Every nerve ending she’d struck was on fire, and my bottom and the backs of my thighs felt as if hot coal was being blasted at them while I screamed and begged for mercy. I didn’t try to stem my tears, but I held strong and didn’t move again.
She stopped with no warning, but my relief was short-lived.
“Back on the table in your original position, Little One.”
She didn’t sound mad, and I hoped I’d lasted long enough to please her. Within a few seconds, I was on my back on the table once more, legs spread while I held my ankles, and she told me, “I’m going to belt your cunt now, Little One. You’ll hold position for twenty strokes. If you don’t, I’ll tie you in place and give you one hundred.”
The first stroke hit my clit and cunny. It stung and it bruised and there was no way I could take twenty of those without moving, but the alternative was unthinkable.
Halfway through, I was a snotty, frantic mess, but my Queen didn’t seem to care. I’m certain she used magic to enhance her strength, because the final three strikes were harder than anything I’ve ever taken from anyone, and to this day I have no idea how I managed to stay in place, but I did.
My Queen dropped the belt after the last, brutal strike, but I held my position until she stepped beside me and lifted me from the table.
Her strong, warm arms cradled me to her chest, and I relaxed into her. She levitated us to her throne and held me until I could breathe again — stroking my face and hair, soothing me until my tears slowed.
A washcloth appeared in her hands out of nowhere, cool and wet. The Winter Queen wiped my face as if I were a beloved child, then had me blow my nose into the cloth. When she was satisfied, the washcloth disappeared.
I’m a quarter pixie and the rest human, but I can’t live in the human realm with my red and yellow hair, and pointed ears. I could probably get away with my purple and green nails now, as an adult, but they drew the wrong kind of attention when I was born.
I was brought to Faerie as a newborn and raised a slave. I have no magic, nor do I have any idea who my family is here. Slave children learn to dust and sweep soon after they can walk steady. Later, I washed and folded clothes, and did other menial tasks to help the adult slaves. When I came of age, my Master took my virginity and started my formal pleasure-slave training.
No one had ever held a cloth under my nose so I could blow it, and in that moment I’d have done anything to make the Queen love me.
Her hand slid between my legs, her fingers stretched my slick cunny, soaked from the beating. My pulse sped. I moaned and pushed my hips up, and she chuckled. “Okay, Little One. There’s a shelf under my throne. The guard will pull it out and get everything set up, and then we’ll situate you so you can use your cute little mouth on my pussy while he fucks you from behind.”
She touched my chin, and I met her gaze. “You pleased me, Little One. You have permission to orgasm as often as you want. Take advantage of it while you can. It may amuse me to deny you orgasms for months or even years at a time. Or, I may enjoy watching you in the throes of bliss.” She tapped my chin twice and added, “Either way, don’t neglect my pleasure for your own.”
The back of her throne tilted so she could recline, and she looped her legs over the padded arms. Her Majesty ordered the guard to use both my ass and cunt, and he pulled out of one and slammed into the other as soon as his orders came to switch. Through it all, I focused on pleasing my Queen. I’d been trained to pleasure both men and women, and I took my time figuring out what she liked. Some women prefer insertion, others prefer clitoral stimulation. It turned out, my Queen made the most noises when I used my fingers in her pussy and my mouth on her clit. I made her come four times before she stopped me and told the guard, “When she’s had five more orgasms, you can come in her ass. Figure out what she likes and make it happen.”
I hadn’t stopped working her pussy, but I’d slowed while she talked.
“Little One — rest your face against my thigh. I’m good for now.”
Her Majesty stroked my hair through my first orgasm, she flogged my back through the second, and she wrapped her legs around me and then used magic to press a needle through one of my nipples during the third. I’d never come so hard in my life — held between my Queen’s legs, fucked from behind by a well-endowed, muscled guard, and the most delicious torture of the needle penetrating my nipple.
She cut off my air supply for my fourth orgasm, and I came until spots appeared in my vision and I was about to pass out.
My Queen rearranged us so my head was on her chest when the guard slammed into my bottom-hole, and she demanded I look her in the eyes and not look away. Her gaze was so intense, and for a while I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to come. She’s an all-powerful Queen and I was just a little slave — when she finally ordered me to come, my body obeyed before I knew it was going to. She slapped me when I closed my eyes, and I opened them to let her see inside me while I came with a guard fucking my bottom. I’d never felt so vulnerable.
“Hmmm,” she intoned when the guard pulled out of my bottom and thanked our Queen for the use of her slave. “Do I want you plugged, Little One, or would I rather see the cum running from your ass and down your leg?” She sighed and pushed the hair from my face. Those fingers had been so wonderfully cruel when she’d closed my nose and sealed my mouth to block my air, but were terribly gentle now.
“Plugged, I think. I’ll enjoy humiliating you once we’ve gotten to know each other, but it isn’t the way I want to start. Let’s see if the guard can work one of my bigger plugs into you.” She looked up and told the guard. “If you can’t get it in her ass, I’ll get it in yours. However, if you make her bleed, I’ll make you bleed.”
