A Handmaid's Tail

The touch made Antoinette shiver. At first it was a touch like she'd seen so many times, by her father whenever he appraised a new horse he was interested in. It was a touch that told Antoinette she wasn't a Princess anymore, she was nothing but a mere animal to this horrid girl. She didn't think a mere touch could make a person feel lower than she felt at that moment. But the touch changed once more. Measuring her breasts. Her nipples. Her ass. Oh God, even her sex. She had nothing sacred anymore.

"This is royal flesh," Mary said. "I can see it in every curve. I can feel it. I can touch it."

"Please Princess..." Antoinette begged. "I'm but a tutor. I heard the stories and only repeated..."

"I've never whipped a Princess before," Mary said, ignoring Antoinette's explanation. She picked the crop off the floor and resumed work on her captive. "Have you ever been whipped Princess?"

"No," Antoinette gasped as the blows began to fall again. "Oh no..."

"I haven't either. You see, most have, with only rare exceptions...like Princesses."

The bound woman resumed her struggles again. Resumed her pleas. Her cries. But nothing seemed to work. As a matter of fact, Antoinette soon noticed her struggles only seemed to make the blows come down all the harder. She felt despair and hopelessness unlike she had ever known. She gave up on her struggles and accepted her fate - hanging limply while the Princess whipped her helpless body.

"Ahhhh," Mary said. "Now we are getting somewhere. My horse did the same thing. Even a big stallion will realize a hopeless situation and stop fighting the inevitability of the crop. You should be proud, you didn't foam at the mouth like he did. Now where were we? Oh yes, now my horsie has learned that I can to whatever I want to it. All those big horsie muscles don't help a bit, do they? Ah, but something is amiss. What is it that every horse has that you seem to be missing? Go on. Guess correct and I may stop."

"I don't know Mistress. Hooves. A saddle..." Antoinette volunteered quickly after each blow of the crop.

"No stupid," Mary said. "A tail."

Mary went to a cabinet and pulled out two more instruments of torture - a cat of nine tails and a lash that had metal barbs at the end. Antoinette began to shake helplessly. She would never survive such a beating.

"Stop your crying or I'll whip you with them," Mary said as she shook each one and inspected the handles of each. She put the lash back and settle on the cat. She also picked up an oddly shaped metal cylinder on the way back to Antoinette.

"You don't realize how lucky you are Princess," Mary said. "Usually the King's torturer would get the oil hot in the fire and then poor it over the person they wished to talk. It isn't like water. The oil clings and can't be shaken off. Usually they pour a bit of oil on the poor bastard's back. Mary tilted the bottle, pouring the oil on Antoinette's back. The cold oil was a shock to poor Antoinette. The helpless Princess gasped in response to the shock of cold oil on her hot inflamed welt-covered back. It felt good, soothing, but she could just imagine how it would feel were it hot.

"Then they tell the prisoner this is your last chance to talk. Then the show them the bottle, let them get a look at it. Determine it's purpose. They always talk. If it's something the King doesn't want to hear, he orders it done anyway."

While Mary was talking she showed her captive the bottle. It was a shape she had seen only a few days earlier with the Retainer. It was cock shaped. Dear Lord!

"Oh please no Princess..." Antoinette pleaded.

Mary ignored her captive's pleas. "Sush, I hear the French love this." The she began to push it home.

Antoinette was terrified at first. Especially when it didn't enter the opening she thought it was destined for, but her other opening. The rear one. Her last experience had been with the Retainer, and she remembered how much his failed attempts had hurt. She tried moving and dodging just as she had before, but the Mary lined the head of the phallus up with the French girl's arsehole and began to gently push. Covered in oil and gushing it from the front, it promptly slipped home. Antoinette still bucked and shimmied in hopes of avoiding her fate, but she soon experience an unfamiliar feeling. She felt full. Stuffed. Her ass stretched open, but not painfully so. She could feel the cold oil pouring into her insides. The fight left her as quickly as it had begun. She gave a grunt as Mary pushed the bottle in and out. Fucking her with it.

"You are French, aren't you?" Mary teased.

"Yes..." Antoinette admitted, surprised at the tone of her voice. Part groan - part moan. Worse, she knew her captor was right. She could feel her body responding to this buggery. Could feel it began to warm. To react.

