Mistress Agnes Ch. 06

And that didn't change in the next months. As his body gained weight, it lost colour and stamina, though he tried to exercise as much as he could by running in place and doing push ups and other muscle building workouts. The iron collar kept his throat in a constant state of delicacy, the bruise had become a permanent fixture, a source of pain that drained his energy and his will, and cost him even more breath than his lack of fresh air and physical activity.

He became very skilled at making love, and enjoyed the mistress' ministrations ever more, she never hurt him without provocation, never tried to demean him in their love-play, and she generally called him pet names, though she never used his name.

As he gained confidence in her wishes, he acted a lot firmer than he felt, pinning her under his body, kissing her roughly, grabbing her breasts and sucking them hard, fucking her with energy and never tenderly, as he would have preferred. He would have loved to have his mistress with him at night, to talk for hours, then fall asleep beside her and stroke her tenderly, for he had come to love her more than a little, and he yearned for tenderness instead of rough love-play.

Still, he anticipated her wishes well enough to earn his right to stay, and he never got hurt worse than the occasional slap if he was too rough or too assertive, she did not lead him on to become dominant, then whip him for it, as Patrick and himself had feared.

In general, Dennis was pretty content, but as his body first recuperated, then lost its fitness in enforced idleness, and his mind quieted down for lack of danger, then started to lose its edge for having nothing to do besides read and contemplate, he started to feel resentment for being kept prisoner without a single reason.

Instead of gaining respect for his mistress, he started losing it because of her unfairness, and though he still felt intense love for her when she spoiled him and urged him to unleash his fervour on her, whenever she left him by himself, to do things he never heard about, he started to lose hope to ever lead a normal life.

He had no idea what she did most of her time, or what her past had been, what her hopes and dreams for the future were, they never talked, she only visited him to have sex. She rarely held him with the love that he craved, the yearning for which had tempted him to try and win a place in her household, merely entering the room, exciting him until he took her, and then leaving him by himself once more.

She had never asked about his life before she found him, what his experiences in the army had been like, how his youth had been.

And since she never asked, she never knew about his nightmares, and the terrors that still plagued him, the enforced idleness and lack of new experiences causing him to dwell on his past almost continuously.

Ever since his body had recovered from the exhaustion of the moors, he hadn't slept one full night altogether, he usually woke up sweating, sometimes remembering the faces of the men he had witnessed dying on the battlefield, or in the infirmary, sometimes trying to escape from being killed himself, shot or cut by rifle or sabre, choked or stabbed by a larger boy from a rivalling gang.

Choking dreams usually meant his chain had gotten stuck under him, or on the table or the bed, pulling the collar back into the bruise, causing it to swell for a few days, giving him an audible wheeze and a raspy voice.

But his broken nights exhausting him didn't matter, he had nowhere to go by day, no physical or mental exertions, he could easily catch up on sleep while everyone else worked, he could barely see the difference between day and night anyway, the attic was illuminated by the hearth only, unless he lighted the candle. A perfect atmosphere to make love, but not to live in day in, day out.

Of all this, the mistress was perfectly unaware. Dennis never complained, it was no use, she only felt the exquisite thrill of finally having her slave, lying in the luxurious bed, waiting for her to come and please him, or to have him please her, the only activity that could still get him to show a little spirit.

He jumped her, held her down, took her roughly, all an act, one that became harder to keep up as his spirits abandoned him further day by day, and his body couldn't keep up anymore for lack of breath and lack of will.

Dennis' pale, flabby body disgusted him, but there was nothing to entertain him in his long, lonely hours but food, which was always so good he ate everything he got. The boy who ruled a gang of thugs and the man who faced the French were gone, and he felt unmanned and listless.

'Oh Dennis, I'm so sorry to see you so unhappy! Why don't you just talk to the mistress, I'm sure everything will be all right.'

Patrick was trying to hearten him, but Dennis could clearly see his friend was sadly disappointed in the mistress, his lack of hope for Dennis shone through all his attempts at cheerfulness and they came to nothing. Dennis lost hope, and heart, and a resentment not previously known to him started to rule his being.

