By the time the priestess was done with the lash, Margery burned with welts from her shoulders down to her knees, her face was swollen from her tears, and her body drenched in sweat. She hung lifelessly in from the chains and when the priestess called her name she weakly lifted her head. She peered out from the sweat locks of her dark red hair.
"Can you hear me, little piggy?" taunted the priestess. "I have never seen a human so utterly willing to submit to pain. Your body begs for it even when your words do not."
"Did it... to save Gisella."
"The slave?" The priestess laughed. "You did not save her. Only delayed the inevitable. My magic demands a price in blood and one day it will be Gisella's. Whether she pays for a mistake or is simply the next in line for my rituals. Her fate was always thus."
"You're a monster," gasped Margery.
"I am a ruler of the deep." The priestess tossed the flail onto the floor where Margery could see it. "If I am a monster, then so are all who dwell in this place. Cruelty, my soft, pink, surface girl, is the most important skill to survival."
The priestess slid her fingers into Margery's hair and wound them tightly. She yanked the exhausted princess's head up.
"There can be no other way," said the priestess and she released Margery's head. With a haughty laugh, the priestess turned on her heel and began to walk away.
"You're wrong," croaked Margery as the priestess reached the door.
"What was that?"
"You are wrong that there can be no other way. You just haven't found another way."
"The ugliest thing about you is your mouth," snapped the priestess. "You speak with the entitlement of a human. With the arrogance of so-called nobility. But you will learn to be humble and I will be your instructor."
Margery was assigned menial tasks by the acolytes. When she was awake, she labored, often scrubbing the floor on her knees, washing privies, or shelling mollusks in the kitchens. The acolytes inspected her work and always found it wanting. They slapped her and pulled her hair. They kicked her legs and made her wear slave hoods.
The cruelest of the elf women had a star-shaped scar just above her wrist. Margery came to think of her as Star and Star seemed to take real pleasure in tormenting Margery. Star choked her nearly unconscious when she failed to wash the grit from the oysters. Star pinched Margery's nipples so hard that she wept when the elf decided she was taking too long scrubbing blood from one of the fighting pits.
The greatest humiliation came when Star was dissatisfied with Margery's cleaning of a chamber pot. The elf woman took down her leathers, squatted above Margery, and showered her in a golden stream of hot piss. The liquid stung as it washed the tears from Margery's eyes and filled her mouth with a specific sour taste. Margery watched the golden liquid spill from the pink folds of Star's sex. The humiliation filled her with anger, but it did not break her.
Margery was allowed to sleep for only a few short hours each night before one acolyte or another roused her from bed and took her to be punished by the priestess. After the candlebed and the whipping post, there came the eels.
An entire tub of black eels that squirmed and gnashed their tiny teeth. The priestess forced Margery into the tub and held her among the foul eels. They nipped at Margery's tender flesh and tried to squirm their way into her body. They did not succeed, but the feeling of them wriggling at her quim and trying to fight their way into her anus was a nightmare the princess could scarcely endure.
The following night, the princess was returned to the candlebed, where the priestess continued her candle torture with the addition of silver clips that she applied to the Margery's clitoris and nipples. The final humiliation came at the end of a long session of torture. The high priestess spit directly onto Margery's anus and screwed a lemon-shaped silver plug into her hole. It stretched the princess painfully and sat heavily inside her.
"You will wear this until we meet again," said the priestess as she lowered Margery back to her feet.
Margery knew there was no choice in the matter. She nodded her head and shifted uncomfortably with the plug wedge into her bottom. The sensation of it, though not comfortable, was also not entirely unpleasant. It was a weight inside her that reminded her of the twisted affection of the priestess.
Part III
The Pleasure Slave
When the door opened on the following night, Margery had already sat up in bed to wait for the acolytes. She was surprised when Gisella opened the door, stepped inside, and quickly closed the door behind her.
"You're alive!" cried Margery.
She leaped from the bed and embraced Gisella. The slave girl tried to say something, but Margery kissed away her words and pressed her back against the door with a soft thump. Gisella tried to push her away for a moment before surrendering to the desperate heat of the kiss. Their mouths opened and their tongues intertwined. For a few, glorious moments, Margery managed to forget her predicament in the arms of the comely slave girl.
