Of Gilded Cages and Broken Birds

By: Mademoiselle Sinistra

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Robin Hood.

Chapter One: Memoirs of a Broken Soul

It's cold. It's always cold in the dark. No clothes make it colder. I don't deserve clothes. That's what they say. 'Whores don't need clothes.' That's what they say. 'Whore' they call me and worse. I guess it's true. Master says I am very nearly a proper whore. He says it like it's a good thing, but I'm not sure. I do not like Master's lessons, but he says they're necessary. Master says what makes me a good whore is that I prefer the lessons over the punishments. I've tried to tell him I don't like either, but that only made me get more punishment, so now I keep quiet. Master also says that a good whore knows when to keep his mouth shut and when to open it. The dungeon is where I am sent to be punished. My fingers have been broke-again. They hurt tremendously, but I've had worse pains than this. I cannot remember how long I have been here, nor quite where 'here' is. I've lost hope of a rescue. My friends cannot find me here. Master says if they knew what I had become, they wouldn't come, anyway.

"No one can love a filthy whore. Whores don't deserve respect, kindness, friends, or love," Master said whenever I spoke of a rescue. Or her.

I can no longer recall her name, but she is the loveliest woman I can ever remember laying eyes upon. I believe that I love her, but she cannot love me now. Not since I've been here. I wish I'd be released from the dungeon soon. I do not like it down here. Actually, I do not like any part of this whole building, but pretty much anywhere is better than down here. That is the only reason I ever obey at all. To avoid being put down here in the cold and dark. Slowly, my body succumbs to sleep.

I dream of her. We are in the forest that has become merely a faint and vague memory and she is laughing very prettily. I forget what she's laughing about, but I do not care. At least she is laughing and is happy. That is good enough for me.

The dream ends much too quickly, as I am taken back to my room. It's a very nice and richly decorated room, but to me, it is every much a cage as the dungeon. Only homier. A gilded cage for a trained bird. Soon, the Master arrives.

"Welcome back, my little whore-to-be," he said, as nice as he can sound.

I looked down at the floor. Never look Master in the eye unless he says so.

"How was your little visit to the dungeon?" he asked.

"Instructive, Master," I said, quietly.

"Good," replied Master, "what do you have to say to me?"

"Sorry, Master," I said, "I was bad. Please forgive me."

"Yes, I forgive you," said Master, "if you promise never to do it again."

"I promise," I answered.

Now that I'm no longer being punished, Master has decided to give more lessons. I inwardly shuddered when Master brought out the wine bottle. It was empty, of course. Master stood in front of me, expectantly. I dropped down onto my hands and knees, just like Master had taught me. I stared down at the red carpet and tried not to think of what was to come next. If I didn't think about it, I wouldn't clench up and it wouldn't hurt as much.

Master finished the lesson.

"On your knees," he said, "let's see how well you remember this lesson."

I did as Master instructed. He undid his velvet breeches and let them drop to his ankles. I knew what this lesson was. I scooted closer and gently took his manhood in my hands. I bent my head close and put it in my mouth. I pleasured him just how he liked, as I've been taught. No biting, choking, or gagging. Master put one hand on my shoulder and lightly ran the other through my short hair. He thrust his hips forward, sending his length deeper into my mouth. He moaned in pleasure, as I did my task. The combination of sucking and licking that drove Master wild with ecstasy soon had him exploding in my mouth. As Master withdrew, I swallowed, as I knew he wanted me to and managed to keep it down. I was starved for a week the last time I got sick on the floor. Master pulled up his breeches and gently patted my cheek.

"Do you realize how well you pleasure others with your mouth?" he asked.

Mutely, I shook my head.

"You do it so very well. You should be proud. Not many whores give pleasure as well as you," he said, "it is one of your few true skills."

"Thank you, Master," I said, in response, though I did not enjoy the compliment.

That night, the Master's compliment about skills provided me with a dream. In this dream, the only skill people cared about me having was shotting an arrow and hitting a target from fifty paces. I was the best at archery and had few rivals. Seldom I had met a man (or woman) who was my equal. Everyone in the land knew my name.

But, that was just a dream and now I am just a nameless whore who is a skilled oral pleasure-giver.