Bridled Lust

  Title Page

  BRIDLED LUST

  By

  Faith Eden

  Publisher Information

  Bridled Lust first published in 2001 by Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Digital Edition Converted and Published by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Jennifer Jane Pope. The right of Jennifer Jane Pope to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Corinna - No longer quite so innocent

  A note from the author

  There is a funny story concerning the writing of the first book in this series, Innocent Corinna, but now is not the time nor the place for its telling; perhaps another day. For the moment, suffice it to say that Corinna was brought to life in the space of eight days, in a book that was unlike any other I had ever written, nor like anything I ever thought I would or even could write.

  It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, to find my eponymous heroine being received with such enthusiasm and to receive letters and e-mails from readers urging me to write more of her, but it was some time before I decided to do it, for the book had been intended as a one off and I was unprepared for people wanting more of the same.

  However, continuing Corinna’s story in the end proved far easier than I had at first thought and, in The Bridle Path, we found her desire to be enslaved, albeit now in just a fictitious role play with her former abductor and now lover, leading her into true danger and a second confrontation with her former adversary, the truly evil Lord Fulgrim.

  So much so did the story and characters take over from me that, by the time I had filled one more book, it was still only half told, leaving Corinna and Dorothea helpless in Fulgrim’s hands, Savatch still recovering from his wound and other injuries and the entire continent of their civilised world in danger of falling into the hands of a madman.

  It will come as no surprise, then, to find that this is the third book in the series, a book which had to be written, whether I wanted to write it or not, for too many people have become so wrapped up in the fates of the characters that I dare not leave the story unfinished now.

  Critics and readers alike have described the first two books as being more science fantasy than erotica in places and certainly there is an Arcadian atmosphere here in this tale that prevails above every other thing that it might otherwise have been intended to be, but for that I make no apology; indeed, I have to admit that I am more than proud to own up to being its author.

  Originally, it was published under the pen name (nomme de plume if you prefer to be posh about these things) of Faith Eden and indeed that name appears again on both this cover and spine. However, many of you will know me just as well - maybe even better - as Jennifer Jane Pope. Yes, I hold my hands up people, it really is me!

  So, now you’ve either bought this tome, or else you’re just browsing this bit in your local bookshop. Have you read the first two volumes? Does it matter if you haven’t? Probably not, though methinks you might want to go out and find them after you’ve read this one, despite the tidy little plot synopsis that follows this.

  Whatever you decide, I hope you enjoy this little offering and I thank you again for your continued support and encouragement. Oh yes, and to the readers who suggested that Alanna and Jekka are worthy of a series of their own, I couldn’t agree more, especially that murderous little bitch Jekka, dyed red hair and all!

  Oh yes, and one final thing. The author who created a certain character named Hannibal wasn’t advocating we all take up cannibalism and I’m certainly not advocating anything much that happens in this story. Remember, it’s just that - a story and some of the people in it are not very nice, to say the least! In real life, don’t forget, be safe, be sane, be consensual... and try not to get too many headaches, girls!

  Prologue - 1

  A Pony Slave

  She stands erect and tall - erect because her stringent harness and bit prevent anything else, and tall because the curiously shaped hoof boots hold her feet within them so that she stands almost on the tips of her toes. The boots stretch up to mid thigh, keeping her legs stiff and at the same time protecting them from being scratched by coarse grasses or stray fingers of underbrush.

  Her waist has been compressed by a broad band of leather that her masters call a girth, but which acts also as a form of corset, reaching from her hips to just beneath her full breasts. Thinner straps stretch up from the top of this girth to pass over her shoulders, connecting by metal links as they do so to a high and stiff leather collar that forces her to keep her chin held high.

  From these straps, other straps extend, forming adjustable circles about the base of her breasts against her chest and drawn tight so that her breasts are forced outwards, presenting the engorged nipples, with their rings and tiny bells, in full availability to any man who wants to handle them. Most men will, she knows, and many already have, but she is helpless to prevent this and angry that sometimes their touch excites her more base instincts.

  They may touch, but no more however, at least not unless they are either her masters or have the permission of her masters, usually given only after a handful of bronze telts has passed between them. Meanwhile, from the lower edge of her girth, two further thin straps pass downwards to join between her thighs with a narrow leather triangle which covers her permanently hairless sex. A small hole in this permits her to relieve her bladder, which she must do standing up, splashing the ground between her splayed legs whilst trying not to betray the humiliation which she suffers during this.

  Her arms have been laced into leather sleeves that terminate in tight mittens, keeping her hands balled into useless fists, whilst small metal clips keep her wrists fastened close to her hips, adding to her helplessness even more.

