Out of the Frying Pan...

"Hands or your ankles, head up."

Margarite complied knowing full well that such a position would thrust her breasts and sex forward. She needed time to think, to conjure up some escape from this trap. What she needed was time, and an ally or allies. Those were not currently present and only time and subtly could produce them for her. Margarite saw no way to avoid Geoffrey's bed this evening. The thought of her enemy soiling her person was not ameliorated in any way by the fact that her despoiler was also a royal. She had loved Arnold; loved his handsomeness and his maleness. Above all, she loved how she could bend her former husband to her whims. She realized that she was not short of assets, especially when she was naked. Her looks and charms had opened many doors for her. Was not Geoffrey a man very much like her husband? More handsome and cocksure, to be honest, but still a male susceptible to the charms of a beautiful and cunning woman? So, she would share his bed. From that position, she could enrapture the young king, overwhelm him with her feminine charms and wiles. In six-months-time, a year at most, she convinced herself their roles would be utterly reversed. She had a more legitimate claim to the throne than did Geoffrey. She could rise to queen once more. Restored to the throne, she would see to it that Geoffrey was castrated in the public square! In the meantime, Geoffrey was young and virile, how bad could sleeping with him really be? "Especially," she thought, as a smile darted across her lips, "once I have gotten my hooks into him!"

Margarite threw her head back proudly. "This collar malarkey is just a temporary inconvenience," she thought with absolute conviction.

Geoffrey parted Margarite's long hair and affixed the collar. He alone possessed the key. He was not blind to the change in his new slave's attitude. He knew full well, that her devious mind was already conspiring for her freedom. Geoffrey knew that she believed that turnabout was a possibility. In fact, he was counting or it. "She will be exemplary in bed, so as to try to soften me and catch me unawares, but I go into this with my eyes wide open. By the time she realizes there is no escape from my collar, she will have already become a most exceptional slave!" thought Geoffrey in delight. "It will never occur to this woman that I have more resolve and wiles than she herself!" The collar closed with an audible click that seemed quite loud in the quiet room.

"Now, woman," announced King Geoffrey, "rise and prepare me for bed. I would know you intimately."

Margarite rose from the floor a very different woman. She had entered this room unsure of her fate or future. Now she saw it. If Geoffrey wanted a slave, she would excel in the role! "Before he knows what has hit him, his guards and generals will be saluting me!" she thought with a grin. She allowed Geoffrey to lead her to his bedside where he stood expectantly. Margarite bent and assisted the king in removing his boots. His stockings followed in quick order revealing large, well-formed feet. She rose, smiled, and planted a dainty kiss on Geoffrey's lips before reaching for the buttons of his silk shirt. Margarite parted the buttons, disclosing an excellent physique within. King Geoffrey had prominent pectorals in a smooth hairless chest above a row of abdominal muscles that resembled knots under the skin. Still assured of her purpose, Margarite found herself absently stroking them. Geoffrey was far better built than her former husband. "Perhaps this duty will not be as odious as I expected," she allowed herself to muse before removing the shirt entirely and placing her hands upon his gold and jewel-encrusted belt buckle. She opened the trousers and allowed them to slide to the floor and helping the king step out of them. He was clad now in just his chamois undershorts. Margarite noted the bulge in front and realized that Geoffrey was better equipped than Arnold as well. "So, I shall have legitimate pleasure as well this evening. So much the better!" considered Margarite. She tugged the undershorts away from and over Geoffrey's prodigious member. It was, she decided, a very nice penis to consider. After a moment of contemplation, Margarite reminded herself that her goal was to seduce the king not to be seduced by him. She fell to her knees and began to fellate the royal.

Geoffrey threw his head back in contentment. This woman seemed determined to win him over with adventurous even eager sex. So long as he stayed focused on the truth that she was attempting to play and turn him, there was no danger in letting the woman go as far as she wanted. Her drive for freedom would only send her deeper into his snare. The end result would be glorious!

