Beauty's Punishment
Page 36
Beauty was quietly enthralled.
"One night in the shop," the Prince continued, "I remember I was bought three lickings after the one ordered by the Mistress. I thought surely I wouldn't have to take the fourth, it was too much, I was sobbing, and there was a good long line of slaves waiting. But that hand came up with the grease again to rub my welts and scrapes and slap my cock, and I was riding that knee again, putting on an even better show than the ones before it. And the sack of money isn't put into your mouth to bring home as at the Public Turntable. It's shoved good and proper in your anus with the little drawstrings hanging out. And that night I was forced through the whole tavern afterwards, to every table for extra copper coins, and they pushed those into me until I was stuffed as well as a fowl for roasting. Mistress Lockley was delighted with the money I'd earned. But my bu**ocks were so sore that when she touched them with her fingers I cried frantically. I thought she'd have mercy on me, at least on my cock, but not Mistress Lockley. She gave me to the soldiers that night as always. I had to sit on many a rough lap with those sore bu**ocks, and my c**k was stroked and tormented and slapped I don't know how many times before I was finally allowed to plunge it into a hot little Princess. Even then I was being whipped with a belt to drive me on. And when I came the blows didn't stop, they just went right on. The Mistress said I had very resilient skin, that many slaves couldn't have taken it. After that she saw I got as much as I could take, just as she told me she would."
Beauty was too stunned to say anything. "And I will be sent there," she finally murmured.
"O, surely. At least twice a week we're packed off, all of us. It's only a little ways up the lane, and we're sent on our own, and for some reason, that always seems a terrible part of the punishment. But don't be afraid when the time comes.
Just remember, if you come back with that little bag of coins in your bu**ocks, you'll make the Mistress very happy."
Beauty laid her cheek against the cool grass. "I don't ever want to go back to the castle," she thought. "I don't care how hard it is here, how frightening!" She looked at Prince Richard. "Have you ever thought of running away?" she asked. "I wonder if the Princes don't think of that."
"No," he laughed. "And it was a Princess who ran away last night, by the way. And I'll tell you a secret. They haven't found her. They don't want anyone to know either. Go back to sleep now. The Captain will be in a terrible frame of mind tonight if they haven't captured her by that time. You don't think of running away, do you?"
"No," Beauty shook her head.
He turned to the Inn door. "I think I hear them coming. Go on back to sleep if you can. We have another hour or so."
PUBLIC TENTS
Tristan:
In the early evening, I was a pony again, safe in my harnesses, thinking almost sardonically of my trepidation the night before when the tail and the bit had seen such unthinkable humiliations. We reached the manor house before dark, and I was singled out to be made a footstool for my master for hours beneath the dining table.
The conversation was long. Others were there, rich merchants and farmers of the town, talking of crops and weather and the price of the slaves, and the undeniable fact that the village needed more slaves, not just the fine, often temperamental little lovelies from the castle, but solid lesser Tributes who need not ever see the Queen, the sons and daughters of petty nobles under her protection. Such slaves did come from time to time, right to auction in the marketplace. Why couldn't there be more?
My Master was fairly quiet all the time. I started living and breathing for the sound of his voice.
But he laughed at this last suggestion and asked dryly, "And who would like to demand that of her Majesty?"
I listened to every word, gleaning, not so much knowledge I did not possess before, but an increased sense of my lowliness. They told little stories about bad slaves, punishments, common events they thought humorous. And it was as if none of the slaves serving the table or those used as footstools like myself had ears or sense, or need be given the slightest consideration.
Finally it was time to go.
With a bursting cock, I took my place to pull the coach back to the town house, wondering if the other ponies had been satisfied as usual in the stable.
And when we reached the village, and the ponies were sent off, my Mistress started to whip me on the short barefoot journey along the dark road to the Place of Public Punishment.
I started crying, weary and desperate from the exertions and the starvation of my loins. The Mistress wielded the strap more vigorously than had the Master. And I was deviled mercilessly by the realization that it was she behind me, in her lovely dress, driving me on with that little hand. The day seemed infinitely longer than the one before it, and whatever I'd felt earlier about welcoming the Public Turntable, I was now in frantic fear of it. My fear was worse than last night.
I knew what it was to be whipped there. The Master's affection after seemed like some absurd flight of imagination.
But it wasn't the busy Maypole circle for me, or the brilliantly illuminated turntable.
I was driven through the flowing crowd, into one of the small tents behind the pillories. My Mistress paid ten pence at the entrance and then drew me after her into the shadows.
A naked Princess with long gleaming copper-colored braids squatted on a stool, knees wide, ankles bound together, her hands tethered to the tent pole high above her. She worked her hips desperately when she heard us come in, but her eyes were bound with a red silk blindfold.
When I saw the soft, sweet, moist sex glinting in the torchlight from the square, I thought I could no longer control myself.
I bowed my head, wondering what torment I should know now, but my Mistress said very gently that I was to rise.
"I've paid ten pence for you to have her, Tristan," she said.
I could scarce believe my ears. I turned first to kiss the Mistress's shoes, but she only laughed and told me to stand up and enjoy the girl as I wished.
I started to obey, but I stopped, my head still bowed, the grasping little sex right before my own, realizing that my Mistress stood very near watching. She even stroked my hair. And I understood I was to be looked at, even studied.
I gave a little shudder all over. And when I resigned myself to it, a new ingredient heightened my excitement. My c**k darkened all the more and bobbed as if trying to pull me forward.
"Slowly, if you like," said my Mistress. "She's lovely enough to play with."
I nodded. The Princess had an exquisite little mouth, red shuddering lips that gave little gasps now of apprehension and anticipation. It could have been better only if Beauty were kneeling there.