"Now let's get your tail in place." Mary pulled out the bottle and began to work in the handle of the cat of nine tails. It was bigger around than the bottle of oil. It took a bit of working to get it past the royal spinchter. She smiled as she realized her French Princess didn't fight and dodge as she had earlier. Just hung limp and accepted the handle. Merely gave a groan or a grunt as each ridge passed her tight anal ring and slipped home.

"Oh you do make a fine horse Princess. With such s splendid tail. All the other horsies will be so jealous." Mary said as she picked up the crop again. "Now let me ask you another question about horses. Do you know what makes a proud horse? What separates the wheat from the chaff?"

"No Princess," Antoinette groaned. She was sure whatever the answer it would involve some form of physical or sexual torture by the examples she had been given so far.

Mary moved in front of her French captive , trailing a leather gloved hand over the girl's neck and finally to her chin which she lifted. She let go, and then applied a few brisk strokes of the crop to Antoinette's arse. Afterwards she tilted her French captive's chin back up until she was satisfied that it was held to her satisfaction. "They keep their chin held high and proud."

Yet there was worse to come for Antoinette. She hung there helplessly as Princess Mary moved behind her. She felt the leather gloves over her oily back, sliding down to the small of her back, then pushing it down, forcing the French woman to arch her back. Then another gloved hand slipped between her wide spread thighs, to her lean stomach, then down lower to her abdomen, then to her sex, lifting up, lifting her up to her tiptoes. "The same goes for their horsie tails."

"Now that's a proud horsie," Mary said. "Now is the point I taught my horsie not to fear the crop. The crop is something I carry with me whenever I ride. I don't want the horse to see it and throw me, now do I? That makes for a Princess with a sore ass if she's thrown to the ground."

Mary went back to work with the crop. She slapped the leather crop against every square inch of her poor captive.

Poor Antoinette, these blows weren't like the others she had endured. These stung - but they didn't have the same bite as before. She was able to endure them, doing her best to keep her head held high, and her 'tail' in the proper position, else her captor give her a harder blow. While enduring the crop smacking her all over her body, Mary told her how the horse had thrown her when she tried to ride him once again and the first time he saw the crop. Instead of listening to her father in the first place and getting a horse that was more suitable for a young girl, she decided to do it on her own. To make her own solution. Quite forcefully. With preserverance.

Like the horse before her, Antoinette also learned that the crop could be used to punish. It could deliver pain if she were disobedient. She could also be cropped and it not hurt more than a slight sting. But she also learned something else, if she were particularly obedient, when the Princess said she was proud of you, the crop could even give pleasure. Rubbing her between her legs. Intimately. Juices running down her slim thighs, Antionette had never felt the like before. Making her tingly. So tingly that even when the Princess slapped the leather against her most intimate of areas, making wet splatting noises, Antoinette wasn't feeling the sting at all. Only pleasure shooting through her loins. Making her gasp. Making her moan.

"My horsie liked this part of his training," Mary said sweetly. "I think it embarrassed him at first that I could do this to him. Control him in such an intimate fashion. "

Mary brought the crop up hard between Antionette's legs, letting her feel that pain or pleasure was given at Mary's whim. Then she returned to stroking Antoinette's wet sex with the leather, making the girl moan and writhe.

"What do you think Princess," Mary grinned. "How does it feel that I can work you up? How does it feel to be moaning and groaning for another girl, you little pervert."

Antoinette tried not to answer. But the crop made it necessary lest her humiliation be even greater than it was right now. It would be shameful enough to admit being turned on, but horrifying if her body betrayed her even further which was bound to happen if this kept on.

"It feels humiliating Princess. Please...stop...I've learned my lesson. I won't tell anyone. I promise," Antoinette begged.

"It sounds like my pony has finally learned her lesson," Mary with a smile. "Let's find out."

Mary unfastened Antoinette's bindings. Once free the captive Princess stretched her aching joints. Her torment was finally over. She reached around to pull out the tail, still lodged firmly inside her. Then she jerked it back as the crop hit her hand with a stinging blow.