Margery wanted the comforting warmth of Gisella's body to hold her forever, but the slave girl pushed her away.
"I cannot stay, my lady," whispered Gisella. "I've brought you something."
The object Gisella held in her hand was so unexpected that Margery took several seconds to process what she was seeing. The blade was very small. Perhaps two inches of sharpened steel protruding from a wrapping of leather scraps.
"I... I don't understand," said Margery.
It was true. She had not thought of escape in days. Though her mind was unbroken, she no longer believed in her fantasies of a happy marriage. She had settled for avoiding mindless slavery as her goal.
"It's a knife." Gisella handed Margery the blade. "If you can kill the high priestess, my lady, everything could change."
"What do you mean? What would change?" Margery turned the blade over in her hand.
"Take it, my lady. When you find the right moment, you will know it. Kill the high priestess for everything she has done and free the slaves from their cages."
The thought of attacking the high priestess with the knife felt entirely wrong. Margery thought she might rather plunge the blade into herself rather than the domineer elf.
"Free the slaves?" asked Margery.
"Yes, in the slave market and in the pleasure canton. Hundreds of humans, just waiting to be set free." Gisella squeezed Margery's hand. "You can save your friend. The one Mistress Jivayn brought with you."
"Naomi," whispered Margery. She had lost all hope of escape and yet she still dreamed of her handmaiden. She still sought her comfort in those dreams and found relief in the blond handmaiden's embrace, when she did not become Jivayn. Iron stiffened Margery's spine. She closed her fist around the knife's handle. "Yes, something must be done."
Gisella departed without a farewell. She slipped out the door and left Margery to consider the knife she held in her hand. The princess decided to hide the weapon inside her slim bedroll for now. The acolytes would surely find it if she tried to conceal it on her body. They liked to touch her in all sorts of unpleasant ways.
It was not the acolytes that came for Margery on that night. The door opened and the priestess stood in a gossamer gown that revealed every aspect of her lithe beauty. Except for her face, which remained hidden beneath a simpler version of her usual silver mask. There was no elaborate headdress and no heeled boots that added to her height until she towered over Margery. She seemed an inch shorter than the princess.
"Come with me," said the high priestess.
She turned her back and began to walk down the hall. Margery followed and watched the elf's firm bottom gently swinging with each step, the cleft visible through the sheer gown the priestess wore. Her gaze traveled up to the woman's shoulders and slender neck, the tightly wound bun of her hair, and Margery thought how easily she could have killed the priestess if she had brought the knife.
The princess expected to be taken to one of the torture chambers she had been subjected to before. Lashes snapped and a woma
n screamed in agony through the closed door of the room containing the whipping post. Margery winced in sympathy with each crack of the whip against flesh and each squeal of pain. The priestess continued past this door and the doors to the other torture chambers.
They entered a much finer portion of the castle, resplendent with soft violet carpets, tapestries depicting scenes of erotic sadism, ancient weapons and implements of torture preserved in displays, and vast halls that echoed with the priestess's footsteps. They passed the occasional acolyte who stood at attention to allow the priestess to pass.
At last, they arrived at a large, austere bedchamber. A fire crackled in a private hearth, for once overwhelming the purple and silver colors of the castle with its russet and gold. The bed was larger, but hardly more luxurious than the cot Margery slept upon. There were pillows, which she supposed was an improvement.
"Close and bolt the door," said the priestess as she stepped towards the bed.
Margery did as she was told and when she turned back to the priestess the woman had shed her sandals and the gossamer of her gown, fully revealing her ghostly pale nudity and the girlish curves of her slender body. Despite her hatred of the woman, Margery felt an immediate, arousing attraction to the woman.
"You desire me," said the priestess. "Do not deny it. Few enough of your kind take to pain like you have, but even fewer know the pleasure of women. You go into your bestial heat when I touch you. Your furry sex glistens."
