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Little One
Over the following weeks, I spent most nights bound and on display in my Queen’s bedroom, positioned aesthetically and practically at the same time — so she could admire my beauty, but could also beat me, fuck me with a strap-on, make use of my mouth, or anything else she desired. Some nights I was on display while she played with others, but most nights she found pleasure in my body along with theirs.
Often, she shared me with men and women she brought to her chambers. Occasionally, she brought other slaves in, especially pony slaves, so she could watch them fuck me.
Other than the occasional reward night where I was allowed to nap between rounds of pleasure, I rarely slept when in the Queen’s bedroom at night. I was an object of art, bound into unnatural positions for her pleasure, and my comfort wasn’t taken into account. One night, I was hung from the ceiling with straps supporting my feet, calves, and thighs as I floated mid-air in the splits, my right leg in front of me, my left behind me, and my spine arched so far back I stared at the ceiling. I wore a huge butt plug in my bottom, but my cunt was empty and hungry throughout the long, long night.
The night before, I’d been bound standing spread-eagled between the columns of her bed, my rear entrance and cunny plugged until they were painfully stretched, and an irritating cream on my nipples and areola so they’d stay pointy and red.
I loved my mornings with her, when she massaged my arms and legs, and let me stay while she ate breakfast, and gave me little bites of food from her plate.
When my Queen’s schedule permitted it, I took my morning nap on a floor-cushion beside her desk, and Her Majesty loved to awaken me with her fingers in my cunny or bottom.
I’d been outfitted with a waist cincher during my second week, and it was only taken off for baths — not even when I slept. I was aware there were many of them, but I had no idea how many, only that there were different colors, though they all seemed to be made of the same pattern. They weren’t terribly tight, but I felt more naked with them on than I had without them, which I suppose was probably the point.
At first, I’d rarely seen Her Majesty throughout the day, but she’d gradually added me into her schedule so I was bound nearby. It let me get to know her, and I had a better feel for what she needed from me at night, after being allowed to observe pieces of her day.
Today, she’d wanted me on display while she ate lunch in the garden with friends, and I’d been awakened and mounted to one of the male nude statues — his stone cock in my cunny, my arms bound up and out, so her brand on my inner forearm showed clearly. This afternoon, I’d slept on a cushion beside her desk, magicked so I couldn’t hear the conversations she had with the men and women who had business with her.
I taught yoga classes three days a week, I ran a three-mile track through the woods with the ponies three days a week, I helped the gardeners move boxes of food twice a week to build my muscles, and I was allowed time to stretch every day. I wasn’t required to race anymore, thank goodness. If I’d been assigned to the ponies I’d have made the best of it, but I was so much happier as Her Majesty’s personal pleasure slave.
Since my third day at the palace, I’d been forbidden from having an orgasm unless the Queen ordered me to come. I was constantly horny, and always grateful to my beautiful Queen for making use of me.
The pleasure parlor had been a business, and everything we did was about pleasing the customer. I’d been magically healed if there wasn’t time for me to heal the old fashioned way between appointments, but there’d been no affection — it was someone’s job, and I was just another box to check off. Still, I was one of their most popular slaves despite the fact they charged the most to rent me, so I was treated as if I mattered by the management, at least.
I’d eventually learned my most recent owner had asked for their most expensive slave, and had never bothered to ask why I was so expensive. I’d pleased him during the days I was with him, he became enamored of me, and bought me outright — only to discover I wasn’t the same slave once he got me home. I could fake orgasms for a short time, but I needed pain, and he never quite understood. It might be true that the slave is supposed to conform to the owner, but I wasn’t capable of conforming to him. We were a mismatch.
After living in a household where I wasn’t valued or understood, my days and nights in the Queen’s castle were the most beautiful agony I’d ever experienced. Some nights, it pleased her to watch me come apart with release after release, other nights it pleased her to frustrate me. No matter which she chose, I never complained. I belonged to her. I was there to please her.
The cook had spent at least an hour with me on my second day, finding out what my favorite foods were and what I disliked. It’d been a difficult conversation, and she’d finally just handed me food to eat and watched my expressions.
If at any time I was hungry and the Queen wasn’t using me, or I hadn’t been instructed to remain quiet, I only needed to let one of the ever-present guards know, and snacks nearly always arrived within minutes. Other than the slave trainers, no one was allowed to touch me or use me except Her Majesty, so I always had guards to be sure I stayed safe. Even the various grooms in charge of my nails, hair, enemas, and baths had strict instructions about how I was to be handled.
