Black Dorn [submission/punishment/bondage] by Daryl Devore Page B

continued thrusting it into herself. Using her other
hand, Branwyn fondled her clit. Her moves were not as skilled as
Malack's. She fumbled but continued. Her pressure built. It was not
as it was with him. Her surrender was small. A tear trickled down
her cheek. Her whole body missed him.
     
    The days were short as
winter settled in and night came early. Outside, cold winds
howled.
    Branwyn went to visit her
mentor. "Duna Trea." She called as she entered the dune's training
room. It was dark and quiet.
    Trea sat next to Branwyn.
"Are you still having problems with your lune?"
    "No. I am able to do what
you instructed and am impatient for Malack to return."
    "Have you pleasured yourself
with it as I suggested?"
    "It does not give me the
same enjoyment."
    "Malack is
skilled."
    Branwyn smoothed the
wrinkles on her dress. "I have a new question. And it bothers me
so. Can having a grieving heart make my bleeding time
stop?"
    Trea's eyebrows rose. "When
did you bleed last?"
    "When Malack took me the
first time, there was blood. But he said that was to be. Since he
has left, I have not bled."
    "We must visit the
gon."
    Puzzled, Branwyn followed
Trea out of the room.
    In the gon's chamber, Trea
knelt and Branwyn curtsied. Ministers and nobles sat in small
groups about the room. The gonness sat by the fire, embroidering a
new scarf to keep the winter chill off her shoulders.
    "I have news." Trea waited
for the chatter to cease.
    "Of the battle?" someone
asked.
    The gonness looked
up.
    "No, not of the battle.
Branwyn is with child. She has not bled since the gon-dra
left."
    "But someone with a heart as
heavy as hers—the bleeding time…" The gonness stepped
closer.
    Trea smoothed Branwyn's
dress over her belly. A small bulge had grown where once she was
flat. "Branwyn is with child," Trea insisted.
    Heart hearted soar with
joy."I am carrying Malack's child?" Her hands went to her belly. It
felt rounder and fuller than when she had arrived at Black Dorn.
Her heart soared with joy. She slowly turned in a circle, making
eye contact with everyone. "I carry Gon-Dra Malack's child! It will
be a son and he will be strong and brave." She bowed her head to
the gonness. "And he will be handsome like his father." Placing her
hand on her belly, she looked into the gaze of the gon. "The future
of Black Dorn."
     

     
     
     

Chapter Eight
    The bright spring sun warmed
Branwyn's face. It had been a long time since the sun shone so
brightly. Branwyn rubbed the growing bulge in her stomach. Spring
meant hope. Hope that Malack would return.
    She heard the trumpet's call
and hurried from the garden to the courtyard, as did others. A lone
rider rode into the yard, handed his reins to a page, stopped by
the well, grabbed the ladle, splashed his face, took a long drink,
then walked over to the gon, who had just stepped onto the dais.
The rider dropped to his knees. "They arrive tomorrow or the day
after. Some are wounded. They travel slow."
    "Uplands has been returned
to Black Dorn?"
    "Yes, Gon."
    A spontaneous cheer broke
out among the people.
    "What of my sons?" asked the
gonness.
    The rider looked at the
ground. "Pettra was wounded, but lives. He shall return with the
others. Nalar was taken prisoner. The gon-dra has gone to rescue
him."
    Branwyn held her gasp.
Malack lived. He would not return with the others, but he
lived.
    "Nalar?" The gonness' voice
trembled.
    "He was betrayed. The
traitor captured him and dragged him away in chains."
    "What of this
traitor?"
    "The gon-dra brought him
back to Uplands then gutted him like a fish and tossed him over the
battlements."
    "As it should be." The gon
stood tall. "Go to your quarters. Rest. Food will be brought to
you." He signaled a guard, who hurried over to help the messenger
stand.
    Excited chatter filled the
hallways long into the night as people gossiped about the return of
the soldiers and Malack's justified treatment of a traitor. Morning
came, midday passed with no sign of the soldiers. The