  Behind the strapping of her bridle her face has been stained, so that now, with its dappling and narrow white blaze that stretches down her nose, she knows it appears almost more equine than human, with the cruel bit keeping her mouth drawn back and exposing her white teeth framed between full lips. She cannot speak like this and so she makes no attempt at any other noise, for she knows that her best efforts will produce only a series of snorts and grunts that merely add to the animal effect that her captors have perfected.

  Her head has been shaved to either side, but they have left a central strip that now flows back and down between her shoulder blades, woven with several lengths of coloured cloth to resemble a mane. When she moves, she feels it tantalising her bare flesh as she hears the sullen tinkling of her nipple bells as they respond to even the slightest stimulation.

  She is a human pony girl slave. She will draw the cart, she will obey the whip. At night she will open her legs to whichever male is fortunate enough to possess her.

  S
he is pony girl Flix, Princess Flix as the obscene monster Fulgrim has now named her. In Karliean Flix is slang for breasts, she knows, and so the handlers know her as Princess Tits.

  Princess Tits, slave pony girl.

  Once she was the Lady Corinna and now she is Princess Tits.

  A small tear forms in the corner of one eye as she stands beneath the trees, whilst in the west the sun slowly sinks towards the peaks of the mountains.

  Prologue - 2

  The Story So Far

  Lady Corinna - daughter of Lundt, the Lord Protector of Illeum, the largest and most influential country of the Northern Continent. Young, beautiful, married to the son of a neighbouring ruler and then abducted by the aristocratic mercenary Savatch to further the political ambitions of her step-uncle and the villainous Fulgrim of Ernsdt, and eventually sent by her father to become Warden of the Castle of Garassotta in the farthest north eastern reaches of Illeum. Her sham marriage is as good as over and Savatch is now her captain, lover and sometime master in their games of slavery.

  Lady Corinna Orleanna, once an innocent virgin bride, is now constantly fighting against her darker urges and her need to be dominated and enslaved by her one time kidnapper. Innocent Corinna is innocent no more.

  Innocent Corinna is a lady no more.

  Innocent Corinna is now a slave again for real, a human pony slave of the Karliean bandit traders and their ally, the murderous psychopathic Vorsan Lord Fulgrim, escaped from Lady Dorothea’s castle at Varragol, where he was imprisoned after his first failed attempt to seize power. Now, with Dorothea a prisoner and her devoted black Amazonian servant Agana dead at his hands, Fulgrim leads a Vorsan army that has infiltrated the Vaal lands to the east of Illeum and which is headed for Garassotta in a determined attempt to seize the castle and thereby control of one of the key areas of Illeum itself.

  Having instigated a second attempt to kidnap Corinna and to kill Savatch at the same time, Fulgrim believes that the real Corinna and her master/lover are both now dead following the bungling efforts of his hired assassins and that Corinna - now calling herself Demila and renamed Flix by her new Karliean masters - is only a doppelganger for the late aristocrat.

  Or does he? Corinna cannot be sure, but she does know that his knowing her true identity will make little difference either way. For his plan to work, as long as the garrison at Garassotta believes that Fulgrim holds the real Corinna, they must surely surrender the castle to him.

  Meanwhile, Savatch learns of Fulgrim’s treachery from Dorothea’s maid, Moxie, and though he is still recovering from his injuries, together with the Yslandic warrior women, Alanna and Jekka and a small detachment of Illean troopers, he is determined to rescue his lover and thwart Fulgrim’s ambitions. Unfortunately, their first attempt ends in failure, for the slave pony girl Jekka rescues is not Corinna at all and now Fulgrim and his men have been alerted and a second attempt will surely not prove so simple.

  Unaware of all this, the hapless and helpless Corinna - now pony girl Flix - struggles to settle into her new role as a beast of burden and sexual plaything for Fulgrim, his soldiers and his Karliean allies as they begin their march northwards.

  Chapter 1

  Between two hills, a valley, a cleft of moisture cut into an otherwise arid and barren landscape, a haven for the few travellers who still ventured along the ancient trader road to the east of the mountain spine that bisected the continent south to north.

  Once there had been farms, orchards, even vineyards, spreading away across the slopes in every direction, further even than the eye could see, but after the Great Shift, as historians referred to it, the rains had come less and less often, the greenery had withered, shrivelled and died and the once fertile earth had dusted to a powder that supported nothing more than the coarse brown grass and a few scraggy wisps of what could be described as bushes only by the most generous botanists.

  Only here, amidst the small cluster of stone and mud dwellings that rejoiced in the name of Mascolum, where a small spring bubbled to the surface and ran for perhaps half a mile before disappearing below ground again, only here was there life - grass that was green and grazed by a small herd of plains cattle, two groves of fruit trees, a small field of corn and several strips of vegetables tended by the womenfolk, though at this late hour, with the sun already dipping towards the horizon, there was little sign of such industry and, but for two children and a small dog running between the buildings on the furthest edge of the village, the entire place might have been considered deserted.

