Princess to Pleasure Slave Collection: The Forbidden Book of Monstrous Pleasures

by Amanda Clover

  "The bath awaits you, princess." Both women spoke simultaneously in flat tones. "Please, follow us."

  Part II

  The Prisoner of the Elves

  The hooded slave girls ascended through the same doorway. Jivayn and the princess followed behind them. The palace was vast and beautiful and, other than the strange carvings, very austere. Here and there they encountered deep elves in purple finery or leathers like those worn by Jivayn. The elves ignored Margery as if she was not there. She realized it was the way they treated all the human slaves. They had no fear or interest in the nude women in their violet hoods.

  The hooded slaves brought Margery to a tiled room filled with steam. They approached a pool of milky blue water and one stepped into the slowly swirling liquid. The other woman began to touch Margery. She forced herself not to retreat as the woman's fingers unlaced her corseted bodice, untied her skirt and slipped the silks down the princess's thighs. The woman's fingers were sure. Her touch forceful, but not rough. Like a mother undressing her child for a bath.

  Margery had long ago stopped being bathed by servants. Her only recent experience with sharing a bath was with Naomi. The memory of those baths, with their young bodies silky with soap and their kisses and fingers adventurous, had Margery as flushed as the slave's touch by the time she was completely nude. The woman took her hands and walked with her to the stairs down into the pool.

  The young princess stepped into the water. It was warm and swirled with an unseen current around her legs. She followed the stairs deeper until the water swallowed her up to her abdomen. The current seemed to cleanse her with invisible hands. A pleasant herbal smell filled the air.

  The slave girls pressed against her from the front and back. Their bodies were slick against her. Their curves warm and their hands purposeful, scrubbing her arms and legs. The girl behind Margery began to stroke the princess's buttocks. The girl at her front rubbed her soapy tits against Margery's ample breasts until they glistened and her nipples stood erect.

  She gasped as she felt a hand between her thighs and she instinctively spread her legs a little wider. Fingers traced her sex. More fingers rubbed between the cheeks of her backside and washed the tender clench of her anus.

  "Ohhhh," moaned the princess. "It feels good."

  Her clit began to throb beneath the woman's fingers. The slave in front of the princess leaned closer as if she was going to kiss Margery. The princess readied herself for it. She craved it. The woman withdrew without touching her. The woman behind her stepped away as well.

  "You are cleansed," they said simultaneously. "We will dress you now."

  They dried her first, gently toweling every inch of her body. Margery resisted the urge to thrust herself against the soft towels they used. She decided that even if these enslaved women offered sexual relief, she did not deserve it. Not while Naomi was being subjected to her own nightmare of enslavement. Would they pierce her like these women? Would she become as docile, as if in a trance?

  "Where did Jivayn take my friend?" asked Margery.

  The slaves ignored her question and prepared several dark garments on a small stone bench. The inner fabric was like silk, but the outside was a deep black, like oiled leathers. They dressed her in the silks first and these were in a clingy style that cradled Margery's plump breasts and framed her quim and buttocks. One of the slaves held up a mirror. The fabric was somewhat sheer and she could see the suggestion of her mound and her nipples through the dark material.

  They resumed dressing the princess and she complied. The corseted bodice was finished in violet leather and the trousers were as form-fitting as anything Jivayn had worn. The style of garment emphasized Margery's natural curves in a way that separated her from the elves she had seen in the palace. They were all so slender, she felt grotesquely fat with her huge breasts piled up and overflowing her corset and her round bottom stretching the limits of the skin-tight leathers.

  "Ohhhh yes, this is perfect," purred the slave girls.

  They ran their hands over her body and pressed their faces against her neck. Their warm breath caressed her there as their hands fondled the softness of her breasts and slid lower to tease her sex through the leathers. The silken inner fabric pressed against her dewy folds and she let out a soft gasp that echoed against the stones.

  "You are beautiful," whispered one of the slaves into Margery's ear.

