Chapter 1

Margaret Whitechapel was really not one to act like she was high-born or better than other common born folk, but she was unfortunate enough to be related to the traitor Sir Hugh of Bristol and she was a member of the royal household. Her position at court was almost a joke because her parents had lost their castle and most of their lands in a dispute with the much feared Duke of Manchester who had purchased all of her father's gambling debts to force his ruin.

She had seen the Duke moving mysteriously around the palace grounds like some will-of-the-wisp making secret deals in darkened corners. One of the ladies in waiting had told her in confidence that he was most demanding in his use of a female's body causing her great stress when he insisted on forcing her unnatural hole for unseemly pleasure. Margaret was much intrigued by this tale told in a darkened bedchamber by this attractive woman overly attentive to Margaret's own female charms under cover of darkness. She felt her female slit pulse and grow wet at the touch of the damsel's fingers and the thought of having one's bottom used so cruelly.

When it came to pass that her unmet Uncle Sir Hugh of Bristol was branded a traitor, she was beginning to think her days at court would soon be at an end and that she would soon be banished because of her family connections, or rather, her lack of family connections.

She had been opportuned on more than one occasion by a married minister of state to succumb to his wooing technique in the privacy of the kitchen pantry, but had resisted thus far on the hopes that her virginity might earn her a husband with some minor connection in the royal entourage. It was really the last hope for her family which had relocated to the shore near Bath. It was common knowledge amongst the ladies-in-waiting that she was as yet untouched causing no small degree of jealousy from several of the main contenders for connected spouses.

In fact, it was Princess Evelyn who whispered falsehoods about her to the palace security staff tasked with keeping compromising incidents away from the royal family. With her family in disgrace and a relative soon to be hung, drawn and quartered, her prospects for marriage dwindled rapidly.

The palace guard came for her in the middle of the night. They yanked her from her bed dreaming sweet dreams of a knight in shining armor and dragged her down the silent halls all the way to the basement stairs. The foul-tasting rough hand over her mouth kept her from shouting for succor in the dire circumstances.

After the basement doors slammed shut behind her, the guards relaxed and made sport with her scantily clad body in her customary nighttime wear without any corseting or layers of underskirts. The soldiers knew they were being crude to a gentle-born female but their instructions were to use this "softening up" routine to get the proud and shrill-toned bitches and gents ready for the realities of existence in a castle dungeon.

Margaret knew right away that this was the rude mercenary's job and she did not take umbrage at her treatment even though it was most unseemly. The pawing fingers at her flanks and the trickery with her unprotected nipples disgusted her but it did not make her overly taxed at her predicament. She found that the degrading treatment was in a strange way comforting to her because of the attention received by her untested female parts. She was fair to panting with excitement and that perplexed the guards who had expected an entirely different reaction.

They pulled her along behind them down the long spiraled stone stairs on a leather strap attached to a collar around her pretty neck. When they arrived at the bottom, they nudged her with their toes to crawl forward to a line in the center of the floor. She accidently placed one hand on the other side of the line and was severely worried on her flanks by several flicks of a beating cane on her scantily covered posterior. Her yelps of distress were met with scornful laughter from the guards.

She wanted to rub her stinging arse cheeks but her hands were bound now together making the attempt impossible to achieve.

"Who is this one, Sergeant?"

The ugly old soldier with the missing tooth replied with a well-disciplined tone.

"This be the one called Margaret, your worship. She's the one with the family in the poorhouse and the Uncle sitting in the tower waiting for the hangman."

Margaret saw the form of the dreaded Duke of Manchester lurking in the shadows. He seemed to be quite amused at her disheveled state crouched down on her haunches on the stone floor like some animal waiting for instructions from its trainer. She was determined to give any of them pleasure at her discomfort and managed to raise her head proudly displaying a careless smile.

"What are you waiting for man? Strip her and be quick about it. I want to see what this little bitch is hiding under those silly garments."

She was pulled to an erect stance and the guards made quick work of ripping off every stitch of clothing and leaving her standing in her humiliated nakedness right in the middle of the room lit only by flickering torches. The light played over her proud nubile breasts with nipples extended in aroused display. They were perfectly shaped and pointed up in a perky manner never having been subjected to rough treatment or the nursing of infant offspring. Her honey blond bush matched her lightly shaded hair that flowed halfway down her spine almost to the top of her split and the luscious orbs that still showed signs of the beating she had received on the way down to the dungeon.

"Get her legs spread, boys, let's see what she looks like."