Then one evening, after making love to the mistress as she liked it, rough and bossy, he couldn't take it anymore. He was gasping for breath, the bruise on his throat hurt like hell, it was always at least painful now, making him slow and tired for lack of air, he waited until he could speak again, then pleaded with all his heart.

'Mistress, will you please release me from this attic? It's killing me. I can't breathe properly, I'm getting flabby and lazy, I'm not even half the man I used to be, whom I could be. For you, mistress.'

Agnes looked at her slave in utter shock. They were such a good pairing, he didn't rage as she'd hoped, but he was as skilled as Patrick and Guy, and more energetic than Dick, and he always let her do with him as pleased her. And now he told her he was desperately unhappy living just for her? He looked fine, he did gasp for breath often, but he always made love beyond his endurance, no wonder he felt tired afterwards.

'I need to see daylight again, mistress, breathe fresh air, run across the moors until I'm dripping with sweat. I'm feeling low half the time, and resentful the other half. I cannot live like this any longer.'

Low and resentful? She gave him the best food available, she lowered herself to please him, she actually loved him! Suddenly anger flared up inside her, and she slapped him, hard.

He didn't cringe, or show anger, he merely blinked once and stared blankly in front of him.

She was losing him.

'I can't do it, love, you're my slave, you're just for me, I need you to wait for me here and be mine.'

Without meaning to, she put all her love in that sentence, her guilt at having hit a defenceless man overcoming her for a second.

'Even if it kills me, mistress? I will be yours for as long as you want me to, I've done everything you wanted me to, I'll kneel to you, or take you, whichever you want, but I cannot sit here all day anymore, in the dark, with nothing to do.'

Agnes didn't want to hear him, and left.

But the next day he wasn't back to his old self, being left utterly alone hadn't cured him of his foolishness. He was listless, he didn't respond to her caresses, he didn't show any displeasure at her attempts to excite him, but he didn't show any emotion either.

She was not going to plead him, she was the mistress, and she decided his life.

He did look awful, and it wrung her heart to see such a handsome man so unhappy, but he'd get over it once he could pin her under him.

But he didn't pin her anywhere, his dick still rose, but she couldn't get him to use it, not by threatening him, not by asking him politely, and not by hitting him.

He merely took the punishment in silence, showing the pain but nothing else.

She would not stoop to pleading him, even though she loved him and it broke her heart to have him reject her.

Some days later, angered by his attitude, she even took a whip to him, in anger, but also hoping to spark his anger so he'd take her again. But it didn't bring any life back into him, he didn't bow to her will as she had hoped, he didn't threaten her with violence to defend himself. In fact, he didn't lift a finger, he just laid there, lifeless but for his gasping breath, his face not showing any emotion at all anymore, blood dripping from nearly a dozen cuts.

After that, he barely ate for days, his breath wheezing whenever he saw her, or maybe all the time, and Patrick, Guy, and even Dick stared at her with reproach.

Patrick took care of him lovingly, cleaning the cuts with great care, feeding him titbits, fluffing his pillow and holding him whenever he thought his mistress was hard at work in her study.

Agnes took to spying on them, suspecting them of trying to fool her into releasing her slave, spoiling her dearest wish, but she soon had to admit that her beloved was indeed miserable. Patrick tried to cheer him, read to him, stroked him, told him all would be well but his voice betrayed the older man hadn't the slightest hope.

And her love did wheeze even when he didn't see her watching him, he was right, she was killing him.

It had taken her a week to get to the point where she whipped him, and it took her another week to realize she'd lose him altogether if she didn't free him. She was writing a particularly hot love-scene, totally taken up by the action, when she suddenly thought: this is how Dennis and I used to make love, it was so good, so full of love and trust, and now it's over.

That was the first time she used his name, saw him as a person, the man she had come to love.

Sneaking upstairs, she watched him for half an hour, in which he never stirred. His laboured breathing was all the proof she had that he still lived, and a slight sense of worry burst into outright panic.

He was lost to her already, but if she kept him chained, he'd just die.

Suddenly scared out of her mind, she stumbled down the stairs, ran into the kitchen, where she knew she'd find the boys, and handed Patrick the key, begging, 'Set him free, please save him. I don't care what the cost, get him well, set him up with a business somewhere, make sure he's happy.'

