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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 slaves 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 bath area with lots of other slaves, and I wasn’t sure what to think of the small, private room.
She pointed to a bar hanging to the side of the bathing area. “Please grab the bar? This won’t be pleasant right after you were waxed, but it can’t be helped.” She turned some knobs and soothing music filled the room. “If you don’t like my choice of music, let me know and we’ll select something else.”
It felt like she used oiled sand, though I suppose it could’ve been sugar or salt. At any rate, it seemed as if she sanded the top layer of skin off my entire body while I stood with my arms over my head, hanging on for dear life. Only what was inside my cunny lips, mouth, ears, nose, and eyes were avoided. When she’d done everything except my shoulders and arms, she had me let go with one arm so she could work on it, and then had me swap arms.
When I finally sank into the warm water, I was all pink and red.
“Have you been in Her Majesty’s castle long?” I asked.
“I have. The hard part’s over with, now it’s time to relax. Close your eyes and let the warm water work its magic.”
My head had been shaved regularly as a child, so there was no need to waste time washing or brushing my hair. It’d been allowed to grow out before I took on my official sex slave duties, but no one had ever washed my hair for me. I had absolutely no feelings around the enema or depilation processes. I was an object being prepared for use. It was routine. However, having my hair washed felt decadent. Wrong.
The other slave was patient with me, but it was clear she wasn’t used to having to give so many directions. Eventually, I figured out how to relax my head and neck so she could move my head while she washed, conditioned, and rinsed my hair.
My emotions were a strange mix while I was catered to. The pleasure parlor had given us enemas, kept us waxed, and trimmed our hair when the ends were uneven, but we’d been responsible for our hair, makeup, and nails — and failing to keep ourselves maintained to standards meant we didn’t get the next meal.
My most recent Master’s slave-manager had expected us to help each other with anything we couldn’t handle on our own. I’d helped the other girls with their enemas, but had preferred to take care of my own without assistance. No one had ever drawn a bath for me before, asked about my music preference, or washed my hair.
The most bizarre treatment was yet to come though, because a masseuse rubbed me down and oiled me everywhere, and then a stylist gave me an incredible updo while someone trimmed my toenails and shaped my fingernails. She put a clear coat over the top of my lavender and green swirled nails, and even made an offhand comment about how much the Queen liked my nails, and how Her Majesty had made a note not to hide the natural colors with polish.
Finally, I was taken to a doctor, who listened to my heart and lungs, examined every inch of my skin, looked inside my cunny and ass with a speculum, counted my teeth, peered in my ears, felt around on my stomach, mashed and poked at my breasts and nipples, and asked me lots of questions about my general health.
“Today’s exam was a formality, of course,” he told me when he finished. “Her Majesty checked you out and her magic would’ve told her if there were problems. You’ve been fed fruit and nuts throughout the day while you were prepared for Her Majesty, and while we can offer dinner, I’d advise you to turn it down unless you’re especially hungry. Her Majesty is likely to test you this evening, to see how much you can take. It’ll be easier on an empty stomach.”
“I had so much to eat for lunch — I didn’t eat much of what was provided for snacks. I’m fine, Sir, and thank you for the advice.”
“One of your responsibilities here is to let people know if you’re in need of something. You’ll let one of the grooms, maids, or guards know if you’re thirsty or hungry. If you’re terribly thirsty and one isn’t around, you’ll let whoever’s using you know — even if it’s the Queen. If you’re sick or injured, you’ll let someone know right away — groom, maid, guard, another slave, castle employee, or even Her Majesty. You’re the property of the Queen, and she’ll punish you severely for not taking care of her property.”
“I understand, Sir. Thank you.”
“Unless they’re given a pass by Her Majesty or me, all slaves are required to run with the pony slaves at least three times a week. The trainer may also assign weight training or other calisthenics, totally at his discretion. I understand you’ve had extensive yoga training and you’re quite flexible. We don’t currently have a yoga teacher on the staff, so don’t be surprised if you’re asked to teach a class to the other pleasure slaves, and possibly some employees.”
I must’ve looked shocked at the idea of teaching a freeperson, and he patted my bare leg. “Don’t fret. Protocol will be explained, should you be required to teach.”
There’s so much to learn when you’re sold to a new owner, and this castle was huge. I was terrified I’d screw up without meaning to, and it was important Her Majesty knew how badly I wanted to please her. “Where are the pony stables, Sir? How will I know when to go or who to report to?”
“When Her Majesty is finished with you tomorrow morning, you’ll be handed off to a groom. They’ll see to it you’re fed and bathed, and you can speak with them about your daytime schedule. Your first days will be hectic, but you’ll soon be assigned your own groom, and Her Majesty will decide the best use of her new acquisition. Much will be expected of you, but you’ll be taken care of.”
The doctor nodded to someone behind me. “She’s ready for Her Majesty, but please see she gets some juice before you take her.”