I wasn’t allowed to see how big the plug was, but within minutes my eyes were watering and I clenched my jaw to keep from begging for relief. The guard took his time stretching me, but he was relentless.
Perhaps ten minutes went by, and I was crying, with my face once again on my Queen’s pussy, when she decided she wanted to feel me crying and screaming while I pleasured her some more. I gave her three more orgasms before the guard finally got the huge plug in me.
My Queen sent the guard away and held me in her arms like a baby once again. I snuggled in, and she owned my heart. She could do anything she wanted and I’d beg for more, if she’d just hold me like this every once in a while.
When my tears had stopped and I was breathing easy, she kissed the top of my head and told me, “The plug doesn’t come out until a member of my staff removes it. I’ll teleport you to the kitchens now, and I’ve already let the head cook know she’s to feed you as much as you want, until you’re no longer hungry. I’ll see you tonight, Little One. I hope to get a good report of your day. If you make someone have to punish you, I won’t play with you tonight.”
Mab
My new little slave was indeed a treasure. Holding and comforting your property after you use it is rarely a good idea, but I make an exception when a slave goes so far above and beyond what I think he or she is capable of taking — and this little slave had fought so hard to take what I gave her, it warmed my heart.
I may not be the ruling Queen all year, but my castle practically runs itself during my reign because I spend time during the summer making sure it’s run by the most competent people. I was due in a meeting soon, or I’d have held her until she fell asleep in my arms.
Instead, I sent her to eat, and I teleported a note to my assistant, to make sure the new slave was assigned to our most competent people. I didn’t know who those people would be, but the managers over those departments would.
Slaves have a cunt, freepersons have a pussy. Usually, I don’t let slaves get away with softening terms, but I liked the way the word cunny rolled off my new little one’s tongue. I realized I was in danger of becoming too attached to her, because allowing her to skirt a rule was a red flag. I wasn’t sure I cared, though. It’d been a long time since someone had made me want to car
e for them.
Chapter Three
Little One
The cook offered me steak, rosemary potatoes, and a mess of greens. I don’t always like greens, but these were mouthwateringly good and I downed every bite she put on my plate.
“I have peach pie, apple pie, chocolate cake, and strawberry shortcake made fresh,” she told me when I’d finished my meal. “We have chocolate truffles and soft peppermint treats I always keep handy for Her Majesty, and I was told to offer you whatever I have, Little One.”
I love soft peppermint and hadn’t had it since my original Master or his head slave trainer had given it to me for a special treat when I pleased them, but I didn’t want to eat from the Queen’s personal stash. Making decisions is always hard for me, but I love chocolate and rarely get it, so it wasn’t too hard to figure out which cake I wanted. “Chocolate cake would be wonderful, Ma’am.”
I looked up in question when she put the cake in front of me with two pieces of peppermint on the plate beside it.
“I saw your eyes when I mentioned it. Eat up. You’re a little slip of a thing and I think you’ll be full enough when you finish, but if you want more, you’re welcome to it.”
I was seated on a tall stool at the edge of her work area, and she talked and chatted about a whole lot of nothing while she worked. The kitchen was full of people at various workstations doing their own jobs, and the head cook seemed to be whipping up the most complex dishes while she supervised everyone else. Most of the room appeared to be employees, though a few workers wore collars denoting them as slaves. Everyone was dressed the same, whether slave or employee.
“How long have you worked for Her Majesty, Ma’am? Is it okay to ask?”
“Nearly ten years. I was working at a restaurant and she took a liking to her meal. Walked into the back without asking anyone if it was okay, asked who’d made the stew, and offered me a job on the spot. Took me a few years to move up to head cook, but she says she put me in charge because she likes the way I mother everyone.” She gave me a conspiratorial look. “I’m pretty sure Her Majesty means she appreciates both the way I feed people, and the way I discipline them when they mess with my kitchen. If everyone does what they’re supposed to do, it runs smoothly. I can get cantankerous when someone interferes with the flow.”
“You like working for her, Ma’am?”
It was a dangerous question for a slave to ask a freeperson, but I needed to know more about Her Majesty, and the cook seemed to enjoy talking.
Everyone outside the palace is terrified of The Winter Queen, but so far the people here had a healthy respect for her but didn’t seem to be walking on eggshells.
“I’m good at what I do, Little One. Her Majesty rewards those who please her and punishes those who don’t. She’s fair and just — I couldn’t ask for a better employer.”
“Thank you for answering my question, Ma’am.”
When I finished eating, the cook had someone take me to the baths. I was handed off to a handsome man, naked and in a tiny cock cage and slave collar.
I wanted to ask him if he was being punished or if he was always in the cock cage, but I followed him into a room clearly set up to give enemas, so I kept quiet. It’s best not to annoy the person about to clean you out, whether they’re a fellow slave or not.
“Is there anything I need to know before we get started?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m a pleasure slave. I’ve been regularly cleaned out as long as I can remember.” Even child slaves are cleaned out on a schedule, so they don’t annoy people with their need to go at random times. Toddler slaves lose their diapers when they learn to walk, and they’re spanked for accidents. However, they really only need to learn not to pee all over the place, because their enemas keep them cleaned out so they don’t make stinky messes.
