Queendom 06: Hiatus

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Back in the shed.

Fyodor sat by the side, emptying the bottle, as his friend Ridgemund, aided by Yashim, bound the Queen onto a restraining device, which looked like a simple table to the untrained eye. She thanked heavens, in a rare moment of clarity, for that lecherous Jezeb blowing the hallucinogen into her mouth. Without it, she couldn't have lived through the most violatingly-thorough physical inspection of her life. In ten minutes, Ridgemund expertly took every measure imaginable in her body, from her height, and weight, calculating the mass and volume of her bosoms, to the median distance between her erect nipples when hanging free. Following along, Yashim seemed clueless for the most part, yet eager to participate, noting down the measurements, ranging from obvious to obscene, all the while suppressing his lustful smirk.

At the end of it, Elanor realized not an inch remained in her skin, unexplored by the aging Smithson, all the while staying strictly platonic, unlike the boy. Ridgemund leaned against the table, his fingers shaking from all the work. Fyodor remarked.

"What's with the shivers, Ridge..? Been drinking too much lately.?"

Ridgemund laughed out.

"Oh Belk, should you really ask? If my hand shakes, it's the sign of less booze, not more. Huh, what's with you this time..?"

Fyodor was getting a hint of it too. What is with me, tonight.? Is there something I'm not getting? Why does this feel, positively improper, deep down? This isn't the first time me doing this to a reluctant felon? She wasn't even protesting that violent, yet.. It's her eyes.. Why does she seem so sincere..? What's going on?

"Show me the registration form again." He sounded unsure. Ridgemund knew him well enough to notice the shift.

"Something off, Belk? Fabrication, you think..?"

"Well, its.. No! It's all proper, good and signed. Approved by the King himself. It all sticks together, but barely, you see.. For instance, check the underside of her tongue, its very root."

Elanor felt a distasteful rough digit invade its way under her flopping non-responsive tongue.

"Cold, ain't it.? Like unusually cold?"

Ridgemund nodded.

"Medication, you think?"

"Injection. A numbing agent, no doubt. Now read me the charges again. Her apparent crimes."

Ridge gave the file a quick look.

"Multiple attempts at coveting her sister's husband. A slave to an unnatural and unchecked libido. Well, that's hardly a crime in my book. But I see how it can derail into the incestuous, if left unchecked."

Nodding to his friend, Fyodor said.

"They are terming her a nympho..! Yet, see this..?"

The Queen shuddered in shock as a long, rigid finger gently poked into her virgin hole, with no notice. The first digit to enter it proper, in weeks. It's a good thing her loins stayed leaking, the digit was unusually dry, its movements strangely clinical. As she tightened her throat to control a potential moan, the finger retreated.

The absurdity of it all was only topped by the humiliation that unfolded right before. Elanor looked, as Fyodor extended his fingers, coated with her juices, to his friend's face.

"Notice anything..?"

Ridgemund shrugged. "She's wet.?!"

"Yes, but just wet. Like surprised wet.! Shocked and excited wet.! I'd even say, scared wet! Judging from the way she gripped on to my finger, definitely not slutty wet. Nor nympho wet, all foaming and soiling. Squirting all over the place. Come on, Ridge. We've seen it all. That's as tight a hole as I ever felt, that it almost felt sinful.! This is a virgin..Hmm.. She even tastes like one." Fyodor couldn't help but give in to temptation, the lick his finger clean. To taste the forbidden.

Elanor closed her eyes, not wanting to witness her dear uncle do the unthinkable. That satisfied humming from his lips ringed particularly torturous in her ears.

Tastes like virgin.?! What's with him tonight.? Ridgemund thought, yet nodded, playing along. He had doubts of his own.

"But you said it ain't a fabrication. It's your signature and seal. And nothing goes past that head of yours.!"

"Oh, believe it's something else. Something vicious, like truly malevolent. How many have we registered and trained personally.? How often did we see a medically numbed tongue?"

"That seemed odd to me too. Most were given a ball gag, and quite a few bite gags. The only instances of medicated gags were..? Oh, right.." Ridgemund nodded in agreement with his friend.

"The times were the accused knew too much. In case of some top positions, or direct relatives. The cases in which they knew too much dirt, Imperial secrets even. The kind that could bring entire empires down.."

"Woh..man.!!" Ridge stepped back suddenly. "You think she was a spy. Or a traitorous Baroness."

