Training the Princess

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After stopping for a late meal they rode for one more leg. Isola's body ached from the long ride, her bondage and the molestations of the soldiers. She almost would rather be tied to a horse to walk than face another man hungrily grabbing her flesh. She was given to Harker, who hoisted her wordlessly onto his horse, and followed up behind her silent as shadow.

She cringed as she felt his arm go around her waist, but it was still. He did not say a word as they rode for the next two hours, just sat behind her, arm around her waist to help her balance. Isola did not know what to make of this kindness, but soon fell to a gentle sleep as Harker's stallion rode on. She was awoken when Captian Cordon called for a stop, and she was shocked to feel Harker's hand swiftly pull her dress from her shoulder, and her skirts above her knee. Not now she thought not in front of everyone. She didn't think she could bear to have them descend upon her all at once.

To her shock she was simply handed off to one of the soldiers, he smirked at Harker when he saw the state of her, and quickly groped her chest before setting her on the ground while they made camp.

They rode all day and late into the night, the dark looming tower that marked the Damdren Kingdom appeared in the distance that evening. They spent one last night camped out, planning to reach the tower or a palace the next morning, arriving soon after the sun rose.

The ride in was rowdy for the men. She was again riding with Cordon, who, excited at the prospect that he could soon have this girl all to himself, let his hands roam her body, feeling every inch of her flesh, stroking skin exposed through the rips and tears that now covered the delicate green fabric. Isola shuddered at his touch, but was unable to even try to stop him anymore. She would be in the presence of the king soon. He would learn of her identity, and demands on her kingdom would start. She could only hope her family would send someone to rescue her before anyone suffered too much loss.

The small company soon was riding under the huge gate opening before them into the kingdom. The dark stone, dirty from years of smoke, created a desolate look, with little greenery in the grounds, stumps of trees littered the grounds, the trees having long been cut down to fuel the fires kept burning day and night to fuel the city, much of which was built underground, a fortress. The tall tower was the only aboveground creation, the rest of the city was in tunnels and caves under the earth. This is why the city was considered impossible to take. Once the caves were shut there was no means of attack.

The men dismounted, their horses taken by slaves of the kingdom, dressed in black garb with shackles at their feet. A huge man stood by them, dressed in black and blood red leather armor, a long whip attached at his hip, and leaning upon a large ax, barking orders at the enslaved men. Isola was dragged into the tower, and by rope to the throne room, a long dark room lit with torches in the walls. At the far side of the room seated in a huge spiked throne was the king. He wore a blood red cloak over black and grey clothes, tighly fitted across his large muscular frame. His steel grey eyes were cold as he looked at his Captain dragging a girl behind him.

Cordon knelt before his king, roughly jerking the rope, forcing Isola down with him. She fell to the ground, barely able to keep from falling flat, she remained in that position, on the floor like an animal, as Cordon spoke "All praise King Duane, Lord of the Damdren."

"Rise." the King spoke, watching as his Captain stood before him, jerking the rope to pull the girl up as well. "You arrived back much sooner than I expected, Captain, and this doesn't look like our usual land plans." he said, gesturing towards the girl standing before him, staring blankly at the wall behind him.

"Lieutenant Harker discovered her by the boards. She told us a story about having run from the kingdom, but she was wearing this." he grabbed her necklace, pulling her by it to the foot of the throne, holding it out for the King's inspection.

"A servant girl wearing the crest of the royal family..." the King said, his eyes lingering on the girls face after examining the necklace. "A servant girl wearing the royal family's crest, and the royal family's eyes..." he said, looking into her emerald green eyes, a trademark of her house. "Captain! I do believe we are in the presence of royalty, the princess Isola if my eyes are not deceived. Ungag our royal guest."

"My lord! Are you certain?" Cordon asked, unable to believe his luck in having stumbled upon the royal princess. He slit the cloth holding the gag in place, watching as she spit the dirty material from her mouth.

"Captain, I often wonder how you manage to get your armor on in the morning. Luckily I did not employ you for you wits. But yes, this is the princess. Isn't that right your highness?" He asked, his voice dripping in false reverence.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Isola said, a flash of fear in her eyes as she quickly looked into the Damdren King's face.

