 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 3 – Traitoress
On the raised podium for the defendant, facing the crowd, hands clasped together in front of her, the Duchess stood quietly. She had no choice. Her cone shaped hat with its attached filmy veil had been removed. A Scold's Bridle had been fitted over her head and locked in place to ensure her silence. A metal cage encasing her head with a thick spiked bar protruding into her mouth from the front, the Bridle encouraged her to keep her mouth wide open. The long sharp spikes lining the inside of the metal cage pointing at her head kept her stock-still. The metal chain fastening the top of the bridle to a pulley on the ceiling kept her standing tall and straight, chest up, tits out. Seated on her raised throne, Queen Rowena eyed the Duchess intently.
"Crank her up higher! I want the insolent Duchess on tiptoe."
The metal chain was winched tighter. The Duchess desperately went up on tiptoe to avoid the spikes as the spiked cage encasing her pretty little head was tugged upwards.
"Strip her!"
The guards hastened to obey. Afraid that the smallest twitch would rip open her face on the spikes, the Duchess did nothing to resist. Her gold and silver jewellery with its large precious stones was removed with some reverence. The Duchess stood very still indeed as the guards untied the decorative cord holding her fur lined cloak over her shoulders. Her jewelled belt was unbuckled. The grinning guards helped her out of her elegant long woollen gown with its embroidered neck and fashionably long sleeves that could touch the ground. Rough male hands unlaced her fine linen underwear and pulled off her finely tooled leather shoes. In short order, the Duchess was showing everyone in the courtroom what she had to offer. Smooth milky white skin, shapely legs, a flat belly, full breasts, tight buns, dark red nipples and the fact that she dyed her naturally black hair red with henna were all embarrassingly obvious. An arm belatedly placed across her nipples and a small hand cupped protectively between her legs did little to hide her charms.
Queen Rowena waxed poetic as the naked Duchess pranced prettily on tiptoe before the crowd, blushing right down to her nipples.
"You stand before the Queen's justice like a newborn babe. Naked and helpless you come into the world. Naked and helpless you stand before Justice. Your Queen will decide your fate."
Queen Rowena's words were chilling.
"You are charged with Treason most foul. The punishment is death by dismemberment. How plead you? If you plead guilty, cover your breasts and genitals. If innocent, turn your back to the crowd and reach behind you with both hands. Put a hand on either cheek and spread them wide so all may see your anus, showing everyone that you have nothing to hide."
Slowly, reluctantly, the Duchess dropped her hands. Her blush deepened, spreading down to the top of her line of her black pubic hair, as grinning men nudged each other and sniggered. The women tittered as she carefully turned around and parted her dimpled buttocks to catcalls and derisive applause, exposing her wrinkled rectum to the crowd. The Queen was indulgent.
"It looks like the Duchess could take a little more care in wiping herself after a bowel movement, but her plea of Not Guilty is duly noted."
Coarse laughs greeted this sally.
Belial, the mastiff trotted up. A huge, powerfully built dog, used in bull baiting, bear baiting and dog fights, it commanded enormous respect. Actually, when he wasn't fighting bulls and bears or ripping some other dog to shreds, he was a good family dog. A popular favourite in the fights to the death that were the brutal entertainments of the day, Belial mugged amiably for his many fans and admirers. The crowd laughed as the large dog sniffed the exposed crotch of the Duchess. She squealed frantically as it stuck its cold wet nose against her exposed anus. Excitedly, he jumped up and began humping her bare leg. Drooling over her tits, he spurted doggy cum over her naked thigh. The handlers gently removed him after he lost interest in his new love object and hopped down, giving her nipples a quick lick in the process. Queen Rowena chortled merrily, patting the huge dog affectionately on the head.
"That's the same dog that will gulp down the bits and pieces the executioner carves off, if you are found guilty. He seems to like you already!"
After the toadying laughter died down, the Queen got down to business.
"If guilty, your lying tongue's protestations are worthless and, even worse, deliberately misleading."
Queen Rowena raised her eyes piously skywards.
"If innocent, the good Lord will protect you. The defendant is therefore forcibly kept mute lest a lying tongue corrupt the gullible."
