To Train A Queen

by Commander James Bondage

  A moment later, the big, wooden paddle was in his hand, and Christine’s conveniently raised bottom globes were being punished by it. During a brief cogent moment during the savage pummeling that followed, Christine decided that the Count’s paddle was not as painful as Master Harkness’ “special”, in the sense that the flames of a blacksmith’s forge were not so hot as the fire of the Sun. The difference, however, was of no account to one cast into either.

  She had succeeded in angering the Count, although she had intended no such thing, and now she experienced what that entailed. The paddle set a fire in her flesh from just above the knees to the top of her hind parts. He punished every inch of the area, and then went over it again, only stopping when the paddle grew too heavy for him to lift.

  The long paddling had done more than make Christine think that the surface of her bottom and thighs had been cooked on a grill; it had bruised the muscles beneath the skin, so that her legs felt as if they had been trampled by horses. She sagged on the pole over which she was bent, incapable of holding herself up on her battered legs.

  Casimir glared down Christine, trying to decide if the correction was sufficient. Finally he nodded, satisfied. She would not disregard him so cavalierly again.

  “I trust that you will better remember my instructions in the future, Princess,” he said. “I believe not your flesh could withstand another such reminder. Let us then begin afresh, starting elsewhere, perhaps.”

  He pressed against her flaming buttocks and stooped over to cup her breasts in his hands. The nipples hardened and swelled with remarkable alacrity, and Christine began to display all the signs of arousal before he had done any more than the most preliminary pinching and tugging on her. He reached back with one hand to examine between her legs, and quickly discovered that she was already aroused.

  “I am beginning to think that Harkness’ tale is no less than the truth, Princess,” he said, as her hips began to move rhythmically under him, in response to his touch. “You are a slut of rare quality. Still, after that correction you would dare not defy me again. Do not come without permission.”

  Christine had no desire to defy the Count. Another beating like the one she had just absorbed might do serious damage to her. Her jaw muscles bulged as she clenched her teeth, her hands were balled in fists and all her concentration was devoted to keeping the Count’s fingers from driving her over the edge.

  But all her efforts were laughably useless. She exploded again, more powerfully than the first time, if her frantic gyrations were anything to go by, and even more quickly.

  Casimir watched her come, his brow knitted, his features darkening in anger. His first impulse was to apply harsher punishment, something involving pincers and red-hot needles, perhaps. Then he shook his head and grew calmer.

  “You truly have not the power to restrain your impulses, Your Highness,” he said, in a tone of wonder. “I must believe you could come whilst being disjointed on the rack. It is evident that my normal methods would succeed no better than if I were to attempt to train a lion not to eat meat.”

  Christine nodded. At last he understood that she could not hold back her climaxes any more than a twig could staunch a flood. Did that mean he would not pummel her poor haunches again for failing to do the impossible?

  Evidently not. “It is said that where the will exists, a way may be found,” Casimir said thoughtfully. “Where the tried and true fails, I simply must find another method.” He pondered in silence for a while, his finger absent-mindedly tickling her, until her buttocks once again were moving in urgent little circles.

  “Of course!” Casimir exclaimed, whipping his hand out of Christine’s box to snap his fingers, and incidentally making her groan in frustration. “I have merely been looking at the problem the wrong way round. I wish merely to teach you to come whilst being taken in the rear, and that shall be simplicity itself, for you. I shall demonstrate.”

  He dropped his leggings to the floor, freeing a renewed erection. He rubbed his fingers up and down between Christine’s legs, coating them with her effusions (and sending her legs into a swaying dance of lust again), which he then smeared into her rear. She jerked as he roughly crammed in two slippery fingers without warning, and then he began to rapidly plunge them in and out.

  Christine endured the process without giving Casimir any sign of her discomfort. For one thing, she had already undergone similar treatment at the hands of Harkness, and had braced herself for it. As the preliminaries went on, she wondered if Casimir truly believed that she could have an orgasm this way. If so, he would soon be disillusioned, Christine thought. It was the most vile and off-putting act she could imagine, and she was certain that no matter how cleverly he manipulated her, she could never reach a climax that way.

  She had a moment of relief when Count Casimir pulled his fingers from her, but then she immediately afterwards felt the blunt pressure of an object much thicker probing at the same place. There was nothing she could do to stop what he was about to do but, Christine told herself, at the least she would not disgrace herself by coming while being used in this unspeakable manner.

  When he drove into her and her thick band of muscle molded itself around him, the severe discomfort was much greater than she had anticipated, and she groaned softly for a second or two before she was able regain control. Thereafter, as Casimir delved deeper, Christine did not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was hurting her, remaining silent and motionless.

  When he had inserted about half his length, Casimir said, “Now let us see what we shall see.” He again reached between Christine’s open thighs and began to twirl him fingers.

  To Christine’s horror, she felt the heat of arousal in her pelvis starting the moment he began to caress her. “Nnnn!” she mumbled, shaking her head.