  "For the high priestess," finished the other hooded woman.

  "Should I... not wear boots?" asked Margery, lifting her still-bare feet from the floor.

  The slave girls offered no answer as they retreated from her and stood against the curve of the rounded chamber. Margery searched for her boots in the steamy room. They were very nice boots and she did not much like the idea of walking through this strange place in her bare feet.

  A door opened and movement drew the princess's attention. A group of six armed elf women emerged. Their clothes were similar to the martial costume Jivayn had worn, and therefore similar in style at least to what Margery wore, but each elf woman covered her face behind an expressionless mask of mirrored silver. Margery's face reflected in the masks as they approached.

  "With us," said one of the women.

  They surrounded her and she had no choice but to follow them through the door and into the darkened tunnel. She passed from steam-warmed tile to the cold stone of a tunnel beneath her feet. They marched her further into the castle and she had the sense that she was passing deeper into the earth. A certain geologic warmth began to emanate from below and a tinge of sulfur was not completely covered by the perfume that clung to Margery's flesh.

  Her heart pounded as they approached a door of the same white stone that had been used to build the entrance to the palace. Guards stood at attention. One of them opened the door for the procession bringing Margery into what was surely the throne room of the high priestess of the deep elves.

  The room was full of ornately dressed elves, hooded slaves, and silver-masked acolyte warriors. They were all silent. They solemnly faced Margery as she was brought before the throne of the high priestess. The throne was an ornate web of silver, but the majesty of the throne and the setting were forgotten as Margery looked upon the queen.

  The silk of her costume seemed to barely cover her body. It reached around her pert breasts from the sides and stopped far short of her inner cleavage. The shimmering silver silk collared the priestess's slender throat and spilled down her arms. It sparkled against her hips and shimmered down her thighs. A silky, silver finger of the fabric cradled the priestess's quim. Her face was hidden behind an ornate, silver mask depicting a serene goddess. Her dark hair was woven into her headdress.

  Margery did not want to approach this majestic woman and yet she knew she must. She took a step up the lavender carpeted stairway towards the throne.

  "No closer," said the high priestess. "Your fat human flesh disgusts me. It bulges like sickness from your leathers."

  Margery lowered her head. She was surprised to be stung by the priestess's insults.

  "I am sorry," she said.

  "Pitiful," laughed the priestess. "But at least your hair is not golden and your skin is not tanned. You were kept inside."

  The priestess stood from her throne and descended the staircase. The silver train of her dress trailed down the steps behind her. Margery resisted the urge to lift her gaze, but even in her peripheral vision, the priestess exuded easy sensuality with each step. The exotic scent of the priestess's perfume tickled Margery's nostrils.

  "You may be worthy to serve me as a slave," said the priestess, trailing a long finger up from Margery's cleavage and lifting the princess's chin.

  "I-I am a princess," whispered Margery.

  "You are a human and in Shadowhold humans are slaves." The priestess's fingers tightened their grip on Margery's face. "Kneel before me and surrender yourself to slavery."

  The high priestess did not push Margery to her knees, but the princess felt the weight of her co
mmanding words pressing down on her. The princess's knees began to shake. She let out a soft cry of defiance.

  "I am a princess," gasped Margery as she fought to stay upright. "I am not a slave."

  "You will serve me." The priestess's tone was certain. "But perhaps you are not a slave. You will serve me or you will die."

  The priestess released Margery and the princess staggered back a step.

  "You would have me killed?"

  "No, but you are human, so you are weak. You may... succumb to the process of becoming my servant."

  Margery did not fancy the idea of becoming the servant of some sadistic elf priestess. It was certainly not the arrangement her father had made for her. But her guards were dead and her only friend had been hauled off to be sold in the slave markets. The princess understood the offer that was being presented to her: endure the tortures the priestess had planned and prove she was worthy of being more than a slave.

  It was a faint hope, but it was something.

  "W-what must I do?" asked Margery.

