To Train A Queen Read online

  Christine heard Harkness’ hammer again, and then he said, “Now you wait over here, My Lady, and I’ll fix the Princess up like you.”

  Christine heard the rattle of chains beside her, and turned her head to see Emily. The Duchess of Fernhill now looked like a criminal on a chain gang. Iron bands closed by rivets circled her ankles, wrists and neck, and a thick leather belt, riveted shut, went around her waist. A complicated system of chains ran through eyelets set in the collar, bracelets and belt, connecting her arms, legs neck and midsection behind her back.

  Harkness drew some slack chain from Emily, and looped it over a pulley above the girl’s head. He began pulling the loose end, and the links rattled through the eyelets, drawing Emily’s feet, hands and head closer together and lifting her from the floor. Emily panicked as she was simultaneously hoisted up and bent backwards, exposing her most intimate parts. Her struggles had the same effect as her stifled shrieks and pleas, that is to say, none. Almost before she knew what was happening to her, Duchess Emily of Fernhill was hung up like a side of beef.

  Master Harkness continued to tell Christine his story as he worked Emily into position. “After that, why the Lady Northridge, she couldn’t be help the King enough. She told him about every bit of loot the Duke had stashed away, then she got down on her knees and begged, real humble like, for your father to use her whichever ways he wanted, if only he would let her Klara loose… Now come along, Princess. It’s your turn,” Harkness said, as he released Christine’s legs, then opened the neck ring.

  Christine stumbled over to the anvil with Master Harkness’ powerful hand on her upper arm guiding her. She could not take her horrified eyes from the softly groaning form of her friend. “Poor Emily,” she whispered as Harkness fitted her with an ankle manacle. “How I wish I could help you.”

  It became evident to Christine that once Master Harkness started telling one of his stories, he did not require his audience to pay very close attention, or any attention at all. For the executioner, the point seemed to be reliving old memories, rather than amusing or enlightening the listener. His words flowed over the Princess like water over a rock, and with little more effect, as he fitted her with manacles and chains then hung her from the low ceiling next to Lady Emily. Indeed, she tried hard not to hear what Master Harkness was telling her, particularly about her father’s deeds. It was becoming clear that Christine had never seen the face King Charles had shown to his subjects.

  “…but the true jest was that, after all were said and done, after the King had futtered the Lady Northridge every which way he could think of for a month, he told her that he hadn’t never let her daughter go, that he had been having his way with her the whole time,” Harkness said. “After that, he gave Lady Northridge to the royal guards.” He shook his head in admiration. “The King knew how to work all the angles, and there’s none what can deny it.”

  By the time Master Harkness finished this story, Christine felt lower than ever, and not merely because she was naked and hanging like trussed up fowl for the Christmas feast. It was what she had just learned about her father that had beaten down her spirit. The man she admired above all others, the model of nobility and chivalry, the King Charles that she thought she had known, her own beloved father… did not exist. She would have liked to believe that Master Harkness was a liar who had fabricated the story about how the King had betrayed and dishonored Lady Northridge and her daughter, but she could not. The existence of Harkness himself and this hellish underworld was proof enough, even if details of the story were not convincing, which they were. More than her clothes, her dignity, and her freedom had been snatched away from Princess Christine this, the most terrible day of her young life. She had lost her father twice in one day: first to death, then again, when she learned what sort of man he truly was.

  “My thanks, Master Harkness, for sharing with me your tale of my noble sire,” she said dully.

  “No need to thank me, Princess,” he answered. He grinned, showing uneven teeth. “It was a treat for me, bringing back old times like that. Almost made me feel young again, it did.”

  He gave a few pulls on the chains binding the two nude girls to make sure they were secure, then said, “But we can’t sit around here telling stories all day. The Count wants you ready when he comes for to talk tonight, and I'll not pretend that he isn't particular about the way he wants things done.”

  He opened a drawer in the big worktable where he kept his tools, and returned to the captive girls carrying something in his hand. He held it up for them to see. It was an inch-thick metal disc with a four-inch diameter. There was a two-inch hole in the center. Leather straps, one with a buckle, dangled from either side.

  “This right here is a ring-gag, My Lady, Your Highness, and My Lord Count Casimir expects to see you wearing them when he gets here,” he said.

  Christine looked at the thing fearfully. How could such a huge object ever fit in her jaws? She decided to stall for time. “Master Harkness, until today you served King Charles, and this is his… facility,” she said. “Pray tell how you know so perfectly the mind of Count Casimir who has only lately become your master?”

