In short, just like that, Thomasina had a plan.
Chapter Two
The tunnel beneath the mill turned out to be far nicer than expected. Clearly much work had been put into paving the path for those secret attendants of the Royal court. There was a stock of oil and no fewer than three lamps carefully stored with flint, tinder and spills within the entry way. In fact it felt less like a secret escape or infiltration route and far more like a corridor or extension of the mill and palace themselves.
She felt a little silly for having wasted all that time on carefully rolling up dress, petticoat, bloomers to keep them clear of any damp or muck, and in tailoring a pair of galoshes to keep her boots clean. She could have spent longer with the hot coals and her curlers tightening the ringlets of her hair and in perhaps struggling a little harder with her corset to squeeze out that extra pinch to her waist.
However, she had been satisfied with her costume when she left, and now that the journey was to prove much easier than anticipated, she would simply have to deal with the wrinkled satin that her careful rolling up would have made in her dress.
She lit the oil lamp and after adjusting the wick to brighten the flame and to minimise the smell coming off the flame she set off into the dark. The tunnel had been cut efficiently, barely more than shoulder width even for her slight build and low enough that even she had to stoop a little. It ran in a straight line without winding or changing its gentle upward slope almost its entire length.
At one point Thomasina could hear the sound of rushing water and imagined she must be passing underneath one of the coils of the River Weser, but the tunnel remained largely dry.
After a while the sound of chamber music, played elegantly on a harpsichord could be heard echoing down the tunnel and bouncing off the walls.
I must be close, she thought.
Suddenly the tunnel opened up and she was in what appeared to be a cellar with a large wooden door in front of her. The room was clearly used for quiet escapes as there were rows of empty wine bottles stacked neatly against one wall. On the other were a few women’s effects: some bottles of scent, a few cloth flowers to be worn in the hair, and a bucket for washing oneself down next to a rusty looking old water pump.
Thomasina tried the door, it gave with an almighty creak and the sound of music increased in volume. The door entered what appeared to be a kind of servants bedchamber with simple furnishings but no sign of any personal effects. Perhaps this was where those dark deeds were done, she wondered.
She unrolled her dress and carefully checked her appearance in the mirror of the room. The dress hung neatly with a little volume provided by the petticoats in the modern style. She knew many of the older women still wore large bustles and insisted on the hoop skirt but this showed one’s figure off far more pleasingly.
She gently added a little powder to her neck and the barest hint of cleavage the dress allowed and after flicking a little tunnel dust from her puffy sleeves she slipped out into the corridor and followed the music towards what she hoped was the ballroom.
When she eventually found it she was overwhelmed. The vast hall with huge gold gilded ceilings held at least three hundred people all milling about or dancing elegantly in the centre of the room. In one corner the orchestra was resting and listening to a young man in military dress who was playing on the harpsichord at the centre of a small group of the most beautiful and elegant women Thomasina had ever seen.
The sensations were overwhelming, the sheer noise of so many people talking, the vast vault of the ceiling and the seemingly unending length of the hall left her breathless. Spying a table stacked with champagne glasses she carefully made her way towards it and thirstily knocked back two glasses on after another receiving some odd glances from the gentry who were near the table. She looked about the room trying to work out who among the gentry might be worth attempting to attract.
As she was beginning to sip her third glass she suddenly realised she was being watched.
Lady De La Belvedere-Weiz was looking right at her! Her stomach went cold. The older woman had a quizzical look in her eye and if trying to work out where she recognised Thomasina from. Here she was wearing the dress the Lady had cancelled, she must stand out like a sore thumb. As Belvedere-Weiz began to move towards her, Thomasina quickly cut into a nearby throng of people. The harpsichord had stopped and the orchestra had begun a waltz. As people flooded back into the dance Thomasina quietly disappeared herself across the room.
Her nerves shaken she ducked into a side room and took by the fire with her back to the billiards table which dominated the room.
A voice spoke from behind her, ‘Are you not enjoying my gala?’
She spun around shocked. ‘I–’
‘Don’t worry. I will take no offence. After all I am myself hiding out here.’ It was the military man from the harpsichord. My God, this must be the Prince, she thought. She was stunned to realise she had never seen the future ruler of her country in the flesh, a man so important and public, and she had never come across his image.
‘Your majesty,’ she curtsied.
He seemed to be smiling as if trying not to laugh. Is that the wrong honorific? she wondered.
‘Please, a woman like you may call me Wilhelm.’
She curtsied again, ‘I am Thomasina… Wilhelm.’
‘I have to hide from my own parties some times. The whole place is crawling with people of low repute mixing with the highest and best of Europe.’
This reminded her of her goal, but before attempting to blackmail her way into his good graces, she wondered if she could find a little more out. He was very handsome, tall and dark with soft brown eyes. The uniform was pressed perfectly and fitted to his strong frame.
‘I was told you enjoy some low company, from time to time?’ she said.
‘Were you? Who would spread such a rumour?’ There was an edge in his voice. Have I touched a nerve, she wondered.
