Attending to the Princess

Author's note: I have a penchant for royals in bondage. There's something incredibly sexy to me about the tension between royal authority and bondage. I wanted to put to words a fantasy I have about a princess tied up on a throne, and this is what I came up with. If there's interest, I may flesh this out into a longer story later.

--

From the desk of the Honorable Sir John Grant:

To whom it may concern,

I write to you with a special report on the well-being of Princess Arwen. Respectfully, as you well know, my knighthood requires several things of me: I must act on behalf of the lord's court to guard my kingdom's people. I must abide by a chivalric code. And, perhaps most importantly, I must protect my kingdom's princess, by whatever means necessary.

The last of these responsibilities, as you are aware, requires a standard daily visit, during which I assess the princess's health and spirits. Most of the time, these visits are not especially notable, and do not warrant recounting. What distinguished this particular visit from the others was the princess's unbecoming and progressive insubordination.

I began my visit, as per usual, at the entrance to the palace's East Wing, where Princess Arwen could not be heard from down the corridor -- something I typically consider an affirmative indicator. As I passed through the grand foyer and strode into her chamber, I was pleased to see her seated firmly on her double-phallused throne, draped in glittering court jewels, with her crown perched atop her head and her gilded collar fastened around her neck, otherwise disrobed, looking as flush and rosy as ever. All of her customary bindings were in order; she was trussed in an upright hogtie with her hands and feet shackled in their gold cuffs and linked together behind the seatback with their center o-ring pivot point.

Her ample round breasts, too, were shackled, bound in chains, her succulent nipples solidly seized by their shimmering, ruby-dripping clamps (my favorite of her majesty's ornamentations). They were dewy, slicked up with with a fine honey lavender body oil, and pink from the tightness of their bindings. Her face was lovely as always, with skin-tight tape sealing her plump, kissable lips, wrapped wonderfully thickly and tightly around her head, from her dimpled chin to just below her nose, so securely squeezed around her face that her bright eyes bulged and her blushing red cheeks burst over the top. She tried, of course, to speak when she saw me, a sweet though fruitless habit to which I have yet to disincline her. Her fair voice was thick and garbled behind the plastered tape and plush mouth stuffing.

As is routine, I bowed, kneeling on my sword, at her feet upon my entrance. "Princess," I said, ducking to kiss the tops of her feet. She flushed modestly as usual, shifting in her bindings. "You look beautiful today."

She uttered another garbled cry in return. Her face reddened further still with the effort, and also with what I began to suspect (though her speech is always impossible to interpret through her corked-up mouth), by her furrowed brow, was defiance.

I rose. "Sh," I murmured. "Take care not to strain yourself, your highness." I kissed her softly on her forehead, drinking in her feminine scent.

She cried out again, muffled behind her sealing gag, continued to splutter out her incoherent sounds, kept trying desperately to speak, to be heard (something, of course, not within her highness' right). Her tone, to my eyes, seemed almost indignant. I held her gaze, and was dismayed to see her eyes blazing with what plainly appeared to be insolence. I had never before seen such impertinence there; here marks my reason for this report.

I steeled myself. "Shall I expound upon the virtues of your just submission again, noblelady?"

She made another choked off, burbling sound into her gag, apparently still pleading against her domination.

"Very well," I said, dipping my head as I rounded her throne and stood pressed behind her, reaching down to knead her ample oiled bosom. She burbled into her gag, but, of course, could not otherwise resist. I massaged her breasts tenderly between my palms as I spoke, reciting from a long tradition. "We all have our place in this kingdom, from the humble farmer to the righteous blacksmith, from the duteous knight to you: the honored princess." She made another gurgling, stifled noise, and I ignored it, pressing on, though she continued to groan under my appeal. "Some of us bear the burden of daily toil and slog, and must labor our lives away in exchange for the promise of a half-decent meal. And some of us -- for instance, you--," I leaned forward and looked warmly, purposefully, into her muzzled face, "are exquisite, decorative objects, meant to be seen and not heard." I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger, gently turned her utterly silenced face toward mine, and pressed a finger to my lips meaningfully. She whimpered. "You are the prize to which we, the common masses, aspire. A beacon of divine perfection. Loveliness incarnate." I resumed fixedly stroking her breasts while she struggled gainlessly in her constraints. The rubies that hung from her appetizing nipples clinked like small bells, inadvertently furthering her delicate allure.

"And so, though these--" I went on, gripping her bursting breasts, "and your sweet voice, and legs, and figure, and the whole of your excellency belong body and soul to the kingdom, and will someday belong also to your rightful husband, there are naturally, others beyond these walls who would take you for their own. Marauders and plunderers who wish to grope and tongue and possess you for themselves. You, our most valuable property. You, our most beloved treasure." I noticed a small handheld mirror on a dresser. I plucked it and held it in front of her face, my free hand clasped around her shoulder, so that she could survey her elegantly cinched and secured lithe body from her chained bust to the top of her taped-up head. "You, my grace, are a sought-after trophy indeed. Look at yourself. Why wouldn't you be?" Her blush, just drained, rushed again to her packed, bursting cheeks as she goggled herself. She mewled. I returned the mirror to its place on the dresser. "And so we must protect you. Guard you, keep you safe. Your confinement is for your own good. You know this well. It is your royal duty." She mewled again.

I eyed the midday sun through the window's glass. "Our time draws short. I will return to oversee you tomorrow." I rounded her throne and once more knelt at her feet. "Our conversations are ever a pleasure." She made a strangled, sputtering noise. I kissed her chastely over her lips' seal. She cried out and her expression was indignant. I pressed a finger to my lips, and after a moment, subdued, her shoulders wilted and her eyes fluttered before her gaze finally dropped compliantly. I exited her chamber.

Though her disposition upon my exit seemed promising, I will continue to attend to the lady daily and keep watch of her temperament. Further, I submit to your discretion regarding the matter. It has been a great honor to attend to her ladyship.

Humbly in service,

Sir John Grant