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PROLOGUE
When the Hon. Freddie Pargeter returned with his American wife to take up residence in the ancient family home of Landennis which he had recently inherited they decided to make changes.
In the grounds were the overgrown fragmentary ruins of an even older Norman castle which had been largely dismantled in the 16th century to provide materials for the current mansion. At his wife's suggestion Freddie set workmen to clear the vegetation from the ruins and create a magnificent garden feature complete with water cascades. He mentioned to his wife that the ruins were once said to have been haunted by the ghost of a beautiful pale woman, she at once suggested commissioning a white marble statue of a woman to set among the ruins.
On the evening of the second day the gardeners had been on site the Hon. Freddie wandered towards the ruins worried about the bills now starting to come in for refurbishing both the house and gardens. In the half light he saw a movement in the ruins, trying to follow it his brogues sank deep into soft mud as he carefully pushed aside the ash saplings and gorse. Seeing an enchanting pale young girl with flowing long hair he ran towards her, to see if she was a local girl or perhaps a relative of one of the gardeners.
As she ran away her ragged loose garments blew aside in the wind to reveal neat but rather thin bare buttocks. Staring intently, feeling a thrill in his groin, he didn't look where he was going and fell about six feet into an overgrown pit at in the base of a ruined tower. Back home, as his wife bathed his grazed knee, he puzzled how the girl had appeared to walk on the level over the top of the half hidden pit or basement.
Recalling again the stories he was told in his childhood of a ghost Freddie decided to investigate further. Dusting off dozens of leather bound books in the library he finally found mention in an 18th century journal of the ghost supposedly of a Lady Annette. Then reading more of the fascinating history of Landennis he learnt that his family had purchased the estate from the Crown in 1527 and Pargeters had lived there ever since. However nowhere in the Pargeter family tree could he find anyone called Annette.
A couple of months later when Freddie travelled up to London on the occasion of his younger sister being presented to King George VI he found time to visit the British Library to research the earlier history of Landennis. Here he found that the estate and castle had passed into the ownership of King Edward III in 1348 following the death of the Lady Annette Fitztroyes, the last surviving descendent of the Earls of Landennis. Had he found the identity of the legendary ghost? The only problem was that this Lady Annette was apparently an elderly widow in her eighties. More confusingly another book from the 17th century referred to ruins in the grounds of Landennis being haunted by the spirits of witches.
THE UNTOLD STORY
When the Earl of Landennis died, the castle and his estates were left in trust to be shared by any sons his two daughters might have. In the meantime 23 year old Lady Agnes was to look after Landennis and to provide for her younger sister, Lady Annette, who had turned 18 only a month before the Earl died, after years of illness, in the cold winter of 1282.
Robert, the younger son of Baron Richard Fitztroyes, learned of the very eligible Lady Agnes and duly found an excuse to visit Landennis Castle and both sisters were almost immediately smitten by the handsome young man. Each time he and Agnes met he held her tight to him and kissed her first tenderly on the cheek always quickly followed by a passionate kiss on the lips, probing her mouth with his tongue, and she felt sure he was about to ask for her hand in marriage. So she was shocked when, going to awake her sister for an early breakfast on a hunt day, she found Robert naked in Annette's chambers.
Roger just laughed as the two sisters fought like squabbling peasants, Agnes ripped open the front of Annette's night dress exposing the pert breasts he had only recently been fondling. Annette clawed at Agnes's face leaving a bloody graze across her left cheek prompting her older stronger sister to punch her in the face leaving her sprawled half naked on her back on the floor. As Agnes turned to confront the delighted Roger, Annette grabbed the hem of her skirt ripping it clean away, making Agnes lose her balance and fall on top of her. As Agnes grabbed Annette's dark hair,pulling a clump out by the roots Annette grabbed the front of Agnes's kirtle and tore open the tight fitting tunic allowing Agnes's ample bosoms to escape.
“Bravo fair ladies!” shouted Roger as Agnes struggled to her feet as her clothes hung in shreds, he stared at her breasts then looked down to her equally exposed labia.
Agnes's kick in his groin caught him unawares and he doubled in pain then fled as she yelled “you scum, even a whore would be too good for you, you bastard”.
That night as she cried herself to sleep Agnes kept turning over the days events in her mind. Over the next few days hatred of her little sister turned into an obsession. Although it had never worried her before she was now determined that the little bitch should never bear a son to inherit half the estate. No she swore, she, Agnes would have a son to inherit everything and Annette could rot in hell. Shit! What if Roger's night with the little tart had already sired a child?
Wednesday the following week Agnes sent for the Bailiff, and invited him to dine with her that evening. As he relaxed, surprised how friendly and informal her Ladyship was becoming with him after a few glasses of wine, she suggested that he dine with her on a regular basis. Once she felt she had him securely in her power she brought up the subject of her sister's accommodation.
At first the Bailiff was horrified that the sweet little Lady Annette might be confined to the dungeon beneath the 'Debtors' Tower' but as he considered it over the next few days he too realised it might be very advantageous if little sister was removed from the scene, should his surprising courtship of his Mistress continue.