  “Why do you say that, Princess?” Casimir asked, as he expertly pinched and tickled her. “Speaking as one who has had the pleasure of many women over the years, I would say it seems that being taken this way makes you more excited, rather than less.”

  The Count now demonstrated the completeness of his victory over Christine. When his entire length buried in her, his fingers began to move more quickly, twisting her until she erupted in another mammoth orgasm. As she did so, her muscles spasmed, gripping Casimir like a hand.

  “Ah, that is marvelous, Princess,” he said. “I had thought the Lady Emily’s performance could not be improved upon, but you have proved me wrong. Shall we see how many times you can come before you milk me dry?”

  He stretched out both hands and seized her nipples. They were so sensitive that Christine gasped in surprise when he touched them. He tugged at them, and then pinched the brown flesh between his nails, driving her to contort her torso and hips beneath him from the sudden agony.

  “So you felt that, did you?” he asked. “Now feel this.” He grabbed her by the hips and drew himself slowly out, until only an inch was still inside, and then, just as slowly, drove into her again. Again, his hand returned to the wet cleft between her legs, to rub and flick. It took almost no time to make her climax as uninhibitedly as before.

  After two orgasms, Christine’s nostrils were dilated as she sucked air into her straining lungs. Her body was gleaming with beads of sweat, her legs felt weak as if they were made of pudding. By the time Casimir finally finished, he had made her come one more time. Christine’s head low hung in misery. The Count had demonstrated the scope of his victory over her, showing that he could control her with either pleasure or pain.

  “I must tender my apologies to Master Harkness for ever doubting him,” Casimir said. “Surely you are the far the most passionate little vixen that ever I have enjoyed, Princess. You need to be trained not at all to respond as I wish, for you were made by Nature to be a plaything for males, it seems. Had the circumstances of your birth been otherwise, I little doubt you could have been the most renowned whore in the Empire. Instead, you shall become the next Queen of Bartavia, and mother to the heirs of
my house. Congratulations.”

  Christine sank into a black sea of despair when she realized that there was nothing she could do to stop Count Casimir. He had defeated her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Christine and Emily were brought up from the dungeon the next morning and taken back their old rooms in the palace. They were bathed and dressed in fine court gowns, wearing their finest jewels, with hair prepared in elaborate and fanciful arrangements, to be presented to the assembled nobility of Bartavia at a grand ball in the throne room.

  After the feast, Casimir ascended the dais that supported the throne, clapped his hands for attention, and said, “I have two announcements, noble lords and ladies. As it will affect the future of the entire kingdom and everyone in it, I trust you will lend me your ears.”

  The room fell instantly silent, and all eyes turned to the Count. “Thank you,” he said. “I doubt not that many of you are troubled by the uncertain future of the kingdom since the demise of the former sovereign, which is only natural. Change, sudden and drastic change most especially, is unsettling. I offer news that shall, I think, ease the hearts of those who fear for the future. The Princess Christine, daughter of King Charles, has graciously agreed to accept my offer of marriage, and will be my Queen when I am crowned King of Bartavia. Come up here, Princess, and stand by my side.”

  There was a stir among the nobility. They had anticipated that Casimir would claim the throne after overthrowing King Charles, but even so, being faced by the announcement that this usurper would be their new King came as something of a shock. Casimir waited, his face gradually becoming tight with anger, until one of guests began to applaud. The others gradually joined in until the entire room was clapping and calling out their congratulations to the happy couple.

  Casimir’s feature relaxed again as the cheers washed over him. After what he considered to be a sufficiently long time, he raised his hand for silence. “My thanks to you, mine and my bride’s,” he added, glancing at Christina who now stood beside him. “I have for you another announcement, which will provide an answer to a potentially vexing question. As you know, Duke Robert of Fernhill offered violence to my men, and in the course of the struggle that followed he unfortunately met an untimely end. His heir is the Lady Emily, who is but 18 and not yet of age to take up the rule of her unfortunate sire’s Duchy. The Lady Arabella has chosen to pursue her life elsewhere, as she has stated in the letter she gave me when she departed. This means that there must needs be a regent appointed to look after the Fernhill inheritance. Lady Arabella begged me to undertake this onerous duty, and though it may be my besetting weakness, I cannot say ‘no’ to a lady’s tears, so I agreed.”

  There was another murmur from the crowd. They had not expected this.

  Casimir held his hand up again. “Please, my friends, there is but a little more to tell, and then you may return to your revelry.” The nobles obediently fell silent again. “I have decided that if am to be to Lady Emily’s guardian, I shall take no half measures. Please come stand with us, My Lady,” he called to Emily, who obediently joined Casimir and Christine on the dais. “Therefore, I shall make her a member of mine own family, by adopting her as my daughter so that her properties and rights shall be given the protection of that only a father can provide.”

  This news was greeted by a louder buzz than before, and one that did not sound especially friendly. This did not surprise Casimir. He had not expected the nobility to be happy when they heard Casimir was for all practical purposes permanently confiscating the estates of one of their own, and the wealthiest and most powerful of them, at that. Naturally, the first thought most would have was, “What is to prevent him doing the same to me?”