His hand flew at her, smacking her sharply across the face, making her gasp. "Do not lie to me, princess. All the signs are there. The black hair, pale skin, vivid green eyes, you are the very image of the Queen. And the manner with which you addressed me could only be used by a noble at least." He watched as a tear slid slowly down her now red cheek.

"Take her to the dungeon. This girl could prove quite valuable to the war effort... Or at least to myself, I find I've grown tired of the last girl." he gestured towards a girl kneeling in the corner, a metal collar around her neck attached to the throne. She was dressed in black leather, barely covering her breasts and a soft black skirt which would barely cover her sex as she kneeled on the floor. He snapped his fingers and she rose, walking towards the throne and dropped to her knees before him.

"How may I serve you, my Lord?" she asked, her brown eyes looking at the floor in front of her. Before she was turned away Isola was able to see red welts covering the girls back and thighs, and to see her slowly rise and take what was the King called "position 5", where she kneeled on the floor, legs spread wide, with her fingers laced behind her head.

Isola couldn't believe this. She remained silent as she was led to the dungeon, praying that her fate be different than that of the broken girl kneeling in the throne room. She was dragged through underground tunnels into the deep dark recesses of the kingdom by heavily armed guards, and thrust into a cell, the floor coated in dirt and grime.

"Consider yourself lucky the King's taken an interest in you, girl." one of the guards said, leering at breasts and the flashes of exposed skin visible through her gown. "I'd like the get a ride on that" he said to the other guard, laughing darkly as he closed the heavy steel barred door of her cell.

She could hear them as they walked down the tunnel "There's the bitch in cell seven... she's fresh." the other suggested, met with a murmur of laughter as they walked, the heavy clank of their boots resonating on the stone. "Haven't had her in a while... think she's healed from last time... didn't know a girl could take two cocks up her ass..." their conversation slowly faded, and Isola was glad to hear silence over the dark words of these men. Though she soon wished she could hear their talk again over their grunts of lust and the girl begging them to stop.

She spent two days in the cell, visited only by guards shoving disgusting trays of food under her cell door. She hardly slept, the sounds of screaming women and laughing men filled the cavernous dungeon. Though the screams were better than the silence. When she heard guards going into the cells, the sounds of beating flesh and grunting men, and complete silence scared her worse than the screams. The broken women scared her. When the fight had left them and they were simply waiting for death to claim them, knowing it was their only respite.

_-'-_-'-_

Upstairs the King discussed sending a ransom out on the girl, among other uses. Breaking the daughter of his enemy... making her beg to be fucked like a pig. He almost wanted that more than the land and riches he'd demand for her. He enjoyed nothing more than training a new girl. Watching her slowly break to his will. There was nothing better than forcing an orgasm from an unwilling girl. He imagined it would be even better from the girl of his most hated enemy.

Endless council meetings were had about the fate of the girl in the dungeons. Some of his officers were all for sending her home in pieces, others for ransom, and the king listened to all. His mind was made up on one thing: He would not kill the girl, or let his guards and soldiers have her. She was too valuable. If she was to be broken it would be by him. After the second day of meetings a conclusion that greatly pleased the king had been reached... a way to fill his coffers and keep them full, yet not deny him his pleasure. While he did take council, his word was final. Any who would dare oppose him soon lost their heads, and those killed quickly were considered lucky. His dungeons were feared throughout the land, and not just for the women.

By the time he finally called for Isola he was positive her will had been broken by her time in the dungeons. He gave his guards free reign down there, he knew what she'd been hearing -- the screams of girls in the dungeons as his guards raped them endlessly, making them bleed, making them cry out for help they knew would never come. If it was between him, or them he knew she'd choose well. That first choice would be her start,

Isola was brought up to the throne room, her hair tangled, the rags of her dress covered in filth, she had no idea how long she'd been down there... the sun never rose in the deeps of the dungeons. Her family must know she's missing by now... surely they'd look for her here. They couldn't abandon her to this cruel fate.

