The Dungeon Master
by
John Savage
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 John Savage
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter I
A Mistake
Kathryn DeFlor was a beautiful woman. Even more so when she was screaming in pain; the agony etched upon every line of her face, every muscle in her body tense, and pain-sweat glistening upon her naked body.
King Edward Roman Pentdross, His Most Imperial Majesty, King of all Viland, Emperor of the Realm, and Ruler of the High Seas, etc. was enjoying his favorite prisoner as she suffered.
The whip being used upon this lovely young lady was really a gentle and kindly piece of braided leather with no metal tip that would rip the flesh and scar her for life – or worse. It delivered a powerful sting, a sharp pain to the impacted area, but did little damage beyond raising the flesh into a ridge of swollen red skin that burned after the initial agony of the blow. Against the soft flesh of that bare ass, it would pain her and make it difficult for her to sit down for a few days – but nothing more. Still, she screamed each time the lash made contact with her skin; screamed and jerked within her bonds.
The King had ordered her strung up in a vertical spread-eagle, her arms and legs pulled tightly apart to the four corners of the wooden frame. She was naked, of course. Her arms had been spread and bound to the upper corners, then her ankles looped and pulled apart to the lower corners, an act which had two purposes. First, it lifted her feet from the floor so that she was suspended. Secondly, it forced her legs wide apart and exposed her most private place to all – including the whip, although it had yet to strike her in that most sensitive area.
The King, seated upon the velvet covered mini-throne installed in the dungeon so that the Royal Ass would be comfortable while he watched the torture of lovely young women in comfort. It had been several days since he last had Kathryn tortured and the old whipmarks had mostly faded away. Time for a fresh batch.
Under the Royal robes, the King clutched his erect penis in one Royal Hand as the raven-haired beauty suffered for his enjoyment. The Master of the Dungeon, one Guntfried Stupp, stood to one side and smiled. He knew very well from the look upon his monarch’s face that he was enjoying the show. This knowledge made him happy. The King was such a hard fellow to please. If he did not find the presentation sufficiently satisfying, the presenter, Guntfried himself, would suffer. This was not to be desired.
Swish! Smack! The whip once again kissed those rounded globes already covered with a crosshatched pattern of weals. The King moaned, but it was not with empathic sympathy, it was because he was approaching the climax of the show.
With his free hand, the King summoned the maid who was kneeling beside his mini-throne. Obediently, she lifted the Royal robes and crawled under them. Her hands and mouth found the Royal Prick and began servicing it with all her skill and enthusiasm. If she failed in her part of the presentation, it could well be she who was next whipped. That had happened before, and probably would again. So she worked with vigor at her task.
The Royal Hand waved to the torturer, and the tempo of the lashing picked up. Kathryn’s screams became almost continuous as her body jerked in mid-air, those lovely, big breasts bouncing delightfully.
The King’s eyes became glassy and Guntfried knew that the show was a success. The King sighed as the young maid under his robe sucked strongly and swallowed every bit of the Royal Cum. Then his eyes closed and a contented look came over his face. Guntfried motioned for his assistant to cease the whipping. Even though this was one of the milder whips, it was still better not to inflict too much damage. This woman was the King’s favorite and he did so enjoy watching her being tortured. The fact that she was the wife of one of the most powerful Dukes in the Kingdom, and a sworn enemy of the King, made his enjoyment of her suffering all the more intense.
A Royal kick in the side told the maid it was time to crawl back out and assume her position kneeling beside the throne. The King rose and regally strode across the dungeon, followed by his personal servant, William, and the maid with the sour look upon her face. She never did enjoy having to swallow; it seemed gross to her. But when the King commands…
The black leather whip was wiped clean and put away, ready for its next use. Kathryn, limp in her bonds and whimpering, was left hanging for the moment. Guntfried walked around her naked body, enjoying the view and examining the vivid pattern of welts covering all of her ass. It made his prick hard to look upon. She was a lovely woman, barely out of her teens and with a body that would raise a hard-on on a corpse.
Looking in the direction that King’s party had gone and finding no sign of them, Guntfried positioned himself before the hanging woman and lowered his leather pants down to his knees. The rod that sprang forth was fully ready to impale anything remotely female, but especially the finest piece of ass that had come into the dungeons in a long, long time.
So, of course, he did not turn down the opportunity presented him. Positioning himself before her, and guiding his rod to the entrance of her pussy, he shoved upward and impaled her quite nicely. She moaned but did not open her eyes. This was not the first time he had ravished her body, and he devoutly hoped it would not be the last.