"Oh no horsie," Mary said, slapping the crop against Antoinette's already sore bottom. "I haven't ridden you yet. Get down on the floor horsie. Hands and knees. Get down so I can mount you."

Antoinette went down. It was extremely humiliating. Sure she had been spread and whipped in a most humiliating way, but at least she had been tied. She hadn't a choice in the matter. Now, she was willingly getting on her hands a knees. Like an animal. After a few more stinging slaps from the crop, she had assumed a proud position, only she didn't feel proud at all. Not with her back arched, her neck held high, and her 'tail' sticking luridly out of her bottom in a most unnatural way. It didn't help to have Mary walking around her, touching her here and their with the crop until she was just so. Worse, to have the spoiled girl kneel down next to her and run her hands through her hair, cooing, "Ohhh what a pretty mane." or to run her gloved hand over her breasts, fondling them casually, saying, "Small...but I hear all the French are inferior to English in that regard."

Oh but the worse, the very worse was when Mary straddled her back and sat down, then took a lock of curly brown hair in each of her hands, then gave a wiggle and declared, "Giddy-yap"

To have been a Princess, to have had her own maids and ladies in waiting, and then to be done like this, to be sat upon like an animal. To be forced to carry this spoiled Princess, a girl who outweighed her by thirty odd pounds across the hard dungeon floor on her hands and knees, it was degrading beyond belief. Worse, she had shed all her tears from her earlier cropping. And she was sure the Princess wasn't just riding her, she could feel the hateful girl's crotch pressing against her, grinding on her while she hauled her around the room.

When Mary grew tired of this game, she had her new horsie stand up. Then with crop in hand and ever ready to deliver a corrective spank, she taught her French captive how to trot. How to prance. How to keep her head held high and arms held up in front of her chest. How to swish her arse from side to side. How to bring her knees up to her navel with each step, even when galloping around the room. How to neigh. How to whinny.

Poor Antoinette did everything she was asked. Even as she galloped to and fro, she could see that Mary was taking sexual satisfaction from her subjugation. Her suspicions when being ridden had proven correct, the Princess now had her riding breeches undone, and her hand stuffed down the front. Her voice was husky and throaty as she barked out orders and delivered her punishment. Intent and getting off on the humiliation of her French rival. The girl finally gave a moan, her hips pumping as she came.

That was the end of Antoinette's punishment for beating the English Princess at chess. The girl was civil enough afterwards, and even went so far as to fetch some suitable clothing for Antoinette to wear.

However, it was obvious to both girls that their relationship had changed. Antoinette no longer had any illusion of being the young Princess's tutor. She still tried to maintain some semblance of lessons, no longer making games of it, but merely reading from a book in hopes that the Princess would grow bored and dismiss her tutor. She felt like running away, but she needed to get paid by the Queen so that she would have money enough for travel. A recommendation would be nice. She felt sure that if she had a few moments of the Queen's time, she could be on her way to other, less humiliating employment. Until then, she just had to endure and make sure a certain spoiled Princess was never made angry. But she soon found out that the Princess didn't need to be crossed to enjoy her perverse games.

"I'm tired of this lesson," Mary said after growing bored from listening to Antoinette read from a book. "Let's play chess again."

"I thought you didn't like that game?" Antoinette asked. The thought of having to play again sent a cold tendril of fear up her spine. "Besides, I'm sure you would rather play with someone with more skill than I."

"I know my skills are much better," Mary said. "But let's play any way. Perhaps you may get lucky again."

Antoinette sat down at the board. She didn't enjoy playing anymore. Not by Mary's rules. She moved a pawn up two spaces, but it didn't matter. Mary moved her Queen out, skipping over the pawns in front, placing the piece to be captured by Antoinette's pawn. Antoinette looked at the blatant disregard of rules, but said nothing. Merely moved another pawn out. Mary captured it.

So the game went with Antoinette being completely routed. There were no rules, save those made up to suite the whims of a spoiled Princess. Antoinette hoped the girl would get bored, it couldn't be fun to play a game that was no challenge at all, but from gleam of joy in the girl's eyes, she was finding some sort of entertainment. As the game progressed, a chill crept up Antoinette's spine. Her eyes darted to the remaining men. Unable to take any, she moved her King, prolonging the outcome. But in two more moved, Mary moved her Queen into position.