"Worse, my friend. I think the traitorous culprit got away. And as usual, they needed a scapegoat. This time, it'd be her."

For a moment there, Elanor had lost all hope. But now, she saw. There was still the Uncle Belkin she admired deep down there. The man of unshakable morals, and immovable conviction. Was he going to set me free? Was he planning on saving me for good? Elanor had long stopped thinking like a Queen. She was just a girl now, ready to be domesticated. Yet hoping to be saved from it all. Her heart pounded in anticipation.

"So what do you propose, we do.?" Ridgemund asked, knowing well what the answer would be.

"What we always did. Our job. This comes from way up in the hierarchy. From the voices that can't be contradicted. They command, we execute. Those are the rules, friend. It'd be ridiculous to re-evaluate, given how stained we're both already. Besides.. If this, Crimson.. is fated to be domesticated, I strongly suggest we don't fight it too harsh. Fate isn't something you mess with, and get away unmarked."

Elanor's heart broke from that response. She couldn't even weep, knowing the very part she played into actualizing this whole night. Point fingers all you want, but this is your own doing. Forget not..!

"So where do you want it.? And how big?" Ridge's inquiry confused the Queen.

How big? Where I want what..?!

"Give us a moment, Ridge." Fyodor said, his voice closer to how she remembered, and not the cackling ruffian a moment ago. Ridgemund walked away, preparing his equipment.

Elanor lay now, on that strong oak table, her head barely balancing at the edge, arms at an angle either sides, cuffed to the wood. Leather straps tightening her lower ribs to the surface, those legs splayed obviously, unable to fold nor stretch, cuffed at angles much like her wrists. Her breath was shallow, half in denial, half anticipating. She could feel the texture of the wood beneath stick against her sweaty back, its surface dark, soaked in the sweat of countless unfortunates, much like her, over the years. Her tummy sucked in low, in fear, her torso seeming like an almost skeleton, except for the heaving breasts.

As she stayed there staring at the rotting wooden ceiling, with her eyes about to well up, Fyodor leaned over, looking right down her face. He had never seemed more kind or saintly. Looking a bit younger, in that dim golden light, he asked in an intimate deep voice.

"Just nod if yes. Are you a virgin?"

She nodded. Her breath shivering, yet strangely calm. That response almost confirmed all his doubts instantly. He took a deep breath and continued, his gaze fixed on hers intently.

"I'm going to be as easy and fair to you as possible, except for what must be done by the royal decree. If there is still a chance for you to get out of this, if fate wills it, I'll be sure to leave enough room for that possibility. It has happened before, even those to be executed had been pardoned. I hear our Queen's heart is pure gold, I'll personally mention re-evaluating your case, on our next meet up."

Little did he knew the actual ruling monarch was right before him. Nor had Elanor a clue, that in his mind, Fyodor was mentioning the previous Queen. After all, his reality was on a different time-line. Not that knowing it would have helped, especially at this point. He continued.

"Your identity had been redacted on the forms. You could have been a Baroness, a Lady, a Princess even.. But tonight onward, you are a Domestication trainee. A registered pet. That's done, signed and sealed. No escaping it. What is it that they say..? Aah.. A rule is a rule.!"

I know.. Elanor blinked slowly, in agreement. I understand. If anyone, I should get it. Fyodor continued.

"Now, I'm going to tell you something that I really shouldn't. Whatever you've heard of domestication, it is far worse nowadays, believe me. There is a whole industry built on exploiting the servitude-periods. Based on your progress, your services must be auctioned off to generate revenue. I'm letting you know, because, I have a girl too.. And god-forbid she ever falls into a pit so vile, I only pray that someone does the same for her. Oh little Lene, that's so horrifying.."

Wiping his face once, he said.

"Here's the basics you must know. The next two week is going to truly test your limits. Essentially, they are trying to determine your type. There are three categories- Leash pets, Show fillies and Race ponies. The hardest to tame, the most spirited ones, are selected as Race ponies. And the ones who give in too easily to submission, are deemed Leash pets. Race ponies are trained brutally, and auctioned, or leased off regularly. Like any competitive sport, the ones who make it through, come out of it subservient still, yet at peak physicality. Leash pets are treated the worst. It's the basic bitch, open to all exploitation."

Elanor listened, remembering what she had heard about pony racing. Visualizing herself running tracks, pulling a cart while getting her rear whipped red. She didn't want to be in that place, but the image just refused to fade. Fyodor continued.