As he pumped away in that youthfully tight vagina, he was amused to think that the middle-aged Duke of Winston would take as his bride such a young thing. That dirty old man! Still, he was glad the King had arranged to have the woman kidnapped and brought to his dungeon. He wondered if the Duke really knew what had happened to his bride of only four weeks. Then he stopped wondering as he neared the climax of his own.
That task accomplished in good order, Guntfried withdrew and pulled up his pants. As he was turning to Adolf, his assistant, about to tell him to take the woman down and return her to her cell, he noticed something. She was not breathing. Quickly he felt for a pulse and found nothing. It was then that he remembered vaguely she had cried out during the screwing. He had assumed it was with the pleasure that his massive male rod was giving her - or perhaps the way he was grabbing and squeezing her welt-covered ass. But perhaps it was some other kind of pain…?
A few more tests and he was certain that the woman was beyond help. What a terrible waste, he thought. She was such a nice, tight pussy and a great screw. Then it struck him like a blow from a mace. What was the King going to say? Even worse, what was the King going to do? King Eddie was famous for his short temper and harsh punishments. Guntfried felt a cold, sinking feeling in his guts.
* * * * *
“What!” screamed His Royal Highness.
Guntfried explained, as carefully as he could, how Kathryn DeFor had expired during the whipping. “Perhaps the pain was too great. Maybe she had a weak heart,” he offered lamely. It was probably true, but that would make little difference to the King.
“Off with his head!” screamed the King, very, very upset at the loss of his favorite whipping girl.
As the guards dragged away Guntfried, the poor, sort of innocent man was pleading. “Please! It was not my fault! She….” His protest faded away down the corridor.
The King was in a miserable mood the rest of the day. He threw his pheasant under glass across the dining hall table and kicked out at anyone who came too close to him. Wisely, his Chief Advisor, Lord Bartholomew Cranston, Bart to his friends, cancelled the audiences scheduled for that afternoon lest the King take out his anger on the petitioners.
The King had his dinner alone that night, but he was still unhappy and only ate half his roast duck, a most unusual occurrence since the King was also well noted for gluttony and ample girth.
After dinner, Bart approached His Royal Highness with a suggestion.
“You know your nephew Fredrick, Sire?”
“Of course I know the little twerp,” growled the King. “How my sister could ever have born such a foppish, idiot son, I will never know.”
“Well, Sire, I was thinking… Now that you need a new Master of the Dungeon…”
“Huh?”
“Make Fredrick your Master of the Dungeon. It will give him something to do besides chase all the maidens in the court. It would mean that he would be too busy most of the time to bother you. And…” Bart leaned closer to whisper, “if he should mess up, as Guntfried did… Why, then you could get rid of him permanently!”
“Ahhhh! I like that idea! Send for Fredrick immediately. What is the name of that strumpet he’s fooling around with currently?”
“Maria, your Highness.”
“Maria, yes. Well drag him out of her bed if you have to, but get him in here.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
* * * * *
At that very moment, the twenty-five year old, handsome and virile nephew of the King was, indeed, in the bed of the lovely Maria. In fact, he was engaged in the act of demonstrating a new sexual position he had found in a book loaned him by the Italian Ambassador, a book not usually found in the stalls of the booksellers.
“Now, you put your leg here,” he was saying, “While I do this.”
“Oh, like wow, that’s cool!”
“Yes, well wait until we get really going. Now, you arch your back. Good. Now I grab these… Good. We’re set for the serious part.”
“Oh, goodie! I like that part!”
Fredrick was working up a good head of steam when there came a crashing sound from the doorway and in marched four guards and the Chief Advisor. The five of them stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them.
“That’s not possible,” muttered the Chief Advisor, tilting his head sideways for a better view. “Is it?”
So engrossed in their activity were the two naked people, that they were unaware of the interruption and the men standing there.
“Drag him off her!” commanded Bart. “Or out of her… Or whatever.”
The guards obeyed, then dragged away the protesting Fredrick who had just enough time and sense to grab his pants as they passed them. They left a bewildered Maria in a high state of arousal and nothing to do about it save lean back and finger herself - which she did, while cursing men.
* * * * *
“Fredrick, I have wonderful news for you,” said the King.
“You’re going to let me go back and finish what I started?” he asked hopefully.
“Better than that!” the King informed.
“What could be… Oh, never mind. What did you want?”
“I have a court appointment for you. An important position that I’m sure you will enjoy.”
“I was enjoying the position I was in before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said, disgustedly.