Then she stormed off to her bedroom, locked the door, and cried herself sick in total silence. Beaten by her own slave, then forced to live without him. But she would not have to live with the knowledge that she killed an innocent man.

Totally stunned, and not a little bit concerned, Patrick begged Guy to come with him to the attic.

'I'm so afraid to find him past hope, Guy, I can't do it on my own. Everytime I go up there I fear to find him suffocated in that damned collar! I feel so guilty to have allowed the mistress to put it on him, and keep it on him even though it so obviously hurt him all the time. But what could I do? I couldn't just oppose the mistress!'

'I don't think he's in danger physically, my dear, but I'm rather worried about his mental state. His life has never been his own, he has always lived in fear, and has never been loved unconditionally or free of restraint. I suspect he loves the mistress, but in dependence, not in a healthy way, just because he desperately needed something to love. I fear he can't handle life on his own, he has always been ruled by someone.'

Patrick hadn't even thought of that, and acknowledged Guy's point with growing anxiety, as they crossed the hall and climbed two flights of stairs.

'And he has terrible terrors, I've heard him talk in his sleep so often, thrashing and sweating. And when I asked him what he dreamed about, he told me he was always reliving scenes from his past, seeing mates killed before his very eyes, having to save himself by killing foreign boys his own age, being wounded and merely patched up, then sent back out straight away. No-one ever cared.'

'That is not true, Patrick, you care for him and have saved his sanity I'm sure, sneaking up to comfort him and keep him company whenever the mistress was busy, risking her anger, knowing how jealous she was of her slave.

And I admire you for caring for him, I didn't dare myself, I was afraid she'd kick us out. But love, you can go to that poor wretch now and show him you care, give him some of your love, and then we'll start building him back up. Don't worry, I'll be with you and support you.'

Of course Dennis was still alive, his situation wasn't that bad. And he was tough, his mind had given up but his body hadn't. Guy didn't even feel jealous as Patrick kissed the younger man tenderly before he unlocked the collar, and threw it from him in disgust. Then he stroked the pale cheek, still smooth for Patrick insisted on shaving Dennis every other day, showing his love by keeping his friend clean and neat.

Of course that woke him, not as quickly as it used to, he knew that touch and he cared for Patrick.

His hand felt for his throat, and Dennis looked his question to Patrick.

'She gave us the key and pleaded us to save your life and make sure you would become happy somewhere, no matter the cost.'

A pain worse than the whipping.

'She wants me out of her life?'

Guy now sat on his other side, and calmly said, 'I don't think so, Dennis. I guess she thinks you want to leave her far behind.'

'You understand me, don't you? I love her, I want to be her slave, I want to follow her everywhere. Why can't the mistress understand that? I'm hers more than anyone.'

He started to wheeze again, even without the collar, and Guy decided he needed a distraction.

'We'll see how things work out, Dennis. But first you need to go outside and breathe fresh air, and get some sunshine. And eat a hearty meal with us in the kitchen, meet Cook and and John, the stable boy, and see Dick's homely face by daylight.'

That was the worst moment of all, for Dennis lost every semblance of control and broke down crying. He was not going anywhere, he was just too far gone.

Guy took over entirely, for Patrick was starting to lose it as well, and he ordered his partner, 'Patrick, get a set of proper clothes, mine, yours won't fit him. And under things as well, and your old boots. Your feet are bigger.

Then get Dick to carry him outside. Now go, quickly.'

Patrick left, feeling better now he had something to do.

And Guy held Dennis, telling him he would feel better once he was away from the attic, really, truly.

'You're a good man, Dennis, and this is not what life is meant to be for you. You need to face your past, and make a future for yourself, be strong again.

A better life is waiting for you, my friend, you can be anything you like. You can start a business, or learn a trade. You can be your own man, not beholden to anyone. And you're handsome, and young, and incredibly sweet, you will find love, disinterested love, and you'll have children, not too many, two would be fine, and you'll live happily ever after.

I'm sure of it. Dammit Dennis, you're free!'