"One night in the shop," the Prince continued, "I remember I was bought three lickings after the one ordered by the Mistress. I thought surely I wouldn't have to take the fourth, it was too much, I was sobbing, and there was a good long line of slaves waiting. But that hand came up with the grease again to rub my welts and scrapes and slap my cock, and I was riding that knee again, putting on an even better show than the ones before it. And the sack of money isn't put into your mouth to bring home as at the Public Turntable. It's shoved good and proper in your anus with the little drawstrings hanging out. And that night I was forced through the whole tavern afterwards, to every table for extra copper coins, and they pushed those into me until I was stuffed as well as a fowl for roasting. Mistress Lockley was delighted with the money I'd earned. But my bu**ocks were so sore that when she touched them with her fingers I cried frantically. I thought she'd have mercy on me, at least on my cock, but not Mistress Lockley. She gave me to the soldiers that night as always. I had to sit on many a rough lap with those sore bu**ocks, and my c**k was stroked and tormented and slapped I don't know how many times before I was finally allowed to plunge it into a hot little Princess. Even then I was being whipped with a belt to drive me on. And when I came the blows didn't stop, they just went right on. The Mistress said I had very resilient skin, that many slaves couldn't have taken it. After that she saw I got as much as I could take, just as she told me she would."
Beauty was too stunned to say anything. "And I will be sent there," she finally murmured.
"O, surely. At least twice a week we're packed off, all of us. It's only a little ways up the lane, and we're sent on our own, and for some reason, that always seems a terrible part of the punishment. But don't be afraid when the time comes.
Just remember, if you come back with that little bag of coins in your bu**ocks, you'll make the Mistress very happy."
Beauty laid her cheek against the cool grass. "I don't ever want to go back to the castle," she thought. "I don't care how hard it is here, how frightening!" She looked at Prince Richard. "Have you ever thought of running away?" she asked. "I wonder if the Princes don't think of that."
"No," he laughed. "And it was a Princess who ran away last night, by the way. And I'll tell you a secret. They haven't found her. They don't want anyone to know either. Go back to sleep now. The Captain will be in a terrible frame of mind tonight if they haven't captured her by that time. You don't think of running away, do you?"
"No," Beauty shook her head.
He turned to the Inn door. "I think I hear them coming. Go on back to sleep if you can. We have another hour or so."
PUBLIC TENTS
Tristan:
In the early evening, I was a pony again, safe in my harnesses, thinking almost sardonically of my trepidation the night before when the tail and the bit had seen such unthinkable humiliations. We reached the manor house before dark, and I was singled out to be made a footstool for my master for hours beneath the dining table.
The conversation was long. Others were there, rich merchants and farmers of the town, talking of crops and weather and the price of the slaves, and the undeniable fact that the village needed more slaves, not just the fine, often temperamental little lovelies from the castle, but solid lesser Tributes who need not ever see the Queen, the sons and daughters of petty nobles under her protection. Such slaves did come from time to time, right to auction in the marketplace. Why couldn't there be more?
My Master was fairly quiet all the time. I started living and breathing for the sound of his voice.
But he laughed at this last suggestion and asked dryly, "And who would like to demand that of her Majesty?"
I listened to every word, gleaning, not so much knowledge I did not possess before, but an increased sense of my lowliness. They told little stories about bad slaves, punishments, common events they thought humorous. And it was as if none of the slaves serving the table or those used as footstools like myself had ears or sense, or need be given the slightest consideration.
Finally it was time to go.
With a bursting cock, I took my place to pull the coach back to the town house, wondering if the other ponies had been satisfied as usual in the stable.
And when we reached the village, and the ponies were sent off, my Mistress started to whip me on the short barefoot journey along the dark road to the Place of Public Punishment.
I started crying, weary and desperate from the exertions and the starvation of my loins. The Mistress wielded the strap more vigorously than had the Master. And I was deviled mercilessly by the realization that it was she behind me, in her lovely dress, driving me on with that little hand. The day seemed infinitely longer than the one before it, and whatever I'd felt earlier about welcoming the Public Turntable, I was now in frantic fear of it. My fear was worse than last night.
I knew what it was to be whipped there. The Master's affection after seemed like some absurd flight of imagination.
But it wasn't the busy Maypole circle for me, or the brilliantly illuminated turntable.
I was driven through the flowing crowd, into one of the small tents behind the pillories. My Mistress paid ten pence at the entrance and then drew me after her into the shadows.
A naked Princess with long gleaming copper-colored braids squatted on a stool, knees wide, ankles bound together, her hands tethered to the tent pole high above her. She worked her hips desperately when she heard us come in, but her eyes were bound with a red silk blindfold.
When I saw the soft, sweet, moist sex glinting in the torchlight from the square, I thought I could no longer control myself.
I bowed my head, wondering what torment I should know now, but my Mistress said very gently that I was to rise.
"I've paid ten pence for you to have her, Tristan," she said.
I could scarce believe my ears. I turned first to kiss the Mistress's shoes, but she only laughed and told me to stand up and enjoy the girl as I wished.
I started to obey, but I stopped, my head still bowed, the grasping little sex right before my own, realizing that my Mistress stood very near watching. She even stroked my hair. And I understood I was to be looked at, even studied.
I gave a little shudder all over. And when I resigned myself to it, a new ingredient heightened my excitement. My c**k darkened all the more and bobbed as if trying to pull me forward.
"Slowly, if you like," said my Mistress. "She's lovely enough to play with."
I nodded. The Princess had an exquisite little mouth, red shuddering lips that gave little gasps now of apprehension and anticipation. It could have been better only if Beauty were kneeling there.