“I am appointing you the Master of the Dungeon.”
“Huh?”
“That important position just became available,” the King went on. “I’m sure a man of your talents will have no trouble doing a good job of it.”
“Huh?”
“You report immediately to the dungeon. Adolf there will acquaint you with your duties.”
“What?”
“Now you make your sister and myself proud of you. Take the job to heart.”
“What if I don’t want the job?” Fredrick protested.
Ignoring the protests, the King went on, “Go on down there and get acquainted with the place. Tomorrow we’ll talk about getting the cells filled with… ah, suitable prisoners.”
Fredrick felt two strong hands clamp onto his arms. Looking, he found himself between two very huge guards, each with a serious look upon his cruel face. He was picked up by this Honor Guard and carried down to the dungeons.
Chapter II
Learning the ropes
Viland was a fair land, with gentle summers blessed with golden sunlight and soft breezes. The winters were not too harsh upon the population; only a small percentage froze to death when the snows came on the north winds to blanket the countryside in white. The reawakening land made spring a delightful time, and the bountiful harvests brightened the people’s lives even as autumn cooled the air.
For many years, Viland had not been forced to expend its resources and young men in defending its shores from foreign invaders, thought there were lands not far off which might someday again threaten this fair kingdom. Had it not been for the cruel nature of man himself, this might well have been a pleasant land in which to live. It was the nature of man to want more than he has, and the smaller dukedoms within the island Kingdom often vied with each other for a little more land, some resource or another, or simply the desire for power over others.
When there was no actual fighting among the dukes, there was political struggle and intrigue, some of that being as harsh and deadly as open warfare.
And then there was the petty nature of man with its greed, avarice, hatreds and sadism. King Edward was a fine example of much of the bad traits of the human species. He ruled with an iron fist, overtaxed the population, was cruelly harsh with his opponents, and perverted in his enjoyment of the suffering of others, especially fair, young females. But then, what good is it to be King if you can’t have a little fun?
Born of Royalty and a close relative of the King, Fredrick lived the good life. With no need to work for a living, he worked hard at enjoying life. The castle and court were filled with diversions aplenty for a young satyr such as himself; what with numerous maids, cousins, and, yes, even wives to occupy his time and talents.
“What the hell is he thinking?” muttered Fredrick as he descended the stone stairs to the below ground portion of the castle. He had never been down there, but had heard the stories of torture and mayhem inflicted on those unfortunate enough to be condemned to those chambers. He had also heard the stories of how much the King enjoyed watching tortures down there, but he had discounted them or ignored them as of no importance to himself.
“Master of the Dungeon, indeed! We’ll see about this!”
His two guards had allowed him to stop at his quarters and dress as befits a man of noble birth, and then they escorted him into the dank, dark world beneath the stone floors. As they proceeded, the flickering torches did little to push back the gloom and dampness.
At last they came to a room deep below the castle and lit by candles. Several doorways led off in three directions. To the immediate left was a room that obvious served as living quarters for someone, to judge by the unkempt bedding and assorted items of clothing tossed about. From a second doorway came a man. He was short, the top of his balding head barely coming to Fredrick’s shoulders. There was a slight limp to his walk and a scar running along the side of his face, turning a merely ugly man into something worse.
“Greetings,” the man bid Fredrick immediately. “I am Adolf Brant. I was the assistant to the prior Master of the Dungeon, Guntfried. Did you ever meet Guntfried?”
“I have not had the pleasure,” Fredrick uttered, noting the somewhat offensive body odor of this poorly dressed man.
“Well, no difference. I was told to expect you. I will, of course, assist you in learning your new job.”
Fredrick was not sure about this man’s smile. Was he honestly glad to see him or was it the smile of someone who knows something you do not?
“I suppose it will have to be,” Fredrick said. “But I do not intend to spend much time down here. Only what I have to; King’s orders, you know.”
“Yes, King’s orders. Let me show you around, Sire.”
Fredrick noted that his guards had fled. Considering the dampness and smell down there, it was no wonder. Fredrick would have fled also had he not be compelled to stay.
“This is where I live,” Adolf told him. “If you will come this way.” He picked up a lantern, lit it with a straw, and led his new boss through another doorway into a corridor that had several doors on each side. Each door was of solid oak bound with brass, and had a large metal lock. Adolf removed a ring of keys from the rope around his waist and unlocked the first door on the left. He pulled the door open and half the lantern high for Fredrick to see inside.
