Chapter 13

Down in the dungeons Betty and I checked on the condition of Gilbert and then Leila. Gilbert had been placed in a torture frame that spreadeagled his body. Following my earlier instructions, he had not been touched. Leila was suspended by her wrists with her toes just touching the stone floor. She was already moaning in agony, while cum continued slowly to drip from her now-ravaged cunt. Because she was so fat, there was a great deal of weight suspended from her wrists. After ordering her released from her bonds, I instructed the guards to leave us.

"Yes, your majesty," they said very respectfully.

Betty and I exchanged whispered instructions — a code which will get us released from the dungeon when we wish. Then I ordered Leila to begin to run around the perimeter of the large circular torture chamber. She looked at me with an uncomprehending stare so I cracked the whip over her shoulders. Instantly she began to run, with both her tits and her ass jiggling like Jell-O as she did.

Then we turned our attention to Gilbert. Standing before him I asked softly, "Do you remember me, Gilbert?"

"You are the slave, Katherine, aren't you?" he replied.

"Yes, Gilbert. I am," I responded with an impassive facial expression. "Do you remember the last time we met? You whipped me until I promised I would do anything you asked if you would only stop. I was utterly destroyed, but you still would not stop. Do you remember?" I repeated.

He nodded although, with his head fixed in position, there is only very limited movement possible.

Turning to Betty I said, "Darling, I think the blood is going to be flying. My master adores this dress on me and will be very upset if anything should happen to it ... And blood washes easily off skin but can stain clothing..." With a quick grin, Betty shed her clothing and, after carefully putting it away in a cupboard, returned and stood beside me. I replicated her actions and in just moments we were standing naked side by side.

"As cruel as you were to me, Gilbert, it was nothing compared to what you did to this woman. Betty Smith — now Betty Murphy — is the wife of the regimental sergeant-major of the Queen's Own Mounted Infantry. And I, Gilbert, am the Queen. Do you understand?"

"I believe so, Mistress," he responded. "But what are you going to do to me?"

"To you, Gilbert? A good question. Betty and I are going to entertain ourselves using this whip on your body. Repeatedly you used a whip like this and literally beat her into the ground. It was a whip like this that virtually ended my humanity. Well, Gilbert, Betty and I have found we can take it. Now we are going to find if we're capable of dishing it out. I think we are. What do you think?"

"When ... When will it end?" he stammered.

"A very interesting question, Gilbert," I replied. "It will end when you ask Betty and me if you may be allowed to serve us your balls for breakfast. Oh! And there's just one more thing. You will ask us how we wish them cooked and you will then prepare them for us in that manner. Do you understand?"

The only response from Gilbert was a murmured, "My God!"

Looking at him thoughtfully, I said, "Gilbert, there will be some changes. When Betty and I were beaten, we were tied to something. But you will not be. Now go to the post in the center of the room, stand with your back against it and wait." I paused for a moment and then added, "I think it will be fun for you to be able to see the whip coming toward you and see the damage done by each stroke."

Then turning to Betty, I asked, "Would you care to begin, or should I?"

"Mistress," Betty replied, "I think we should take turns." Then with her eyes bright she adds, "God truly does work his wonders in strange ways! Just think, Mistress, you are right-handed while I am a lefty. With us swinging the whip from opposite sides, I think we'll have a great deal of fun!"

Without replying to her in words, Master, I merely handed her the bull whip. I won't bore you with all the bloodshed. Suffice it to say that after taking turns for an hour or so, our arms were so tired we needed a rest. By this time, Gilbert's wrists were secured to the post in order to keep his body in some approximation of an upright condition. He was almost in the condition we desired. When I stopped whipping him before we took our break, I asked him if he had anything he wished to say. Unfortunately, by this time he appeared to be beyond speech.

Betty and I were both giggling as we went to the coffee urn in the corner. Earlier you commented on Betty's irrepressible sense of humor. It was manifest just then. While I was pouring my coffee, she stood there with her head cocked and her finger under her chin, studying me. Finally, she nodded decisively and said, "Princess, keep it in."

"Keep what in?" I asked, puzzled.

