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PRINCESS GWENDOLYN
in
THE CASTLE OF PAIN
By Llabmik
Chapter 1 - The Sweat Box
The naked blond princess squatted inside the iron sweatbox, her pale flesh cooking in the broiling sun. The heavy hot box sat in the centre of the deserted, sun-blasted courtyard of Queen Rowena's Counterpane Castle (affectionately known as The Castle of Pain to it's inmates). Waves of heat shimmered up from the surfaces of the black box.
Inside the sweatbox, the air was as wet as sweat soup. Hands bound behind her back, Princess Gwendolyn huddled in a ball, squatting hunched over, head between her knees, in the centre of the dark, airless container, carefully keeping her bare skin from touching the scorching metal of the box. Her spine screamed in pain, but given a choice between agonizing back pain and having her lily-white skin fried to a crisp, she chose the back pain.
Sweat welled up from every pore of her nude body. Her whip-welted buttocks were as oily as her high forehead. Sweat plastered her flowing golden tresses to her head and back. Sweat poured through her fine blond eyebrows, stinging her beautiful blue eyes. A rivulet of sweat ran down the valley of her sternum, channelling down the crack of her ass and running in a warm river over her cuntlips. Sweat slid in gathering beads down her ribs, over her flat belly and into her pubic hair. Sweat dripped from her nipples. Sweat trickled down her inner thighs. The intense heat leached her of all energy, enervating her to the level of a torpid turtle. After a while, her beet-red skin stopped sweating as her body reached a more advanced level of dehydration. Inside the burning metal box, her boiling brains were coddling in the fluids of her skull.
At high noon, a lone guard carried a bucket of piss water to the black sweatbox, which shimmered in the heat radiating from its surface. He opened the small iron grating and scooped out a ladleful to generously allow the parched princess to gulp down as much piss water as she liked. The guards, and indeed the Queen herself, had all donated generously. It had been boiled down until it achieved a dark yellow colour to concentrate its essence and render it tastier. In these circumstances, pee soup is best served hot.
Her sandpaper dry throat and deep-fried brains prevented Princess Gwendolyn from questioning the dubious provenance of the dark yellow soup. The sniggering guard wasn't volunteering any information as he held the ladle of stale-smelling, brackish liquid to her paper-dry lips. Her heat-basted body wasn't really functioning beyond an overwhelming need for liquid replenishment.
Squatting like a toad, poor dehydrated Gwendolyn sipped gratefully at the putrid liquid. Highbred grace wasn't an option. When the first ladleful was empty, she shamelessly abandoned any pretence of gentility. Her pink tongue flickered out to lick greedily at the last small golden drops at the bottom of the ladle. The guard helpfully moved the scoop of the ladle so that she could tongue it thoroughly, inside and out, generously allowing her to lick up every bit of urinary goodness.
Her parched throat opened up, watered back to life by the brackish fluid. Her bloodshot blue eyes fixed obsessively on the bucket of life-giving liquid as the guard swirled the ladle around in it suggestively, lifting a scoopful and pouring it back into the bucket, tantalizing her bloodshot eyes with the sight of the dirty yellow liquid and bewitching her ears with the splash. She begged prettily for more, her voice croaking and cracking roughly. The Princess hoarsely expressed her thanks as the guard, at last, held the ladle up to her lips to graciously allow her to slurp up a second scoopful of pee soup.
Her skin began to develop an oily sheen as she resumed sweating heavily. The liquid allowed her cramped constipated bowels to move once again and she painfully evacuated hard, raspy turds in a humiliating fanfare of farts. Even for the coarse age she lived in, Princess Gwendolyn had developed a powerful body odour. The combined stench of urine, sweat, farts and shit choked the air around the sweatbox.
The smirking guard wrinkled his nose in distaste, looking down his nose disdainfully at the squatting fetid princess. He worked silently, saying nothing as he slowly, teasingly filled her belly with urine, making her beg for each life giving scoopful. Only the Queen, her principal tormentor, was permitted to actually talk to the Princess. Everyone else rewarded her desperate queries and frantic pleadings with a stony silence.
Queen Rowena watched the performance from a second story window looking down on the courtyard. She spoke derisively to her lady-in-waiting.
"The highborn bitch absorbs urine like a dry sponge."
Lady Charlotte, lady-in-waiting and muff-diver extraordinaire, curtsied respectfully.
"She probably is very much drier than an ordinary dry sponge, your majesty. You have sweated her thoroughly."
Rowena nodded serenely.
"Gwendolyn needed to drop a few pounds anyway. Her lily white skin will be lobster red by the end of the day."
The lady-in-waiting was warmly supportive.
"She was far too pale, your majesty."
"I've arranged for some vigorous exercise for her this evening."
"An excessively delicate female, she will be the better for it, your majesty."
They giggled together.
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