"Check mate," she declared, triumphantly. "I think you need some punishment for losing so badly. That wasn't even fun. Now, strip down horsie and get one all fours."

"Please Mistress," Antoinette begged, but she didn't disobey. It was hopeless, how could she be punished for losing as well as winning? However, she had learned that lesson quite well. This alternative was preferable to a trip to the dungeon. However, that didn't prevent the former French Princess from whining and pleading as she unlaced her clothes and took off her gown, her bodice, and all her other vestments, even her pantaloons. "Someone could come in..."

"They know better." Mary said as she stripped out of her gown, baring a thick-boned body, with thick thighs, a broad bottom a bit dimpled from fat, and full pendulous breasts. "I don't have my riding breeches horsie," she said. "So I guess I'll just have to ride you bareback."

While the petulant Princess didn't have her riding breeches, she did have her crop which never strayed far from her hand. It was enough to convince Antoinette to keep further protests to herself.

"Now let's see about that horsie tail..." Mary said, quickly scanning the room. She was feeling randy and hated the thought of having to travel all the way to the dungeon to get the whip. Then she spotted something and a smile grew on her face. A feather duster.

"Oh please don't Mistress," Antoinette begged, as Mary approached her rear with the duster handle. Looking at the many ridges on the slim handle, the tutor knew for certain she didn't want it inside her, so she dodged it at the last moment.

"Bad horsie," Mary pouted. "Back in position." She made her point with the crop. A few hard swats on her tutor's slim bottom, and even her perenum until she was on all fours, her chin held high, her back arched, her bottom held up invitingly and her thighs spread obediently.

Poor Antoinette had to endure the humiliation of remaining in such a demeaning position, while Mary worked the wooden handle up her arsehole. God, how it burned! As did what was left of her dwindling pride. Why hadn't she run away when she had the chance? Now this?

"A bit of oil Mistress," Antoinette begged this admission. Than duster handle was smaller than the whip handle, having been designed for the small hands of a maid. Yet, it was still hard going, up into her tight hole.

"I'm not going down to the dungeon to fetch a bit of oil," Mary said. "Here....how's this?" And then the Princess spit on her tutor's arsehole and continued working the handle in.

Thankfully, it seemed to moisten the path for handle to fit. Yet, it was demeaning to have been moistened in such a humiliating fashion. To be spit on. So crude. So common. Worse, to have lived twenty four years, still a virgin, and then upon her employ at this English hell-hole, her bottom was now getting more work than a French courtesan. And it was never just put in and done with. No, Mary had to push it in and out. Working her with the handle. Watching that tight pucker bulge as it was removed and sink in as it was plunged home. Taking her tutor from a feeling a violation, of fullness, until a feeling of tingly sexual warmth suffused her loins, and she no longer felt full when it was put as, as she felt empty as it left her confines.

The worst part was just after, when Antoinette couldn't help but move her hips in response. Couldn't help but push back as if she were with a lover. Even though the sheltered girl had never known love. Yet, though her mind knew the difference, her body couldn't discern love from cruel Princess. Couldn't help the sighs escaping her mouth. With the full humiliating knowledge that those very same moans were being extricated by the buggery of her royal arsehole Worse was the knowledge that they were being brought on by another girl - her hateful English captor.

It became worse still as her innocent body betrayed her further. Made her loins hot and wet. Made her narrow hips begin to work back and forth.

At the peak of humiliation, just before something untimely happened, Mary straddled the poor girl and made her carry her across the room. Her poor knees aching against the cold stone floor. The feel of Mary's hands, supporting her upper body with her hands on Antionette's should blades.

"Faster horsie," Mary moaned. She rode her horse around the room, her bare sex pressed against the girl's back, knees bent sharply, her ankles pressed against the girl's bottom; every once and awhile delivering a blow of the crop. With each of Antoinette's step, Mary would roll her hips, pressing her nether lips and clit against the woman's sweat covered back. The same sweat made it harder and harder to stay perched atop her horse. But it was her horse's responsibility to make sure she stay in place. Antoinette took smaller and smaller steps, moving closer and closer to the floor. She was looking forward to finally coming to rest on the floor. So her poor knees would no longer have to support the heavy English Princess.