With her eyes sparkling with gaiety she replied, "That lovely mottled effect on your body." Then she snapped her fingers and added, "That's what we can do with Gilbert! We can use him almost every day to finish your toilet."

I looked at her, utterly baffled. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"But Princess," she continued, "just look! The rusty-red of his drying blood goes so perfectly with your auburn hair ... And it will be even better as the winter progresses and your tan fades ... After all, your master, our king, would otherwise become bored with the monotonous perfection of your body."

Only then did I look down at myself and then look carefully at Betty. Both of our bodies were speckled with drops of Gilbert's drying blood. Normally, Master, I'm not much for modern art, particularly the Jackson Pollack school of spattering paint, but I had to admit that the effect was striking.

The two of us sank down on the floor, rested our backs against the stone wall and sipped our coffee. (Incidentally, Master, it's both cold and damp down there in the torture chamber, so I'm arranging to have the palace air-conditioning system extended down there. Just think! You'll be the envy of all the other members at the next Reigning Monarch's Convention with the only air-conditioned torture chamber in the world!)

While we relaxed from our labor of love — or vengeance, to be more accurate — I became aware of Leila still running around the perimeter of the chamber. Staggering would have been a more accurate description for what she was doing, though. For some reason — the kindness of my heart, do you suppose (and don't you dare laugh!) — I took pity on the poor woman and asked her to join us. Instantly she collapsed against the wall and Betty went for coffee.

I winced when I saw blood still dripping from both her cunt and asshole. "How do you feel, Leila?" I asked.

"I am fine, Princess. Truly I am," she replied hoarsely.

Then Betty returned with coffee. Ignoring the fact that it was scalding hot, she gulped it down. My eyes widened, as did Betty's. The girl took the cup and returned a few minutes later with a bucket of water and another cup of coffee. Leila instantly dropped her head into the bucket and began to lap up as much as she could. When she drank her fill, she just ducked her whole head into the bucket.

"My God, woman! did you have anything to eat or drink tonight?" She just shook her head. Then I returned to my prior line of questioning, as I watched the blood continue to drip from her loins. "But you're bleeding!" I protested. "How can you possibly be fine?"

Leila Jones did not reply directly. Instead she asked, "How many men did you take at one time after Gilbert took you away? Your body was prostituted, wasn't it?"

All I could do was nod my head.

"How many?" she repeated. "While I was waiting for you to come down to the dungeon, one of the guards told me how you were forced into slavery at The Sign of the Golden Bear. How you bared your tits, your cunt and your asshole. How you accepted tips in your cunt. How each week one of you — and one of the girls is now his wife, so he knows — were made available for whipping."

As she looked at me intently, I realized how truly lovely her gray eyes were. She repeated, "How many at one time?"

Master, I was taken completely aback. I didn't know what to do. All I could do was shake my head and mumble, "A couple of dozen, I guess..."

"Well I only took ten, Princess," she interjected. "My bleeding cunt and asshole are just an indication of how terribly out of shape I am." After pausing for a moment she added, "Now how may I serve you? I assume that I will now be your slave." I started to shake my head, but she insisted.

At that point I commented, "Leila, a few times last night I saw you with some of the ugliest, least attractive people at the dance. But at the same time, there were numbers of attractive men and women who wanted to sample your charms. Why, when you had a choice, did you pick the ugliest?"

"For two reasons, Princess. First, because I'm so incredibly ugly myself. Second, because I was reasonably certain the more attractive men and women would find willing bed partners who would be both far more attractive, and far more sexually active than I will ever be."

Master, I cannot tell a lie. My opinion of Leila is changing rapidly; she seems to be far more intelligent and caring than I remembered her as being.

Then she asked, "What will you have me do as your slave? Certainly not a body slave — I'm far too ugly for that — and not in the kitchen either." With a grin she added, "I'm sure you well remember my incompetence in the kitchen."

Then Betty came up with an idea. "Darling Princess," she said, "what did Gilbert make me into? A human beast of burden." Then with a big grin she asked, "Haven't you ever wanted a pony cart? Wouldn't that be neat? When we finish with Gilbert, how about harnessing the two of them to a small cart we can then use to get around town?"