Rowena stared closely at the naked beauty, whose calves were trembling from the unaccustomed exertion. Small trickles of blood flowed where spikes had pricked her pretty face. Rowena's eyes narrowed to cruel slits.
"Since the Lord protects the innocent, we will have a trial by ordeal."
She nodded briskly at the guards.
"Allow her heels to touch the floor."
The Duchess looked relieved as the Bridle was lowered.
"If the Defendant refuses to submit to a Trial by Ordeal, she should cover herself with her hands. If she is full and open, she should spread her legs wide, reach between them with both hands and part her genital lips as widely as possible with her fingers, signifying her receptiveness and complete openness."
Refusing the Trial by Ordeal was an instant admission of guilt and lead automatically to being gutted like a fish in front of an interested, though hardly sympathetic audience. The Duchess slowly reached between her legs. She took an enchantingly deep breath that lifted her tits nicely, brazenly spread her legs, parted her slit with both hands and showed the crowd a flash of gash.
"Bring forward The Harridan's Horse."
An object resembling a heavy wooden sawhorse on wheels was wheeled out. Each wheel was off-centre on its axle, causing the horse to bob up and down and from side to side as it was wheeled before the Queen. The feature that gripped everyone's attention was the polished wooden dildo mounted on top. Staring at the wooden dildo, the eyes of the Duchess widened as she recognized it as a faithful reproduction of the late Duke's member, an exact replica right down to the small sword scar running down the side. The only difference was a matter of size. The late Duke hadn't been quite so large (at least, the Duchess had never managed to inflate him that much). She stared dumbfounded at the Queen, who winked slyly at her.
"Duchess Merriweather! An august person of your stature would not be here, naked before the court, unless the most credible accusations of treasonable behaviour had been made."
The widowed Duchess, whose major crime was spurning, as gently as possible, the lewd lesbian advances of her Queen, remained silent and still, contemplating the error of her ways. Lady Charlotte and the other ladies-in-waiting, imperial muff divers all, smirked knowingly as Rowena instructed the Duchess.
"The Bridle will be removed. You must maintain a strict and complete silence. The smallest protestation will force me to have your tongue removed to prevent your lies from influencing the credulous and will, furthermore, be construed as a confession of guilt."
The Queen liked to encourage correct behaviour.
"Comport yourself like a noblewoman, co-operate fully, maintain a dignified silence, prove your innocence in the ordeal to come as you ride the Harridan's Horse and all will be well."
The Duchess wondered how much dignity she could bring to straddling a dildo, stark naked, in front of a sniggering ribald crowd. The cruel-eyed Queen graciously allowed the Duchess a small mercy.
"In recognition of your position, and as a personal favour, I order the member to be anointed with pig's blood to ease its entry as you saddle up."
The hated bridle was removed. The Duchess watched with visible distaste as a flagon of dark red pig's blood was poured over the dildo. The Queen raised an admonitory finger.
"Remember: silence, dignity and complete co-operation are what your Queen requires of you."
Without further ado, a soldier on either side of her gripped a milky white arm and lifted her by the armpits. The Duchess was hoisted high into the air over the horse. Her thighs were parted. She shuddered violently as she felt the cool, dripping member, slimy with coagulating pig's blood, slip inside her. Her feet were bent back and her ankles cuffed to the back legs of the Horse.
The Queen, who had been standing with her ear cocked conspicuously, was satisfied at the absolute silence of the ashen-faced Duchess as her fuckhole was spread wide and penetrated deeply. Everyone watched in helpful silence so that her smallest moan would have been audible. After the Duchess had settled in, and her dainty ankles strapped in place, the Queen squeezed her trembling thigh encouragingly.
"Well done, Duchess! Sit up straight. Clasp your hands together behind your head and pull your elbows back."
The ample breasts of the Duchess lifted delightfully, swaying majestically as she obeyed. The Queen clapped her hands commandingly.
"Gwendolyn!"
Princess Gwendolyn, cleaned up, her hair coiffed, her pretty face carefully made up, clad in her royal finery, a diamond tiara on her head, stepped forward nervously. A roomful of men who had enjoyed her unwilling favours nudged each other and smirked as a visibly terrified Princess Gwendolyn curtsied respectfully.
