Misogynistic Fantasies Ch. 03

Thinking the battle was hopelessly lost, the young queen tried to escape in disguise with her attendants and a small party of guards. In the ensuing chaos she eventually was left alone undefended, and trying to flee on her own was captured by a small party of slavers. She had been disguised as a lowly serving girl. So the slavers naturally stripped her naked, collared and chained her, whipped her mercilessly into abject submission, branded her, and passed her around among themselves since they did think she was pretty. But at the moment they happened to need more work slaves rather than more pleasure slaves, so they branded her a work slave, and after a sleepless night of being used, she was added to the coffle of work slaves which was harnessed to the slavers' wagon in two long rows. The cart was loaded to capacity with what the slavers had scavenged from the wastage of the war. The slavers with their pleasure slaves climbed on board and with the crack of a whip the young queen was straining with her new sister slaves to move the heavy load forward.

'Horrible as my condition now is', she thought, 'at least it is better than being captured'. That would have meant being tortured mercilessly till she was forced into betraying her followers, as she knew she would eventually, and after divulging every shred of information about what lingering troops were still loyal to her side, she knew she then would be humiliatingly displayed before her enemies, and finally executed in the most painful way possible.

She trudged along exerting herself to the full while yet being picked out for the whip more than others - her pampered body being unused to such demands. 'Could I even be feeling grateful to my captors? I could not ask for a better disguise or way to conceal myself'.

She spent the next week pulling the cart with the other slaves through most of the daylight hours. She was grateful for the merciless sun that burnt her fair white skin into a deep dark tan, to the dusty state of the road which disheveled her hair and streaked her naked skin with grim. She was even grateful for the extra whip lashes her flaccid legs and arms earned her, and for her being several times at night singled out for individual motivational floggings.

She realized at some point that they were trudging towards her country's capital city.

'Of course it has been overrun with the enemy's troops' she thought.

When the slavers finally reached her home city, she was hopeful that she was now wearing the best possible disguise, her transformed new bedraggled work slave self. Fed up with her uselessness, the slavers immediately put her on display in the market place, ready to sell her cheap. Hoisted onto her toes and dangling from her bound wrists, she spent a day and a half in full view of her former people. Their former queen, her face on all the minted coins, was fully placed on display; she was so relieved that no one seemed to recognize her.

It was hard for her being on display so long. Her feet and toes ached from trying to support her dangling body; her wrists equally for carrying their share of her weight for the same length of time. No one bothered to give her food or drink while she was there. Prospective buyers, but really anyone who wished to, would grope her body, pulling on her breasts and nipples, fingering her mouth and throat, her anus or pussy, pinching her pussy lips, swatting her ass cheeks. Anyone who wanted could freely whip her to see her writhe on her toes as she dangled under the lash. So many had stared directly into her face and eyes, eyes that were newly learning to silently plead. She found herself again feeling grateful to her slavers for their so cruel and casual treatment of her - in their haste they had left her body, and hence also her face, unwashed - concealed behind a layer of dirt and grime her features were unrecognizable.

She was eventually sold and immediately taken down, her limbs helplessly protesting, and led away pulled by a leash from the slave collar about her neck. She now belonged to a farmer who had a little vegetable garden on the edge of town, and raised livestock. She had to haul his cart to and from the market each day; weed and tend his garden, serve as his scullery maid, tend to his animals, and many other day by day backbreaking tasks. And of course service his sexual needs upon demand. She rose before dawn and was worked into the night. She slept with the pigs, chained in place. Each morning she was allowed to feed on whatever pig slop was left over before the pigs' next feeding. The farmer was not a kind master, always ready with the whip, and believing that a ration of three or four daily beatings was the right way to treat a lazy slave girl.

His last slave before her had managed to successfully run away for awhile, so he would usually keep her not only naked in chains but tethered to whatever work spot he currently chose for her. And he would always keep his slave muzzled, freeing her mouth only for feeding or sex. He did not want even a little bit of talking back from his slaves.

'It was a hard life', she thought, 'but at least it seemed to reinforce the effectiveness of my disguise; and so I am at least alive and likely to stay alive'.

It was exactly one month now since she had been enslaved after fleeing from the lost battleground. In the city square, she overheard a snippet of conversation.

'Where could our young queen be, now that the war is over and our enemies so thoroughly vanquished in battle a months ago now.'

'Yes, such a close thing. Brilliant the way our general ceded one part of the battleground to our enemy, only to trap and annihilate them everywhere else'.

'If only our poor young queen hadn't been on that side of the field'.

Unwilling to believe it, she started to notice things from the pit of her slave drudgery, things her lowered slave eyes had up until now kept unfocused as unimportant to her survival. But now she looked.

'The soldiers all around wear some kind of colors - yes, it is my royal family's colors'.

The market place flew her country's flags, the men in charge of various little royal prerogative shops were the ones her ministers had appointed.

'I am still the queen!'

'And yet I daily move invisible among my people, as one of the lowest of the low, an object of their scorn or pity; with no clear way to ever reveal myself to anyone. I dare not tell the farmer. If he believes me, he will never believe that I would forgive him for his treatment of me. In terror he most likely would just strike me dead on the spot. And except for when with him I am always kept muzzled and can talk to no one else.'

She trudged from the city square, her master the farmer from his seat on the cart above her applying the whip to her back. She pulled on the cart harder and quickened her pace.

'Yes', she thought sadly, 'a truly impenetrable disguise.'