  “But I served My Lord Count many times, little Princess,” Harkness said. “Your father was most generous with his close advisors, like the Count and Lady Emily’s father, the late Duke. When I wasn’t busy with the King’s business, he would let me do a bit on the side for myself like, and take work from them and a few others. Your dad, Lady Emily, why he loved to come down and watch me as much as the King more, mayhap. The Duke, he had quite an eye for noble ladies who was more grown, like Lady Northridge, but My Lord Count always had a taste for…” He paused. “There you got me going again, Your Highness, and almost made me forget what I’m about,” he admonished her. “Once we get this here gag in, you won’t be playing that trick on a forgetful old man again. Now open wide, Princess,” he said, holding the device up to her mouth. “This goes in behind your teeth.”

  Christine had no intention of allowing him to stuff the oversized disc into her face. She turned her head away from the gag, and through clenched teeth muttered, “No! Take it away.”

  Master Harkness’s hand followed the movements of her head, keeping the ring in front of Christine. “Come, Princess,” he wheedled. “All this fuss won’t do you no good. Count Casimir wants you girls to be wearing these when he gets here, so they’re going in, one way or another.”

  “No!” Christine repeated, continuing to pull away from the hand holding the ring-gag.

  “Then we’ll do it the hard way,” Harkness said, shaking his head. He took her left nipple in his fingers and, ignoring her commands to take his hands away, began to twirl and tug it until the little bit of flesh stiffened and grew to double its original size.

  “Seems you have sensitive nips, Your Highness,” Harkness commented. “That’s bad luck for you.” He reached into the pouch of his leather apron, and pulled out a small pair of pair of long-nosed pliers. Christine eyed the instrument suspiciously.

  “What is that?” she demanded.

  “It’s what I call my ‘little pincher’,” he answered, “and I use it on stubborn girls to change their minds.”

  Christine watched helplessly as he opened the jaws of the pincher on either side of her left nipple. “No! Stop it!” she shouted. She thrashed about trying to pull away from the closing jaws, but her efforts did nothing more than make her chains jangle. When the metal squeezed her swollen pink button in its jaws, she screamed. The pain was blinding.

  Harkness pressed the grips of the pincher together until the jaws all but met in the Princess’ flesh and the tip of her pink nub bulged and turned dark red, then purple.

  “If this here don’t do the job, then we’ll try down below, Princess,” Harkness said, cupping the mound between her legs. “Now, will you open up your mouth, or no?”

  “Eeeeee! Yes! Eeeeee! Anything! Just stop!” Christine shrieked.

  “Say ‘please stop, Master Har
kness’,” he said. He gave the pincher a little twist.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!” the stricken Princess screamed. “Please stop, Master Harkness! I beg you!”

  Satisfied, he released her tormented little nub. “Now, you see how much trouble you get in by doing what you want, instead of what you’re told?”

  Christine nodded as the waves of pain continued to throb from her nipple, and panted, “Yes… ah! Yes… M… Master Hark… ness… oh!”

  “Are you sorry now you didn’t heed at the beginning, Princess?” he asked.

  “Yes… I am, Master Harkness,” she said.

  “Then show me them fancy manners you was taught and tell me how sorry,” he said as he held up the pincher again.

  “Eeee!” Christine shrieked. She began to speak quickly, her eyes fixed on the pliers. “Yes. I… humbly beg your Lordship… that is… I pray you can forgive my… ah… childish acts. I… please forgive me, kind sir. This is all new to me.”

  He nodded. “Well, that’s true enough, I warrant. But I’ll stand no more foolishness, Princess. The next time, I’ll not let you slide so easy. Understand?”

  Christine nodded rapidly. “I understand, Master Harkness, and I’ll shall do exactly as you bid henceforth.”

  “Good,” he grunted. “Now open wide. This here ring goes all the way back of your teeth,” he said. He held the gag up to the Princess’ mouth again, and this time she opened wide to accept it.

  Harkness got the upper edge inside, but, in spite of all his efforts and what the Princess believed was her whole-hearted cooperation, it still would not clear her lower incisors.

  Finally Harkness said, “So you want me to go fetch the pincher again? It won’t be on your nip this time, Your Highness. It’ll be pulling at your love-bud, and I won’t leave go till I know you mean it.”

  “Nah! Nah!” Christine screamed around the half-installed device. “Ah can ooh it! Ry aken!” She opened wider than she had previously thought possible, until she heard cracking noises coming from her jaws. This terror-inspired effort proved to be sufficient, as Master Harkness was able to slip the gag in place and, although the fit was so tight it was scarcely necessary, secure it behind with the straps.

  For the Princess, there was now an ache in her overstretched jaws to join the slowly fading throbbing of her nipple. In addition, the gag visited a new indignity upon her that she had not anticipated. With her mouth wedged open, she had no control over the saliva that pooled in her mouth and overflowed, dribbling down her chin then to the ground in long, silvery strands.

  Emily had watched the struggle with wide eyes. When Harkness pulled the sodden cloth from her mouth and wordlessly displayed a second ring-gag identical to the one now worn by Princess Christine, she nodded her head and opened her mouth as far as it could go. Either her oral cavity was bigger than her friend’s or she was more motivated, but either way, the ring was crammed into place behind Emily’s teeth after a comparatively brief struggle.

