Thread: An Interesting Arrangement (Sølvi and E404UserNotFound)

Catalina Life had not been particularly dire for the young Catalina. Whilst war was raging around them, their southern haven remained relatively untouched. That had not stopped her father from taking the necessary precautions. Throughout the years, paranoia and pride held his heart in a fierce grip. The war started when she was just a babe, fresh from her mothers tit, and she grew up not knowing the kind and gentle man her mother always spoke of. No, instead she was raised with suspicion and detest at first, why had she not been born with a cock between her legs, why was her mother unable to produce a male heir. Strategy, defenses, armies and politics were common household terms, whereas Catalina really only wanted to play with the ponies outside. That was beaten out of her quickly enough. Like every child, though, she was eager to please her parents. Her mother doted on her where her father didnt give her the light of day. Catalinas attention was focused solely on her father for the longest of times. She took up archery when she was 13, barely tall enough to hold the bow. She let herself get trained by her fathers officers when she was 15, whilst taking up the lessons she needed to be a proper little lady. But nothing was ever enough. To add insult to injury, she was paler than her parents. Her mother and father both were of darker skin than she. Her green, smooth olive skin to her parents darker complexion. Her mothers full voluptuous figure had not yet blossomed in young Catalina. She was lithe and petite, making her ungainly for the first 15 years of her life. Some of the boys of the neighboring towns told her that this was why she had not been married off yet. Her mother ensured her it was because of the war. Catalina did not know who to believe. On the cusp of her sixteenth birthday, Catalina started becoming a young adult. Her normally untamed and unkept hair was more voluminous, the thick curls were of a brown so dark they almost seemed black. Her eyes, an odd pale green, seemed to intensify, the rich trademark color of the people of the south and sea. Boys were started to notice her. No longer was she the vermin of Holldane. She took great pride in this, but her father still did not give her the light of day. Her lessons, if anything, intensified, as if shed done something to slight him. Her existence was enough, a voice told her. No, her father was not a pleasant man, but this was war, and all was fair. Catalina, on the other hand, didnt understand the war. She didnt comprehend the northern barbarians, if the tales were anything to go by. She found it pointless and exhausting and she hated it for turning her father in such a bitter, spiteful old man. Her usual soft-spoken demeanor threatened to be poisoned, and a rebellious streak started to form. No longer was she the child that would run around the pastures, that would braid daisies together, a child who was pure and sweet. She started to revolt. That was, until her father went and got himself killed in a duel that he had been too drunken for to begin with. It was a shock to everyone, but her mother seemed to take it the hardest. Catalina was left alone to deal with her grief, in her own way. The first few weeks were awful. Everything was in disarray. There had not been a siege in two years, because no one could penetrate their defenses. Still, everyone acted as if they could all be slaughtered at any given moment. Oddly enough, Catalinas grief was short-lived. She never really knew the man she called her father, and she reached certain calmness as she was left to her own devices. Perhaps they would change the rules, her traitorous little heart would say. Perhaps she could become the heir after all. Perhaps theyd listen. Maybe thered be a future for her. She could marry a southern Lord, a kind one, someone who could rule and be gentle at the same time. Her sixteen year old mind was full of pretty little lies. Weeks turned into months, slowly, and Catalina had never known such deep, satisfying sleep. This night was no different. For once she was truly happy, the constant years of pressure, of having to please her father, it was gone. A smile curled along her soft red lips as she slept, dreaming of the southern vineyards, nothing but laughter, joy and kindness in her heart. She was about to be very mistaken. The rude awakening descended upon her swiftly enough, a shake at her shoulders, urgence, whispers. Before she knew it, she was hurried off to her mothers chambers, and suddenly fear gripped her heart once more. She did not bother to dress, the nightgown was but a breath away from being see-through, such was the way of the South. Please, let everything be okay with mother. The silent prayer ran circles around her head as she nigh but ran to her mothers chambers. Once the door was opened and she stepped inside, relief flooded over her features as she saw her mother standing, alive and well. It was almost instantly replaced with a frown. The way her mother clutched the parchment, the seal, the tension in the room.. Something was not right. The growing trepidation made her body shiver, and she took a few steps forward. Mother whats wrong? Worry shone brightly in her eyes. This night, her newly re-acclaimed youth would be taken away from her. - The tears were no longer falling. They had, at first, five years and many countless and painful nights ago. She soon had learned that tears were for the weak, and weakness was not permissible. Not in the confines of the tent or his chambers, or wherever else he decided to claim her. Annabel had been reduced to nothing more than a plaything. A toy. But, she was a toy to a Lord. A powerful, ruthless Lord at that. It was better than being a whore, the little whore that her mother was, the little whore that she had become. Annabel was property of Lord Iman, and no one else. From the tips of her toes to the short dirty blonde hair, darker than his, showing that she was not a pureblood Northener. Her father had fucked some bastard southern whore. He had taught her this. He had taught her many things. The only thing she had not learned, was to deal with the pain. The rough fingers on her skin, leaving a trail of bruises in their wake. The way his cock thrust into her little body, how he tore at her, how he brutalized her. She was his to torment, though, and in a twisted way she had grown addicted to it. Craved his touch. Needed his venomous words. When her body hit the rug beneath her and his hand grabbed a fistful of hair, she could not help but to choke back a sob. He had formed her into a delightful little tormented creature. Twisted, molded by him and him alone. The assault continued and Annabel whimpered pathetically in response to the words. It was hard to form coherent words whilst Lord Raimer Imans cock thrust into her relentlessly. The pain was starting to fade, her walls slick with her own excitement and the Lords pre-cum, making her eyes roll back into their sockets. The words didnt sting. They did, once, but they had lost most of their impact. Five years of verbal abuse did that to a person. But it simply couldnt do not to give the man a response. I-Ill never ammhnn! Never amount to anything! Noth-.. Ah! AH! Nothing but your-ah! Yes! Your dirty whore! It didnt do to beg. Begging for release would bring punishment, it would bring pain and hurt. Her pleasure meant nothing, and his meant everything. Her hands gripped the soft fur of the skin beneath her, her knuckles turning white as the Lord kept up his assault. Please let it be over soon. Please let it never stop.