“Her Majesty was clear this isn’t a punishment, but she expects you to be squeaky clean when you come to her. I’ll be punished if you aren’t, so you understand I’ll need to be thorough while trying to keep you as comfortable as possible?”
I sighed and looked to my feet. “Let’s forego comfortable and try for fast instead, please? I’d really like to get this part over with.”
His cock pulsed in its tiny steel cage. “You like pain.”
He said it as a statement and not a question, but I answered him anyway. “I do, but I dislike enemas. Keeping me comfortable means giving me five or six, each larger than the last. However, if you load the first up with soap and force the whole thing in me even if I beg for relief, we can get me clean with two soapy enemas and then I’ll just have to deal with the clear-water rinse enemas.”
He sighed. “And I thought someone was taking it easy on me by giving me a slave who didn’t need punishing. Very well.”
I noted the whips on the wall, the lemons in a basket, and the rack of spicy oils, and realized he probably specialized in giving punishment enemas. I chuckled without thinking, and then stopped myself. “You’re a sadist in a cock cage, forced to hurt people when you can’t enjoy it?”
“I am, Little One. Let’s get you strapped in.”
“So, with neither of us allowed an orgasm, she’s managing orgasm denial on both of us, without lifting a finger?”
“Our Queen is very good.”
He grasped my hand, moved it to a corner of the enema table, and locked it in. I moved my feet and my other hand to the corners, so he wouldn’t have to move them.
I’d remain here until we were finished — the table was tilted so my feet were slightly lower than the rest of me, and with plumbing between my legs to drain the mess away, there’d be no need to let me up when it was time to release. He’d hopefully hose me down to clean me off when necessary, but slaves don’t get to go relieve themselves in private during routine maintenance.
As a child, we’d been bent over a short wall outside, lined up side by side, and tubing stuck in our bottoms like an assembly line. Someone squirted water to wash the mess away almost as soon as it hit the concrete under our bare feet, but the place still stank.
However, I hadn’t been put on an enema table and so thoroughly cleaned until the day I’d lost my anal virginity. It had been auctioned off to the highest bidder, and I’d never had anything large put inside my bottom-hole before — only the narrow enema nozzle used on children. I had no idea how to prepare for such an invasion, and didn’t have an opportunity, even if I’d known what to do. I was cuffed that morning when they told me what was to happen, and had no access to myself throughout the day, while I was cleaned out, then waxed from my neck down, and then professionals worked on my hair, nails, and make-up. My owner had taken my woman-hood three months before, and I knew I’d eventually be required to submit to having my bottom violated, but I’d thought I had much longer.
Also, I had no idea it would be auctioned off in the manner it was, but my initial pleasure training alerted them I’d be a good candidate. I knew none of this at the time, and only figured it out later, when I was occasionally called in to help train the younger slaves.
Later, I was taught how to relax and accept such an invasion into my bottom, but the first time had been a horrible nightmare — hanging in a harness with no way to move or protect myself, my arms and legs bound out of the way. Men were allowed to bid to be the first, the second, the third… all the way to the thirtieth. My bottom-hole had hurt for weeks, afterwards.
This slave pulled the monstrous plug from my bottom with as much care as he could manage, but part of me wished he’d just tugged it out and hurt me. However, he was in charge of seeing to me while I was in his care, so I didn’t comment.
So far, none of the slaves or employees at The Dark Queen’s castle had treated me with cruelty. There was no guarantee this would continue, and I kept expecting a horrid taskmaster to step forward with implements of torture hanging from his or her belt, but it hadn’t happened yet. Her Majesty had enjoyed hurting me, but that was different.
I’d been abused by other sla
ves who had seniority over me before, so I knew it could happen, but something told me the Winter Queen’s castle ran differently than the other places I’d lived.
This slave was methodical, precise, and professional, though I noted his caged cock fruitlessly tried to grow when I cried, squirmed, and begged to relieve myself of the soapy enemas. He didn’t leave the first in for terribly long, but he set the timer for the second at forty-five minutes, and only released the valve when the timer dinged. When I’d also endured the two clear enema rinses and fully evacuated them, he sent for someone to get me.
I was taken to a waxing area and fully depilated from the chin down. Large ball gags were placed in every slave’s mouth as we walked in the door, and removed as we left. Slaves who attempted to speak around the gag were also outfitted with a chinstrap and full-face hood, so I didn’t attempt to communicate in any way. Once again, the person who handled me was methodical and professional, and she hurt me no more or less than the job required.
A tiny, soft-spoken woman was waiting when I was finally pointed towards the door. I was certain she was older than me, but she was so small — barely taller than me, and certainly thinner. She gently removed my gag, dropped it in a bin with other gags I assumed would be cleaned and reused, and delicately asked me to follow her.
She was naked with a slave collar, but I didn’t try to speak to her, and she remained quiet until we entered a room with a bath. I was used to being in a large bathing area with lots of other slaves, and I wasn’t sure what to think of the small, private room.
Dementor (Rolling Thunder MC Birmingham Book 1) Page 29