It was a complete surprise to Annette when she was rudely awoken and seized from her bedchamber before first light by two soldiers and dragged, wearing just her nightdress, from the luxury of the gatehouse across the rough cobbles of the courtyard to the bleak Debtors' Tower.
There by the light of a flaming torch fixed to the wall she saw the grinning face of her sister. “I've decided you need to be kept safe from the danger of any further improper advances from the likes of that bastard Fitztroyes. You can be of some use by looking after debtors such as that scum down there” sneered Agnes pointing down through the wooden trapdoor into the darkness below. “Oh, and don't imagine you are any better than him either, in fact I think you should wear the usual prisoner's tabard” at which Agnes laughed hysterically, “yes it will suit your immoral behaviour perfectly!”
Annette's flimsy nightdress was easily ripped from her by the Bailiff and a servant handed him a two foot wide strip of coarse sacking with a hole for the head in the middle of its six foot length. When it was placed over her head it only covered her nudity from directly in front, or behind, and even then only if she stood perfectly straight and still.
Shocked Annette spoke for the first time “You can't do this to me!”. Then to the Bailiff she shouted “Take me back to my chambers, I command you!”.
Agnes laughed and the Bailiff simply said “Down” as if speaking to a dog, as a rope ladder was dropped from the trapdoor. Annette felt she ought to resist, yet ,perhaps partly out of a desire to get away from the lecherous gaze of the soldiers, she obediently climbed down the swaying ladder.
It stank! She could hear water trickling down the wall to her right, then a slight rattle of chains in the darkness to her left. It really stank! Of shit, of urine, of damp. The air caught in the back of her throat as she tried to breathe through her mouth because it made her nose sting. She turned to grab the ladder again but it was already lifted beyond her reach. “Bastards” she screamed upwards. “You can't do this” - her voice was already becoming hoarse. “No! No! Please! No!
“Agnes, no!” she sobbed “I always loved you, please, no!” as she sank to her knees on the rough dirt floor.
The Bailiff called down “once a day some food will be dropped down to you, mind it's for both of you, it's your responsibility to keep the prisoner alive”. Then he added “there's a mug down there somewhere, make sure he gets enough to drink as well, there's a spring down there which runs away through a small gap in the base of the wall, you'd best chuck the crap down there 'cos it stinks the place out otherwise”.
The servant turned to one of the soldiers and quietly said “Hurrah for that, it looks like my daughter won't have to go down that shit-hole to feed that fucking prisoner any more!”.
The trapdoor above Annette shut with a crash. She sat there in the total darkness, stunned and shivering with shock, for several minutes before her curiosity was aroused by another clink of chains She stood and started to grope along the masonry of the 20 ft diameter circular room. She quickly trod into a patch of shallow trickling water, she bent and groped about soon finding where the water trickled out from the base of the wall, running about two feet before disappearing through another crack about a finger's width wide. As she stood she felt the wet front of her tabard against her thighs, sodden from where it had dipped into the water when she had leant forward.
Annette followed the wall round to the opposite side of the dungeon where her fingers at last made contact with the ribcage of a man. She soon felt that he was wearing a coarse tabard similar to hers hanging loose down his front. “Who are you” uttered a weak, hoarse, yet young sounding male voice. She didn't answer. She felt up his taught arm, she could just reach a manacled wrist suspended by a rough chain. “Are you a prisoner?” he asked as her hands moved down to his face where she felt a short softish beard. She then felt down his bare legs, her probing fingers established that he had been hung up so that his legs were only slightly bent. As she moved her hands up the inside of his thighs he straightened his legs and stood, “ Who are you” a pause then he added “your hands feel nice” at which she felt for his hair then slapped his face as hard as she could.
“Peasant” she spat. “Who are YOU and what are you here” for she commanded, trying to sound in control but her voice quavered slightly.
“I'm no peasant, I'm Marcus, the miller's son. My father owes money to the estate and will soon repay it, then I'll be released”.
“Peasant!” Annette again spat into his face, shaken and terrified at her own predicament - she couldn't help taking out her fury and indignation on the only person she could. She felt round the rest of wall of her small prison then sank to the ground, sobbing almost silently as she took in her predicament.
When she awoke again she had no idea of time, no idea whether she had slept for minutes or hours. She felt cold ,the rough sacking had just fallen away from her body as she lay down. Panic stricken she stared hard into the darkness but could see nothing apart from a slight grey line above, presumably at the trapdoor. At least he couldn't see her nudity, as she sat there she couldn't help wondering what Marcus looked like, hanging almost naked in his chains. Annette tried to think over what her sister and the Bailiff had done and said to her. She Hated them. She Hated Roger Fitztroyes. She hated her father for dying. She hated the soldiers for the way they had stared at her body as the tabard had swayed away from her as she descended the rope ladder. She hated Marcus the Miller's son for daring to talk uninvited to her and for shitting and pissing on the floor of HER room.
The only one of all the people she hated that she could take it out on was Marcus. She stood and walked to where she thought he hung and felt out for him, her hand touched one of his arms, at that very moment she heard steps above and someone starting to lift the trap door. Looking up she was dazzled by even the gloomy light of the tower room above. She could make out a servant and his young daughter. “Dinner is served m'Lady” the servant announced as politely as usual then threw down a small bread roll. “Don't forget it's got to be shared with you guest” he added less politely, but by then Annette was looking towards the other prisoner. Before they were again plunged into darkness she made out a slender youth, with longish straggly hair and a short rather patchy scruffy beard.