  Approaching over a slight rise to the south, Moxie studied the scene, her eyes narrowing as she picked out the gibbet, pillory and whipping post set in the circular clearing in the centre of the village. She reined her mount to a halt and turned in the saddle to address her companion. The page, Pester, raised his eyes to peer up at her, his sweat stained features betraying his exhaustion, the smeared grime on his face now almost as ingrained as the dirt on his once white tunic.

  ‘Are we going to rest now, mistress?’ His voice was high, falsetto, both childlike and feminine, a permanent reminder of his emasculation that was also evidenced beneath the dirt that now all but masked his face. Moxie shook her head, not in refusal, but in resignation.

  ‘You whine worse than a four-year-old little girl, no-balls,’ she sighed. ‘Moan, moan, moan, that’s all you ever do.’

  ‘And walk, walk, walk,’ Pester retorted, pouting sulkily. ‘It’s all right for you, playing the warrior princess up there on your bloody horse - I must have walked across the whole damned world ten times over since we started this. Why can’t we just leave this whole thing to Savatch and his killer witch friends?’

  ‘Because,’ Moxie replied, levelly, ‘I say not.’

  ‘Well, he was pretty definite when he said they didn’t want you along with them,’ Pester muttered. ‘They know it takes more than a sword and a suit of leather armour to make a true warrior woman.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, you ball-less little worm!’ Moxie snapped, her hand going to the hilt of the sword she wore slung at her hip. ‘Another word from you and I’ll make a true woman out of you, though I doubt anything could ever make you into a warrior.

  ‘I may be only a maid, but Lady Dorothea has been good to me and wherever Lady Corinna is, my Lady will not be far away, I pray.’

  ‘And then you’ll have your slippery tongue back in her snatch again, which is all that concerns you, I know,’ Pester said, and immediately regretted his rashness. Moxie’s sword swept through the air, the blade landing flat across his unprotected shoulder, sending him sprawling into the dust. Her horse half reared and he barely managed to squirm clear of the dancing hooves.

  ‘That’s it!’ Moxie snarled, apparently unconcerned at how near he had come to being trampled. She jumped down from the saddle and grasped Pester by the leather collar she had kept locked about his throat since they had first fled from Castle Varragol.

  ‘No, please!’ the effeminate page squealed. ‘Please, no - not that, I beg you!’ Moxie hesitated for a few seconds and then released her grip on him.

  ‘No, maybe not,’ she said, quietly. ‘That sort of butchery is for true butchers like Fulgrim only. Besides,’ she added, smiling slyly, ‘we’ve already shown there are ways of making a woman out of you and still keep that pathetic little worm of yours put to use from time to time.’

  At least, Corinna thought grimly, she was in no imminent danger of gaining any excess weight. The handlers had kept the long column of pony slaves moving from just after dawn until now, just before dusk, with only a handful of water breaks during the day and one longer rest during which they had all been fed a few handfuls of some cold and stodgy grain based preparation that had been pressed into their mouths during the one welcome release from the otherwise ever present bits.

  The small carts each human pony pulled were not terribly heavy, but they seemed to have gained weight with every
passing hour and the terrain over which they moved was hard and uneven, for the road north through the Vaals was little used nowadays and had probably never been maintained properly, even during its more popular days.

  Standing now between the shafts, Corinna shifted her weight from foot to foot, waiting patiently for her turn to be released and led across to the area beneath the almost leafless trees that had been selected as a makeshift overnight corral for the exhausted human beasts of burden. Patient, she thought, sighing resignedly. What else could she be?

  The Karliean pony masters knew their trade well and Corinna, like all her similarly unfortunate companions, was as helpless as she knew she was bizarre, the revealing harness contraption holding her exactly as they wanted her to appear - almost naked, silent, unable to do anything but walk on when she was given the order, bending her sun-bronzed back to her toil and plodding steadily in the awful hoof boots that had been laced and locked onto her feet and legs.

  ‘Ah, Princess Flix.’ The speaker was one of the more senior Karliean handlers - her original trainer, the Colrasian Attak’u, had been killed, she had been told by Fulgrim himself - and his name was Halit, a tall, dark-haired individual with a pronounced nose and high cheekbones. He reached out one hand, stretching long bony fingers to grasp her heavy left breast where it bulged out through the tight leather strap that encircled it close to her chest.

  ‘Princess Tits indeed,’ he chuckled. ‘And what fine tits they are, too. Well, I think I shall sample their succulence this night and see if you live up to your appearance.’ He spoke Illean, which was unsurprising, for Illean was the lingua franca of most of the countries that bordered Illeum itself, but what did surprise Corinna was his fluency and almost total lack of accent. Halit, she guessed, had probably spent a good few years in her native country and had possibly even received a good education there. Why he had chosen to become involved with the slave traders of his own country she did not know, but then he was a man and men were apt to do many strange things.