"Now by law, a Leash pet is considered a low-tier subhuman, so any self-respecting man would avoid using its nether. But this puts them in the worst situation. Unless some Lord finds it amusing to keep you as a house pet, and believe me, there are quite a few. But in truth, almost all leash pets end up deemed stress-relievers for the slave class. Yes, they might act high and mighty now, but all these Lords have well-trained slaves toiling in their plantation. And the best way to keep them motivated is rewarding with an obedient leash pet."

It struck her then, that she is less likely to be a race pony, especially with her body fattened up lately, thanks to Lady Adriana's diet plan. And the image of a gang of sweaty, dirty slaves wasn't hard to conjure up either. She already did a great job flaunting at them every other day at Adriana's plantation, asking for her dance partner. Wait, am I to end up a breeding pet for the slave lot.? Wait, that'd mean my chastity..? Oh no! This humiliation is one thing, but I can't lose my chastity.! The absurdity of her worries never registered to the Queen.

"Believe me, that's no fate for a frail little thing like you." Fyodor broke her thoughts.

"Thankfully, only the naturally and overtly submissive are considered Leash pets. Which brings us to Show Fillies..! Listen up girl. If you end up serving time, if you have any sense, aim to be a show filly. All you have to do is fail at the athletics, yet try the best to not seem submissive. And obviously, have a supremely seductive body. Not a problem, right? Being a show pony, provided you have the stomach for the obvious exploitation, it is a heaven with chains. Apart from the occasional show-races, and parades, that is... You'll be pampered, treated like a Princess. Like an actual Princess.! Truth be told, you are already built like a damn good one! Just go for it, okay?"

Elanor was now starting to feel at peace. Maybe this is how it's supposed to go. Maybe I'm destined to make a great show pony. It's not like I was any epitome of monarchical standards. Was I ever any good as a Queen?! Maybe this is my second chance, to leave this life, and be good at something, finally.

Then she heard it, that angry screaming rant from deep within, suddenly getting the full picture. Snap out of it, will you.?! Nothing has changed, and nothing is lost. Sure, measuring the exact diameter of her anal opening with her Uncle holding her thighs wasn't ideal. But nothing has happened that can't be fixed. Snap out of it girl! It is not like he was some creepy clergyman with his eastern sexual mysticism, with the spell of his magic fingers. This is Uncle Belkin, your Uncle Belkin.

By his own words, the registered pet's guardian is the Head of Households. Meaning, whatever may happen tonight, he was to return the Queen intact, to her Mistress. If this was an oversight, Mistress would be looking for me all over the Castle right now. And soon, she'll be here. She'll walk right in, any minute. At worst, she'll be here by early dawn. She's the Head of Households! The patrolling guards, those bloody wretched bastards.. They must have notified her of the suspicious activity near the outer walls by now. Just hold on, Nora.. Don't give in. Bella is coming. Just hold on.

Suddenly, she felt Fyodor's caring caress upon her right cheek. Wow, isn't he a bit too close to my lips for comfort..?! What's he saying now?

Fyodor looked into her eyes, not knowing why he can't look away. He told her now, the truly tragic part of domestication, to him at least.

"See, that's not the worst of it all. Especially for someone so physically pure. A rare virgin fated to do this.! See, all convicted ones are considered sub-human. A glorified herd of cattle, for entertainment of all kinds. To bet on, ride around, and auction off. And of course, for fulfilling all their deviant carnality. There's even a provision to use the less promising ones strictly as breeding stock. But one thing that no one will ever do to a domesticated pet, is consider it worthy of a kiss. Which is hilarious, as the trainers pat and peck actual pets all the time. So, if things go terribly wrong, in these two weeks of training, I don't want you to feel missed out on it either."

Wait.. Why is he leaning forward.? What is he getting at.?! Don't make this any worse. Umm..

"I don't do this ever. Other than my wife.. But knowing your state, I can't let you torture yourself, wondering what a kiss feels like, when they use you for all things wrong. This is, girl.. My way of comforting you.. A sweet memory for you to cherish, for a virgin like you, enduring the trials and tribulations of the training.. Your first, and probably only, kiss.."