She ate the whole roll herself then sat in the darkness contemplating that what she had seen of Marcus's young body was very different from Roger's muscular masculine perfection. She imagined taking revenge on Roger, tearing at his genitals with her fingers and poking her fingernails into his traitorous eyes. She then thought that Marcus's slender almost frail body would be easy to torture, or to control. She shivered with shame at the idea of enjoying a peasant's body, even if only by hurting or humiliating it.
She shamefully defecated into the trickling water near where it ran down into its outlet then cupped her hands to drink from it upstream at the spring. She tried to sleep again. Perhaps she did, perhaps she didn't, time no longer had any meaning.
“Water” Marcus croaked “water, please” he repeated. Annette realised she had never found the mug the Bailiff had told her to use. She shuffled about the floor, soon finding it. She went to fill it from the spring but first trod into her earlier turd which the water had failed to wash away. Smiling to herself in the darkness she scooped the turd into the mug before filling it from the spring. As she held it to Marcus's mouth he said “Thank you m'Lady, you're so kind” seconds before he nearly choked on her turd. He coughed and spat it out almost retching in disgust. He said nothing for a minute or two then quietly said “that wasn't the piece of roll I had been waiting for”.
“Silence, peasant scum” she said and raised her hand to strike his face again,then hesitated. Instead she gently touched the inside of his thighs again so he again straightened his legs again, this time she gently ran her hands higher up behind the loose front of his tabard, but stopped before reaching his crotch.
She felt thrilled that she had him totally in her power. She then gently felt his face, before moving her hands to lightly touch his armpits then run her fingertips down the side of his rib cage. He sighed gently and she again smiled to herself and wondered if she was making him have an erection. But there was definitely no way she was going to feel him THERE to find out!
She again awoke on the floor shivering, then stood and walked over to the water to squat and shit and piss again. This time she squashed and stirred at the turd with the base of the mug so the water would carry it away. Should she scoop up the crap from around Marcus's feet which was causing such a stench? No, it would be too demeaning for a Lady to clear up from a peasant. In any case the smell was now a lot less than when she had first been forced down through the trapdoor (probably only because she was becoming acclimatised to it). She heard Marcus groan again and this time rinsed the mug as well as she could, without touching any part of it apart from the handle, before filling it with clean spring water and giving Marcus a drink. He sipped cautiously this time but yet didn't thank her when he drank to the bottom of the mug without any unpleasant surprises. Annette lifted his tabard and gently ran her fingers down his chest and stomach, as he seemed to be enjoying that she spat into his face before turning away.
Her belly was feeling uncomfortably empty by the next time the trapdoor was opened and half a raw turnip was dropped down. After she had finished it she wondered should she have shared it. Why should she? Perhaps next time she could use a piece to tantalise him further?
Sometimes she slept, sometimes she paced around the dungeon, she again ate up the next few morsels of food dropped down without sharing any. Sometimes she just lay shivering.
She experimented with wrapping the tabard round her to provide some slight warmth. Then she remembered Marcus had one too, so she walked over to him. Mischievously she kissed him on the cheek before lifting his only garment off over his head and wrapping it round her own torso. She then softly touched his neck then again ran her fingers down over his chest and ribs, she placed the flat palm of one hand on his hollow abdomen then with horror realised she had allowed her hand to drop so that her little finger had touched his stiffly erect penis. She slapped him across the face before running, crying with shame to the far side of the dungeon, hitting the hard stone of the opposite wall with her face before she had realised how far she had got, in the dark. Feeling blood trickling down onto her lips from her nose she angrily strode back across to Marcus and repeatedly punched him on the face and nose as hard as she could until she had the satisfaction of feeling warm blood on her knuckles. Sobbing loudly as she realised how undignified such lack of control was on her part she sank to the floor silently vowing to totally ignore him from now on.
Days? Weeks? How often was food dropped down to her? She couldn't remember. It was certainly two meals later before she deigned to offer her fellow prisoner another drink of water which he desperately gulped down, quickly followed by a second mug-full. Deprived of light, refusing to descend to conversing with either her fellow prisoner or the servant who delivered the food Annette paced around the dungeon, felt every inch of its walls, scraped at the rough floor in a vain attempt to discover any other surface below the dirt, counted the number of stone blocks around the base of the walls, stared at the faint line of light at the trapdoor trying to work out the time of day. She felt her own ribcage and belly trying to judge if she was becoming skinnier on the meagre diet...
Again she walked over to Marcus and with both hands felt either side of his ribcage, was he becoming more emaciated because she wasn't sharing the food, she probed again at his hollow belly. Annette remembered the erection she had briefly touched last time she had felt him. She lowered her fingers touching his curly pubic hair then cautiously felt lower with her finger tips. This time she felt a shivering thrill as her fingers gently moved onto his stiffly erect penis, he moaned quietly. She felt as though he was totally within her power, as of course a good peasant should be. She grasped his penis and slowly squeezed as he arched his body thrusting his pelvis towards her away from the wall. Several times she slowly massaged his member, “Please..” he moaned, she then released it and brought her knee up hard into his groin. “Bitch” he screamed then started sobbing.