By now, Patrick was back, with the clothes, and Dick, who kneeled before Dennis and touched his bare throat.

'The collar is gone, that makes me happy. You were never a dog, and should never have been whipped. I'm sure you never did anything bad.'

'Let me dress him, Dick, and then you can carry him outside. Do you know a nice sunny spot where he can breathe some fresh air?'

'Yes, Guy, behind the stables is a lovely field with an old haystack. It's perfect to laze about if you have the time. I'll carry Dennis there. You take care of the mistress.'

Guy had no idea how the fellow knew the mistress would be in need of attention, but he was right, and Guy said, 'Thank you for the offer, Dick. You go see the mistress, Patrick, you were ever her favourite, she'll let you in.'

'She has locked herself in somewhere?'

Even now, Dennis was more concerned with the woman who had mistreated him than with his own health and happiness.

'Don't you dare worry about her, Dennis. She hurt you so badly, when you never gave her anything but what she wanted.'

Patrick seemed more than angry.

'On second thought, Patrick,' Guy said quietly, 'you go with Dennis to make him feel safe and wanted, and I'll go see to the mistress.'

And so it went, once Dennis was dressed in proper clothes for possibly the first time in his life, Dick carefully carried him down the stairs, and across the yard, and deftly made a comfortable seat for him in the hay. Then he went about his business, leaving Patrick and Dennis alone in the field.

Patrick made a seat for himself right next to Dennis, and snuggled against him, hearing with satisfaction that his friend's breathing was already next to normal again.

They sat there in silence for half an hour, until Dennis wriggled to the edge of his seat, and asked, 'Will you help me try to walk a little?'

Patrick jumped to the ground, and stood firm, so Dennis could grab him if he were to fall.

He started out with an arm firmly on Patrick's shoulder, but after a few steps, he got his confidence back, and he breathed in deeply and let go of a heart-felt yell from the bottom of his heart.

'I'm very sorry I misjudged the mistress, Dennis,' Patrick started, 'I really thought she'd take to you, but instead you got hurt even worse. I feel responsible for what you went through.'

Dennis was striding out now, and he shook his body like a dog, and breathed with a relish, enjoying the sunshine on his pale skin.

'Never mind, Patrick. Who knows what would have happened if I had shown her my true self? It might have been worse.

But what will happen to me now? Did the mistress really promise me a happy life? I will not be thrown back on the moors?'

'After what happened, Guy and I will keep you until you are well again, and then you can decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. Guy will take you there, and the mistress will pay. That is what she said.'

'I'm hungry. Can I really sit with you in the kitchen and eat?'

'Yes, please, Dennis. I don't want you to go away just like that, let's have some fun together first, to remember you by. We've been good friends, haven't we?'

Grabbing Patrick's hands, Dennis foolishly spun the both of them around, of course losing his footing and tumbling to the ground. He lay there, gasping and coughing.

'I've missed this so much, clean air, daylight, freedom.

But where will I sleep until I leave, Patrick? I can't go back to the attic, not ever again.'

'If the mistress won't let you have a guest-room, you can sleep with us. Until you are strong again, the cuts healed, the wheezing gone. We'll take care of you, the mistress won't bother you. She's in her study, writing books most of the time.'

'You know I never knew that? What she did? She never told me anything about her life, and never asked about mine. We only made love. Or was it just sex to her? Then she left me, each and every time.'

'Oh Dennis, you're making me cry all over again. I've spent so many nights in Guy's arms, bawling my eyes out over you. I want to see you happy, you deserve it so much.'

'I'm sorry, I guess I'm just love-sick. I never got the chance to meet a woman, you know, so she was my first love. And I guess those are always painful when they end badly. I'll get over it. At least, I've heard most people do.'

'I don't mind, Dennis, I'll just cry some more tears over you. You deserve them.'

By now they had reached the house, and though Dennis felt really uncomfortable, afraid to meet the mistress and face her anger or disappointment, he was still acutely aware of his good fortune. She wanted him to be happy, and was prepared to gift him whatever he needed to be that. She could have thrown him out as he was, he had no-one to protect him.

Well, not entirely true, Patrick and Guy would have helped him, but of course they were her servants first of all.