Slave Read online

  The driver made sure I had plenty of water, and I was given gruel in the morning and evening. He also gave me a few of his bread scraps, for which I was grateful. He tended to me when he tended the horses, though they got some apples once, and I didn’t.

  My right wrist and ankle had an iron shackle attached, and a chain locked me to the cart. The driver was responsible for me, but I was just another item in his cart, another line on a shipping form — though one he had to keep alive during the trip. He had no way to know I’d have never made a run for it. I’ve been a slave all my life, and I’d have no idea where to go. The uncertainty of how life would be with a new owner was scary, but the thoughts of being on my own with no one to tell me what to do were terrifying.

  At night, I slept on the cart, thankful for the rugs and fabrics in rolls under me. My chains were long enough I could stand beside by the cart, so I peed on the ground when we stopped to water and feed the horses, but otherwise, I spent the three days on the cart — under the sun during the day and under the stars at night. My sunscreen treatments last a month, and I’d recently had one so my skin didn’t burn, but the days were still hot and miserable.

  Two guards accompanied us, though they followed us on horseback. The guards used me a few times, but the driver barely took notice. They were all responsible for delivering me healthy and uninjured, so no one hurt me. I was too scared to risk defying the men in the hopes of feeling their belt.

  No one spoke to me, and slaves don’t start conversations, so I was alone with my thoughts throughout the trip. I had no idea where I was going, or what it would be like when I arrived.

  My terror had grown when I’d seen the size of the castle I’d been brought to, though I hadn’t learned I’d been given to The Dark Queen until I heard the driver speaking to the guards at the gate.

  I’d entered through a side door naked, but I was used to being without clothes. Still, I felt so small and alone. I didn’t know anyone in this place.

  I was given a protein drink, and taken to a plain room with a small desk, stocks, and an unpadded bondage table. I expected to be restrained in some way, but I was shown how to stand at attention the way The Winter Queen prefers, and then put into inspection pose and left alone for a long time. An hour? More? I didn’t know. Pleasure slaves learn how to check out of reality when they’re stood to the side and aren’t needed. At first, I’d worked myself into a panic, but eventually I focused on my breathing and got myself mostly under control.

  Long ago, I’d learned to lift my hands a few inches and prop my fingers near the top of my skull when not being watched. It didn’t take much to drop them a few inches when the doorknob started to turn, and I hadn’t been caught in years.

  Despite the fact I hadn’t known she was the Queen and had addressed her as Ma’am, so far my worst fears hadn’t transpired. However, I was still terrified this was some cruel trick, and the brutal Winter Queen I’d heard about in whispered tales would suddenly appear in the place of the nice Queen who’d gently questioned me, and who seemed to understand my needs.

  King Koschei had been kind when he’d rented me, and then he’d taken me home, stripped the skin from my breasts with knives, whipped me, healed me, and done it again, but to a different body part the next time. As long as I was whole when returned to the pleasure parlor, no one cared what was done to me while rented.

  But the Winter Queen seemed different. Scary without being terrifying. Just answering her questions made my skin crave the whip, and when she ordered the guard to hand over his thick leather belt, I hoped she’d give me what I so desperately needed.

  “Before we begin, I’ll inspect you.” The Winter Queen’s voice was suddenly all business, and I checked my posture to be sure I didn’t anger her.

  Unsure of so many things, I decided to fall back on my original Master’s teachings. He’d taught me to walk with dignity and grace unless I was in the act of being humiliated. My former owner had eventually seen my dignity as being haughty, but he hadn’t understood my need for pain, either. He hadn’t understood me at all.

  I followed instructions as gracefully and quickly as possible, and scrambled onto the picnic table — on my back with my bottom at the edge, my legs spread wide with my knees straight while I held my ankles out and up. Her Majesty settled the belt on the table, and observed me from all sides. Minutes passed. The sun warmed me. A light breeze kissed my skin, my breasts, my clit, even my bottom-hole. It was bad form to watch her as she walked around me, so I looked to the sky and hoped she was pleased.

  Without a word, she stepped closer and jammed four fingers into my cunny, pressed her thumb in, and then crammed her whole fist into me. I screamed at the forceful penetration and the stretch, and came close to orgasming but managed to hold back.

  “Am I allowed to orgasm, my Queen?”

  “Not without permission. I’m aware you came close. I expect better control.”

  I gasped and yelped when she pulled her fist out, but I missed the intrusion when it was gone.

  I didn’t miss it for long though, because she treated my rear entrance the same. I screamed in agony this time, when her hand stretched my bottom-hole quickly and with no mercy. My cunny had been soaking wet, but my bottom-hole wasn’t lubed and her hand only had the moisture it’d picked up when she’d fisted my cunny.

  Her hand again pulled out too fast, and I was still trying to recover from the intrusion when she pulled my clit hood up and flicked the ultrasensitive bundle of nerves a half dozen times with a fingernail. I screamed until I ran out of air, but I managed to hold my position.

  My heart tried to beat out of my chest when the Queen reached for the guard’s belt.

  “You’ll come out of position eventually,” she told me, her voice conversational, as if she were discussing the weather, “but I want to see how long you can hold it. If you last long enough to satisfy me, I’ll let you orgasm when the guard fucks you.”

  The first strokes rained down fire on my inner thighs, and I struggled to hold position with everything in me. Determined to please my Queen, I held a death grip on my ankles and locked my knees so they wouldn’t be tempted to bend.

  I braced myself, determined not to beg, but within minutes I was in tears — screaming and begging for a respite. I’d long ago discovered women know how to hurt other women in ways men can’t imagine, and the Winter Queen had it down to an art.

  I have no idea how long I lasted before my legs came together and I rolled to my side, but the Queen didn’t stop whipping me, and I soon discovered she’d hit whatever I presented. If I turned to protect one area, it would only make another — possibly more vulnerable — part of my body her target.

  I came off the table but didn’t dare run from her, so I jerked and moved in an uncoordinated, graceless, frantic dance while she relentlessly beat me with the belt. Eventually, I forced myself to bend over the table and present my bottom and the backs of my thighs for the whipping. The speed and strength of the strokes increased, and in response I arched my back to give her a better target. Finally, I could take the steps necessary to relax and accept the strokes so I could properly submit to whatever my Queen wished to do to this body she now owned.

  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 w
as 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 care 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 w
asn’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.