  "Drown," said the priestess and her word sounded like a hammer in the huge throne room.

  Before Margery could even wonder what the priestess meant, two of the acolytes seized the princess by her arms and dragged her to a dark pool that had opened in the floor. Margery began to fight them. "No!" she cried as she kicked her legs and tried to wrench her arms free. The hands of the acolytes held her like shackles. They pulled her into the cold water.

  This was not how it was supposed to be. She was not supposed to be murdered in front of the strange court of the deep elves. Some of them were even laughing at her as she fought to keep her head above the water. A third acolyte appeared above the pool and this woman took hold of Margery's head and forced it down. Margery saw her terror reflected in their masks. She saw herself held under the water.

  The agony of water filled her lungs. She bucked against their grasp, but she was not even truly fighting any longer. She convulsed as the last bubbles of air shook out of her nose. Her wide eyes stared up at her murderers. The exquisite silver mask of the high priestess appeared above the pool. A strange contentment came over Margery as she let go.

  The next awareness Margery had was being on her hands and knees as she spewed up liquid. One of the acolytes was pounding on her back and forcing more of the water out from her lungs. In between her gasping, choking breaths, Margery heard the high priestess speaking in her commanding tone.

  "You have done well, princess. Releasing yourself from your body and understanding the inevitable fate that awaits you is the first part of being something more than a slave. Even my acolytes have endured this experience, so do not presume that you are special." The priestess stroked the shoulder of one of her acolytes. "Dry her off and take the princess from the surface to one of the candlebeds. I will attend to her next test personally."

  The candlebed was hardly a bed at all. It was more like a framework of black iron attached to an armature that allowed the so-called bed to be rotated from face up to face down. The acolytes stripped Margery of her skin-tight clothes. As her breasts heaved free, plump and marked with bands from the constricting corset, some of the elf women murmured their disgust from beneath their masks. They were similarly disgusted by the roundness of Margery's bottom. Their hissing whispers chilled her worse than the water still clinging to her body.

  The bed was rotated into a vertical position and Margery was made to stand upon the lower iron bar. Silver webbing was attached to her wrists and ankles and bound around her neck tightly enough to hold her head in place, but not tight enough to constrict her breathing. They seemed to be finished, but one of the acolytes returned and wound a length of the webbing around and between Margery's breasts. The elf woman constricted the tender flesh, lifting it by binding it, until Margery's pale pink nipples turned red and stood erect with trapped blood. Her breasts began to darken to a flushed color.

  "It hurts," cried the princess.

  The acolytes laughed. The woman tormenting her titflesh roughly pinched her nipples. The elf twisted her fingers as she released each engorged bud and Margery let out shrieks of pain. The acolytes laughed again and the cruel binding was removed from her breasts. It left faint rings around the tender flesh as the color slowly returned to normal.

  "Fat human bitch," hissed one of the acolytes. "Now the pain will begin. Try not to pass out or maybe the priestess will never let you wake up."

  The elf that taunted her kicked the framework with the heel of her boot and the metal "bed" spun so that Margery was on her back and suspended from her bindings. The acolytes left her in this position and filed out of the room with a final slam of the door. In gloom above the contraption, Margery saw an arrangement of exactly thirty six red candles secured to some sort of metal awning. The wicks were down and Margery understood this meant that when the candles were lit the wax would fall directly onto her naked body.

  Margery began to tremble, unsure if it was the cold lingering from being drowned in the pool or fear of what would come next. She remained bound beneath the candles, shivering and contemplating her fate, for a very long time. She did not hear the high priestess enter. The elf woman simply began to speak from the darkness.

  "When I first laid eyes upon you, Margery of Lecuyer, I thought surely there had been some mistake. I was promised a virgin princess and yet here you were, so obviously gravid." The voice moved closer. "You humans have such a roundness to you, I mistake all but the most emaciated for being pregnant. But when you came closer, I sensed your purity. Though I find your abundance repulsive, your virgin purity is not without its appeal."

