Tuesday, September 22, 2015

The Princess and the Peg

Author's Note: I'm going to be honest here. A whole lot of what you're about to read is fiction. Sigh... generally when I write fictional stuff I use third person. And I did here. But... well... this was complicated. It all started when I received a very cute little email from Master Matt. Except... it was a story. Well... the start of a story. It began with "Once upon a time..." and then talked about a princess, a quest, and an evil queen. Within about four seconds I was hooked. And I ran with it. So... yes. A whole bunch of this is fiction. Except what happened. Sort of. Argggh... Fuck it. Read this or not. I don't care. If you enjoy it then I'm happy. And that's all I can say. - Bre

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there lived a princess who was controlled by an evil queen, the good kind of evil not the bad kind. This worked out well for the princess because she was no ordinary princess, she was a nympho humiliation pain slut princess and needed her queen to be mean to her and make her cum.

One of the favorite things for the evil queen to do to the princess was to give the beautiful young girl quests; difficult challenges which she was encouraged to complete or suffer the evil queen’s wrath. These quests became so popular with the queen’s many subjects, that even the common rabble had begun to think of quests for the princess, each subject of the evil queen’s realm dreaming that one day the gorgeous princess, with her locks of crimson, would burst through their door, or find them in a secluded glade in the woods, begging them to fuck her, or even better, whip her cute little body too.

That delicious Friday morning the queen sat on her throne, contemplating another cruel and sexually explicit quest for her young ward, the princess, when her herald announced the arrival of the Baron. He was a tall, well cut gentleman and his belt was dark, supple, and thick, with a leather bound riding crop hanging from it. His boots cut sharply on the stone as he approached the queen and he bowed his head to her. He carried with him a canvas sack, the contents of which seemed to rattle. He dropped it to the ground as he stood in front of her.

The queen herself was dressed in black, as any evil queen should be. But where other women might have covered themselves with layers of cloth, the evil queen was beautiful in ways that made men willing to die for her. Magic kept her looking young, as young as her ward the princess, her dark chocolate colored hair encircling her smooth face. Her attire was part lace, part leather and it covered none of her more prurient points, making it obvious that her throne itself sported a massive, slick dildo upon which she was mounted. The Baron couldn’t help grinning.

“Good morning, your Majesty,” he said brightly, enjoying the sight of his monarch’s well lubricated petals, spread open wide to accept the massive girth of the Phallic Throne. The story was that the Queen had placed the massively large dildo there to discourage any of her male courtiers from conspiring against her. Had they wanted the throne, they would have been forced to accept something uncomfortable. He wondered if he could arrange for an anal plug to be added to the seat, just to torment the queen. Her eyes flashed with wanton lust and she smiled wickedly at the Baron.

“Your excellency,” said the Queen, eyes bright. She knew that of all her subjects he was perhaps one of the most deviant, the most cruel when it came to creating the quests meant to entertain the princess. “And what brings you to me this morning?” She asked.

The Baron smiled. “A quest of course, your Majesty. For the princess. May I ask where she is?”

The Queen laughed. “Riding,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “You know how she adores her horse.”

The Baron nodded with a smile. “Yes. I know your Majesty keeps quite the stable.”

The Queen’s hips rocked and the soft sound of her body sliding up and down the phallus seemed to fill the cavernous and empty audience chamber. “Very true. But please, tell me of the quest.”

The Baron bowed, the reached down to the bag and deftly untied the top. The queen could still not see the contents, but he reached in and then extracted a small wooden device, holding it up. “Do you recognize this your Majesty?”

The queen leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Is it not the new invention from the blacksmith? A peg, is it not? Meant for washerwomen to hang their linens to dry?”

The Baron smiled. “As usual, you are well informed. But I have discovered another purpose for this device. Might I demonstrate?”

The queen, looking curious, nodded.

The Baron mounted the steps of the dais and then approached his Monarch. Her bare breast, cupped in a cushion of lace and leather, sported a bring pink tip, already stiff and pointed. The queen kept it cold in the audience chamber for just this reason. She held the arms of the Phallic Throne with both hands as he approached. He lifted the peg and her eyes narrowed.

“This might tingle, just a bit, your Majesty.” Then he clipped the clothespin to the tip of her breast.

The Queen’s eyes widened but she never moved her hands. A flash of pain crossed her face and her hips jerked even more rapidly on the Phallic Throne until even the Baron stepped back in surprise. The diminutive woman cried out, head thrown back, clearly in the throes of rapture. Fluids bursting from between her legs, running down the chair in rivulets. Clearly orgasming, the Queen stared at the Baron in wonder. A moment later though she reached up and pulled the peg from her nipple.

“It is a wonder!” She gushed.

The Baron smiled. “Indeed. And it is this sensation I propose inflicting upon our hapless and innocent princess.”

“Oh, your excellency! I approve! I approve indeed.” The Queen rose, the squelching noise of the phallus leaving her soaked slit clear in the cool air. The folds of her dress closed around her hips, the cut still leaving her pink and sodden cleft exposed to his eyes.