The cell was small, barely enough for a full-grown man to lie down. There was straw on the floor but it did not look fresh. Two iron rings were cemented into the wall, one near the ceiling, the other half way up the stone wall. There was a man in there. He appeared to be elderly and wore heavy iron shackles upon his wrists and ankles, and another collar around his neck. From that collar, a heavy chain led to the lower ring and was locked to it. The man looked up at the intruders with sad eyes. Hopelessness and despair were written into every line of his face.
“This prisoner,” Fredrick began, “he has been here for long?”
“Ten years, Sire.”
“And for what crime? Surely he must have done something terrible to deserve this.”
“He is King Edward’s father, the former king. Edward had him thrown in here when he usurped the throne from him.”
Fredrick was taken aback. The King’s father? Surely not!
But Adolf did not seem to be joking. He pulled shut the door and locked it again.
“I thought that King Robert the Kind had died in a battle against the Northern invaders?” Fredrick said as they moved on to the next cell. “At least, that was the story I remember.”
“That was the official story, Sire. But, as you can see, the truth is otherwise.”
He opened the next cell. Within was a young woman, apparently of peasant stock, with long brown hair and pleasing features although not of the same class of beauty of Court ladies he was used to. She was also shackled; at least, her ankles were enclosed in iron bands. Apparently her hands were tied behind her back to judge by the way she held her arms. She looked up eagerly when the door opened.
“Please…” she began.
“Silence,” said Adolf. He did not say it loudly but the young woman immediately fell silent.
Noting the thin and torn short smock she wore, and the fairly nice figure it more showed than hid, he asked of Adolf, “What was her crime?”
Adolf shrugged his shoulders. “None that I know of. Samatha was brought here and I locked her up. The King played with her once, but then Lady Kathryn came and he paid attention only to her.”
“The only Lady Kathryn I know recently married the Duke of Winston. Surely you cannot be talking about her.”
“Surely I am, Sire.” Adolf turned so he was looking Fredrick in the eyes. “A lot goes on down here that people above do not know about. Most of the prisoners I have gotten here were young females, most of whom loudly protested their innocence. I suspect most of them were innocent of any crimes. The King, you see, likes to have a supply of female prisoners that he put to the question.”
“Put to the question?”
“An old term, Sire. It means to torture the prisoner until he or she confesses.”
“But if they are innocent…?”
“Yes, Sire.” He closed and locked the door.
“That is all the prisoners I have right now. I expect that there will be more soon. The King likes to have a variety to chose from.”
“This is… Well, not what I expected.”
“That is probably true, Sire. Now if you will come this way, I will show you the torture chamber itself.”
The torture chamber was actually several rooms in a cluster and open to each other. The main room was a good twenty by twenty feet while the side chambers were smaller. There was a wooden framework standing before a chair covered in red velvet and elevated above the floor.
“That’s the King’s seat. He likes to get a good view of the proceedings.”
To the left was a sold iron chair that looked heavy enough to present a problem for one man to pick up. To the right was a pillory. Beside it were a couple braziers, loaded with wood and charcoal but not burning.
“We can move this wooden frame to the side and bring the chair or pillory to be in front of the throne,” Adolf informed. “But some of the equipment cannot be moved so easily. In here,” he pointed to a side chamber that Fredrick could barely see in the lantern light, “is the dunking tank. The prisoner is hung upside down by the feet and dunked into that tank filled with water. Over there are the whipping posts.” He pointed to two solid looking wooden posts set into holes in the stone floor. “And there is the rack. That last room has the portable devices; such as the thumbscrews and leg crushers and branding irons and such. Also our collection of ropes and chains and shackles.”
“A fully equipped torture chamber,” Fredrick said.
Adolf, missing the sarcasm totally, simply replied, “Yes, Sire.”
“And what, exactly, is my job here?”
Adolf again turned to look straight at him. “Well, Sire, you have to make sure that the prisoners are fed and kept alive. When word comes down that the King wishes a show, you are to pick the female prisoner and set up the show. Let me tell you, Sire, it is not easy to please the King. You have to show the woman in real pain. Oh, yes, Sire, he wants to see real agony in her eyes. But nothing too gory. Like, you know, ripping an arm out of its socket or cutting off fingers. The King, he wants pain but don’t like too much blood.”
“And I am supposed to create these shows?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“I assume you will help me. This is not something I am used to.” Fredrick felt his knees weaken.
“I will try, Sire. But I am just a simple assistant. Not much brains at all, Sire. And I will tell you one thing: the King, he likes variety. You don’t want to repeat the same show too often, if you get my drift.”