  A lavender-gloved hand reached out of the darkness and stroked slowly over Margery's left breast. The silky fingers bent back her nipple, the palm dragged over that sensitive bud, and the hand reached up to cradle the princess's chin. The silver mask of the high priestess came into view.

  "I will test your endurance now, princess. Your ability to receive pain." The mask leaned lower. "Do not fear the candles. Only a few have perished on the candlebed."

  The priestess stood upright suddenly and a wave of her hands ignited the wicks of all thirty six of the candles. The priestess tilted the apparatus overhead so that the candles would not extinguish themselves with the dripping wax and she began to move and gently turn the frame that held Margery. The first droplets of hot wax fell upon her leg and hip and the outer curve of her right breast. Each droplet was like an ember landing upon her flesh. She jerked and let out soft yelps of pain. The heat faded from the wax, but before she could fully recover another volley of droplets landed on her flesh.

  "Aahhhhh!" cried the princess. "It burns!"

  "Yes, my surface swine, that is the nature of the wax. But I have kept you far from the candles. Perhaps I should bring you closer."

  The priestess wrenched the framework two feet higher, so that Margery was held suspended at the level of the priestess's chest and the candles were scarcely a foot away from her. The wax droplets were much hotter this time, the pain still sharp from one splatter as the next fell upon her naked body. The burning moved as the priestess tilted the candlebed, spreading waves of hot, splattering wax over Margery's body from her throat to her lower legs. Tilting the candles produced sudden, searing gushes of wax that poured over Margery's breasts and tightened on her burning skin.

  Despite the pain, there was something worse. As the wax drizzled Margery's belly and began to fall upon her mound, the princess felt jolts of pleasure. The pain was still there, the sharp pluck of the heat, but the throbbing, radiating warmth that followed seemed to suffuse Margery's loins. Her whimpers of pain became soft moans of lust and she squirmed and ached to be touched.

  "Yes, my sweet piggy," laughed the priestess. "You feel it. The pain that becomes pleasure. Violence can unleash ecstasy. Would you like me to touch you?"

  The priestess brought a gloved hand down to Margery's quim, fingers curled as if she might stroke the princess's throbbing clit. Another wave of wax sp
lattered over Margery's breasts and belly and down to her sex. She arched against her bindings and cried out, "Yesssss!"

  The priestess only laughed and pulled her hand away. Before the princess could whimper in complaint, another tilted gush of hot wax was poured onto her body, jabbing the hot agony into her flesh.

  Once Margery's entire front side was sheathed in wax, the priestess rotated the frame and began to torment Margery's back. Candle wax poured over her shoulders and drip-dropped in pathways of pain down to her clenched buttocks. The priestess spread Margery's ass and let the wax sear the sensitive clench of Margery's anus. The princess screamed in pain as the wax drooled from her puckered hole down to the glistening folds of her sex. Wax frosted her bottom and sheathed her thighs. It dripped from the backs of her legs, sealing her in stockings of shimmering wax.

  The worse the pain, the more Margery ached to be touched. To be soothed by fingers or perhaps Naomi's tongue, slipping past her folds and tasting the honey that was gathering at her entrance.

  "Gods," gasped Margery, "sweating from the heat and pain. Please, I cannot bear much more."

  The priestess made a muffled sound that Margery took to be a growl. As the princess struggled against her bonds, the priestess took down one of the candles and held it so low that it almost touched the helpless princess. The wax was agonizingly hot as the priestess dripped it between her buttocks, over her quim and, with a rotation of the frame, directly onto the aching bud of Margery's clit.

  "Aaaaiiiii!" squealed the princess. She bucked against her bonds hard enough to shake the frame. This only sent more wax spilling onto her back. The agony of the dripping against her clit was a hot knife of pain followed by sympathetic throbs of pleasure. It brought her to the maddening brink of an orgasm. It was an orgasm the priestess was not about to give her.