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

by Amanda Clover

  "You are correct," chuckled the priestess. "You cannot bear much more. I will send a slave to clean you up."

  The priestess extinguished the candles with a wave of her fingers and departed from the room. Alone in the smoky darkness, Margery began to weep. Her tears followed her nose and dripped from the tip onto the floor beneath her. It was a long time before a human slave arrived to free her and escort her to the baths.

  The woman helped her through the castle and lowered her into the warm, swirling water. The slave was gentle, washing away the wax with her fingers. Margery was in a daze from everything she had endured and did not really notice what the slave girl was doing until her fingers began to explore the waxy mound of the princess's quim. A pang of pleasure jolted through her as the slave girl touched her clit. She hissed through clenched teeth.

  "Did the high priestess hurt you?" asked the slave girl.

  "Y-yes," said Margery. "She left me on the brink of an orgasm."

  "Pain is a good thing for the elves," whispered the slave. "They believe pleasure is bad. Even their own pleasure."

  The slave girl's fingers began to rub gentle circles over Margery's clit. The woman's soap-slicked breasts pressed against the back of Margery's shoulders. The girl's breath was warm on the princess's neck.

  "Give me relief," whispered Margery. "Please. I... I think I need that."

  Margery turned and looked at the woman. Margery stroked the woman's chin and admired the pink fullness of the woman's lips. She slid the violet hood up, exposing the woman's delicate nose. She started to lift it higher, but the woman stopped her with the hand that was not occupied beneath the water.

  "You do not want to see more," said the slave. "The elves have done things to us. Scarred us. Look no higher."

  "I want to see you," said the princess.

  The slave girl stopped rubbing at Margery's clit and brought her other hand out of the water. Her lips pinched into a frown, but she gave a slight nod of agreement. With both hands, the woman gently lifted the hood and exposed her roughly shorn head, her mutilated eyes, and elaborate patterns of gruesome pink scars around her eyes and trailing back to her ears.

  She was clearly blinded by whatever the elves had done, it looked almost as if they had burned her eyes out with magic as there was blackness to the dark sockets. She had been beautiful once, still was beautiful from the nose down, and exquisite with her voluptuous, youthful body.

  Margery wished she had not seen this, but she resisted the urge to look away in horror. This, the princess realized, might well be Naomi's fate unless she did something to save her. The agonies spelled out in this woman's flesh were a message of solidarity for the suffering Margery had already endured.

  The woman lowered her head and spoke softly.

  "I will understand if you no longer wish for me to touch you. I know that I am grotesque."

  "You are still beautiful," said Margery. "Violence done by the elves cannot ruin that."

  The slave girl began to say something else, but Margery turned to face the woman and leaned in until their bodies pressed together and her lips found the soft kiss of the slave. The woman's mouth opened eagerly and her tongue slid against the princess's with a desperation Margery had never sensed in Naomi. The princess pulled away after a moment and softly asked, "What is your name?"

  "Gisella was my name," said the slave. "I know yours, Princess Margery. I heard them talking about you."

  Gisella's arms laced around Margery's shoulders and their glistening bodies pressed together once more. Their lips collided and the kiss was even hungrier than their first. Gisella's thigh pressed between Margery's legs. Her slick muscle against the tenderness of the princess's virgin quim. Margery gasped into the kiss, thrusting her hips and gliding the straining bud of her clit against the slave girl's leg. Gisella guided her to the rim of the pool and helped lift Margery onto the edge. The slave girl's fingers sought the hot furrow of Margery's cunt.

  "Yessssss," hissed the princess. "Touch me there."

  She only broke the kiss to lower her lips to Gisella's plump breast, tongue against the fat brown bud of Gisella's nipple. The silver barbell piercing the nipple moved beneath Margery's tongue. The princess sucked and drew the soft flesh of the areola into her mouth and the barbell clicked lightly against her teeth. She slithered her tongue around that tender bud and moaned against Gisella's plentiful breast as the slave girl worked her fingers against Margery's clit.