She again kneed him in the groin saying “Don't dare to call me that”, then punched him hard in the belly, winding him. She then stepped back from him and sat on the floor, listening to him still quietly sobbing. She lay back on the floor and, smiling to herself slid a couple of fingers into her cunt and gave herself the pleasure she had denied him.
The next time some food was dropped down she held some tantalisingly close to his nose, before slowly eating it herself, her face inches from his. She again teased his prick before releasing it from her grasp and pleasured herself while first resting her right cheek against his hollow belly then moving her face up to lick his skeletal chest as her tits brushed his throbbing member.
Torturing Marcus with the promise of forbidden pleasures was the only enjoyable way Annette had of passing the immeasurable time in the Stygian darkness. It was almost inevitable that on one occasion she would at last ,grasp his thin buttocks and pull their hips together sliding his stiff prick into her. Then grasping his hips she thrust him in and out. She screamed in ecstasy as she came, at he same time raking the sides of his chest with her sharp untrimmed finger nails. From that moment on the once prim and elegant Lady Annette of Landennis became a filthy, sweaty, half starved,. almost naked, nymphomaniac, while her emaciated, skeletal, plaything hanging from the dungeon wall which had once been Marcus, the miller's young son, could no longer differentiate between pleasure and pain.
Finally the miller had raised enough money to pay off his debts and secure the release of his son from the castle and he eagerly waited to learn if he still lived after the passage of such a long time. The Bailiff, on receiving the order to release Marcus from the dungeon accompanied a couple of soldiers and a servant to the Debtor's Tower. The trapdoor was raised and the servant descended into the nauseating stinking dungeon below carrying a flaming torch. The Bailiff peered down to see Annette huddled staring at them like a hunted animal her filthy pale body only half covered by the pieces of rotten sacking while Marcus hung almost like a skeleton suspended by his chained wrist yet his wilting but still erect penis stuck out in front of him. His torso was covered in what looked like shallow bleeding claw marks as if he had been attacked by a wild animal.
Marcus's unconscious body was carefully hauled up out of the trapdoor and the servant told to try to revive him, while news of the state to which her sister had descended was sent to Lady Agnes. Both the prisoners were washed and dragged to the gatehouse Guardroom for Her Ladyship's inspection. It was only Agnes who noticed that, despite her otherwise skinny appearance, Annette's belly was still full. She realised that even a bastard might still be eligible to inherit part of the estate, whether sired by Roger Fitztroyes or by the son of a miller. She looked at Marcus who the servant had now revived and was been gently offered sustenance by the servant's daughter and coldly said “He's dead, leave him” then spat at Annette who was held upright, naked, with her arms pinioned behind her back by a soldier “Whore!” then to the Bailiff “Send for Millie of Garwood, she can sort the little slut out”.
The soldiers were delighted to be commanded to tie Annette face up onto a trestle table. First they were told to tie her wrists together beneath the table then to tie her down by a rope passed beneath her armpits and over her chest then pulled tight, followed by another just below her breasts. A rope from to her left ankle was then tied off to a beam, usually used to secure the main gate, which rested in brackets on the wall and her right leg was stretched in the opposite direction by a rope tied to a window bar. As they opened the door to leave her a chill breeze blew across her bare skin.
It was several hours later before Lady Agnes returned accompanied by a scruffy woman with long straggly hair wearing a filthy grey dress and a black shawl. Millie of Garwood untied a package containing a bundle of dried corn stalks, a couple of very long handled small spoons and other tong like implements Annette couldn't recognise. The crone felt between Annette's legs with a filthy hand and started to probe her with rough fingers, Annette screamed at the indignity. After inserting first her fingers then her fist into Annette's vagina Millie carefully inserted the end of a small bundle of several of the dried stalks into her cervix, “What the fuck are you doing to me?” screamed Annette as she struggled against the tight bonds across her chest.
Her two tormentors then sat and watched her in silence. The crone turned Lady Agnes saying "It will be a while yet." Agnes stood and walked over to her sister and looked over her straining body before leaving the room. As the dried corn stalks absorbed the moisture from Annette's body they started to expand. After a while she felt strangely uncomfortable as her cervix started to be stretched and she strained against the tight bonds across her chest in an attempt to take deeper breaths.
As the first light of dawn became visible through the window Agnes returned carrying a flaming torch . She shouted at the sleeping crone "What's happening?" "Can't you hurry things up a bit?" she added, as she looked onto get sister's eyes trying to decide whether it was hatred or fear she could see in them.
Taking the torch Millie peered and probed between Annette's legs "it would be safest to wait and see" she said.
"Just get on with it" snarled Agnes, snatching back the torch.
With surprising agility Millie clambered onto the trestle table and stood astride Annette's abdomen. "Are you sure ..." she started to say but Agnes interrupted. "Fucking do something, how many more days do you expect me to wait!" At which the crone angrily leapt into the air to land with both feet on Annette's belly. Annette let out a strangled scream as she instinctively tried to bend double then arch her body off the table, at the same time the crone's feet slid off her belly onto the edge of the table upsetting it. With a crash the trestles and table collapsed and Annette twisted as the ropes to her ankles took her weight, the woman falling on top of her.
