy me in this, Miriam.”

  The Mistress looked away, peevishly picking at a cloth napkin. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrus. I’ve no such plans.”

  “What are you hiding? What happened that makes you shy away from this? From me?”

  The Mistress slid her chair back, and stood up.

  “Sit down.” Her Lord’s voice was deceptively quiet. His hand gripped her hip tighter, his thumb rubbing small circles on her buttock.

  The Mistress flashed a cold look at the Lord, and returned to her seat, her cheeks coloring further.

  Andrus leaned forward, laying a hand on the table. “When I return, we’re going to sort this out. I will not have my own wife keeping confidences from me. Not ever.”

  Ryndra never heard a response, for her Lord, his hand clamped to her upper arm, led her briskly from the room.

  * * *

  Andrus leaned back against the oak headboard of his bed, his arms outstretched to either side. The enchanting scullery maid, Ryndra, her hands still bound behind her, knelt on the bed between his spread legs. He approved of Captain Lawrence’s choice of companion for their upcoming journey to the Frontier. The blonde girl was pretty, attractively proportioned, and seemed eager to please. More, she seemed to genuinely like him, rather than viewing her service as a trial. It mattered not, really, but he was not one to derive a sexual thrill in forcing the unwilling. Unlike his wife.

  The girl knelt, gazing at the thick cock that rose up from the dense nest of his pubic hair. The broad head bobbed with his pulse, the slit glistening. He pulled the paddle off of the wall from above the headboard, and set it on the mattress. He watched Ryndra’s nervous eyes follow it.

  “I think a nice paddling would suit here, don’t you?”

  Ryndra’s azure eyes shifted up to his, and she swallowed. “If it pleases you, Sir.”

  He smiled at her, and touched her cheek. “Since we have a long journey ahead of us, we may as well get better acquainted don’t you agree?”

  She nodded, the color rising in her cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

  “So I’ll give you choice then, girl.” He shifted a bit, his heavy cock swaying. “We can warm that bottom for you now, or we can warm it … after.” He nodded toward his erection.

  Her eyes darted down then up to his again. He relished that look of uncertainty. While he didn’t like forcing girls, he took great joy in exerting his control over them. Some might call that a distinction without a difference, but to him it made all the difference in the world. No man was in a position to question his tastes, regardless.

  She closed her eyes a moment, and with great pleasure he watched her nipples peak. He was glad he’d chosen to leave her hands bound behind her, for it afforded him an unimpeded view of her lovely breasts.

  “Well, what is it to be, sweet girl?”

  She licked her lips. “I would like it n-now, Sir.”

  He grinned at her, and she dropped her gaze. ”Turn around then. Let’s see that bottom of yours.”

  He waited while she moved into position, her buttocks turned toward him. She was blessed with a nice round bottom, and his cock ached to be inside her. “Further over, girl. Put those tits on the bed.”

  Crouching tightly over, her lovely buttocks yawned open. The plump purse of her pussy, the prominent lips covered in a fine down, pouted below the dainty rose hole exposed to his gaze. He played a fingertip against the delicate flesh of her rosette, and her buttocks twitched. His hand roved over her fine curves, squeezing a buttock, pinching the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

  “You have a fine bottom, girl.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was faint, tremulous.

  His hand cupped the heat of her sex in his palm, and she exhaled a ragged breath.

  “So pretty.” He gently tugged on her pubic hair, rubbing the silky curls between his fingers. “Are you virgin, my dear?”

  “N-no, Sir.”

  He chuckled. “No? Have you a young man back home? Waiting on you, pining for you?”

  She sighed as he slipped a thick finger into her sex, testing the depths.

  “I have no one, Sir.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  “Shh, don’t fret, dove.” His hand roved up her back and he clasped the nape of her neck in his palm, stroking her like a fractious animal. He withdrew his glistening finger, wiping a sheen of moisture across a broad buttock.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just … ”

  “What is it? Tell me.” His finger slowly traced the bumps of her spine, gooseflesh rising at the sensation.

  “I miss it, sometimes. Them. I miss home.”

  “I know, it must be difficult,” he said, his tone soft. “You’ll see home again soon enough though. You’ll be much improved from your service at House Westwood.”

  Though he tried to comfort her, he did relish the power he had over the women. Though termed ‘servants’, they were in practice little different than the branded and pierced slaves his wife occasionally brought home from the flesh markets of Wyndhaven.

  He picked up the paddle, stroking the leather over her flesh.

  She peeked a nervous glance back at him.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong my girl, so you needn’t worry. I’m very proud of you. You were very good for your demanding Mistress. I simply feel like paddling y
ou.”

  Her bound hands twisted, perched atop her back. Her buttocks cringed as he raised the leather.

  CRACK

  Her flesh shivered at the stroke, a bright blotch deepening quickly. He laid the next strike along the outside of her buttock, almost around the hip. She yelped as the flexible leather bit.

  “Do you need a gag?”

  She shook her head. ”No, Sir.”

  “Then try to keep quiet, girl.”

  The blows cracked down at a leisurely pace, the girl’s flesh quickly blushing a deeper and deeper pink. When her cheeks flushed a pleasing shade, he paused to feel the heat radiating off of punished skin. The girl wept softly as he lay the cool of the back of his hand against her burning bottom.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, once again thankful Captain Lawrence’s eye for assessing female flesh was so keen. He took up the leather paddle once more, tapping the crease between buttock and thigh. She tensed, inhaling sharply.

  The paddling began anew, the pace slower, letting her feel the full effect of each stroke. But rather than enjoying the sound of her cries, and the shiver of her flesh at each impact, his thoughts wandered. The paddle he was using to punish the impudent cheeks of the lovely maid, was the same one his Miriam used to bring to him. She would lay it on the sheets, and fold herself over the side of the bed, her gorgeous bottom waving in the air. Her paddlings had never lasted long though, his urge to fuck the bewitching woman undoing him all too soon. It had been too long since those days, and he wanted them back again.

  He finished with a flurry of hard strokes, the girl crying out at each crack of leather on tormented flesh. Her bottom glowed a fiery red, blotched here and there with darker purpling marks.

  Finally staying his arm, he dropped the paddle to the sheets. He rose to his knees beside her, his jutting cock rubbing against her trembling thigh. With a gentle hand he caressed the heated flesh of the girl’s buttocks. She hissed and whimpered as his fingers traced the swelling welts.