This didn’t mean the guards didn’t use me, because the Queen was quick to offer me as a reward for a job well done, but it meant they didn’t just order me to bend over and take them anytime they wanted.
Nissa and I grew quite close, and sometimes I wondered if the guards weren’t there to make sure we didn’t find pleasure in each other. If allowed, I’d have loved to give my maid pleasure to show my thanks for all the ways she cared for me.
Once, my hair came down during a whipping, and Nissa was strung up beside me and whipped along with me. I begged our Queen to let me take Nissa’s strikes, because I couldn’t bear to hear my gentle groom’s screams of pain. Afterwards, I was always careful to make sure my hair was secure before I was taken to the Queen.
“Little One,” Nissa told me one morning, “our Queen is throwing a party this evening, and ye’ll be available for use throughout the night. She’s going to have ye fast today, though ye’ll be allowed fruit juices and milk, jes’ no solid food.”
“Available?” I asked, afraid I knew what it meant. The Queen had let many men use me when it suited her purpose, but she’d always been present. This sounded like I might just be parked somewhere and made available to anyone. I’d been used this way for entertainment at parties and festivals by previous owners/leasers, but the Queen had mostly kept me for herself, and only shared me with people invited into her bedroom. She frequently let the guards have use of me, but she was still there. Watching.
“Aye, Little One. Anyone with the coin to do so will be able to pay for ye in three-minute increments. Usually, the cunt and ass have different prices. I don’t know what she’ll allow — sometimes men can pay to whip the slaves too, should they be of a mind.”
I’d thought the Queen wanted me for herself, and my heart sank into my stomach with fear I might be falling out of her favor. I shook my head without thinking, and Nissa scolded, “Ye know better, Little One. Slaves don’t get a say. I’m only telling ye what’ll be expected of ye.”
I nodded, and she instructed, “No words, no talking. Sometimes our Queen wants ye to act like a royal pleasure slave, other times she wants ye to be a little whore who needs to be fucked and beat. Tonight, the evening will start with ye as pleasure slave, doing yer best to make each man happy. Milk their cock, whether it’s in yer cunny or ass. Arch yer back. Make yerself the picture of grace and beauty.”
She took a breath, looked away, and kept her eyes averted to finish the instructions. “Ye’ll know when things change. When ye become the whore. She’ll probably keep yer mouth for herself at first, but will eventually let the men fuck it too. Once things change, just endure it as best ye can, Little One. There’ll be no dignity, no grace.”
I touched her hand. “It’s okay, truly. I’ll do anything our Queen asks of me. It’s what I was trained for and she knows it. She isn’t asking too much of me, but even if she was, I’d gladly endure it.”
* * * *
LITTLE ONE
I walked a few steps behind my Queen, my shiny steel collar around my neck and the elegant chain leash in her delicately manicured hands. My waist cincher was black leather and felt tighter, though I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination because I was nervous, or if it was actually smaller.
My arms were in a single sleeve behind my back, pressed together so my breasts and rouged nipples jutted obscenely in front of me. My hair was pulled back into braids, my makeup was overdone but immaculate. I knew I’d look the part of the whore once my makeup smeared, but Nissa seemed to think it was what Her Majesty wanted.
Within moments of walking into the party, I understood why Nissa hadn’t put the irritating cream on my nipples — it was apparently acceptable for every stranger I walked by to twist and pull them. I moaned and whined but didn’t pull away, and my Queen gave both my nipples a few extra tweaks. My heart swelled at her approving look, and I vowed to do everything I could to represent her and make her proud.
I’d learned much about Her Majesty since coming to live with her. Once, I’d answered a question with the answer I believed she wanted, instead of the truth. I immediately realized she knew what I’d done, and the look on her face made my blood run cold. I’d been terrified of what was to come — but while I’d apologized, I didn’t beg for mercy. I didn’t deserve it.
She’d called for someone to come get me, and terror filled my gut when I realized it wasn’t Nissa. Her Majesty had teleported my waist cincher off when the woman who came handed me a standard palace-maid uniform. I’d put the uniform on and been led to a dorm room. My bed had been five beds up, but I’d climbed the ladder without arguing. The next morning, I was directed to a rough, too-warm dining room I hadn’t known existed, where I’d eaten oatmeal and day-old bread with the other household slaves and maids before being sent to the miserably hot laundry, where I’d folded clothes and bed linens from eight in the morning until ten at night, and no one had told me when it was my dinner shift. The next day, I had breakfast again, and worked the laundry all day. Again. It was hell.