As Annette lay twisted on the floor, still bound to the table top with her hips painfully strained and immobilized by the stretched ropes, the massive pain in her lower belly radiated to near her navel. She screamed inhumanly, though as the crone dragged herself off her the pain in her belly subsided, but the agony of her unnaturally twisted legs and back continued. Two or three minutes later the belly pain returned worse than before and she vomited as her sweat soaked body shook uncontrollably. She felt a desperate need to take a deep breath but though the bonds across her chest cut into her pale skin she couldn't expand her rib-cage enough. As Annette shook her head frantically from side to side she saw a look of horror on Millie's face, but Agnes's face seemed to bear an expression of perfect delight. “Bitch, cunt, bastard, no! Stop it!” She screamed and the worst of the pain lessened once again.
Lady Agnes felt a tingling between her thighs and felt her nipples harden as she continued to watch her little sister's pale, naked, sweaty body writhing in agony. As she stared at the raw, bleeding, rope burns developing across Annette's heaving chest her right hand moved unconscionably to her crotch, unaware of Millie's horrified stare as she shrank into the corner. Again and again Annette's body arched, curled and twisted with pain, small rivulets of blood running down her legs from the torn skin at her ankles. She coughed her throat clear of vomit as she tried to scream again then blood started to trickle from her vagina, soon followed by a bloody mass of straw and tissue. Millie quickly hurried forward to gather the mess up in rags and towels, then forcefully pushed one of the long handled spoon-like implements deep into the struggling girl and deftly twisted it around, gathering more bloody bits into the rag package with the help of the forceps. Annette's body gave a final shuddering twisting spasm then lay still. “Is she dead?” asked Agnes.
“No, just free of pain for a while,thank God” replied the crone.
“How can a devil like you thank God?” sneered Agnes, Millie silently wondered how Lady Agnes could call her a devil after she had been masturbating while watching her sister on the verge of death, but silently continued tying up the bloody rag package inside a clean towel.
Lady Agnes and the Bailiff stood in the pouring rain and watched as a servant and one of the soldiers dragged the naked, emaciated and battered body of Marcus the miller's son by his arms from the castle through the mud to where they had already dug a grave at the edge of a copse. They rolled him into the rapidly flooding grave with a splash and he feebly lifted his face out of the water. Lady Agnes threw in a small bloody towel wrapped package after him then commanded the soldier and the servant to fill in the grave. Twice after a shovel-full of soil and stones knocked his head face down back onto the water Marcus managed to lift it up sufficiently to get one more breath but eventually the weight of soil upon his shoulders kept his face so pinned down that he drowned and Lady Agnes left them to complete the backfilling of the grave.
She had left Annette slumped unconscious on the Gatehouse floor with her arms tied above her head to a window bar. She now returned to find Millie tending to her bleeding sex with a poultice of herb leaves, her shawl over the shaking girl‘s shoulders. "Get out, leave" commanded Lady Agnes.
"She needs care" replied Millie.
"Care?" sneered Agnes, "why should anyone care about that slut? Go to see the Bailiff, he will pay you."
The soldiers then tried to haul Annette to her feet at Lady Agnes's command, but she couldn't bear to bring her thighs together to straighten her legs and instead hung between them crying with her legs spread and bowed like a frog. Agnes was about to swear at them but couldn't resist bursting out laughing instead, then commanded them to drag her back to the Debtor's Tower by one leg. In the tower Lady Agnes announced “Look, new clothes for you dear sister” as a new sackcloth tabard was placed over her head.
“She's not going to manage the rope ladder” pointed out the Bailiff.
“Lower her as far as you can by her ankles then” commanded Agnes.
As she hung upside down Annette screamed because her legs were forced together squeezing her swollen, bruised sex. The tabard only recently placed on her now fell off over her head to the floor below. The soldiers lowered her as far as they could reach then released their grip on her ankles so that she fell the remaining four feet head first, her outstretched hands failing to stop her face thudding painfully onto the ground. For the next three days Annette drifted in and out of consciousness, feverish and covered in sweat due to infection from the corn stalks and the crone's filthy implements. She finally summoned enough energy to drag herself to the spring and gulp down water to ease her dehydration, then tried to wash her burning vagina with the cool water. It wasn't until she had lain there at least a week that she found the fallen tabard and wound the sackcloth strip round her torso in an attempt to keep herself warm.
Starved of sustenance the infection and fever lingered for week after week. Annette's already frail body wasted away as she lay on the dirt, soiled with her own urine and lacking either the strength or will to stand. Deprived of light or human company she swore at the occasional rat or mouse she heard scurrying, attempts at fingering her vagina now brought only discomfort rather than pleasure.
The pain from her empty stomach kept her awake all the time, she may have slept but with no sense of day or night in the darkness time passed so, so slowly. To ease the continuous pain in her belly Annette stripped off and twisted the piece of sacking into a cord then bound it as tight as she could round her abdomen.