"Well princess, how are you finding your stay in the kingdom Damdren?" he asked, waving the guards out of the room. He wouldn't need them. This girl wasn't going anywhere. She was weak. Tired. Scared.

Isola said nothing. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She was stubborn, her nurses had always complained, and she had not been completely broken by her time in the depths of the dungeons.

"I imagine you've looked better, princess." he began, looking at the dirt caked on her clothing and hair. "You may as well be presentable. You're going to be here for a long time. Negotiations for you marriage to my eldest son have begun and we can't have his future bride looking like a street rat."

"What?" Isola asked, unwilling to believe what she was hearing. "My family would never agree to that." Her mind was racing, what was he saying? That simply couldn't be. Her family had been at war with the Damdren's for as long as she'd been alive... They would never marry her to a Damdren prince.

"Well, that's not what this letter says..." he responded, holding up a letter marked with the royal crest of Ellarie. "I suppose when the choices were I send them back your hand, or they offer it to my son... they chose wisely."

"No... they, they would never agree to that." she said, doubt growing in her mind the longer she thought about it. Royal allegiances were made through marriage often. And thinking back to her father's council meetings he was always aiming to make peace... Though he'd never suggested doing so like this.

"And why not, princess? Their daughter safe, peace between the kingdoms -- before you protest, I said safe, not happy. You'll be alive and well. A figurehead of the peace between our nations. No more raids on the outer villages, no more needless killings. I find it to be a rather elegant solution. Honestly, I'm surprised one of my scouts came up with it. Harker's on his way to a promotion... But, that's neither here nor there." he stood, and began circling Isola.

"And you could be such a lovely Damdren Princess... red would look so beautiful on your skin." he could just see her, picturing red blossoming on her pale flesh, hand prints covering her ass and thighs, crop marks covering those luscious breasts...

With a snap of his fingers two women entered the throne room, dressed in red leather bralets, their stomachs bare until their grey and red patterned skirts. "Clean our guest up... if she's to be out of the dungeons she should be fit to look at."

"Yes, Lord." the women responded in unison before bustling Isola out of the room. Her head was spinning. She didn't even know he had a son. And she was suddenly supposed to be betrothed to him. Her parents were letting this happen. The women led her to a bathing chamber, where she was stripped and led into a tub of hot water. The filth of the past week washed off of her. Her hair was cleaned, she was rubbed in oils, like a turkey dressed for a meal. The women poured warm wax over her, removing every inch of her hair... even that between her legs. They dressed her in a red gown, ties at her shoulders holding the dress in place. She was presented with a silver necklace, a dragon, it's tail and it's head connecting, forming a collar. Similar circlets were put on her wrists and ankles. So I'm still a prisoner, just a well kept one. The women were silent as they went about their work. Which worked well for Isola, she needed the time to think, to try to accept that this would be her life.

When she was ready she was lead through different tunnels, down into what seemed to be a private audience chamber. There sat the king and a round young man she did not recognize. "Ah, that's better. Couldn't have you looking like a dungeon rat to meet your future husband." he gestured towards the man at his side, he looked Isola's age, yet seemed afraid of her. Afraid of his father. "This is my idiot son, Surad. His mother was the first girl I ever broke. A strong willed creature..." his voice trailed off, visions of the dark skinned woman tied spread open to the chamber wall filled his mind. He had loved to hear her, begging for release as he pounded into her, making her cum as he filled her with his seed...

"Who failed to give me an adequate heir. Surad, though strong, lacks the mental capacity to rule this kingdom. The birth was... difficult. The midwife blamed that for the boy." Surad stared vacantly at the floor while his father spoke, not seeming to realize Isola was even in the room. "Surad!" the king barked, his son finally looking towards him, following his pointing finger to look at Isola.

"Pretty, father. Can I play with it?" he asked, his eyes roving her body. He sounded like a child, a fearsomely overgrown child. How can I be expected to marry such a man? Isola asked herself.