Oh no, God! No... please.. pweezz

The voices never went past her throat, thanks to the injection. And her eyes failed to convey what her rational mind, her remaining sense of shame, screamed. Elanor felt his right index finger carefully push her numb tongue back into her open, salivating mouth. It wiped her chin clean, of all the drooling saliva. Then he slowly closed her lips into a pout with his digits. She wanted to close her eyes, turn her head to the side even. Anything to signal her discomfort, to let him know the undeniable taboo of what was about to happen.

To save him, at least, from the depths of disgrace she can't seem to avoid.

But she did nothing. At least, her body did.

Staying frozen, staring right back at him, almost invitingly, she finally felt his thick mustache pin against her upper grooves. And her lips embraced the warm press, the rough texture of his aging dead skin. When the heat of his exhalation grazed the sensitive ridge beneath her septum, however, she felt something in her soul give in. Was she yearning for his approval, in some sense, still? Did she want him pleased, even if it took reciprocating in such a state..? No one was listening to these queries, as her lips parted, giving way to his tongue, letting it rub some warmth over her numb taste-buds. As he leaned in full, surprising Ridgemund, his thick beard nuzzling upon her bare neck and cleavage, Elanor felt the stimulation peak.

Particularly for a kiss, it was too hot.

Too wrong, and way too long.

But it wasn't like she could say something, or do. Nor did she want to object, within seconds of drinking in her tutor. His thick manly musk rushed into her well-trained nose, and it was the final nail. Her loins were ready for the taking, the whole body relaxed to a limp state, her legs splaying on its own, awaiting the inevitable. Then again, what inevitable..?! He did say, just a kiss.

As Fyodor broke it off, looking down at her gasping for more, her skin almost glowing coated with sweat, he realized. Heat of the moment is very real. And he recognized, as clear as he could, what confused him, intrigued him, for the most part of the night. He saw something familiar, in her shining eyes. The old man couldn't help, but blurt out.

"Your eyes, girl.. Those eyes.. I feel like I know you, dear."

Maybe it's the closeness. Or the way the light hit his face now, obscuring the wrinkles and almost all his grays. He had never looked closer to Uncle Belkin from her memories, that young attentive Horse trainer who helped her onto her first pony. It almost felt like he was initiating her for the next adventure. He continued, with a hint of horror in his voice. Did he just recognize me, from my eyes..? Or, what it my sound..?

"I hope I'm wrong. Because.. If not, I probably broke a great taboo. With a soul so close to my heart, that it'd be a grave sin, if true. God no! It's a good thing you can't talk. Or that mask is sealed."

Fyodor wasn't particularly talking to her. If anything, he was thinking out loud, calming himself of the sudden revelation. Elanor had no doubts, however. He knew now. Sir Fyodor Belkin, the man who taught her to overcome her fears the first time. The very few ideals of true paternal virtue in her life. Her own Uncle Belkin, will forever remember her as the horny show pony he kissed away into slavedom. That innocent girl, his favorite student, long gone, given to her own lust for all he knew.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. And her head now stayed tight, strapped by the forehead. She could still hear them talk. Elanor didn't know then, but there were two mandatory formalities left. One of them being, her identification tattoo. Ridgemund said.

"Well, discreet you say.? That eliminates her chin, and the small of her back. How about in a straight line, right between her belly button and vagina?"

Ridgemund didn't understand why his friend suddenly wanted the tattoos to be discreet. Wasn't that the whole point. To mark them explicitly for life, for all to see..?? Fyodor said.

"I was thinking more towards the top."

"Her breasts?? I thought you said discreet." Ridge sounded confused.

"Under-breasts, genius.?" Fyodor replied, clearly angry at the new development. "It's a ten-digit code. You need the whole breast for it.? Just use the smallest standard font. A single line, under her left bosom."

As Ridgemond double-checked the equipment, nodding his head, Fyodor continued.

"Use the cheap ink, not the ultra-permanent one. Hopefully she gets off sooner, and the ink fades fast enough. You think it'll stay well-concealed.?"

Ridge looked at his friend's sudden strange care, especially in his tone, towards the new girl.

"It'll do. But I must warn. I heard it hurts like hell in the tight spots."

"It's a tattoo, Ridge. It'll burn a bit, big deal. Get it done quick, will ya?" Fyodor said assertively, doing a better job this time, hiding his inner turmoil. "Where did you keep that bottled moonshine?"

"Second shelf to the right. You go ahead and pour one. I'll be done in a minute. I'll take care of the mold as well.."