She tried weakly crawling towards where she thought she heard the scratching from some small animal but lacked the strength to raise her torso clear of the ground, so slowly slithered on her belly. The feel of her tits dragging over the rough floor at least provided a different stimulus to the continual hunger pangs, she then rolled onto her back and grasped her breasts with both hands and squeezed tightly then pulled them in various directions. It reminded her how much she missed masturbation (and of course intercourse with Marcus), she tenderly inserted a finger tip into her vagina, then slightly further in but touching the swollen raw wounds inside sent an unbearable burning sensation shooting through her body. To pass the time she counted her bones as she grew thinner and thinner, as her body started to digest its very self.
Without warning the trapdoor opened and the rope ladder dropped down. “Shit, it stinks worse than ever down there” said a male voice “I'm not going down there”.
Some scuffling footsteps then Annette heard her sister speaking to someone “Fetch your daughter, she got used to going down there before” she couldn't hear the reply but Agnes then added “If she can't obey orders she can fucking stay down there as well.”
Shortly after she recognised the servant's young daughter descending holding a flaming torch, Annette turned her head to look up at the girl's grimacing face as she walked towards where she lay “She's still alive but looks like shit!” exclaimed the young girl.
A rope was passed down which the girl tied around Annette's chest. The rope tightened painfully, almost squeezing her left breast into two before sliding up above it, bloodily grazing her nipple, as she was hoisted up to the wooden floor above. Agnes stared apathetically at the twitching emaciated carcass on the floor. She was no longer aroused like she had been when her sister's feminine body had been frantically writhing and screaming when she last saw her. “Give her some food and do what you can for her” she told the girl “and untie that rag from her waist and get it back over her properly.”
Annette thankfully swallowed some warm soup and soft bread the girl passed to her. Unaccustomed to food Annette was soon doubled over in pain and a flood of liquid shot from her bowels. The stinging sensation from her rectum was now worse than the dull ache from her vagina, but she forced herself to carefully sip a bit more soup, aware of the need to get some nutrition if she was to survive.
The Bailiff then spoke directly to Annette “You're to get some company again” adding “usually we chain the male prisoners to keep the women safe, but because of your previous behaviour I think you'd better be the one constrained.”
Then Agnes said to the Bailiff “We must do something to make it impossible for her to be fucked.”
He replied “I'll ask the Mason, he has some secret devices he might be able to adapt.”
When he explained what he wanted to achieve the Mason replied "I could adapt one of my large block lifting devices to securely obstruct her front passage against entry by a caring lover but anyone intent on rape and careless of harming her would just tear it out! I suggest we look instead to fix the way she's bound in the dungeon.”
"Get your daughter to clean up down below, it stinks to high heaven and the Mason needs to measure up down there" the Bailiff ordered the servant. The young girl reluctantly descended again struggling to carry a bucket and shovel down the swaying rope ladder. Stirring and shovelling the urine and shit soaked dirt and soil made the stench even worse and struggling to see by the dim light from the open trap door her dress soon became equally foul with the both the dirt and her own sweat.
Even after a couple of hours it still smelled like a cesspit when the Mason and the Bailiff descended to make their plans.
"How about we find a way of keeping a pole or something in her vagina? If we fix a post upright in the floor so it enters her when she's stood over it ... perhaps a couple of ring bolts fixed in the floor could be used to hold her ankles down so she couldn't be lifted off ...” mused the Mason.
“You're entering into the spirit of this, aren't you?” replied the Bailiff “just tell me what you need, I'm sure her Ladyship will agree with that idea!”
Annette remained tied up in the ground floor tower room, being tended by the servant's daughter while the Mason carried out his alterations to the dungeon below. The young girl watched puzzled as to why the Mason needed to measure the length inside Annette's leg, unless it was just an excuse for him to run his hand up her thin naked thigh and feel her crotch beneath the almost useless tabard.
Once the Mason had finished below the girl was sent down into the dungeon with a besom and a hand shovel for a final clean up ready for its new occupants. She stared, puzzled, at the 3 inch diameter pole standing about 3 foot tall set firmly in the floor. She started sweeping the dirt, sawdust and bits of mortar from the floor then remembered that last time she cleaned up down there she had completely ruined one of the very few dresses she possessed, so, as there was no-one else in the tower, apart from Annette firmly bound on the floor above, she removed her clean blue dress and carefully hung it on the rope ladder before continuing the dusty work stark naked. After a while she paused to cough the acrid dust from her throat and stared again at the post, noting that it was about a foot away from the dungeon wall where the chains and manacles were, including a new pair of ankle restraints firmly fixed to the floor. Remembering how the Mason had measured the height inside Annette's legs its probable purpose became apparent. The girl stared, trying to imagine Annette hanging from the wall with the post inside her, then wondered what it would feel like. She gently inserted the handle of the besom into her own vagina and started sliding it up, moving to stand alongside the pole she realised with horror how far it might enter Annette. She eased the comparatively thin handle it past her hymen then realised that the thick pole would probable penetrate Annette at least six to eight inches. She slid the broom handle further in then, aroused started slightly withdrawing it then thrusting it in again, with her eyes closed trying to visualise Annette writhing on the stout pole. Her young body suddenly experienced an electrifying ecstasy she had never even imagined before.