The king indicated that Margarite was to cease her efforts for now. Once she returned to her feet, Geoffrey maneuvered her onto the bed and began kissing her from lips to the great toe and back again. On his return trip, he paused at her honey thatched box and set to work with a passion and dedication that startled and then pleased the young former queen. She had not anticipated that Geoffrey would see to her pleasure first or that he would be so skilled in the oral arts. After a very short interval, it became clear to her that Geoffrey was far more talented in this area than Arnold had ever been, already she could feel her body responding to the king's oral ministrations. She tried to stay focused, to remind herself that she should be taking charge of the action between the sheets. The orgasm descended despite her best efforts. She gasped and cried out. Before she could return to reality, King Geoffrey was inside her, pounding away with his massive tool. The king's quite attractive backside pumped away vigorously while Margarite tried to regain herself amidst the sensual onslaught but found herself failing miserably. The second orgasm was even more powerful than the first. For a very long interval after that Margarite's mind was somewhere between the ceiling and eternity before it rejoined her body in the bed. King Geoffrey was looking down at her, a wicked grin across his handsome face. Margarite flushed with rage and shame at her body's betrayal. Who was this man that he could toy with her? Geoffrey chuckled and then his head vanished beneath the covers. Once more his lips were upon her secret place. To her consternation, Margarite's legs opened wide as she was overcome by sensation for the third time. She was the equal of any man her mind insisted even as her body betrayed her. Twice more the virile king entered her that first night. Margarite was utterly spent as her overwhelmed body tumbled into a deep dreamless slumber.

When the former queen was gently shaken awake by King Geoffrey, she was startled to discover her hands encased in kid gloves attached by webbing.

"Those will be your bedtime companions for the foreseeable future. At least until I am sure that you won't strangle me in my sleep."

THAT had been a thought on Margarite's mind!

Geoffrey slid the gloves off Margarite's hands. She tugged or her collar while he gestured towards his aroused cock. Instantly, the former queen understood what he had in mind. Eager to gain the lead in their relationship, Margarite nodded, smiled, and positioned herself to perform fellatio. She put in a valiant effort and very soon Geoffrey was sighing contentedly as he came. Margarite swallowed, not gladly but willingly. There was a momentary lull afterward as both master and slave savored interval which both viewed as a moment of triumph.

"Come, I must bathe you," said Geoffrey as the moment passed. "Then you have an appointment with the farrier and the assessor."

Margarite looked at him dumbly.

"Unlike the former king and queen of this realm, I intend to set an example by paying my taxes and making the records public. While I have declared a moratorium or all taxation in this province for a year, I did not exempt myself. When the people see and understand that the king pays his fair share, they will be more willing to pay their taxes when I reimpose them. Of course, when I do, I shall tax them humanely and proportionally."

"Assessor?" asked Margarite.

"Yes, I must know your value on the slave market so that I can insure you and pay the requisite taxes."

"I am a queen!"

"No, you are not. You are an anonymous blonde slave woman owned by me."

"I am Margarite Cavendish, the divine ruler of..."

"No, you are not! Come."

Margarite seethed as Geoffrey bathed her. Surely, he could not be serious! The king washed her everywhere before producing a shielded razor which he ran over all parts of her removing the hair from under her arms and legs to the crotch. When the bath concluded, Geoffrey had Margarite lie upon her back while he approached her with a hair trimmer.

"We must denude your loins. Slaves are not permitted body hair of any sort. However, since you are a natural blonde, I shall leave a small oval that demonstrates your authenticity."

Margarite hastily stood up. "Stay away from me, you creatin!"

A bored expression crossed Geoffrey's face. He rang a bell and a half-dozen uniformed guards entered the royal bed-chamber.

"This slave is being recalcitrant, commander. You and your men secure her while I shear her."

"Right, Sir!" barked the commanding guard as he saluted.

Margarite looked for an exit by found no way past the burly guards. The fact of them seeing her royal personage naked, while appalling was secondary to her desire of flight. She made a break for it and ended up being pressed against the bed, her legs spread wide.

"Stop squirming woman. Neither of us would enjoy your being cut."

The guards holding her had such a tight hold that Geoffrey's imprecation was pointless. Quickly, quietly, efficiently, King Geoffrey denuded her sacred grounds save for a postage-stamp-sized circle at the very top.

