Roland noticed her shift in mood. Her fear was useless to him, she would shut down and he would have no grasp on her. Anger or hate would make her vulnerable, if he played his cards right. Fortunately for him, this young lady had quite a temper.
"I'll give you one more chance then. I still have to discipline you. These roguish tendencies must be controlled. The King will visit you and I cannot have you attacking him. Aside from the lethal consequences for you, it wouldn't reflect favorably on me. So, what do you think you deserve?"
"I don't deserve to be punished," she mumbled stubbornly. This was no choice at all, he was just toying with her. She wished she had her dagger. She would skin him alive, starting with these male attributes he was so proud of.
"I'll choose for you then. It will be easy, as I can guess your biggest fear."
"You know nothing of me," she spat at him.
"You are afraid of rape, that's a given, and we have already established that this is a course of action I will not take. But beyond that, you cannot bear to be touched. You flinch every time I make contact with you."
"You are wrong. I just don't want YOU anywhere near me. I find you repulsive."
Roland chuckled. "No you don't. You won't admit it though."
"Oh, I'll admit that you are the most conceited, inflated prick to ever walk the surface of the Earth!" Sabine was aware of the petulant childishness of her retort, but short of punching him, it was the best she could find to vent her frustration. This man's conceit had no boundaries.
"Why thank you, although you haven't seen it yet..."
Her indignant squeal was cut short when his fingers curled around her breast, fondling it with a gentleness she had never experienced. The sensation was nothing like the harsh groping she had endured before. This was... nice.
Her eyes widened. It couldn't, it shouldn't feel like this. She knew it was impossible. And yet...
Roland was watching her, fascinated by her reaction. Tentatively, he glided the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of her hip, towards the flat plane of her belly. She shivered, nearly imperceptibly, but enough for him to notice.
"What is this? What are you doing to me?" Her tone was a mix of awe and panic.
"Teaching you pleasure."
He pursued his leisurely exploration of her body, lavishing every inch in expert caresses.
Sabine was lost in a sensual haze, unable to process what was happening to her. Roland's hands seemed to be everywhere, leaving delicious aftershocks in their wake. Waves of goosebumps ran freely along her skin, flowing in warm streams towards her lower stomach. In the distance, someone was singing, a soft, sad song.
"You have a beautiful voice."
What did he mean? Sabine was confused. She stared at him with glazed eyes, and Roland went to stroke the inside of her thighs, so white and silky he had a sudden craving to run his lips on them.
She whimpered and feebly attempted to dislodge the teasing digits. "No, don't, not there..."
"Hush, trust me, you will love this."
He moved a little higher, grazing her delicate folds.
A single tear ran down her cheek. "Please, no..." Her memory kept telling her that pain was coming.
"Shh..." Two fingers slid slowly into her and her whole body tensed, bracing for the worst. "Just trust me, Sabine."
Trust him. What a ridiculous demand! And yet, somehow, so very tempting. Deep down, she was aware it was foolish, but what else did she have to lose? If he wanted to torture her, there was no escape. And if he didn't, maybe she could afford to let her guard down, for a brief moment.
"That's it, let go. Don't fight." Satisfied that there was no weapon there, he curled his fingers and began to move them, his gaze locked on her face. Apprehensive at first, she began to relax, lips parting slightly, eyelids fluttering closed. This time, he allowed it.
Sabine was entranced. This was... strange. The gentle movement was creating an array of exotic sensations, widening like a ripple to encompass all the space below her navel.
Then Roland's thumb crept up, found its target and circled it, with feather light pressure. Her hips surged forward on their own volition, eager for more. Her breath caught, suspended to the motion of his hand, a strange tension rising in her belly. Her legs shook as it grew tighter and tighter. She was on the edge of something, something...
And.
He.
Stopped.
Withdrew his fingers.
Left her hanging there.
She whined in protest. She needed him to go on, just a little longer, one last touch...
"Apologize and I'll give you what you want."
Sabine shook her head. She was barely able to process his words, but she clung onto her resolution. No apologies.
"As you wish." He rubbed her back soothingly, until her most of her excitement receded. When her pink cheeks had returned to her usual shade, he resumed his actions.
It was worse. The tension built up faster and higher than before. A ball of fire had ignited around his digits, scolding its way upwards. Again, Sabine was on the verge of something and again...
