by John Savage
When the Prince decided to make the lovely Natasha the latest addition to his stable of slavegirls, it was at least a reprieve from the firing squad. Had she known the pain of the whip, the bite of the clips on her most private parts, or the agony of extended bondage, she might have preferred the execution. It was, after all, what she had expected if she were caught trying to sneak onto the island to make away with a bag full of diamonds.
But Natasha had the body of a goddess, and the Prince was not unaffected by her charms. Was there some hope for her before she was beaten down and her spirit broken to leave her just another slavegirl among many?
“You are in the palace compound. You cannot see it but beyond those trees is a fence. The compound is guarded and escape from it is impossible. Beneath us, under the palace, is a network of underground rooms I like to call the Dungeon. And that is not a casual name. You’ll find out soon enough that there are portions of that underground area that are real dungeons. I have taken care to accumulate a rather large collection of fully functional torture devices, and I enjoy using them. Oh, I see your eyebrow go up. Well, there is one thing you should learn. This is not a democracy like your homeland. This is a kingdom. And it is ruled with an iron fist. The native population accepts that in return for a very high standard of living made possible by the wealth coming out of the diamond minds. It’s been this way for hundreds of years, ever since my ancestors made themselves overlords of the natives. And then discovered diamonds. The population, and the rest of the world for that matter, does not know about my little hobbies, nor would they care. I have enjoyed dominating women for as long as I can remember. I enjoy watching them squirm. I enjoy causing them pain. I love to see them beg and plead for the pain to stop. And then scream when it does not.
“And having all the money any man could ever want, I can indulge in my hobby. I have girls kidnapped and brought here.
Then I train them to be properly obedient slavegirls. And when I get tired of them…” He let the sentence hang.
“Well, you can imagine what a sadist like me would do when he no longer wants to play with a slavegirl.” He laughed at the look of fear in her eyes. This was a fun game!
“So you can see that you’ve fallen into the fire from the frying pan, so to speak. I’ve taken a liking to you. You have spirit, unlike most of the girls brought here. They are a docile lot to begin with. No fun training them. But you’re different. You’ll be a challenge.”
He looked into her face for a long time. Her green eyes held his, perhaps not in defiance but at least with some pride.
She was a beautiful woman and stirred some strange feelings within him.
“If you will kneel on the floor, shuffle around behind me, and kiss my ass, then you will be untied and allowed to sleep tonight on a comfortable bed in a cell after a good dinner. If not, then you will go to bed without your supper and will be very uncomfortable for the whole night. You probably won’t get much sleep. That’s the deal. So what will it be? One little kiss or a very uncomfortable night?”
Those green eyes flared. “Go to hell,” she whispered between clenched teeth.
“Great!” Logan exclaimed with a laugh. “Wonderful! I would have been very disappointed had you obeyed. So, the stage is set for our little drama. The contest begins! The game’s afoot!
He went immediately to the door and opened it to summon in the guard standing there. “Take her down to room twelve.
Secure her for the night there. And make sure that she’s very uncomfortable.”
Turning back in Tasha’s direction, he bowed and waved one hand grandly to the side. “I will see you in the morning. Until them, I bid you a pleasant evening, m’lady.”
Then he was gone, leaving the grinning guard to take care of the details.
Tasha was led down into the underground portion of the palace by a guard who delighted in pushing her in the middle of the back each time she teetered on the high heels. There were many doors down there, each numbered, and most of them closed. As she passed one of them, she was sure that she heard the muted sound of a scream. She hoped she was wrong.
Room twelve was of medium size, windowless and very bare. There was only one piece of furniture, an arrangement of wooden boards that Tasha did not quite recognize until she was standing beside it and the guard was taking off the leather straitjacket. Underneath her body was wet, and the air striking her bare skin felt very cool. He left her arms bound with the ropes as he positioned her before one of the two boards turned on edge and secured solidly to the floor. This one was about an inch thick, and nothing more than a board turned on edge. He pushed her down until she was sitting on the top edge.
The other board was split in two and had holes cut along the split. The guard lifted the top half, which swung easily up and to the side on a large hinge. Without being told to, Tasha placed her ankles in the half circles of the bottom board and sighed while the guard lowered the top yoke. The two halves fitted snugly and the holes left only the tiniest bit of space between wood and her ankles. A large padlock clicked shut on the other side, and Tasha knew that she would not be pulling her feet out of these stocks.
The guard left, and Tasha felt the urge to call out to him that he had forgotten to untie her arms. But from his grin she realized that it was no oversight. It was part of her punishment.
The light went off right after the door closed. A momentary panic swept over the naked woman, but it passed. With a logical mind, Tasha set about explore the ropes on her arms and the wood holding her prisoner. The ropes, she found out, were very tight and cleverly applied so that there was nothing she could do about or to them. The ropes around her wrists and elbows were cinched down with very tight windings and the knots were up at the elbows. It did not take long to realize that it would be useless to continue struggling.
Likewise for the stocks holding her legs stretched out before her. The holes were way too small to pull her feet out of. And the two halves of thick wood were held together very solidly.
It could be worse, she told herself. She was sitting down and the ropes were making her arms ache somewhat, but it could be worse.
As time slow crept within her black dungeon, Tasha slowly came to understand that it was getting worse and why it was a punishment. The inch-thick board she was sitting on dug into the soft flesh of her bottom. At first she shifted her position to ease the discomfort of hard wood digging into her. But eventually there was no position that did not hurt.
Further, she could not lean back for there was nothing behind her. She figured she could tilt backwards until she could reach the floor with her hands. That might take some strain off her bottom, but she was not at all sure that she would be able to lift herself back up.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Tasha began crying.