A Handmaid's TailbyCouture©
"I would like to request an audience with King John."
"For what?" the Retainer asked in a rough manner that suggested the young woman wasn't going to get an audience no matter what.
"I have some skills with a pen, numbers, and language" Antoinette said, doing her upmost to keep her voice clear and profession and not let it descend into a whining plead as it wanted to. "I was hoping to find some employment with the King."
The irony wasn't lost on Antoinette. Throughout her childhood, King John had been an antagonist. His incursions on French soil were frequent and known for their brutality. Her father had fortified the French defenses and always managed to turn the English scum back. Yet, he had never predicted that his demise would come from his own blood kin. He had been killed by his brother and the whole blood line had been methodically wiped out. There was no one left but Antoinette. She took flight to the safest place she knew...the heart of her enemy.
"Where are you from that they would teach a girl such things? Or are you some sort of witch? I warn you girl, the English know well how to deal with witches."
"No sir, I'm no witch. I'm God fearing." Antoinette said, hurriedly making the sign of the cross over her chest. These English were a backwards lot. She had forgotten just how much. Obtaining suitable employment might be harder than she thought. Worse, she could even be accused of witchcraft for even having knowledge of letters. "My father was a scribe. I learned from helping him when I was young."
"I reckon' he should have kept you in the kitchen with your mother," the Retainer said taking a document and putting it on the table in front of Antoinette. "Well, let's see just how scribed you are. What do you make of these here letters?"
Antoinette bit her tongue. How scribed? It wasn't even proper English and the man was English. Ignorant is what he was. Be that as it may, she summoned all the meekness she possessed, and tried to read the filthy manuscript in the dimly lit room. She moved it closer to the candle. "It says that the King had decreed the road tax be raised...-Sir what are you doing?"
The young woman was at a disadvantage. The Retainer had come up behind her while she was bending over the table to read and lifted her skirts up. Worse he was at that moment making short work of her bodice and her undergarments.
"You are a little old for the King's taste," the Retainer said. "From the look of you, you have a fine body under all this material...and a tight arse. But, I'll wager that it won't be so tight after I'm done with it."
"Sir," Antoinette pleaded. "Unhand me at once. Do you have any idea who I am?" At one time she was a Princess and this rotten curr would have faced execution for even having thoughts of doing such as this. However, Antoinette was no longer a Princess, she was nothing at all right now. She was wanted and there was a price on her well-bred head. Her fine clothes had become dirty and ragged in her long journey from France. Worse, she was weak from a lack of food and proper nutrition.
"My-my I was right after all. You are a comely enough wench ... in need of a good lesson," the retainer said. "I suggest you kneel down and apply some lubrication to my staff, because I intend on lodging it firmly in your innards. My learned little scribe, I have you know I've turned some of the worst whores that work the wharf into honest women after giving them a good buggering, so I imagine I'll be able to teach you your place."
"Please sir, I know my place." Antoinette begged doing her best to wriggle out from the hard calloused hands that held her captive. She was no match for this man and his dirty fingers - groping her and making short work of her vestments. "Let me be. I'm not the sort."
"I dare say you won't be the sort of girl that goes around saying she knows her numbers and letters when I'm done with you either, but the sort who knows the difference between a dirty dish and a mop bucket," the Retainer said. "Now put some spit on it or I'll take you dry."
Antoinette knelt down in front of the miserable cur. His breeches were swollen at the crotch. She was already in fear as she unbuttoned his flap, he hadn't been lying, he was hung like a stallion. She began to shake in fear as she took it in her hand and it still continued to grow. It's girth was such that she could not wrap her dainty fingers about it. It was several hands long, knobby with a curved shape, and capped with a bulbous head.
To make matters worse, he smelled bad, like a wet dog. Yet, she held her breath and stuck out her tongue for a man for the first time...and used her tongue to wet the hateful appendage, knowing where it would ultimately come to rest. How far she had fallen, once a princess, and now on her knees for this .... this rotten cur. She might be able to get out of this with her virginity intact, but it was going to come at a huge price.