‘In some circles this palaces tunnels and secrets are well known.’ He looked puzzled as she said this, and doubt began to cloud her mind. Could it be someone else the servants were talking about, they never exactly named the Prince.
‘Tunnels?’ he asked.
‘Don’t be coy, my Prince,’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He was getting angry now.
Who else in the household would be cavorting if not the young male heir? Was it best to simply change tack? she wondered, but it looked like the damage was done. She had imputed something against the Prince’s honour and her foolish plan had already fallen apart at the first hurdle.
The Prince appeared furious. ‘You’re very bold for someone who speaks with an accent like yours. Why are you here?’ He stepped up closer to her and towered over her. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’
Thomasina had an overwhelming desire to cry, to confess her goal to blackmail him and to beg forgiveness. What was wrong with her, she had felt so powerful and excited now she was on the retreat trapped in a room by a very handsome, but very angry man with a great deal of power.
She felt small, insignificant and completely at his mercy.
Underneath the fear, she felt excitement, and some attraction to this dangerous and domineering man.
‘I came to speak with you about the possibility of a royal introduction to… to a possible… a possible husband.’
‘I see,’ he softened a little. Perhaps she had not yet gone too far. ‘But I do not know you, a stranger at my gala who comes here talking about rumours and tunnels and secrets.’ He was frowning down at her, and she tried to look away but his hand seized her chin gently but inescapably and tilted her head so she was looking into his eyes. ‘A very beautiful stranger, who speaks to me with a great deal of confidence for one so clearly low born. What is your story Miss Thomasina?’ The questions sounded more like it was addressed, musingly, to himself.
‘Let me see if I can guess what is happening here,’ he said to her in a voice that was so even and
controlled that it was far more frightening than when he had appeared angry. ‘You heard about my father’s tunnels and hoped to blackmail me on his behalf into introducing you to society and finding you a husband?’
How did he worked all that out? She could barely piece together the fragments she had said aloud herself. Her threats had failed, but what landed hardest on her heart was that he was innocent she had accused him of a terrible crime when it was the pious father whose bed was sullied by these women from the brothels of Westphalia.
‘You’re not the first to try to use my father’s weakness against my family. Though you are by far the prettiest to have tried such a thing.’ His face seemed to soften a little, and a small smile crossed his mouth. ‘You’re trembling, my dear.’
‘No I just wanted to meet–’
‘Silence. You shall call me, “My Prince”. And I shall teach you some manners.’
‘I–’
He slapped her. Not hard, but enough to surprise her into silence. He was smiling cruelly as he grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her back and pushed her over the billiard table, lifting her a little until her legs were hanging off the table but couldn’t quite touch the floor.
He released one of her hands and whispered, ‘Your response to what happens next is either ‘Yes, my Prince’ or ‘No, my Prince. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, my Prince.’
He let her right hand free.
‘Lift your skirts, young lady.’
‘Yes, my Prince.’ Thomasina’s heart was fluttering. What was he intending to do. She could see very little with her face pressed into the baize surface of the table but the two halves of a billiard cue were clear in front of her. With her free hand she reached around and pulled up her dress blushing with shame as she knew her petticoat and draws were on display.
‘Do you deserve punishment, young lady?’
She thought about this, she had trespassed. Had meant to blackmail a man, had stolen a dress. ‘Yes, my Prince,’ she said.
He picked up the thin half of the billiard cue and brought the wood down like a switch on her behind. She let out a gasp of pain, the sting was mediated by her undergarments and she could take it.
‘Count it down from ten,’ said the Prince.
‘Ten,’ she said, surprised that she was smiling. Something was thrilling in her belly and just below it.
The stick found her backside again, harder this time. ‘Ten, my Prince,’ he corrected her.
‘Ten… nine, my Prince.’
‘Lift your petticoats.’
She did as he said feeling the embarrassment of his eyes roving over her draws and the high tops of her boots.
The stick came down again and she let out a yelp. This time with just one layer of cloth it stung with a sharp pain that ran all the way through her. ‘Eight, my Prince.’ Her teeth were gritted.
Thwack. It came down again on the same warm, stinging place as the last blow. The heat seemed run the length of her and she felt tears beading up in her eyes. ‘Sev–‘ Another blow cut her off and she let out a real cry of pain. ‘Six, my Prince.; She realised she was shouting. She couldn’t see through the tears, but they seemed only to be in her eyes, somehow the pain was not just pain, but desire to, white hot line of desire. The more he spanked her the more she wanted his touch.
‘You’re far too noisy, my dear.’
He let go of her hand and grabbed the thicker end of the billiard cue and inserted it end on into her mouth. She felt it push back until she almost gagged. Her tongue was pressed down, her teeth digging into the soft wood of the stick.
The pause gave the burning skin of her arse a moment to recover but her heart dropped when she felt his hands on her drawers, pulling the long white lace shorts down her legs and baring her bottom to anyone who might walk in from the party that continued outside the door just a few feet away.
‘I can see why my father brings so many beauties like you up into the castle,’ the Prince said admiringly, his hand caressed Thomasina’s plump round buttocks, then with alarming speed he whipped out the last five strokes one after another.