Margery blushed that such words were spoken about her. She lowered her gaze and looked at her toes sinking into the violet carpet. There was something strange about the carpet. Something cool and unwholesome. It seemed grown rather than woven from fibers.
The priestess stepped close enough that Margery could smell the strange perfume of her body. Their toes almost touched. Margery's breasts seemed so enormous compared to the pert mounds on the elf's chest and she felt ashamed. She wanted to cover them with her arm.
"Now you will learn my weakness," murmured the priestess. "Dare to speak of it beyond this room and you will pay with your life. Slowly and in agony beyond comprehending."
"Y-your weakness?" Margery looked up and into those dark eyes peering out through the hole in the silver mask.
The priestess reached her hands up to the edges of the mask and worked beneath it at the hidden catches. There were two soft clicks and she lowered the silver visage from her true face.
"Jivayn," gasped the princess.
"Mistress Jivayn." The elf tossed the silver mask aside. "But many know who I am behind this mask. That is not my weakness."
Margery wondered what the elf's weakness could be and could not form the words to ask the question. She continued to stare at Jivayn's face. The face that had inhabited her dreams, cruel and beautiful. And the face of the woman that had taken Naomi from her. Fear, anger, and desire swirled within the princess in equally turbulent currents.
"Tonight there will only be pain if you disobey me." Jivayn gently stroked the deep red silk of Margery's hair. "Serve me. On your knees, princess of the surface, and serve my pussy with your vulgar tongue."
"My tongue?"
Margery's answer came as a hard slap across her face. It blew back her hair and stung her cheek terribly. She cried out and fell to her knees before the comely elf.
She found herself staring up at the pale thighs and smooth mound of the elf's sex. The pink folds were as delicate as the petals of a new rose. The clitoris was a tiny tongue of flesh poking out from Jivayn's velvet hood. The deeper pinkness glistened in the shadows between her thighs.
There was a faint, earthy smell to it, but it was not at all unpleasant. Familiar to Margery from her late nights with Naomi, but slightly different coming from the body of an elf; it was the musk of awakened desire.
"Gods." Margery felt an uncontrollable tremor of desire. She dared to gaze up over Jivayn's toned body, pert breasts capped with tiny pink nipples, and into those fathomless black eyes. She whispered, "You're beautiful."
"Yes, I know," said Jivayn and she stroked Margery's head. Her hand pulled Margery closer. "Now spare the compliments and put your tongue to... ohhhhhh... yes..."
Margery began to lick without further prompting. She tasted the soft sweetness of Jivayn's quim, parted those folds with her tongue, and delved into the hot passage of the elf’s sex. Her lips brushed the pebble of Jivayn's clit and the elf gasped softly.
It sent a thrill through Margery to know that she had given Mistress Jivayn pleasure. She slipped her tongue up to that delicate bud and began to urgently lick. More of the sweet nectar of Jivayn's pussy began to flow over the princess's lips, into her mouth, and down her chin. She moaned as she licked and the vibrations of that sound prompted another gasp of pleasure from Jivayn.
"Yesssss, my little piggy," gasped Jivayn. "Your tongue is quite eager."
"Mmmmmhmm," replied Margery. She dared to slide her hands up the smoothness of Jivayn's flanks and around to the firm hemispheres of her ass. She squeezed the perfect mounds and pulled the dripping furrow of Jivayn's peach against her tongue.
The elf needed no help in guiding her pussy against the princess's eager mouth. She worked her hips in slow, elegant movements and rode against Margery's tongue. Her juices poured into the princess's mouth, as sweet as honey, and Margery moaned with her own growing lust. She knew it would be unrequited, but that did not matter. There was real pleasure - not the sort derived from pain - to be found in servicing Mistress Jivayn. She buried her face between those strong thighs and her tongue feverishly worshipped the straining bud of the elf's clit.
"Aahhhhhhh!" cried Jivayn. "Yes! There! There, you surface cow! Ohhh you're sucking... sucking my... AAAhhhhhhhhh!"