“Come,” she said imperiously. “Tell me of the quest while I reward you for creativity.” She reached forward, her long, slim fingers cupping his manhood, stroking the already firm and thickening member. “Then we can see how the princess’ riding lesson goes, and propose her latest quest.”


    The princess glistened with a sheen of perspiration as she rode her horse vigorously. She’d been at it for over a hour and the horse master stood with his back to the nearby field wall, watching as she adjusted her seat for the millionth time. Riding was part pleasure, but also pain, something she was used to.

    Movement caught her eye and her breath caught in her throat as she noticed the evil queen and her paramour, the Baron, approaching. The two of them, mistress and master, were responsible for the terrible quests the princess was frequently forced to go on, the punishment for refusal more than the redhead girl could bear. Her hips moved again as they came closer, both of them studying her form as she rode her horse.

    “Good morning, your highness,” said the Baron, looking up at the slight, but beautiful redheaded girl as he smiled, his appreciation for the princess’ beauty apparent on his face. The queen grinned as well, but it wasn’t the girl’s beauty she was appreciating.

    “And how is your ride, my dear?” The queen asked.

    Princess Breanne groaned. Her hips began slinging back and forth, her naked body undulating on the cruel spine of the horse. It was wooden, nothing more than a smoothly sanded beam, tilted so that one sharp edged faced upward. Her legs, obscenely spread to either side of the massive wooden plank, were secured with a spreader bar, each ankle weighted with several bags of sand. Her sex was split open, the wood biting deep as the girl ground herself viciously downward, unable to relive the agony. She wore only a leather corset, wrapped around her middle, her breasts exposed and pushed upward. The tip of her right breast was pierced with a golden hope, a small gold padlock hanging lightly from the pierced nub. Each nipple was also cruelly tied with string, small iron weights dangling down, the points of her breasts purple. Her wrists were bound behind her back with leather cuffs, secured to the back of the corset with a leather thong and around her throat she wore a collar. Lastly, secured to the top of her head was a tiara, studded with glittering gemstones that spelled a single word: “SLUT.” It was a final insult.

    The queen looked over at the riding master. “Has she been whipped yet today?”

    The man looked uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to answer, but an angry glare from the evil queen was enough to motivate him.

    “No your Majesty. I’ve not yet done that to her.”

    A flash of anger crossed the queen’s face. “You are flogging her thoroughly during her daily rides, are you not?”

    The Baron stepped close to the panting girl, her face a mask of pain, and he ran his hand along her side. “I think not your Majesty. Look at her skin. She clearly has not been whipped for some time.

    The look of anger on the queen’s face made the riding master blanch. She snapped her finger and a guard appeared from the doorway behind her. Dressed in simple chainmail he approached with crisp obedience.

    “Your Majesty?”

    The queen glared at the riding master. “Take this man to my torture chamber and have my slave stimulate him until he has cum ten times. Then send for me. I will use him then.”

    The guard nodded and took a step forward as the riding master let out a groan of disbelief and fell to his knees, sobbing.

    “Please your Majesty! Anything but that! Please don’t use me! I’ll whip her good! I swear it! I’ll hurt her as much as you want! Please don’t take me to your bed!”

    But the queen ignored the man’s pleas as the guard dragged the riding master out. She walked daintily over to the wall to where the leather flogger hung, lifted it, and then brought it to the Baron, who stood next to the panting, whining princess. The wooden spine where she rode had been well oiled and stained with her juices.

    “Your excellency, might I ask that you handle the whipping of the princess? You might also explain her next quest at the same time.”

    The Baron accepted the flogger and turned back to the young girl gyrating helplessly on the wooden horse. Her slick pussy rocked back and forth, pinching her clit against the wood and she trembled helplessly. Her eyes met the Baron’s and she bit her bottom lip. Another quest? She shut her eyes and sensed him moving close to her. His hand came up to her left breast and he flicked her nipple. The weight on the end of the string dangled down.

    “Good news, your highness. You will never again be forced to endure these strings tied to your nipples.” He tugged on the loose strand and even as the girl continued to rock, pain shooting up through her loins, she gasped as the blood surged back into the tip of her breast. The Baron smiled, watching the expression of relief flood her face.

    His hands moved just out of sight as she panted. Perspiration streamed down her temple and she sat, half exhausted, her body burning with both sexual need and pain. Then the Baron lifted something up.

    “We now have this.” He pinched what appeared to be two small pieces of wood connected with some spring-like mechanism. The end opposite his fingers spread wide and he placed it on her left nipple. Princess Breanne screamed as he let it close. There was a sudden yank as he stepped back and she realized the Baron had actually tied the weight to the device biting her nipple.