"Not yet, son. You know what happened to the last girl," Duane said, then turning to Isola he explained "The boy was over excited, didn't know the limits. He likes to watch them struggle, he broke a Grarik girl's neck last month... pity, she was lovely."

Isola stared in horror at the Damdren ruler, "And this is to be my husband?" she asked, a hint of her old pride sparking through, she held her chin high, meeting the steel gaze with her green eyes, pouring every drop of her discontent into them.

"Yes. And if you take that tone with me again I shall let him 'play' with you as well." the king's eyes flashed hot as he said this. He liked his girls to have some fire. And her girl she would be. The marriage was to be in title alone, he knew King Cabereth would never accept his daughter marrying him, so he opted to use his son. Though the girl would be his and his alone...

"I would rather him than you." she said, venom in her voice. His anger fueled her, she saw the lust in his eyes, knew that no matter what she said she wouldn't be safe from the Damdren touch for long. All their men were the same -- they liked force, inflicting pain on their women, humiliating them.

The king stood, and strode up to the girl, noting with pleasure that she had to check herself from backing away from him. He grasped her by the hair, pulling it back roughly, making her gasp in pain. "You will learn your place here, girl. And your training shall begin now."

He pulled her into the center of the room. "Son, you may go. Tell the guards I am not to be disturbed." Surad seemed to comprehend, at least he left the room, letting the heavy thorn wood doors shut behind him, slamming ominously, leaving Isola alone with the king.

"A punishment shall be your first lesson, girl." he said, walking to the far side of the room and picking up a short black riding crop, the firelight from the torches played off the shining leather as he gently hit his palm. "You shall learn to hold your tongue in the presence of your betters. My word is your law, as is the word of any other man in this kingdom. Should I command you to drop to your knees you do so. Should I command you strip you had better be out of that clothing in an instant. And if I tell you to service anyone in this palace you shall learn to do so with vigor." He circled her as he said this, looking her up and down, the gentle swell of her breast under the gown, the curve of her hips and ass. See was exquisite. "Do you understand?"

Isola stood silent. She would not give him the pleasure of hearing her jump at his beck and call. She would not go quietly into the life of a slave to him.

Suddenly, for the first time in her life she felt the sting of the crop on her ass. She took a sharp breath as the hard leather made contact through the thin silky dress.

"I asked you a question, I do not like to be kept waiting for an answer. I said 'do you understand?'." he waited a second, still standing behind her before bringing the crop down again, pleased to hear a slight whimper from her as he hit her the second, then the third time. "Fail to answer me again, girl, and you shall receive far more than three, and in places so much more sensitive..." he drew the crop briefly between her legs as he said this, noting with pleasure the shudder that ran through her as she felt the pressure on her cunt. "Now, do you understand?"

He had to draw the crop up before she squeaked "Yes", barely audible, but enough for a start. She was frightened. She was beginning to understand who had the power in this situation.

"Yes... what? You will show me respect, pet" he asked, circling her to stand before her, letting the crop rest on her cheek, he gently stroked down to her rip looking lips.

She flinched as the crop stroked her face, "Yes, sir." she got out, the crop tracing between her lips as she opened her mouth. She was shocked when his hand flew to her neck, pulling her closer to him. His fingers pressing into her throat, closing it to air.

"I am no knight, wench. You shall call me your lord, your master, or your king. I am all three, remember that." he growled, releasing her neck and pushing her from him, enjoying watching her cough and sputter as she struggled to get breath into her lungs.

"Yes, master" she finally choked out, She refused to grant him a title as anything but a slave owner.

"Very good, pet. Now, on to the subject of your punishment." he said, his fingers gently stroking the crop, almost lovingly. "You have shown no respect to your king, and a proper punishment must be used. You shall learn the position, I know you shall be using it often. The first thing you must know is punishments are administered to your bare flesh. Remove your gown."

She heard the order, knowing it was not a question, and fearing the retribution should she disobey. She could still feel the grip of his hand on her throat. "Ye--yes Master." she stuttered, reaching to remove the ties of her gown, letting it fall in a puddle at her feet, standing naked before a man for the first time in her life.