More than the heat, and the lack of food, was the knowledge Her Majesty had sent me away. My soul needed her, my heart was broken. Slaves aren’t supposed to feel, and she’d forced me to. Insisted upon it. She’d been kind. She’d hurt me and then fixed me. Over and over. She found value in me. She knew what I needed, and it seemed to perfectly fit what she needed. I wasn’t sure I could live without her. I knew I didn’t want to.
On the third evening, when the other slaves were taken to dinner, a guard came to get me. I followed him through the castle, and bent over in the courtyard when instructed, so he could rip the skirt of my maid’s uniform off and use my bottom-hole on the stage, for all to see. I hadn’t been used in days, but I didn’t orgasm because my Queen hadn’t told me to.
Walking the rest of the way through the castle, in a maid’s shirt but naked from the waist down, cum leaking out my bottom, was humiliating, but I didn’t care. I had hope I was being taken to her, and I’d have walked through fire if it meant I could return to The Dark Queen.
When I was finally in Her Majesty’s chambers, I’d fallen to my knees and prostrated myself, apologized for not answering her truthfully, and promised to never again give her the answer I thought she wanted instead of the truth.
She’d merely asked me the question again.
“Did you enjoy being tickled, Little One?”
“I hated it, Your Majesty, but I’ll submit to anything you wish to put me through because slaves are available for their owner’s pleasure.”
I hadn’t given her a reason to punish me since. My purpose in life is a sex slave, and I was thrilled to finally belong to someone who made use of me the way I was trained to be used. Working in the laundry was hell.
Now, as she led me to the main dais, she paused at the sign on the steps so I could hear the Royal Crier announce the prices. My holes could be rented in three-minute increments, and fucking my bottom-hole was the least expensive, then my cunt. There was also an option for them to whip me with a flogger (charged by the half-dozen strokes), or a belt (charged by the strike).
My beautiful Queen turned me to face her, tweaked my nipples again, and said, “So you can pace yourself, I’ll tell you this sign will be up for probably an hour or two. You’ll eat my pussy on and off while you’re used from behind, until I tire of your mouth. At that point, we’ll move you, and a line will be added to the sign so men can also pay to fuck your face.” She touched my lips and smiled. “I find myself a little possessive of your talented mouth, so the only pussy you’ll be eating is mine.”
Her hand stroked and fondled my breasts almost absently. “If you please me over the next five hours, I intend to give you a real name, and then I’m going to whip you.” She kissed my forehead. “It’ll be worse than anything I’ve ever done to you, Little One. I haven’t struck you in days because I wanted a fresh canvas to work on tonight.” She stroked my breasts again, as if admiring the pale skin with no marks, and then pulled her hand back and slapped them both a dozen times, until they were red.
When she finished, I gasped, “Thank you, my Queen!”
She tugged the leash, and I followed her up the dais to her throne.
Her Majesty settled me into position on the shelf under her throne, with my torso supported and my legs hanging down. Almost as an afterthought, she told me, “No orgasms tonight, Little One. If you dare find your own pleasure, the whipping at the end of the night won’t be by my hand, and you’ll spend a week in a chastity device while you’re assigned to the laundry.”
Most men chose to use my rear entry, and within an hour, it was so sore I broke into fresh tears every time someone else entered my bottom-hole anew. Many of the men also paid to flog or belt me, and I viewed this as a welcome respite from the repeated intrusions into my backside.
Nevertheless, I’d been dangerously close to orgasm at least a dozen times, and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to hold my pleasure at bay all night. I focused on pleasing my Queen, using my tongue the way I know she likes, and tried to ignore my own pleasures and hurts. However, the pain grew exponentially worse, and holding onto my orgasms became more and more difficult.
Thankfully, my arms were released sometime in the second hour, and I was allowed to use my fingers as well as my mouth to pleasure Her Majesty. I heard a few comments about how many orgasms she was having, spoken as if this was more than those gathered around were accustomed to seeing. A few people joked they’d like to get lessons from me, since I seemed to be so adept, while others hoped my mouth would be made available so they could see for themselves how good I was.
My original Master had the piece of skin under my tongue snipped when I was quite young, and spent years stretching my tongue every night to make it longer and stronger even before my sex training began. I knew I was talented in this area, but hadn’t realized I might be unusually skilled.
I heard a ruckus behind me, and my Queen sat up, dislodging my mouth from her beautiful pussy.
“It’s okay, Guards. Let the giant come forward so I can hear his request.”
My rear entrance was being used, but I could easily turn my head to see the giant. He walked to us with more grace than I expected, and went to one knee before the Queen.
“You wish to fuck my slave?” she asked.
“I’ll pay double for the opportunity, Your Majesty.”