Chapter 32 A Broken Spirit

Miss Prescott stayed quiet for a moment as she looked down dejectedly at the grass. The girl had the strong feeling that revenge would be exacted on her, but she had no idea what and when. In normal circumstances, without the lingering physical pain of discipline coupled with mental and emotional confusion, she would have had the strength to try to prepare herself for some kind of punishment. The young woman now felt so defeated, that submission to whatever her fate might be, although abhorrent to her, seemed easier than resistance.

While still pondering what to do, she sighed and raised her eyes slightly. She saw movement in her peripheral vision and before she knew it, Colonel Burwell was standing over her. Before Melanie could envision another thought, the officer grabbed her arm and yanked her hard up out of the seat.

The young woman had no idea the retribution would begin so quickly and was stunned. She couldn't even protest as the colonel pulled her roughly through the tent. In an instant, Miss Prescott found her arms wrenched up above her head, where Burwell hooked the rope that bound her wrists on a nail protruding from the tent pole.

Melanie instinctively began yanking at the hook, which only served to snag the rope further on the nail, firmly snaring her to the pole. She seemed to forget that the man still stood there as she began pulling and pushing her arms and body back and forth, trying to topple the column that held the tent up. The woman was facing the wooden pole, which held firm.

"You're going to wear yourself down," commented Burwell. "That pole is sunk securely in the ground, so you're not going to bring the tent down."

The man walked around to the other side of the column, now facing his prisoner. He knocked on the pole with his fist. "It's thick and the wood is solid. You're not going to break it, either. And that's a strong rope fiber, snared securely on the nail."

The girl stopped fighting, closed her eyes and sighed. She kept her eyes downcast, not wishing to look at Colonel Burwell.

The man walked back around the pole to where he was behind her again. He bent his body downwards and caught the bottom hem of her dress. The officer began to gather the dirty and tattered skirt up into his hands.

Melanie gasped when she felt his right hand on the inside of her right thigh. He began to caress her skin there, slowly inching his hand up her leg.

"Oh no! Please don't!," she cried.

The girl let caught her breath and held it when she felt his hand brush lightly over her bare crotch. She felt him cup her there, then move his hand again, feeling his fingers lightly tracing the folds of her womanhood.

"Please don't do this," she appealed. "You're married."

"So is Major Bordon," he countered. "That never stopped you."

Then she felt the man move closer to her, pressing his body into her hers. She closed her eyes in dread as she felt his arousal against her backside.

Without warning, he drilled two fingers up into her, thrusting them in and out a couple of times. Melanie groaned, not wanting the man near her, let alone probing her.

Burwell smiled as she became wet against his fingers. He moved close to whisper in her ear. "There we go," he purred. "You like that, don't you?"

The girl fought back tears as she realized her body was betraying her. She cringed as she felt his breath on the shell of her ear.

"I'm sure it's been days since your lover has been inside you," Burwell teased, "You're ready for it now. You want it."

After another moment of fingering her, the officer withdrew them from inside her. Melanie sighed with relief but she had no ease as he continued to taunt her.

"You've been with all the British officers at the fort, haven't you," he mocked. "How does Bordon like sharing you?"

"Don't. Please!," she protested weakly, her voice breaking.

Melanie twitched when she felt the man's finger touch the bud between her legs. The girl was helpless to stop any of his sensual assault with her bound wrists stuck on the hook.

The colonel began to slowly massage the pearl, feeling it harden into a small erection from her body's involuntary reaction to the stimulation. "You like that, don't you?," teased Burwell.

The young woman clamped her eyes shut, recoiling at her body reacting to the man. She cursed her physical being for betraying her. The girl tried hard to fight it, stiffening her body, trying to will herself out of it.

Colonel Burwell continued harassing her with his words as his fingers kept on in a steady rhythm, daring the woman to try and fight it. "So now that you're in our custody, do you intend to sleep with all the colonial officers, too?"

Melanie felt a familiar warmth building in her pelvis. Her mind screamed aloud at her body and soul, scolding her inwardly for succumbing to pleasure even though she was unwilling. The girl tried to focus on keeping her breathing even, but was quickly losing that battle.

Burwell discerned from her womanly wetness, erratic breathing and tenseness of her body that he was winning this battle of will—and body. He smiled to himself at the success of confounding the girl's physical being. His intent to bring the girl to completion, thus shaming her with an orgasm, was near fruition.

The colonial officer moved in close again to her ear, making sure she could feel his breath teasing it. "Go ahead and cry out if you'd like," he coaxed, yet gibed, "the men outside will assume you are adding another officer to your collection."

Warmth began to diffuse through Melanie's body and being as her breathing became more labored. She did her best to hold her signs of pleasure in, but her body defeated her heartily. The steady movement and pressure of his finger against her core had brought her to the edge.

"I'm sure you wish it was Bordon's fingers down there," jeered Burwell.

This insult made the girl's mind flash a quick image of Alex doing the same thing to her. That, coupled with Burwell's patient physical assault was all that was needed to send her to the zenith.

Though telling herself she would stay quiet, Melanie could not suppress the unwanted physical feelings of pleasure and cried out as spasms pulsated throughout her body. "Oh God…..oh….mmm..oh," she moaned.