Thomasina wanted to yell but the dowel in her mouth stopped her. The pain was transcendent blotting out everything in a white hot searing presence that set every nerve in her body atingle. She counted off the last five strokes as best as she could with the makeshift gag blocking her tongue from forming the words properly.
She lay there on the table basking in the slowly subsiding pain and longing for the Prince’s touch more tender and in more tender places.
Instead she slowly became aware that the prince was no longer standing behind her but had crossed the room and poured himself a drink and was looking at her with an odd smile on his face.
Realising she was looking at him, he said: ‘I have never felt quite so strongly that I want a woman not just in my power as a Prince, but to submit to me as a man. Your skin is so pure, I want to mark it in some way as mine.’
‘Yes, my Prince.’ She was surprised by the desire in her voice, the strength of the affirmation that begged him to do exactly as he wanted. What was this feeling? Love? Lust? She knew that whatever it was was too strong to fight and dismounted from the table. Drawers still around her ankle she got to her knees and crawled over to him and kissed his boots.
‘No, my dear.’ He knelt, lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth, gently at first, but harder and faster. His breath was hot on her lips as he gasped into each kiss, his tongue entering her mouth and hungrily tasting her. She kissed him back and offered up her own breath, her own, tongue to him.
Suddenly the tenderness left his look and his face and he pulled away.
‘Turn around,’ he commanded and still on all fours she did as he said.
Chapter Three
On her knees Thomasina faced the door, through the keyhole she could still hear the band hammering away at the waltz. She was suddenly aware of any number of sensations: the rough carpet which scratched her bare knees, the ache in her arms where they took her weight, the warm stinging throb of her backside in the stripes laid down by her thrashing. Above all she felt the powerful gaping need for the Prince, the desire that started in her womanhood and spread to the very extremities of her body. She was a maid, but a woman’s instinct told her what her body was for, and how to enjoy the Prince’s.
‘For years,’ he said from behind her, his voice quiet and level with a powerful intensity. ‘I’ve watched the wenches my father brought up from the town and never understood why he would debase himself with sins of the flesh. Now I understand, you’ve made me understand. You are an intoxicant and I wish to drink my fill of you. The Devil will have me because of you Thomasina.’
Gently, as if unsure of himself, his fingers touched her bare arse, tracing gentle lines across where the billiard cue had raises a bruise. ‘Did you enjoy your punishment, you naughty girl?’ asked the Prince.
‘Yes, my Prince.’
His fingers brushed her cunny and a shiver of pleasure shot through her hinting of crashing waves and earthquakes. She felt poised on the precipice of womanhood and longed for him to carry her across the threshold.
His fingers began to stroke a little harder, the flat of his hand gently pressing over her cunny teasing her. ‘Please. My. Prince.’ She was moaning, grinding back onto his hands, but he gave way, never giving her the pressure she wanted.
Eventually he turned his hand and sought the opening of her cunny with his finger, she felt the cool as the air of the room found the damp inside of her quim. His finger entered her and she moaned. ‘More.’
He worked his finger inside her slowly, building speed in response to her bucking hips, the rhythm of it seemed like a metronome driving a symphony forward in her body slowly growing and swelling towards a crescendo she didn’t understand but longed for more than she had any way of articulating.
Before her crescendo came however his fingers pulled free and wet with her juices they began to unlace the back of her dre
ss. Eventually he pulled it off her shoulders pinning her arms by her side, and grabbing her hair he pulled her into a kneeling position.
When he moved to stand in front of her she was astonished to see his member released from the cage of his breeches and with its little eye staring her right in the face.
Thomasina reached out and felt the soft give of the skin and the firmness beneath, her finger traced a huge and angry vein that looked ready to burst, and the mushroom shape of the head.
‘It’s enormous,’ she exclaimed.
Excited and pleased by the discovery of this organ, she leaned forward and kissed its little eye which was crying a large, clear, salty tear. The Prince made a moan as if in pain, and recognising in his moan something of her own, she kissed it again, lingeringly, opening her mouth a little to allow the mushroom head to fill it the way the Prince’s tongue had when they kissed. Again he moaned thrusting his manhood deeper into her mouth with his hips.
Slowly, almost in time with the waltz, she began to slide her head up and down as he moved his hips back and forth. The result was a satisfying grunt from him each time and an equally satisfying mouthful of him more and deeper with each thrust of his hips.
Then he pulled away from her, and she was left with a trickle of saliva running down her chin. He lifted her dress over her head and pushed her onto her back. With ransacking hands he tore away the thin shift that covered her breasts above her corset and shredded her petticoats below her corset. She lay exposed on her back. He kneeled between her legs and as she realised what he was about to do she wondered how his huge member was to fit inside her.
He leaned forward and pushed his head inside with one rough thrust. A sharp pain filled her, then was replaced by a pleasurable rush. He began sawing back and forth. As her cunny wet his member his entry became smoother and smoother, until she could feel him stretching her out with the full length and girth of his cock.
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