"Yes, my Queen!"
"You have generously 'volunteered' to assist in the Trial by Ordeal."
Poor Gwendolyn was thoroughly cored. Since being kidnapped to prevent her marrying to form an alliance between enemies of Queen Rowena, the fair Gwendolyn had been fucked over and abused thoroughly. Her hated stepmother, Queen Morgana, had assisted in the kidnapping, glad to be rid of a serious rival who had the ear of the King.
Lovely Gwendolyn was a very different woman from the haughty, indignant beauty who had arrived at Rowena's castle, squirming in a sack. A letter, thoughtfully forged by Queen Rowena with many thoughtful contributions by her stepmother, had caused her outraged and deeply embarrassed father to disown her, thinking his foolish daughter had eloped with a lowly stable boy rather than marry elderly King Ethelred for the good of the kingdom (elderly in this Dark Age meant that Ethelred was in his mid-thirties).
Gwendolyn had never met King Ethelred, her intended betrothed. She had heard of the utterly depraved methods he used to deal with his enemies. She rather desperately hoped that he was one of those men who showed a hard side to the world and a soft side for his immediate family. She loved her father and, like all realistic princesses, was resigned to sacrificing herself for the good of her people. After all, King Ethelred had already reached the ripe old age of thirty-three. How much longer could he last?
Her stepmother had cleverly defended her when she supposedly 'ran away' rather than perform her diplomatic purpose in life. Her father, the King, a strong-handed, simple-minded warrior, had majestically over-ridden Queen Morgana's foolish, 'womanly' objections. She was a delightfully seductive Queen, but the deeper statesmanship was obviously beyond her. It needed a man to make the hard decisions.
Princess Gwendolyn, who since her arrival had been publicly stripped and whipped, slapped and strapped, and thoroughly raped over by teams of drooling perverts, was quaking nicely. The fresh young woman who had arrived squirming in a sack was now visibly older, shabbier, dirtier and sluttier.
"I will do whatever you command, my Queen!"
Queen Rowena grinned.
"Your loyalty is to be commended! Few decent, respectable women would have agreed to assist in this way."
"I exist solely to serve you, my Queen!"
Rowena glanced over the crowd of rapists knowingly.
"It seems to me that you've both served and serviced a great many others."
The men chuckled appreciatively while Gwendolyn blushed prettily, stammering apologetically.
"I-I-I meant that I serve you before all others, my Queen!"
The Queen gripped Princess Gwendolyn's upper arm and was gratified to feel the young beauty quivering tremulously. She spoke very sweetly and soothingly.
"Why don't you show everyone your royal contribution to the trial of the Duchess, my dear?"
Princess Gwendolyn pulled her long gown up high above her waist, exposing her fine linen underwear. She untied the drawstring and dropped her drawers, exposing her beautifully rounded royal posterior. A grimacing servant held a silver tray with a fine china plate on it under her bum as she squatted down and began straining to excrete her 'contribution' while everyone watched. A fat, juicy turd slithered out of the royal rectum. The crowd applauded, hooting derisively as the red-faced Princess carefully wiped her bum, seeking to avoid any criticism from the Queen for lack of diligence. The servant placed the engraved silver tray with its steaming, fresh brown sausage on a small table in front of the Duchess. Gwendolyn pulled up her drawers, tied the drawstring and dropped her embroidered gown once more. Tears glistened in her eyes, but the young princess was hugely relieved at having performed adequately. The clearly spelled out consequences of failure didn't bear thinking about.
The Queen was patronising.
"Good breeding tells. Her mother was a shameless foreign hussy! Like mother, like daughter. Isn't that right, Gwendolyn dear?"
"Yes, my Queen!"
Rowena turned to the Duchess, who was staring wild-eyed at the fat royal turd placed in front of her.
"My challenge to you is quite simple, Duchess Merriweather. You eat every particle of Gwendolyn's excrement and lick the bowl clean afterwards. If you throw up, you throw up into the bowl. You have fifteen minutes to consume it all and lick the bowl clean. You must keep it down for an hour afterwards while you silently ride the Harridan's Horse for the edification of the court. If you fail in any respect, we'll start by slicing off your nipples and feeding them to the dog, since he had a taste of them earlier."