Suddenly she realised there were voices in the tower, she quickly pulled out the broom handle, feeling a sharp pain as she did so and looked upwards to see the horrified faces of her father and the Bailiff staring open mouthed at the sight of her dusty, naked and holding a besom with a small bloody stain on the end of its handle.
Annette had been dozing when she was awoken by high pitched girlish screams, to see the servant dragging his writhing stark naked daughter from the tower, with the Bailiff yelling “Get her away from here, I never want to see that evil little bitch again!”
Soon afterwards Annette found herself being forced once again to descend the ladder. Before her eyes even had a chance to become accustomed to the darkness she felt her wrists being lifted high and manacled to hang from the wall. But she was surprised as the soldiers lifted her by her thighs so that her feet were well clear of the ground then started lowering her again ... “God – No!” she screamed as she felt a huge wooden pole forcing its way into her sore, tender vagina. As her feet dropped back to the floor she felt that this pole must surely split her open wide as it thrust upwards.
She heard the Bailiff softly speak “There will be no danger of her getting screwed by any of the other prisoners now.”
Her sister's voice replied “Very ingenious, but will it kill her?”
“Does it matter” replied the Bailiff “if it does it will just be an unfortunate accident.”
Annette felt the tabard pulled aside and long sharp fingernails ran down her hollow belly then probed between her labia and the pole, at the same time someone was manacling her feet to the floor, she stared down at the top of her sister's head hearing her say “She is bleeding a bit” then add, laughing “it's not as if she's a virgin!” Before ascending the rope ladder Agnes stared deep into Annette's eyes then spat in her face saying “Farewell dear little sister, are you looking forward to Hell?” then left laughing hysterically.
Soon afterwards a grey haired man clad in a prisoner's tabard was ordered down the ladder, a soldier then passed a mug down to him saying “Peter, your incarceration may prove less unpleasant than you're expecting, there's someone to keep you company, just make sure you keep giving her water to drink if you don't want to end up all alone.”
Her fellow prisoner soon found her and explored her body with his hands in the darkness. When he discovered the pole impaling her sex he muttered “I thought this was turning out too good to be true.” He then pulled her tabard aside to fondle her shrunken breasts, feeling her nipples harden he giggled almost girlishly then said “A bit chilly in here isn't it!” before lifting her tabard off over her head and putting it on on top of his own. He then ran his hands down outsides of her torso saying "Not much of you , is there?" before looking for the mug and fetching her a drink of water. When some scraps of food were dropped down through the trapdoor the next day he shared some with her.
He sat down at the other side of the dungeon and started talking quietly to Annette. He told her his name was Amos and he complained how humiliating this treatment of him was. Agnes knew that his son, Isaac, was at this very moment heading back from Dorchester with gold collected from his customers which would pay his taxes many times over. He bemoaned the fact that there were dozens of Christian debtors who Lady Agnes would never dream of treating in such a manner.
Annette hated him, despite his quiet courteous manner, because all he did was complain about his own predicament. Not that once did he mention her far worse treatment, nor did he even ask her name. The next time some food was dropped down he again gave Annette the larger part of it, then gently touched her face with his fingers before moving his hands up to feel her stretched arms. Despite the ever present pain from her crotch and belly Annette felt her nipples harden involuntarily. Why wouldn't he touch her there? She let her urine trickle down the pole, feeling some also running down the inside of her thighs and Amos took a step back. She spat in his face "Jew."
She expected him to strike her but he simply said "I fear you may not live much longer , poor child!"
It was indeed only a few hours later that the soldiers dropped the rope ladder down from the trapdoor to release Amos. Once out of the dungeon the Bailiff thrust his clothes into his hands saying "You're free to go, but we never want to see you or your kind here again. "
Annette called up hopefully "Now he's gone can I be unchained? "
The Bailiff answered "Don't fret, sweetie, you're about to get some more company."
"I'm naked, I'm freezing, can I have my garment back, the Jew stole mine!" she called up.
"Fuck you" replied the Bailiff, adding "Oh, sorry, I forgot, you can't, can you!" with a cruel laugh.
Annette was alone, thirsty and hungry for what seemed like days to her. Unable to move her legs or her numb arms she could only twist or slightly raise her hips. Although that movement on the impaling pole caused her vagina pain rather than pleasure she continued to writhe rather than just hang limply dying without any sensation at all.
She was awoken by the sound of struggling and shouting above. The trapdoor opened and a naked young man was forced down the ladder at sword -point when he hesitated with his head just above the trapdoor one of the soldiers struck him across the shoulders with a sword, "Fuck you" he screamed as he leapt from the ladder to land on all fours in front of Annette, blood running down his back from the sword cut across his shoulder blades.
In the moment before they were plunged onto darkness by the closing trapdoor he caught a glimpse of Annette's pale emaciated body chained to the wall. Almost immediately afterwards Annette felt his groping hands at her breasts, then one felt around her cunt at the top of the pole. He then grasped her crotch either side of the pole and tried to lift her off. After the first attempt he cursed then readjusted his stance and heaved upwards again with all his strength, his fingers crushing and tearing her stretched labia as the leg irons cut painfully into her ankles. With a grunt he let go so the pole slid back deeper into her as she screamed “Stop it, you bastard, please, no!”
