The woman still shackled to the wall glared at him as the Count of Montenegro descended the stairs into the dungeon room. Ignoring her, he carefully lit two wall torches and placed the candle and holder on the tabletop, then seating himself swung his booted feet to rest on the table edge. He glanced up at the woman, who turned her face aside.

“I am not fooled, woman. No calluses on your hands. Smooth pale skin on your back. You’re no peasant, so why are you dressed in those rags?”

He casually put his feet down on the floor and walked closer, first one way then the other, approaching her obliquely. When he was close enough, he stretched out and arm and trailed one fingertip down her cheek, her neck, and finally let it rest on her left nipple.

“Pampered merchant’s wife or daughter? Someone sending you to be a nun? Perhaps even some king’s willful daughter, running away from the boredom of court?” Suddenly he grabbed, bunching her linen top in his fist and dripped downward, exposing her breasts.
He cupped her left breast, idly grazing a rough thumb over the stiffening nipple.

“Yes, bored.”

She turned her head back to him with baleful eyes and spit.

The Count nodded and chuckled a moment, then grabbed her hair and pulled her face against his. “Lick it off.”

She shook her head until he gripped her hair more tightly and pulled. “Lick it off, “ he growled, “or I’ll leave you down here to rot of your own boredom.”

Hesitantly and revulsed, she licked at the glob of spit on his cheek. After a long moment, he released her hair and almost threw her back against the wall.

“I know your kind, Bed. You think butter won’t melt in your mouth…or up your ass. It will, I assure you. Before I am done with you, Bed, you’ll be begging me to continue.” He walked a pace or two away then spun around sharply. “But you’re still a bit too clean for me now, not raw enough, not desperate enough.”

“Pig!” she shouted at him.

He smiled cruelly. “A prophetess as well as a pampered little chit. A pig is exactly what you will feel like. A wild pig, hunted down and frightened, but eager for a hot, long, thick skewer up you.” He laughed.

“My hounds already know your scent well. And I do like a bit of a hunt in the woods to whet my appetite before feasting. You’ll be the prey, Bed…and later my feast.” Again he stepped close and took out his dagger.

He played it’s tip over the pale skin of her neck and then between her breasts and finally tapped the point over her erect nipples until she thought they would bleed. Then, without warning, he stuck the blade edge down into the waist of her skirts and cut them away, finally ripping the cloth with his hands.

He stepped back and looked at her, reaching forward to rip away the last shreds of her clothing. He stared at her body then back deeply into her eyes, silently. Moments passed in the still silence. The Count licked his suddenly dry lips. “Ohh,” he hissed. “You’ll be a pretty fuck…after the hunt.” He spun on his heel and then threw her a look over his shoulder. “I’ll send some guards down to take you out into the woods once it’s dark. I hope you’re good at running, Bed.”