"You are a whore, aren't you?" Burwell derided, satisfied that he was able to break her will.

That last cruel comment and the reality that she'd been brought to completion against her will were more than the young woman could take. Melanie rested her forehead against the tent pole and began to weep openly, ashamed that she'd had an orgasm in front of this colonel, and distressed that it was caused by another man and not her lover. The remorse she felt at her perception of betraying Alex left her distraught. As she sobbed, the young woman hoped that her humiliation was over.

As she wept, she felt the colonial commander reaching upwards, unhooking her bound wrists from the pole. Her arms were sore from having been extended above her head, and her feet hurt from having stood still on them for more than a few moments. Despite these pains, Melanie was relieved for the moment to be liberated from the wooden column.

Unfortunately her reprieve was only momentary for she was soon hustled away from the pole by Colonel Burwell. When he reached his cot, he threw her battered body onto it.

"Oh God no," she cried in exasperation, "please no!" Melanie, with her wrists still bound, tried to scramble off the bed, not even caring if it meant a fall to the ground.

The colonial commander dropped his body onto hers, effectively pinning her weakened person down. The girl still tried fighting him, trying to get a jab or hit in with her bound hands. The man calmly grabbed her wrists, pushed her arms above and over her head then laid them on the pillow.

"Don't fight," he said in a calm voice as if giving a friend advice. "It's easier on us both if you don't."

Tears ran freely from Melanie's eyes as she protested. "Please don't," she appealed in a weak voice. "Haven't you had enough of me already?"

Burwell did not acknowledge her request. Instead he reached back and down his leg.

He noticed that he had the girl's full attention, her eyes following his movements. The officer watched her face intently as he slowly brought a sheathed knife up in front of him.

He moved it above her head to where he held her wrists down, deftly slid the sheath under one hand and removed it with the other, all the while keeping the girl pinned. Burwell left the sheath between his hand and hers so that she could feel the hard leather pressing into it. The hand that wielded the dagger brought it down slowly in front of her face then to her chest, the girl watching it intently the whole time.

Melanie gasped, stopping her tears for a moment. She shook her head in disbelief, mouthing the word 'no' as she did. When the initial astonishment let go of her voice enough to make a sound again, fear claimed it, leaving it at only a whisper. "No….No..!". The girl closed her eyes.

Still holding her down, the colonel pointed the tip of the knife toward her chest. He pulled it slowly down just above her navel then inserted the blade into the cloth of her dress. The polished sharpness of it cut well through the light green material.

At the sound of fabric ripping, Miss Prescott opened her eyes, looking down in time to see the blade cutting up through her dress bodice. The young woman cursed herself for this was one of the few times she wore no corset realizing now that the stiff material and boning of a stay would give him some trouble.

Burwell, weapon still in hand, pushed back first one side, then the other of her bodice to reveal her white shift beneath. Starting at the same point again, he pulled the knife blade upward. The girl held her breath, wanting not to breathe and hold as still as possible with that dagger point so close to her abdomen. In an instant, the delicate undergarment now had a clean slice in it.

The officer bent forward over Melanie again, reaching up to replace the blade back into the leather scabbard on the bed just above her head. He left the instrument there as he switched hands now letting one hold her down and the other moving down to her chest. Burwell pushed her shift to either side of her chest, revealing her bare breasts to him.

Before Melanie could utter any protest, she felt the man's mouth on them. The girl closed her eyes again, wishing her attacker would dispense with the foreplay and seduction and just get on with the evil act. However, Burwell was enjoying drawing the assault out.

The officer took his time, kissing and suckling at her nipples as if he were her rightful lover and possessor of her body. Indeed he did own her person for the time being. The girl shuddered, wanting him to stop but not pleading aloud as she knew it would do her no good.

After only a couple of minutes, but what seemed longer to Miss Prescott, the man reached back above her head and brought the sheathed knife back down. He kept her pinned down with one hand as he did. The young woman watched him carefully as he stared at the knife quietly.

After perusing the weapon, his eyes shifted to look ominously at the girl. He broke the silence, with a terrible question. "Hmmm… Which end of the knife shall I fuck you with?". He posed the query in a nonchalant fashion, almost as if thinking aloud. "Both ends will hurt."

Melanie's eyes rounded as she drew in a sharp breath. "No! Please. Don't. Don't!" she begged breathlessly, never taking her eyes off the instrument. The girl's mind tried to spin into action as she lay helplessly. All she could do was come up with an impotent request. "What do you want from me?"

Colonel Burwell said nothing as he moved himself off her body yet continued to hold her arms down. Melanie's eyes followed the knife as his hand moved down to between her legs. He used the flat end of the sheathed instrument like and extension of his hand to push her skirt up to her hips. Lying flatly on the bed but with her head lifted, the girl groaned with fear as she saw the knife disappear between her legs and under the bunched up skirt.