He just stopped.
"Apologize."
Her eyes threw daggers at him and she groaned in frustration. Still, she resisted.
Roland sighed. "Take your time, I can do this all day." It wasn't exactly true. He was close to bursting in his breeches. He was enjoying this far too much.
As he went back to his ministrations, Sabine's resolve began to crackle. She had been right before. This WAS torture. If he kept this up, she wouldn't last much longer...
This was all the thoughts she could manage before the intensity of the sensations swept her thinking abilities away. She was a raw ball of nerves, and she was going to die unless, unless...
Again. He had stopped again.
This time she sobbed, unable to control her nerves. She hated him. She hated herself for her weakness. For letting him put her in this disgraceful situation.
"Apologize, my sweet, it's easy. You are the sole cause of your discomfort. Cease denying yourself and I will give you what you need." His free hand was petting her hair, brushing damp strands away from her face. Beads of sweat pearled on her forehead, and her breathing was ragged as if she has been running.
"Denying myself what? I don't understand..."
Roland gawked at her. Was she telling the truth? When she had been attacked, she was virginal and fresh out of the convent, so he had guessed that her experience of men would be limited to pain. Yet he had assumed that she would have fulfilled her desires before, at her own hand. It appeared he had been wrong. She really had no idea of where he was leading her.
He chuckled. "La petite mort, have you ever heard of it?"
Sabine hesitated. "I've heard whispered tales, by some girls in my class. I thought they were silly."
"Apologize, and you will be able to make your own opinion. It will be good, really good, I can guarantee you that."
Her shoulders hunched in defeat. He would win anyway. There was no point in prolonging it. "I'm... sorry..."
It was barely audible, her voice broken by sobs, yet Roland caught it. He decided against asking her to repeat; it would be uselessly cruel. Patiently, he rekindled her fire, drawing out her pleasure until she was arching and shuddering around his hand. And then, with a last simultaneous flick of his thumb and fingers, he sent her flying over the edge.
Sabine thought she was going to explode. A tidal wave of delight started deep inside her womb and rushed through her with crushing force. She shook violently, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Her head tilted back, her eyes opened wide but not seeing.
Roland watched her with a wide grin as the last ripples ran through her. She was beautiful, and he felt ridiculously proud to have given her this.
Yet he wasn't finished. Opening the jar, he scooped a glob of grease on his finger and plunged it inside her round bottom.
Despite her semi-conscious state, Sabine screamed in pain. He comforted her, but didn't remove the offending digit. He had to search her there as well. It wasn't unusual for prisoners to hide objects inside their bottom. "Hush, it will be over soon. Don't try to resist, it would hurt more."
He waited until her tight round cheeks loosened and impaled her a little further, quickly felt around and pulled out. "There, all done. I will dress you soon."
He rolled her carefully onto the pallet, where she remained limp, removed the restraining belt and got up to wash his hands.
As she recovered, Sabine became aware of her need to relieve herself. She could last a little longer, but then she would have to ask him to undress her, a feat she would rather not repeat. "May I use the chamberpot? Please?" Had she any shame left, she would have blushed, for asking a male's help for her bodily functions. Given the circumstances, it seemed a tad late for that.
"Of course." Roland brought the porcelain receptacle and helped her crouch over it. With her ankles tied she couldn't balance, and he kneeled behind her, prompting her to lean against him for support. Once she was done, he lowered her on the pallet again and washed her with a soft cloth, before getting her dressed.
Sabine looked at him quizzically. Why was he suddenly so kind? There must be a purpose to it. She doubted that he did this out of care. Yet she was surprisingly weak, and exhausted, so she allowed it.
She even didn't protest when he tied the belt around her waist, leaving enough space so that she wouldn't be squeezed yet too little for her to wiggle out of it. He looped the other end through a ring sealed into the wall, which must have been used to restrain an animal, and held the leather in place with two padlocks. Then he sliced through her other bounds, freeing her limbs.
Sabine winced as she moved her stiff shoulders and rubbed her chafed wrists and ankles. Roland threw her socks to her and she put them on, and then tested the strength of the belt. It was solid. She wouldn't get out of it without something sharp. It allowed her a bit of movement but she was effectively tethered to the wall.
A hairbrush landed beside her, a blue ribbon following suit. "Arrange your hair, you have to be presentable for the King. And then we will talk."