  It was a secret pleasure they took and gave to one another. Their fingers found special places to administer relief and their kisses were as hungry as their hands. It was Gisella who first sunk into the water and pressed her tongue to Margery's cleaned slit. She lapped at the sweetness she found and sucked at the swollen bead of the princess's clit.

  The princess's cry of pleasure echoed from the tiles. She threw back her head and surrendered to the release of her long-pent ecstasy. Images of her lover and her tormentor flashed behind her eyes. While Gisella drank the honey that flowed from the princess's quim, Margery shuddered and saw Naomi, the high priestess and even Jivayn. Yes, Jivayn, the beautiful murderess. Margery imagined the warrioress on her knees and forced to press her mouth to the princess's fluttering quim. Her elvish tongue hot inside her.

  Margery's orgasm receded and she emerged from her strange fantasy and returned to the reality of the pool. She felt guilty that she had given in to a fantasy of Jivayn. Why would she lust after that cruel elf? The very one who had taken Naomi to the slave markets. The princess could not understand her own desires.

  "Do you desire more, my lady?" asked Gisella. She ran her tongue in slow circles around Margery's clit and the princess felt suddenly even more ashamed. As if she was using the slave girl for pleasure and no better than the elves that demanded the girl's servitude.

  "No, you've given me enough," said Margery.

  She pulled the slave girl into her arms and their slick warmth reunited. This time the princess slid her hand lower, wriggling her fingers between Gisella's thighs to feel the hairless furrow of her sex. Without hesitation, without even thinking, Margery pressed a finger into the hot, tight tunnel of Gisella's cunt. The slave girl's moan of pleasure was almost a whine. Margery began to work the finger in and out. She added a second, stretching the tight channel around her digits and fucking with her hips as she thrust her fingers.

  The princess wanted to do exactly as Gisella had done, but something held her back. It was not shame exactly, but fear of what it might be like to taste a woman and inhale her scent. It was foolish to be reluctant under these circumstances and yet she was. Instead, Margery returned her lips to Gisella's breasts. The slave girl moaned and cradled the princess there, feeding a pierced nipple into the princess's mouth and urging her to suck with a hand on the back of her head.

  Margery's lips popped on Gisella's soft flesh and her tongue flicked wildly at the girl's fat nipple. She thrust her fingers hard enough into Gisella's quim that the heel of her hand slapped loudly against Gisella’s wet sex. It was not long at all before the slave girl cried out in orgasm. Her hips worked and she held Margery tightly against her breast. The princess sucked quite hard at the girl's nipple and felt the shuddering of the slave girl's inner walls against Margery's fingers.

  After it was done, they held each other in a tight embrace. Neither wanted to let go of the other. Margery wept softly, her face buried against Gisella's neck as the slave girl massaged her back. Too soon, the slave girl said, "I must take you to your cell now. They will notice if we linger much longer."

  "One more kiss," whispered Margery.

  Gisella nodded reluctantly and they shared a hot, long kiss that threatened to inflame Margery's desires once more. The slave girl had to push her away.

  "I have clean clothes for you to sleep in," she said. "Your other clothes will be dry by the time someone comes for you."

  Gisella helped Margery dress in sheer black underclothes and a simple gown of white linen. She kissed Margery again, but it was
brief and chaste.

  "Will they hurt me again?" asked the princess.

  "Yes," said Gisella. "The priestess will torture you for days. Perhaps weeks. Until you are broken."

  "You are not broken."

  "I am," said Gisella. "Just in different ways than some of the slaves."

  "I will let her kill me," said Margery and she stood up a bit straighter as she decided the matter.

  "She will never kill you. She agreed to that arrangement with your father because you are a virgin. She needs a virgin princess. I do not know why."

  Imagining her father negotiating her fate with emissaries of Shadowhold sent a shudder of sadness through the princess. She resisted the urge to say more, lest she burst into tears at such a monumental betrayal by her own father. Gisella took her hand and led Margery to her cell. It was dark and windowless and entirely too much like the cell of a dungeon. There was a small bed and a chamber pot and nothing else.

  "Will I see you again?" asked Margery.

  "No," said Gisella. "The slaves are rotated regularly in the palace."