"You are a beastly animal!" cried Margarite once the guards had allowed her to rise and she ran her hands over Geoffrey's handiwork.

"If you dislike that, woman, you shall dislike the following even more."

He turned to the commander. "Is the farrier all set?"

"Yes, your excellency. My men were quite cooperative with him."

"Very good. Bring her."

The guards swept up Margarite and carried her from the royal bed-chamber to the great room down the hall. The room was empty save for a man wearing a leather apron standing next to a table lined with instruments and a large frame obviously designed to hold humans!

"Secure her!" repeated the king.

"NO!" screamed Margarite over and over as the guards secured her arms, legs, and chest to the frame. She was fastened in such a way that her buttocks were raised high. Margarite began to rain down curses and invective upon Geoffrey and his guards.

"Gag her!" barked Geoffrey.

A cotton rag was forced into Margarite's mouth and fastened with a leather strap about her head.

In the restored silence, Geoffrey shook hands with the farrier who, in turn, bowed to him.

"Were my orders clear, good sir?"

"Yes indeed, your excellency, your royal coat of arms, and the standard registration numbers. I took the liberty of reserving this number for you sire!"

"One Thousand One. Aren't you a clever chap?"

"Thank you, your excellency. It is the least I can do for our new and much-beloved king."

"You flatter me, sir," returned Geoffrey in false modesty.

The farrier picked up a stencil and placed it upon Margarite's right butt cheek and proceeded to trace Geoffrey's royal coat of arms with a grease pencil. Margarite tried to squirm away from this indignity, but she had been fastened too tightly to even move a millimeter. She continued to scream into her gag, but very little sound emerged. The idea that Geoffrey could even dream of doing this to her was beyond belief. To be tattooed and numbered like a common slave! It was some inconceivable nightmare! The farrier added ink to the tattoo needle and closed in. The muffled shrieks from behind Margarite's gag became noticeably louder as the needle struck home. Margarite wet herself in fear and horror. The farrier continued on obliviously.

A little over an hour later, the farrier sat cleaning his equipment as Geoffrey admired his work. Margarite's fair skin contrasted sharply with bold and intricate inks. Geoffrey had no doubt that once the redness faded, the ornate adornment to Margarite's bottom would look spectacular indeed. Beneath the coat of arms in bold black was 1001, looking so sweet and so symmetrical.

"You, good sir, are an artist."

"Thank you, your highness."

"I shall pay you triple your usual fare for taking the time and trouble to come here as well as this gold watch. I trust you will not utter a word of today's encounter to anyone. A farrier inside the royal palace..."

"No trouble at all, sire. You are most generous."

Margarite's restraints were released as was her gag. The thoroughly humiliated woman was too stunned to even cry. This indignity demanded revenge! Her hand rubbed the now subsiding fire or her right buttock. Her perfect skin marred forever! Geoffrey was as good as dead; Margarite would make sure of that if it took her very last breath.

As the farrier carried his tools and some of Geoffrey's guards hefted his frame. Margarite lunged at the king in a murderous rage. The king was prepared however, he twisted Margarite's arms behind her back and said curtly,

"A slave attempting to assassinate the king could very well find herself either in front of a firing squad or perhaps sold to some corpulent and filthy-minded pig farmer!"

"You, beast! You wicked, wicked brute!" cried Margarite as she broke down in tears. Geoffrey released his grasp of her arms, swept her up in an embrace, and allowed her to cry herself out upon his shoulder. After a very long time, Margaret's tears dried up. Geoffrey stroked her hair.

"Yes, you are now a slave, registered in perpetuity to me. BUT you are royal property. Unlike the other slaves in this kingdom, you shall reside in luxury. You will be kept fit and well-fed, you will be entertained, and you shall share my bed most nights. Everything I said to you last night shall come to pass. You have nothing now, not even a name. Soon, however, you shall find your footing and embrace the life that God, through me, has chosen for you. Countless women will envy you, my dear."

Margarite looked up at Geoffrey and sobbed, "I want my freedom, my title, and my name back."

"Understandable, but most impossible. Come, the assessor is waiting."