"Now let's see if a learned lady squeals any different from a common whore," the retainer grinned, as he pulled the petite young woman up by her hair and promptly bent her over the desk, holding her down by her neck. Then he spit in the crack of her tight little arse and rubbed it in with a well calloused finger.
Antoinetted tried to fight the digit's progress up her tight arsehole, but her muscles were no match for his cruel finger. Worse, if just his small finger was difficult to accommodate, how was she going to manage his monster of a cock? She did the only thing she could think to do; she began to thrash and shriek.
"Your squirming brings the milk to my bollucks," he said. "And soon your cries will be quieted when I plant my cock in your belly."
The girl fought well. She couldn't scratch or bite in her bent position, but she squirmed and dodged the monster at her door with great vigor.
The retainer kept lining up his rigid phallus with it's intended target and pushing home. He had connected several times, but hadn't quite managed to force his way into her innards. But he had played this game many times before. They always sought to delay the inevitable, but even the hardest fighting and most flexible wench would make a mistake, and would arch her back and attempt to dodge his hard stave. It was then that he would push it home, and she would have no where left to run except impaling herself further on his cock.
However, Antoinette had already guessed at his game. He had come close to taking her several times already. The ring of her ass still throbbed from the missed attempts. She was no common English slut, but a well bred French Princess. If this English curr succeeded, he was going to ruin her, of that she was certain. So, she arched her back and moved her ass up knowing full well he was going to try to take her. But this time she had locked her hands on the edge of the desk.
The Retainer grinned seeing his intended target presented for him. Such a tight little bud, already red from his earlier attempts. Oh, he was looking forward to this. Without further thought, he plunged his hips forward.
Upon hearing the Retainer's triumphet cry, Antoinette pulled with all her might, pulling herself out of his reach, but she wasn't finished yet. She kicked back like a mule and prayed for the best.
It had been a fun game watching the little slip of a girl climbing over the desk. Her wriggling and squirming had made his bollocks fill to the brim. Oh the retainer was going to enjoy this little slip of a wench with her slim hips and tight ass. He was going to take her more than once. The first fuck would be something else. A virgin hole milking his bollocks. She would cry at first, but then would come to terms with it. Would go limp, grunting with each pistoning thrust. Then he would fill her to the brim with come.
After, she would think it was over. She would get up and smooth down her skirts. She would find it difficult to stand and walking would be painful. He wouldn't let her leave until she cleaned off his cock. She would make such a face, but she would do it, if only to get out and have it done with. To get away from him. Then his stave would begin to harden again. Knowing what was coming, she would begin to cry.
The second time he took that tight arse, he would make her do some of the work. Oh, this squirming little vixen wouldn't think so now, but she would if he threatened to bugger her thrice. Which he was going to to anyway. He would do it again and again until she finally learned her place. Letters and numbers...for fun he was going to make this little minx count the number of times he buggered her tight arse. So intent was he on his fantasy, that he didn't even see her foot as she reared back like a donkey and it struck home. All he knew was that his already full bollucks exploded in pain driving him down to his knees.
"You will pay dearly for that girl," he groaned. After he was done with her and he wouldn't be done for some time, he wouldn't be content with knocking her down a peg or two. Now, he was going to take her to the docks himself sell her for a few silver.
But Antoinette had no intention of waiting for that to happen. She ran from the room as fast as she was able, not even bothering to lace back up again. To hell with being a lady. Self-preservation drove her actions. And drove her directly into a woman walking down a corridor.
"Pardon me ma'am," Antoinette said. She was already getting to her feet and was ready to run again, not even thinking to help the woman up. Then she felt an iron grip around her neck. Thinking it was the retainer she shouted,"Unhand me you rotten man." Then to the guard that was helping the woman she had knocked down. "Help me. Don't let him get me."
"Your majesty," said the voice behind her. "What would you like done with her? A flogging? The stockade?"
The stockade? The thought made Antoinette shake with fear. She had heard tales of the stockade...morever what went on at night while the person was unable to defend themselves. A trusted few friends could keep the predators as bay. But she had no friends. And she wasn't making any now, not after having bowled over the Queen.