  Despite her unpleasant quarters, Margery fell asleep almost immediately and had vivid dreams of Naomi and Jivayn. In her dream, she did not stop Naomi from wielding her small knife and the handmaiden managed to kill Jivayn after a long struggle. Covered in the elf's blood, Naomi began to kiss Margery and undress her. The handmaiden began to force herself upon Margery and her fingers roughly claimed the princess's virgin quim.

  "What are you doing, Naomi?" cried the princess.

  Naomi had become Jivayn and the elf woman forced her into a kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, Margery could see that it was Naomi, not Jivayn, who lay dead upon the ground. And yet she did not fight back. As her dead friend stared accusingly, Margery and the deep elf made love on the cold ground of the forest.

  Princess Margery Lecuyer awoke to find Gisella kneeling beside her bed. The slave girl’s hood was off and her mouth was curled downward into a terrified frown. Her lower teeth showed as her mouth sagged open.

  "Gisella?" asked Margery, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  She sat up and saw the horrible silver mask of the high priestess glimmering in the shadows behind the head of the kneeling slave girl. A silver knife blade was pressed to Gisella's throat. Hard enough to draw a prick of blood. Margery was close enough that she could see the pulsing of Gisella's artery in her neck. One slash of that knife and the artery would be opened.

  "Awake, surface pig?" The high priestess's voice prickled with cold anger. "You thought you could have some pleasure and not pay the price. But sun dweller's like you must always pay for your pleasure in Shadowhold. I am going to let you watch your new lover die and I want you to know that she is dying because of what you did."

  Margery was so shocked by the sight of Gisella about to be butchered that it took her several seconds to form words from her stammering mouth. She finally blurted, "I made Gisella."

  "Is that her name?" The priestess sneered. "You made her? Or you asked her?"

  "I begged her to do it. I pleaded with her."

  The blade tightened a little more against Gisella's throat and a thin trickle of blood flowed from where the blade sliced a fraction of an inch into her flesh. Gisella remained silent, though her brow knitted in fear over the dark sockets of her eyes.

  "Someone must be punished, princess," hissed the priestess. "The price must be paid. If you ask me to spare this worthless girl, then you are the fool who will pay."

  Margery stood from the bed and tore the laces of her gown to expose the tops of her breasts and her naked throat.

  "Punish me," she said. "If you demand a life, then take mine."

  The high priestess drew the blade away from Gisella's throat and shoved the slave girl aside. The silver mask of the priestess filled Margery's view, her reflection distorted by the ornate design of the placid mask. With her heeled boots and her arachnid headdress, the priestess seemed much larger than Margery. The ghostly pale elf wore a sheer gown that revealed the pink of her nipples standing erect beneath the gossamer fabric and bare mound of her sex.

  "I do not want your blood, princess. Not yet." The elf's long fingers stroked Margery's shoulders and met beneath her chin. The priestess forced the princess to gaze up at the silver mask. "I will take pain from your flesh for the pity you have showed to a slave. You are too weak for Shadowhold."

  The priestess left Margery to contemplate her punishment. Gisella kept her head bowed as she followed priestess out. Margery began to weep and collapsed onto the hard mattress of her bed. She felt more alone than she had ever felt in her life. Everything, every small act of resistance was being observed by the sadistic elves. There was no escape. Not even the release of death.

  Her tears were still wet on her face when the acolytes came for her. A trio of the mirror-masked women hauled Margery to her feet and marched her through the glittering halls of the castle. They brought her to a room that contained a contraption that reminded the princess of the candlebed crossed with a hitching post for horses.

  A pair of iron shackles was secured by a chain through an eyelet high upon a vertical post of white stone. Margery was brought towards the post until a waist high bar of iron stopped her. She was bent forward over the bar and her arms were shackled above her. The posture was incredible stressful, forcing her to either balance her weight against the bar or painfully hang from the shackles with her weight on her shoulder joints.

  Adding to her discomfort, the acolytes spread her feet apart and shackled them to an iron bar that prevented her from moving her feet together. In this position she was not only in constant discomfort, but completely humiliated, with her bent position dangling the weight of her breasts and exposing her round bottom and the furred peach of her cunt.