  Casimir gestured, and into the great hall clanked a double line of his men, all in gleaming mailed and fully armed. The soldiers split apart, with one row marching to stand along each wall, so that Casimir’s guests could not possibly fail to either see them or to understand the reason for their presence. Suddenly, the room was as quiet as a tomb.

  “I trust my noble guests approve of my actions in this matter. Certainly, if any of you believe I have somehow overstepped the bounds of propriety in my concern for the Lady Emily’s welfare, I beg you point out to me my error,” Casimir said into the sudden hush.

  Unsurprisingly, there were no volunteers to take up this offer. He waited for a full minute, and then said, “I thank you for your attention, most noble lords and ladies. Please continue to enjoy my hospitality; drink, dance and make merry. If you see not what you want, you need only ask. From my friends, I can withhold nothing.”

  The noise, as Casimir’s guests resumed drinking, dancing and conversing together, somehow seemed less cheerful than before his announcements. Christine was not surprised when the nobles soon found various polite excuses to absent themselves, and in less than an hour the throne room was empty but for the soldiers, the servants, the new king-to-be and his prospective daughter and spouse.

  That night, Casimir decided to harvest the maidenhead of his fiancée. “It is not too soon for you to take up your duty of providing my heir,” he told Christine. With Count Casimir, however, even an act as normal as using a woman for intercourse was not performed in a conventional way.

  Christine was tied nude to the headboard of the bed, her hands secured far to either side and above her head, her legs strapped directly below on either side by the knees, so that her bottom projected out over the bed, with her open thighs offering unobstructed access.

  Emily was fitted with the big ring-gag she had been forced to wear on the first day of her captivity, then driven by blows of a whip on her naked ass-cheeks and legs to crawl up behind Christine and stimulate the Princess with her tongue. Emily bravely made a show of reluctance, which cost her additional strokes from Casimir’s whip, to hide the fact of her experiences with Christine so that the Count would not discover that they actually enjoyed this kind of contact.

  Christine did her part to keep up the masquerade, turning around to shout, “No, no, Emily, you must not! You will doom your mortal soul!” and similar sentiments, even as the delicious heat rose in her loins. When Casimir judged Christine to be on the brink, he roughly shoved Emily aside and lashed the bound Princess’ pale moons with his whip, making a half-dozen vivid red marks on the whiteness of her flesh, making her cry out in pain from the vicious strokes.

  “Hah!” Casimir shouted. “That was to your liking, was it not, my little Princess?” He knelt behind Christine on the bed, his yard at full stand, and took a firm grip on Emily’s hair as she lay where he had pushed her.

  “Up here, My Lady,” he commanded, tugging sharply enough to draw a screech from the blonde Duchess. “You shall tickle me with your talented tongue whilst I make a woman of Princess Christine.”

  Emily submissively scuttled into position on all fours, beneath Casimir’s legs, with her head tipped back and her lips almost touching him, extended her tongue to massage him as he required.

  Casimir spread Christine wide with his thumbs, and inserted himself into the interior. Christine closed her eyes, reviewing her feelings as she contemplated the imminent loss of what she had been taught was her most precious possession.

  She was a little surprised when she realized that she was not so very upset by the prospective loss of her virginity. She had received an extensive education in matters of sex over the last few days, and no longer set much store by what she had been taught while growing up. The strongest feeling she could summon up was a dull resentment that Casimir, of all the men in the world, should be the first to have her. If anyone else, even a peasant swineherd smelling of the pigs he tended was to take her at this moment, she would have had no objection.

  Christine’s preferences were of less than no consequence to the Count, nor to her fully aroused sex, which demanded relief without regard to its source. He drove his stiffness into her, setting off explosions of wild pleasure. The sensation for her was incredibly powerful, and she sensed that it would e
clipse anything she had yet experienced, even the nights of lovemaking with Emily.

  She wriggled her lower body, pressing onto him and trying to force him deeper. Casimir seemed as eager to take her as she was to be taken. He growled and surged forward, breaking through the obstructing flesh and cutting through the growing wave of pleasure with a sudden sting. It felt as if she had sustained a shallow wound from a knife, and she gasped softly in pain.

  As Casimir plunged deeper, he rubbed over the sore place, irritating it. But soon the warm sensations of pleasure she had enjoyed at first began to grow again. By the time Casimir had delivered two full strokes, the pain was nothing more than a harmless ghost, lost in a building hurricane of arousal.

  When Casimir began to pump her in earnest, plunging in and out with all his might, Christine lost any control she had over mind or body. “Fucking Jesus Christ in Heaven!” she shrieked, unaware of her horrible blasphemy or anything else, as she rode the wave of an overwhelming climax. “Fuck me, you son of a whore, fuck me!” She came a second time before the Count, cursing and showering her with every vile obscenity he had ever heard, exploded inside her.