The elf bucked violently against the suction of Margery's mouth. A great flow of Jivayn's nectar poured down Margery's chin and into her mouth. She drank this slick fluid eagerly and did not relent with her suction upon the elf's clit until Jivayn pushed her away. Margery was flushed and damp with sweat. Her chin and breasts and even her thighs glistened with the elf's cum.
"Yes," said Jivan as she admired the princess on her knees. "You have done well. You will not be punished tonight. There is a bottle of wine on the table. Go and pour some for each of us."
Margery returned with two small silver cups of wine on a serving tray. She offered one to Jivayn and the elf took it and motioned for the princess to take the other. Jivayn sat, nude and slightly flushed, at the small table beside the bed. There was only one chair, so Margery remained standing.
"Your friend has been placed at the temple of Ionethus, the living goddess." Jivayn sipped her wine and studied the princess's reaction. "You do not know of Ionethus? She is the light in the darkness, the love and the hate, she is our goddess and our patron. The other cities of the deep elves may worship her, but she lives here, in our city."
"A living god?" Margery dared to ask.
"Yes," said Jivayn. "Your friend will be safe there or as safe as humans can be in Shadowhold. The lesser priestesses of Ionethus will not dare to kill a slave that I brought to serve at the temple."
"Th-thank you," said Margery. Though what she felt was more like relief than gratitude. She took a long sip of the wine and set the cup on the table. "Would you like me to pleasure you again, Mistress Jivayn?"
The elf looked up and smiled at Margery. The princess felt a heat in her face and a new pang of warmth in her tummy. The elf turned slowly in her chair and spread her thighs apart.
"Yes, that would be appropriate. Put your tongue to work again."
So the princess did, licking and sucking and even fingering the tender folds of Jivayn's pussy. It was not every night that she was permitted to pleasure the elf. Many nights the torture continued, repetitions of past torments, always with the knowledge that they were an act of affection rather than actual punishment. Even with tears in her eyes, she closed them and saw the beautiful pink folds of Jivayn's pussy and those warm, smooth thighs wrapped around her face. Among her acoly
tes, Jivayn continued to insult Margery, calling her "fat pig" and "sow" and demeaning her pink skin. Behind the locked door of Jivayn's bedchamber, the high priestess was still domineering, but no longer cruel.
On her third visit to Jivayn's bedchamber, Margery was made to kneel to lick and suck the toes of the elf. Her feet were bitter and somewhat dirty and yet Margery did not hesitate to run her tongue under Jivayn's arches and take each toe into her mouth to suck and lick it. Jivayn watched with a smile on her face. Her dark eyes sparkled in the firelight. Margery's saliva gently washed both of the elf's feet to Jivayn's satisfaction.
"Now," said Jivayn as she stood from the edge of the bed. "You will use your tongue somewhere else tonight."
Margery watched as the gorgeous elf climbed onto her hands and knees on the bed and leaned her head low to the blanket. Her ass was raised. Her glistening folds exposed.
"You command me to lick your quim from behind?" asked Margery hopefully.
"No," said Jivayn. "I command you to use your tongue here."
She reached back and gently spread the firm mounds of her ass to expose the delicate pink knot of her anus. Margery had balked when Naomi had spoken of doing such a thing to her in the carriage. The thought of placing her tongue on that spot where such unclean things occurred gave her pause. She saw not a trace of filth on Jivayn's lovely flesh, but the elf had a body that worked much the same as a human. The princess could not get the thought from her head.
"Do not keep me waiting much longer," snapped Jivayn. "You have pleased me with your obedience tonight. Must I punish you?"
"N-no, Mistress Jivayn." Margery swallowed her disgust and dropped to her knees behind the slender elf. Jivayn's heart-shaped bottom seemed much larger from this perspective and Margery felt her pulse quicken as she leaned closer. She could smell the elf's arousal, already a familiar scent in her nostrils, and it gave her confidence to lower her face to those warm, smooth buttocks. She pressed a kiss against the inner curve of her cheek and tentatively, very lightly, brushed the tip of her tongue into Jivayn's crack.
Princess to Pleasure Slave Collection: The Forbidden Book of Monstrous Pleasures Page 61