  The acolytes muttered in disgust at the sight of the princess secured into the torture apparatus. One of the women reached beneath Margery and roughly slapped her breasts. The princess cried out and the elf pinched Margery's nipples and tugged them hard. Another elf made a sound like a cow mooing and the elves laughed.

  "The priestess will flay your ugly flesh," said the woman, continuing to pinch and tug at Margery's nipples. "She will whip you until the blood pools at your feet."

  Margery could not even muster a defiant reply. She shuddered with pain and an unexpected surge of arousal and the elves laughed at her once again. Another of the women smacked her bottom with a gloved hand. The stinging impact wobbled her buttocks and sent her breasts swinging. The elves laughed even harder at this sight.

  "Disgusting," said the elf mauling Margery's breasts.

  The woman gave Margery's nipples a last pinch and twist before releasing them. The princess gasped. She felt the heat beginning in her quim and she silently prayed the sadistic elf women would not sense she was becoming aroused by their rough treatment.

  The door opened and the acolytes fell immediately silent.

  "Leave us," said the high priestess.

  Though she trembled with fear, Margery felt relief to hear the acolytes leave. She would rather suffer her torture and humiliation at the hands of the high priestess alone than surrounded by jeering acolytes. She lifted her head, aware of the tears that streamed down her cheeks and yet strong enough to look the approaching elf in the dark eye-holes of her mask.

  The priestess stopped and rested her hands on her hips.

  "There is some fight in you yet," she laughed. "But I am afraid you have more pride than sense."

  The queen produced a flail that hung at her hips. The handle appeared to be made from bone and the flail itself was made from weighted lengths of silver cord. The priestess flicked it like the tail of an annoyed cat. She walked slowly behind Margery and began to stroke the princess's smooth, white buttocks. Her fingers teased lightly between her cheeks, over her anus, and down to the furry groove of her pussy.

  "Wet already?" The priestess chuckled. "You're beginning to acclimate to the pain. Don't deny it and don't worry, I have plenty
more in store for you."

  The priestess dragged the flail gently over Margery's backside. The princess could not stop herself from moaning softly as the cool silk fronds caressed her bottom and spilled over her ass and against her pussy and thighs. The tender touch was revoked almost immediately. Cold air mingled with anxiety. Margery anticipated the first lash, but it did not come. She began to tremble. Her teeth chattered.

  "Please," moaned Margery and she was not sure if she wanted the priestess to stop or to commence the torture.

  The lashing began just as Margery was certain it would never come. The flail collided with her bottom with a snap of contact that grew louder with every stroke. The priestess did not give her time to recover from one impact. Instead, she battered Margery's bottom with the flail, sent searing lashes down her thighs, and delivered agonizing licks to Margery's pussy and clit. These hurt most of all, for the princess was fully aroused. Her swollen tenderness and protruding clit were met with the silken cruelty of the priestess's lash.

  "Aaaaaaaah!" wailed Margery.

  The pain was far worse than she had anticipated. Worse than any spanking she had received as young girl. After a few strokes it felt as if her bottom was on fire. A few more and she swore she felt blood running down the backs of her legs. Her clitoris throbbed with each burning lick of the flail. Her pussy dripped with her tormented juices.

  "Yes, yes," urged the priestess. "Admit it, my sweet pig. Admit you love the lash."

  "It hurrrrrts," sobbed Margery.

  "Yes, and you want more, don't you?"

  "No!" cried Margery as the lash fell against her bottom again and again.

  Trapped in the shackles with her feet apart and her body bent forward, all she could move was her head and her hips. She wiggled her bottom from side to side, which distributed the blows from the flail across her buttocks and onto her hips.

  The tears that fell copiously from Margery's eyes began as tears of pain and ended as tears of despair. She despaired because of the pleasure, the throbbing pleasure of the pain being inflicted on her. She wanted more, she wanted to beg for more each moment that the priestess withheld the lash, but she bit her lip and whimpered instead of crying out.