Duchess Merriweather, a proud woman with a notoriously weak stomach, looked ill. The Queen sat down next to the naked beauty, picked up a silver spoon and scooped up a large helping.
"Open wide!"
The Duchess opened. Rowena placed the warm turd on the tongue of the Duchess. A helpful lackey turned over a small hourglass to count the time. The reeking stench assailed her nostrils. The crowd made noises reflecting their sickened disgust and watched avidly.
"Chew!"
Her watering eyes bulged as the Duchess closed her mouth. Gagging and retching, she struggled to obey. For the next 14 minutes, she repeatedly vomited and licked up the foul excreta. Rowena was encouraging.
"It looks like you're going to lose your clit and nips in one minute if you can't keep it down this time."
Duchess Merriweather slurped up every brown drop from the bowl, resolutely clamped her lips shut and swallowed convulsively, eyes watering, snot dribbling from her nose. Doggedly, she kept it down as the last trickle of sand ran out of the 15-minute hourglass. The Queen was visibly pleased as she contemplated the red-faced, hard-panting beauty.
"Excellent! Now for your horsy ride!"
Her ankles were uncuffed from the back legs of the Horse. She placed her bare feet in two stirrups that dangled down from the crossbeam in front of her. The Queen's cruel eyes slitted with pleasure.
"Your challenge is to stay on the horse and keep down your yummy meal for the next hour. Remember, if you touch the Horse with your hands to steady yourself, you are guilty. If you vomit, you are guilty. If you fall off the Horse, you are guilty. If you make the smallest sound, you are guilty."
The Queen smiled sweetly.
"In other words, all you have to do is behave with the silent dignity and proper decorum that befits a Lady of your elevated station and all will be well!"
A much larger hourglass was turned over and the Duchess began a long hard-humping ride.
The four wheels of the horse weren't even close to being centred on their hubs. As a team of oxen led by the Queen's torture master tugged hard on the ropes to pull the horse around the courtyard circling the crowd, it lurched and bobbed violently, swaying from side to side and back to front like a bucking bronco. Duchess Merriweather's big bare breasts lurched and bobbed violently too, reflecting every jiggle and shudder of the Harridan's Horse over the rough cobblestones of the courtyard. Lips pressed firmly shut, her knees gripped the crossbeam between her legs determinedly as she clamped her cunt tightly onto the thick dildo sliding obscenely up and down between her pale parted thighs. She kept her hands clasped firmly atop her head to prevent any accusation that she had inadvertently touched the Horse as it bucked violently between her legs.
Sweat soon covered her shuddering, juddering torso. The blood between her legs wasn't all pig's blood as the hour wore on and the dildo sawed in and out brutally, despite her efforts to keep her cuntlips kissing the crossbeam at all times. Every vein and artery stood out, throbbing hard, in her beet red face.
Despite the best efforts of the torture master, his team of oxen jerking the Harridan's Horse in agonisingly violent fits and starts, a grim-faced Duchess Merriweather stayed the course. The last trickle of sand trickled through the hourglass and the oxen stopped. The Queen slapped Duchess Merriweather's sweat-slick rump approvingly.
"Believe me, I'm glad that you have passed this Ordeal so that you can continue to serve your Queen!"
Her eyes flickered down to the crotch of the Duchess Merriweather in a small, but to the Duchess, a very significant way.
"You may speak now! I would hate to be forced to repeat this exercise. Tell me, are you eager to serve your Queen in every way?"
The ashen-faced Duchess nodded submissively, understanding completely, knowing she couldn't possibly survive this a second time.
"I will do anything my Queen requires."
A cloak was placed over her shoulders to cover her nakedness. She was gently lifted from the horse, the thick blood-slick dildo slipping out from between her legs. As she stood, bright red blood trickling from her swollen, burning cunt down the inside of her thighs, she had a simple, but slightly malicious question for her Queen. She didn't want to be the only one to suffer.
"May I know my false accuser?"
Queen Rowena glanced at Princess Gwendolyn in a way that the crowd could not mistake.
"Don't worry. I'll discipline her."
Gwendolyn paled, hysterically protesting her innocence as the guards hustled her off.
|
|
|