The Queen eyes flashed angrily at the young woman in front of her. "Whore," she spat. "Look at you running around in a state of undress. I think some time on the stocks should teach her a good lesson."
Antoinette blushed a bright crimson. She wanted desperately to lace her bodice, but her arms were being held behind her back. Worse, she had been taken for a woman of loose morals, and she was anything but.
"Your Highness," Antoinette pleaded. "I was accosted by the Retainer. I merely wanted audience with the King to seek employment."
"What sort of employment?" the Queen sneered. "Court whore?"
"No Highness," Antoinette said. "I thought interpreter or scribe."
"There you are whore!" a voice boomed.
Antoinette flinched as she heard the voice of the Retainer.
"Your pardon highness," the Retainer said, growing much more polite upon seeing the Queen. "I see that you have this well in hand....I was - I was chasing this wench that managed to slip into the castle."
"She must be a very fast wench indeed," the Queen said. "To have raced ahead of you in all these skirts."
The Retainer had been maneuvered into a corner. Unable to admit the truth, all he could do with mutter, "Very nimble Highness. Like a rabbit."
"Well Rabbit," the Queen said. "I think you owe the Retainer an apology for embarrassing one of the King's men by out running him."
Antoinette was outraged. The man had very nearly raped her and she was expected to apologize for getting away. "But Highness, he accosted me!"
"Do you really expect me to believe some half naked beggar or one of the King's own men?" the Queen arched an eyebrow and gave a harsh glare at the young woman.
"I'm sorry for out running you sir," Antoinette managed to force out, but her eyes glared at the lying cur in front of her. She could smell his wine soaked breath. Could see him rubbing his grubby finger greedily.
"Don't go anywhere yet Retainer," the Queen said. "I may need you to take this rabbit and put her in the stockade. Unless she can....apologize to me for knocking me over."
Antoinette looked fearfully at the Retainer. Watched him lick his lips hungrily. Oh he would be first in line at the stockade once night fell. And this time she wouldn't be able to escape. He would have his revenge. "I apologize your Majesty."
Then the Queen made her apologize in French, Spanish, Latin, and Gaelic, because a true interpreter wouldn't have a problem with this. The girl managed in all but Gaelic - and started crying at that point thinking she was going to the stocks.
"I think we can overlook you assaulting me," the Queen said. "However the King is well stocked in scribes and interpreters. But I have something else in mind for you. Do you think you could teach a member of the royal family?"
"Oh yes Highness," Antoinette said. "I'm well-versed in protocol, language, and numbers." This was turning out better than she had hoped. She had secretly feared being an interpreter as it could lead to her identity being found out if she were asked to translate for someone she knew.
"Good. Make yourself presentable," the Queen said. "And come with me."
Antoinette laced up and followed the Queen. They walked down several corridors, further and further and further into the castle. Antoinette felt right at home. She was introduced to her new charge, the Queen's own daughter Mary, a fine boned girl of eighteen summers. The Princess's hair was dark and her eyes flashed like her mother's. She had an imperious mAneller that made it very hard to teach. Antoinette had to be creative and turn her lessons into games to keep the young girl's attention focused on her lessons. It was during one such game that Antoinette learned the downside to her new profession.
"Check mate," Antoinette said as she moved her knight beside the rook, trapping the Princess's King.
Mary's eyes flashed angrily. Her cheeks turned bright red. Tears welled in her eyes.
"It's okay Mistress Mary," Antoinette said. "Everyone loses on occasion. How else does one learn what not to do? And how not to make the same mistakes in the future."
The Princess didn't bother answering her tutor. Instead she told hold of the chess board and dashed it to the floor, and then storming from the room.
Antoinette was aghast. She had managed to let the Princess win every game they had played so far. However, most all of them had been pretend games. Chess was not. Chess had rules. She had given the girl chance after chance, but she couldn't even remember how the pieces moved. Eventually, Antoinette had to win, there was no other way. Well, everyone had to learn that rules had to be obeyed, even Princesses. Antoinette had the advantage of having a house keeper with a firm hand. Now, it was her turn to do the same favor for Mary.
She was caught totally by surprise when Mary returned with two guards and the former French princess was hauled down to the dungeon.