Margarite was still in a stunned condition when Geoffrey led her to an adjoining room where a man who was clearly a gentleman stood next to an assortment of objects. The man came to a salute and then bowed as Geoffrey entered the room. The men shook hands.

"I need a thorough assessment of this fine specimen. Please forgive her disheveled state, she is a very new slave and has just come from the farrier's impressions."

"I shall take it into account, sire."

For the better part of the next hour, the man measured and examined Margarite. She remained in a daze throughout. After ascertaining her weight, the man, with a tape measure, recorded her vital statistics as well as everything else including the diameter of her thighs, calves, and forearms, the circumference of her head, and the distance between her eyes. Margarite was compelled to open her mouth so that her teeth could be examined. The assessor checked between her toes and recorded her fingerprints as well as capturing her likeness with a small device. The final indignity was when he plunged his fingers into her sex and anus, actions which brought Margarite out of her funk.

"Get your hands off me, you peasant!" she bellowed, causing the assessor to draw back in surprise.

"She is not very well trained, sire."

"No, but she will be," shot back the king.

"Very well, Sire. Her beauty more than offsets her lack of training. Though I would advise you to put her in the hands of a capable slave-master for a fortnight or so."

"I'll take that under advisement. What is she worth?"

"Ah, yes Sire," he held up a tablet or which was written a figure. "I think this amount is just about right. Your tax assessment would thus be the following line and annual insurance the line under that."

"Very good, Sir. Thank you so much for your service," said Geoffrey as he reached into his billfold and extracted a rather large number of imperial banknotes.

"Keep the overpayment as a gesture of my largess."

"Yes Sir!" exclaimed the assessor as the king led the now enslaved queen out of the room. They returned to his bedroom. He offered Margarite a pillow to sit upon.

"It is time you learned a few things, woman," he said as he pulled up a chair beside her. "Once the assessor reaches the hall of records your status as my property will become binding and eternal. I own every part of you now, from the crown of your head to your great toe. I call sell you, use as collateral on a loan, trade you for another, loan you to my friends, offer you in tribute, breed you with whomever I choose, I am entitled to use you or discipline you in any way I see fit. You wear my coat of arms and registration number so that, in case you do manage to free yourself from your collar and escape, the authorities would know who you belong to and would return you to my palace. Of course, once they tracked you down, they would be well within their rights to strip you naked first to find your markings of ownership. The life you once led is now as far away from you as is the far side of the moon."

"I refuse to believe that. No matter what you do to me or compel me to do I am still Queen Margarite. I shall hate you to the end of your days and I WILL have my vengeance!"

"Big words coming from a naked, collared, and tattooed slave."

With that, Margarite was in tears again. She knew, very deep, very far down that what Geoffrey had spoken was the truth and what she had just uttered were only empty boasting and an impossible vanity. She wanted to die. She knew she could not kill herself, but she could not bear existence as a mere slave, living in luxury or no. She was destined to be just another bit of monogrammed property in this palace. Instead of commanding and ordering others, she would be the one being ordered and obeying. No longer would the trumpets blare before she addressed the crowds from a balcony. When and if Geoffrey got around to dressing her, she, unlike even the poorest woman in the kingdom, would not even own her own clothes! Something deep inside, her broke and Margarite found herself crying even more piteously than she had before. Geoffrey held her for a long time before kissing her.

"Come, beautiful, we should really break our fast and plan our day."

**

She sat across the table from Geoffrey. The tea was hot, the scones were warm. Somehow things were less oppressive. Geoffrey's gift for small talk slowly brought Margarite out of her misery. For all his faults, the king was a winning conversationalist and an outstanding listener.

"You need a new name to go with your new life. You have no doubt noticed that I have referred to you simply as "woman" since last night. That is because the person you were no longer exists. You shall never hear that name again and you will be severely punished if you so much as utter it anywhere or any time save when you are dreaming. Is there a name that you have always favored over your old one?" he asked.

"Margo?" replied Margarite softly.

"Guess again. I was thinking of Belle because of your spectacular beauty. Officially slaves don't have names they are just listed as a male or female slave, their general description, and the name and address of their owner. You, however, while just as low as the lowest slave are something special. I think Belle, is rather fitting."