“Shut up, prick teaser” he snarled slapping her hard across the face. He then twisted her around so her arms and legs twisted and stretched as the pole turned in her cunt so that she was almost facing the wall.
“No, no, please stop” Annette screamed as he pushed two fingers up her anus stretching it before quickly inserting his hard penis forcefully in with a groan of relief. She felt an uncomfortable urge to shit as he pumped his erect throbbing member in and out, “Stop it, please stop, it hurts” she hoarsely cried out to no avail. Grasping her thin hips he just pumped more vigorously as her arms were painfully stretched from bleeding wrists and her cunt was agonisingly twisted and shaken about the unyielding pole. She cried out, with relief, as he came in her rectum. He moved his hands up from her hips to grasp and kneed her breasts, causing her to burst into tears, while his prick slowly shrank before he withdrew it. Sobbing uncontrollably with pain and revulsion semen and watery shit ran down her legs from her arse, while a thin trickle of blood made its way a few inches down the pole.
“Stop that fucking whimpering, you useless slut” the man said as he searched the far side of the dungeon for the trickle of water in the darkness. The trapdoor opened and the Bailiff peered down by the light of a flaming torch. With shame Annette realised the sound of her degradation had been heard above. “Keep her Ladyship alive if you don't want to be lonely down there” warned the Bailiff “She'll need food and water too, remember” he added as he threw down a battered metal mug and some dry bread.
“Her Ladyship, eh?” he queried. “ I am honoured” he mumbled as he ate up the bread himself, while the shocked girl lapsed into unconsciousness.
She awoke hearing the trapdoor creaking open again and more food being thrown down. Did that mean another day had passed? He fellow prisoner ate some of the bread then stumbled over to her carrying a mugful of water which he held to her dry lips. After she had drunk eagerly he held the remaining piece of bread tantalisingly close to her nose “You'll need to earn this” he laughed.
Grasping the chains above her manacled wrists he hauled himself up against her cold bare flesh. He thrust his left knee into her concave abdomen, then wrapped his right calf around the small of her back so that her pelvis now bore his full weight, allowing him to move his right hand down to her face. His probing fingers forced her mouth open allowing his erect prick to enter, the end feeling its way into her throat. “Be a good girl if you ever want to eat or drink again” he warned as he started thrusting in and out of her.
The weight of his swaying body felt as though it was tearing her arms from their sockets. As his prick thrust in and out of her throat his hard knee pumped into her hollow belly pushing aside her empty guts and painfully crushing her cervix against the top of the pole. The excruciating pain he inflicted made her body take control over her mind ... and her jaws bit hard her teeth severing almost the entire length of his rock hard penis.
The man's animal scream temporarily deafened Agnes and sounded alarmingly piercing even in the Gatehouse quarters. In less than a minute the Bailiff, accompanied by half a dozen soldiers, was peering into the dungeon by the light of a flaming torch. Annette hung motionless with blood trickling from her mouth down her chin to splash over her right breast. The other prisoner rolled around the floor hands grasping a bleeding mess above his testicles while cursing and screaming almost incoherently “..bitch... prick ..kill...No!...help...”
Lady Agnes, who had now appeared on the scene in her nightdress, looked on, at first in stunned horror then screamed at her unhearing sister “You've done it now you slut, you'll fucking hang for this!”
The Bailiff retorted “What was the sod's prick doing there in the first place, that peasant's the one who should hang for assaulting her Ladyship”
“Her Ladyship!” shrieked Agnes “You call that bitch Her Ladyship?” she leaned forward pointing a madly waving finger down through the trapdoor. “You can fucking go ...” she started to say. Whether to the Bailiff or her sister no-one ever knew for at that moment she tumbled head first into the dungeon, her neck audibly snapping as her head hit the floor.
Uncertain how to best protect himself from blame the Bailiff had the bodies of Lady Agnes and the young man removed from the dungeon and had Annette unshackled and placed on a mattress on the dungeon floor. A maid was sent down to clothe and tend to her while the Bailiff cautiously tried to assess the loyalties of the soldiers and other servants. The butler showed signs of acting as a spokesman and mediator while the Bailiff prepared for possible flight should the soldiers turn against him.
It was two days later that the Bailiff heard the clattering of hooves and shouts and hurrah's from the courtyard. As feet clattered up the stairs to his room he held his breath and prepared to defend himself. Th door flew open and Roger Fitztroyes faced him dressed in chainmail and breastplate, holding his helmet in his left hand and his sword in his right. “A young witch came to Troy Manor with news that Lady Annette is incarcerated in a dungeon here” announced Roger as the Bailiff sank to his knees.
“I am honoured to be your servant, Sir” mumbled the Bailiff. “Lady Agnes went mad and eventually fell to her death after unspeakable cruelty to Lady Annette who is now safe at last...”
Roger Fitztroyes married Lady Annette of Landennis in the summer of 1285. However the trauma Lady Annette had suffered meant that she would never bear a heir to the castle and estate, which eventually passed to the Crown when the elderly widow became one of the first English victims of the Black Death many, many years later.
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