She closed her eyes again and drew in a breath, trying to prepare her body for some kind of brutal defilement. An instant later she bellowed loudly as Burwell shoved the hilt of the knife up into her. He began moving the dagger's hard handle in and out of her wetness, with Melanie crying as he did. The object seemed to scrape her delicate insides there, as she could feel the curved finger grooves of the handle. Melanie sobbed aloud at this latest humiliation and the discomfort it caused her. "Please, stop!," she cried. "Oh God I'm begging you. Is that what you want—for me to plead; to scream?"

As the man kept on forcing the instrument of torture in and out, Melanie suddenly felt nauseous. She turned her head to the side wanting to vomit, but due to lack of food throughout the preceding week, she could only force a dry heave.

After another moment of this torture the man finally withdrew it from her leaving her insides feeling raw. Even though the girl felt tender, she sighed as the knife was removed, relieved that the horrid violation was over. Though it had ended, Burwell wasn't quite through with the young woman yet.

He slipped the knife back into its boot holster patiently then brought his hand up to his breeches. The commander pushed them down slightly to reveal his awaiting erection.

As he moved himself back over her body, the colonial commander positioned himself between her legs. He guided himself to her opening, still slick with her fluids, then reached up above her body, using both hands now to pin her bound wrists to the mattress.

"Oh God, not again," Melanie thought inside, her mind and soul crying inwardly as well as her tears showing outwardly. The girl prepared herself for this next invasion, clamping her eyes shut and praying to miraculously become numb somehow, so as not to feel it.

Colonel Burwell rammed his hardness into the girl with a ferocious lob, making her wail aloud, sure the cry could be heard outside the tent. Miss Prescott closed her eyes and turned her head to the side as the officer plumbed away at her. Tears may have managed to roll from her eyes and down her cheeks, but she bore the indignity as stoically as she could, willing herself not to sob aloud or beg for cessation, staying impressively quiet.

The officer heaved himself in and out of her body faster now, grunting all the while. Melanie was thankful that he was too busy moving himself toward his completion to taunt her anymore. The girl could sense that he was almost finished, feeling his body tense on hers and hearing his rate of breathing change.

After another moment of this, Burwell came, emitting a satisfied groan as he did. And Melanie felt the tension drain out of her body, comforted that he was finished, and trying to hide a sigh of relief from herself. Inside, she hoped that the colonials were finally through mistreating her.

She lay there quietly as Colonel Burwell withdrew his spent manhood from her body. The young woman remained silent, thinking that she was ready now for them to send her to the prison camp. She contemplated another moment as her attacker was making himself ready to receive visitors again, that if she felt better, there may even be a chance for her to escape as they transported her to the detention area.

After a few moments, Burwell was done up again in uniform, everything tucked in, straightened and neat as it should be. This signaled to Miss Prescott that he was through assaulting her for at least a little while—forever she hoped. She brought her bound hands down from above her head and pushed her skirt down. The girl pushed her sore body slowly up into a sitting position.

The colonial commander saw this and moved toward the cot. He sat down on the edge of it, forcing the young woman to quickly inch away from him as much as the narrow bed would allow. Burwell moved his face dangerously close to hers then moved his lips to her ear, as if imparting a secret. "Give Major Bordon my regards and tell him it was a pleasure," he ridiculed in a whisper.

Melanie did not dignify his gibe with a comment. Instead she kept silent, trying to find some dignity, yet too weary to try to find words to counter with. The man stood up and left her there on the cot. As he took two steps away, he stopped in his tracks then turned back to her.

"You know, I think I'll send word through the local intelligence network that you seduced me. I won't add the phrase 'in an attempt to win her freedom.' It should create quite a lot of anguish for Brutal Bordon when he hears the information, leaving it open for his own speculation. I know he can sometimes be quite hard on women. He'll probably punish you for it—if he ever sees you again!"

The poor girl's heart sank at this commander's cruel words. She felt defeated, bested and mistreated by her own neighbors and countrymen. Her eyes followed the colonel as he walked away from her.

He called from the next canvas room, "You may have the cot tonight. And don't bother trying to do anything to me in the night or crawling away in some half cocked escape attempt. I am posting a guard within the tent, and they are picketed around the exterior of it." With that he stepped out of the tent.

From the bed, Melanie could hear Colonel Burwell talking with someone, but the voices were muffled so she could not make out what was being said. After a moment of trying to listen, she deemed it of no use and sank back down on the cot. The girl curled into a fetal position and began to cry, her hopes dashed of ever seeing her beloved Alex again.

Some time later, Miss Prescott wasn't sure how long, she heard the clamor outside the canvas walls quiet down as the camp settled in for the night. She knew not what time it was but could only imagine it was after midnight. The girl could not sleep, laying in the cot trembling and wanting to stay awake in case the colonel decided to return for another round of abuse. The young woman breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Colonel Burwell finally sink into another cot across the tent somewhere in another room.

Though Melanie's tears had stopped hours ago, she never fell asleep. The poor girl turned from side to side on the uncomfortable camp bed, her body sore and battered from over a week of physical aggression from her captors. Her soul ached from the mental and emotional blitz of Burwell's insults. The colonials, from the lowliest militia man to the top uniformed commanding officer, had successfully beaten Miss Prescott down, wounding her body and breaking her spirit.