"So," Princess Mary said. "Not feeling so big of yourself now, are you?"
"No Mistress," Antoinette admitted. She didn't feel big at all, chained as she was, her ankles in shackles, and secured to the floor in such a way so that her legs were spread wide. Worse, her wrists were also shackled and secured to a bar hanging from the ceiling, pulling her wrists high behind her back. She was completely at this spoiled girl's mercy and the point was driven home quite well by the knife that was held to her neck.
"Let's play a new game," Mary said. "This is one of my favorite games. It's called breaking in the horsie. Let me explain the rules. First of all, horsies don't have any clothes."
"Please," Antoinette begged. "I - I don't want to play this game."
"Oh but I do," Mary said, using the small knife to cut through her tutor's layered garments. Stripping her bare. Then she went over to the table, put the knife down, but picked up her riding crop. She flexed the leather and whipped it experimentally through the air.
"When I was young, I saw the prettiest horsie you ever saw. I told my daddy the King to get it for me. But he told me no. Told me I was too young for such a horse. A stallion. He was tempermental. Too much spirit for a girl like me," Mary said. "But I cried and cried. I promised never to ride it - only to look at it and feed it carrots and tie ribbons in its mane. Eventually I got my horsie. And when no one was looking I went down to the stable to ride it first thing. Do you know what happened?"
Antoinette shook her head no, but she could guess. The horse had thrown her. The King had been right all along.
"Such a bad horsie," Mary said. "My arm was in a sling for weeks. Daddy was going to have the horsie put down, but I wouldn't let him. Instead I had him tied up in a stall. And then I went to visit him again just as soon as my arm was well enough to do this."
There was a whistle and a crack. Pain sparked through the former princess's bottom. She bucked causing the chains to jingle, but they didn't yield. She gave a cry of pain.
"With this very riding crop," Mary said. "I taught the horsie what a bad thing he had done."
There was another whistle and crack. This time the pain coursed through the inner part of Antoinette's thigh. "Mercy!" Antoinette begged.
"That's French for thank you." Mary laughed. "And you are very welcome. How about another and another?" Each time bringing the leather down hard on her captive.
Antoinette tried everything she could think of. She struggled against her bonds. She screamed. She cried. She begged for mercy. She tried to dodge the blows as best she was able, and then she did the worst thing she probably could have. She grew angry. No one treated her like this. No one. Least of all this spoiled English Princess.
"Let me go this instant," Antoinette yelled. "I have you know that I outrank you. I'm a Princess, and by all rights, the true Queen of France. I will not be treated like some errant handmaid. Now unfasten these bonds you evil girl!"
As soon as the words left her mouth, Antoinette wished she could recall them. All she could hope now was for Mary to think she was lying. There was a reward for her head, she prayed the young Princess didn't know about it. Although, for now she was glad her outburst had provided a respite to the crop.
"Oh my," Mary said. "To think that I have a Princess...the true Queen of France all trussed up in the dungeon. Come Princess, call upon your guards. Have them stop me." The crop fell again and again. "Come Princess, call them. Have them set you free. Tell them to put me in irons. Go ahead. Call them." Each word was punctuated by a smack of the crop on inflamed hot flesh.
The hopelessness of her situation was never more obvious. Nor, the degree in which her status had fallen. She wished she could call her guards, but there were no guards for her anymore. Any loyal to her father would have been killed. The others would be loyal to her bastard of an uncle. And even those guards couldn't help her here in an English dungeon.
"Please Mistress," Antoinette pleaded, tears now rolling down her cheeks and off the end of her nose. "I meant no harm. I'm but a tutor. Please let me go, I'll not say a word to your mother. I'll give her whatever sort of report you want."
"Oh no Princess," Mary said. "It's far too late for that. I knew there was something special about you from the moment I saw you - Antoinette, the missing French Princess."
"I was lying Princess," Antoinette begged. "I'm no one. I just wanted you to stop."
"Do you remember that horse I was telling you about?" Mary asked. "That horse was from a good line. One of the best. I know flesh Princess..." Mary's hands roved her captive's lean sweat drenched body.