    “It’s called a ‘peg’, though the technical term is ‘clothespin’,” He told her smugly. “And I have a whole bag of them for you.”  Then he pulled another “clothespin” from the bag and lifted it to her other nipple, even as he raised the flogger. “Now, your highness, let’s see how well these new ‘pegs’ will stay on your body through a serious flogging? And we can discuss your next quest. Shall we?”

    The Baron swung the leather whip, the twenty or so leather strands biting into the princess’ bottom. She let out a scream, her hips jerking, her clit dragged under her swinging body and a few feet away the queen leaned against the wall, her hands between her legs, slipping two wet and glistening fingers into her sex.

    “Yes,” she whispered as the Baron beat her the princess, leaving a hash of bright red marks across the girl’s backside. “Oh God yes…”


The princess moaned as the body slave rubbed the oil into her backside. She was lying face down on the soft mattress of her bed while her page, a young man named Zach, massaged her welted buttocks.

“It doesn’t look too bad, your highness,” the page said softly, slipping his fingers through the crack of her buttocks to graze her petals. The princess moaned and opened her legs a little wider.

“The riding master spared me for days in exchange for me pretending to be his ‘little filly’ after each riding session,” the princess said in reply. “This was the worst flogging I’ve had since the queen had me whipped me in front of the courtiers at dinner two weeks ago.”

Zach couldn’t help smiling. He’d been present for that. “Yes, your highness. It was quite an event.”

The princess shuddered. She’d been dragged from her dinner chair into the center of the hall, her robes torn from her body while the Queen’s men had bound her face up on a wooden block. Her legs had then been pulled open, her ankles secured with hemp and each courtier was invited to whip the princess’s body prior to driving their cocks into her slit. It had been a long evening and both the princess’ breasts, bottom, and sex had been frequently and viciously targeted. She’d enjoyed most of it, but some of the evil queen’s subjects believed that fucking the princess in the ass was the appropriate way to spend the evening.

The princess disagreed.

Still, it could have been worse. There could have been “objects” Or It could have been a quest. And that was the problem she was facing now.

The princess considered the Baron something of a personal nemesis. She knew that at least a quarter of the quests she was tasked to complete were to his credit. The time she’d been sent to the neighboring kingdom to deliver a letter, forced wear nothing but ribbons tied to her hair, nipples, and clit, while riding that awful saddle with the two phallic probes, had been his. She was sure of it.  And what about the time she’d been ordered to brave the Westfire Cave, to pluck a wilder-grape from the vine of the prophet, only to find that the darkness had been filled with tentacled nether beasts? She’d spent three days spread-eagled as all twenty of the beasts had plunged their slimy appendages into every hole she had. She still had dreams about the way her breasts and nipples had been cruelly squeezed.

And the Queen had said “no” when the princess had asked for one as a pet.

This latest quest was a case in point. Clothespins. Pegs. Who would have thought such an innocent device could be so cruel? She reached under her pillow where two of the little wooden jaws were quietly waiting as the page continued to work her, his fingers now delving gently into her sex. She wasn’t just slick with the oil. She was wet. Ridiculously wet.

“Keep doing that,” she murmured as her fingers pulled the pegs the Baron had clipped to her nipple during her morning ride out from under her pillow. “And you’ll have to fuck me.”

Zach swallowed. “I would be willing to accept her Majesty’s punishment for the privilege, your highness.”

She turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “But would you come with me on the quest? And would you help me avoid this horrible fate?

The page’s face looked stricken. “Come with you? Of course your highness. But please don’t ask me to cheat the quest. It is one thing to accept her Majesty’s punishment for giving you pleasure without pain. But to violate the queen’s command so directly? I wouldn’t just be milked your Highness! My balls would be pounded and crushed! She would rub my manhood until I was raw. She’d force orgasms from me until I could no longer think straight. And even then I’d be forced to serve her, my face bound to her pussy each night as she slept. I can’t even imagine…”

Princess Breanne sighed. “No. I wouldn’t wish that punishment on anyone. She can be a cruel mistress, yes?”

Breanne Erickson's amazing tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. You can find it in Breanne's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 12!" Available from Amazon.com!

1 comment:

  1. Several things;

    1) Enjoyed it, so be happy.

    2) Love being zippered, will have to ask to to try having the clothespins flogged off.

    3) Guess I'm going to have to ask for a strap-on up the rear, down the throat, and cock in one of those suction pump things as well. Because now I have to know. Lord knows what asking for two favours is going to cost me.

    4) Lastly, It's not so much that we out here want Bre to bust through the door begging to be fucked, or whipped. It's that we, or some of us, want to be in the position of the constable or page(or musketeer or legionaire or whatever). We want to wind up strung up right beside her, whether it's us watching her torment, her watching our torment, or having to torment the other in turns. Makes no difference that the dramatic Bre can take anything, or has fewer limits than most would consider. She still makes us want to be in the room, under similar circumstances; cock milked raw, nipples too, striped from the cane and the whip, taken into subspace. It's being taken to another level, the slang of being fucked stupid, that makes it so irresistible.



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