  “Now stick your tongues out as far as you can,” he ordered. Out through the hole snaked their pointed pink tongues. “You can do better than that,” Harkness said. He seized Emily’s tongue between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled it out another inch while Emily gobbled in protest.

  “Now do it yourself, or I’ll pull it out with this,” he said, displaying a slightly larger, flatter-jawed version of the ‘little pincher’. With this encouragement, both girls extended their tongues mightily. If there was any difference in results the second time, Christine could not tell; but the important thing was that Harkness was satisfied they had given their best efforts.

  He poked his forefinger into Princess Christine’s mouth. “Wash it well, Princess,” he said, and she did, applying her tongue to him with a will, as did Lady Emily shortly afterward.

  Harkness now embarked on a slow, thorough physical inspection of the helpless beauties. He began by running his hand down Lady Emily’s back, cupping her fine round buttocks and stroking up the inside of one thigh to a dainty foot, then sliding it back down again, ending with his hand resting at the junction of her legs, his fingers gently toying with her while his thumb massaged her rear. As he played with her intimately, Emily whimpered in fear, twisting her head around as far as she could to see what he was doing.

  The first thing he checked was whether she was still intact; she was. “Fear not, My Lady,” he said as his fingers teased her, “your virtue is safe… for now. My Lord Count wants to know how much handling his fillies need before they are ready to ride.”

  He peered closely at Emily’s face. She was sweating, in spite of the cool temperature of the cavern, and a blush was spreading across her alabaster skin from her face, down her neck to the slopes of her out-thrust breasts. It seemed that she was at least normally sensitive, which would please Casimir. He would take a cold fish as his wife if politics required it, but the executioner knew the Count would prefer one who was reasonably responsive in bed, as these were more interesting to train.

  Harkness started rubbing harder, and was rewarded for his efforts when Emily’s hips began to move up and down along with his hand. Her nostrils flared as she started breathing harder, her eyes closed as if she was concentrating and she began to make sounds of pleasure deep in her throat. In another minute she was moving her belly urgently on his hand, and a minute after that she exploded, grunting, her fingers clutching at nothing. She shuddered for a long time in the grip of the climax, then suddenly opened her eyes, looked around and realized Master Harkness had done, or rather what (for this is the way she thought of it) she had done with his help.

  She blushed again, stared at the executioner, and started to cry again. Harkness brought the hand he had just used to manipulate the girl up to her mouth. “Now, now, there’s no call for such a fuss, My Lady,” he said. Emily closed her eyes and turned away. Master Harkness took a handful of her hair and effortlessly pulled her back to face him, still holding the hand to the open hole of her mouth. “Now, My Lady, you know what you have to do. Get on with it, or you’ll find out what the pincher feels like down below, you see?”

  Emily nodded and made placating noises. An instant later her tongue shot out and started to lick his hand clean. He stroked her hair with his free hand as she worked, saying, “There’s a good lass, My Lady.” It was not difficult to see that Lady Emily of Fernhill could be made into the most compliant bedmate any man could ask for, and this was the opinion he would offer to Count Casimir.

  Harkness moved over to Princess Christine. He cupped her chin and looked her in the eye for a long time. She seemed much calmer, more resigned than when she entered the dungeon, but she did not avert her gaze from his. He thought something remained of the girl’s fiery spirit, in spite of all that had happened to her.

  He took the firm conical breasts that her bonds obliged her to seemingly offer to his hands, feeling the smoothness of her flesh and the solidity beneath. Emily had larger tits and, arguably, more shapely ones, but the Princess’ firmness was remarkable. Even the master of the dungeons of Bartavia, who had handled the breasts of just every kind of female, from the buds of sweet young maidens to the full superstructures of mature, noble matrons, a greater number perhaps, than any other man in the Empire, he fancied, had never before held such superbly firm mammaries.

  Even before changed his hold to take Princess Christine’s nipples in his fingers, he noted that they had already swelled from merely brushing against his open hands. Although she gave no sign to indicate it, Harkness knew that powerful sensations must already be coursing through her young body.

  His fingers took control of her swollen nipples. As he gently squeezed and twisted them, he asked, “Is your pinched titty feeling a bit better now, Your Highness?” She did not respond by sound or gesture of any kind, continuing to look Harkness in the eye with an unchanged expression.

  But Master Harkness knew something about girls and the way their bodies reacted to fondling of all kinds, and he could see that Princess Christine, virgin t
hough she almost surely was (he would be shocked to discover anything different when he checked between her thighs), had a body that would respond strongly to proper handling.

  He ducked his head and sucked the Princess’ nipple into his mouth, nibbled it lightly, then shifted to its mate. He drew this in and out of his mouth several times, then clenched it gently between his teeth and tickled the end with his tongue. This produced a soft moan from the girl that she incompletely stifled.