* * * * *
“Now, Fredrick, my boy, we have to talk about your new job.”
The King had invited Fredrick to share lunch with him, normally an honor but something that Fredrick was not looking forward to. He had not slept too well the night before, his mind having trouble coming to grips with what he had seen and been told in the dungeon.
“Sire, I’m not sure I’m the right man for the job,” Fredrick began. “I simply do not have the experience for this…”
“Nonsense! You’ll do fine.” The King was in his jovial, not-to-be-denied mood.
“Can I at least talk to the prior Master of the Dungeon? Get his ideas on the job.”
The King smiled broadly, a smile that Fredrick had never liked and was coming to fear now. “Of course. You can talk to him this afternoon!”
“I suppose that will help. But there must be someone else who would be better fitted to this job.”
“I want you to do it.”
The King’s smile faded just enough to show Fredrick that he was serious.
The finished lunch and Fredrick was told to meet the King in the courtyard later that afternoon. When he went into the courtyard of the castle, he was surprised to see a platform had been built in the center and people were already wandering in. With a sinking feeling Fredrick realize that a ceremony was about to take place; a ceremony he had seen a few times and did not care for at all.
The King came up alongside of him and slapped him on the back. “Go ahead, my boy, here is your chance to talk to the prior Master of the Dungeon. Guard, take him up to where he can talk to the man.”
A guard took Fredrick’s arm and pushed him along through the increasing crowd. Then up the steps to the platform. As he feared, there was a large wooden block, standing besides which was a large man dressed all in black, including the hood over his head. A huge axe rested at his side.
A stirring in the crowd signaled the arrival of the guest of honor. The prior Master of the Dungeon was led up the stairs, his hands shackled behind him and heavy shackles on his ankles, making the climbing of the stairs difficult. He was led over to the block and pushed down to his knees. A rope was looped around his neck and pulled down to a ring in the wooden platform to hold him in place.
The guard prodded Fredrick in the back. “The King says you can talk to him before the chopping.”
Fredrick took a step forward. then froze only five feet from the kneeling man. The older man turned his head sideways to look directly at Fredrick. “So you’re the new Master of the Dungeon,” he said. “Someday you will be here.”
Fredrick could find no words he wished to say to the man, no questions would formulate in his mind, so started to turn away. The guard forced him back around to face the condemned man. As the executioner took his position next to the block, Guntfried winked at Fredrick.
Chapter III
Raid
Once again the King invited his new Master of the Dungeon to lunch. The weather being pleasant, the King decided to dine on a balcony overlooking central courtyard. Below, workmen were disassembling the platform used in the prior day’s execution. They would store it away for some future use. Fredrick did not appreciate this vivid reminder of his position – it put him off his food.
“Now, we have to discuss something important,” the King was saying as a serving maid brought up a pitcher of wine to fill their goblets. The King waited until she left before qualifying the subject for discussion: the procurement of prisoners.
“I am sure that by now Adolf has told you that it is a Royal Command that a supply of a certain type of prisoner be keep in the dungeon at all times.”
“He has mentioned it.”
“Very well, then you understand. Part of your job will be to, shall we say, procure these prisoners. Oh, not all. From time to time there will be other prisoners down there.”
“Yes, I met your father,” Fredrick said. “My grandfather.”
“Ah, yes. How is Daddy? Well, never mind that now. Are you aware of how the last Master of the Dungeon obtained such special prisoners?”
“He did not have time to tell me,” was Fredrick’s tart comment.
Ignoring the tone, King Edward continued. “We have not engaged in any real warfare for a while. It is traditional for the conquering army to bring home spoils of war, you know. I always made sure that the pick of the batch was reserved for the Royal Dungeon. Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “that source has run a little dry lately. Fortunately there are other sources, so I do not have to start a war.” He cheered up.
“What other sources?” asked Fredrick.
“There are the gypsies,” the King stated. “They wander from dukedom to dukedom, even from kingdom to kingdom – a landless people. There is no one who will complain if a few of their women disappear. And they are such a dark and mysterious people. Have you ever known a gypsy woman?”
Fredrick had indeed, and enjoyed the experience. But he said nothing. He had been round the King long enough to know when the old boy really wanted an answer and when he just wanted to talk.
“There are a few political enemies of mine and I consider their wives, daughters and such, as fair game. Politics makes strange bedfellows, no? Why, recently I was host to the Duke of Winston’s wife.”
“So I have heard. She left rather suddenly, did she not?”
The King glared at Fredrick for a moment. Then he went on as if nothing had been said.