Minsk is enjoying her eighteenth birthday. Her friends are there. L.A. and Kyoto, whose birthdays were months ago, are starting to show. Denver, pale, sick, and tired, had hers eight weeks ago. Prague and Madrid have months to wait. Minsk has eaten well of the best the land has to offer and drinks two flagons of ale. Her grass-green dress does little to hide her nubile body. Her long red hair is in pigtails as the ritual demands.
“Right, time to go. Say goodbye to your friends.”
She hugs them in turn. ‘Best of luck’ they all wish her. Father takes her by the hand and leads her to the stone bridge.
“Minsk Stopo,” her father announces to the Major’s clerk. He ticks her off on his list.
“Ok, number 6. Remove your dress and shoes, put them into the basket marked 6, then on to your numbered booth. The guardian will get you installed.”
She kisses her father who pats her rump. “This is your time now.”
He marches off. She flips her shoes into the basket, peels off her flimsy dress, dumps it, and flounces to booth 6.
“Here in good time I see. So let’s get you comfortable.” The guardian fastens a padded leather cuff to each ankle, each with a chain leading under a cleat set in the stone.
“Joe, give me a hand positioning. A position 10, I think.”
He and the guardian from booth seven yank the chains to spread Minsk’s legs wide apart. Padlocks ensure no return. Her guardian adjusts the bar and stocks in front of her.
“Bend forward. Put your head over the large central cut and your wrists in the small ones at the side.” As instructed, she gets into position. He fusses around checking the fit and arranging her hair.
“Any last requests?”
She sniggers. He slides down the top bar to complete the securing, pulls the tightening hasps and locks them in place. Minsk is defenceless. He wanders off to tell the clerk she is ready.
At the other end of the bridge, the twelve men of the Cantons, all chosen for their size and prowess in the rituals, wait to draw a booth. Zeeland draws number 6. His supporter intones, ‘May all your offspring be boys’, the traditional incantation for a starter in the Rite of First Conception. Zeeland swaggers to his place. The guardian approaches to receive the token and a small gold coin.
“Can I check her arousal beforehand?”
The guardian looks at Zeeland’s six feet seven inches and the massive member drooping out of the traditional frontless hose.
“That may be wise.”
Minsk has heard of this position from her friends but the reality is different. She knows she is displayed for a man’s use. The breeze ruffles the ginger hair at her opening and tickles her hardening nipples. Two huge hands rest on her buttocks.
A voice whispers, “I will make this as easy as possible. Don’t scream as I touch you.”
Minsk, on her father’s instruction, had declined the gag. The massive hands engulf her breasts, squeezing and pulling on her nipples. She moans deep in her throat as he torments her tender breasts. One hand moves back to her spread folds and rubs her untouchable. She feels her juices running down the thighs.
He persists until the clerk yells, “Starters, take your places.”
Something like a clenched fist rubs between her folds. It slides up and down making her shiver. Three wipes later, it stops against her small, tight, virgin hole. The clock starts to chime. She knows that on the first stroke of midnight she will become a woman. The hands move to the tops of the thighs.
Bong! A velvet covered fencepost rips into her, shredding her maiden defence and tunnelling in and up. She whistles through her teeth as air is driven out of her. He hits something deep inside of her and she sees stars. As she recovers she feels two grapefruit size cum makers force her thighs further apart and the fence post is all the way in. She hears an ’Ugh’ above the wails and screams from the other booths as he slams against her pelvic bone and clit. She watches stars again. Every nerve in her over-stretched tunnel screams in either pain or pleasure with a counterpoint of ecstasy from her clit and fiendish anticipation drenching her cervix.
“One and I’m all the way in. Now count with me as I extract the pleasures of your womanhood.” The hands reclaim her breasts.
“A thousand should loosen you up.” He pulls out and rams back in.
The same with breast squeezing and nipple rolling. She reaches thirty before orgasming with a shriek and a convulsion of every muscle in her body.
“Good, let’s try that again. 31, 32, 33.”
She builds quicker this time, only getting to fifty. This is the pattern until three hundred and twenty when the fence post hoses her cervix with a lake of cum. She hears the trickle of their juices on the cobbles.
The fence post enters her longer and harder and wider.
“999, 1000.” He fills her again as her muscles grip and spasm. He slides out.
“Must go. There’s a queue forming.”
Her tunnel contracts down for her next fucking. They come and go. She is filled many times but none are like the starter. At 8 AM she is released to her mother and father. The guardian tallies her score.
“She did brilliantly. Forty five men and still a small queue at the end. Mind; her starter took forty five minutes and his juices were gushing out of her.”
Her parents wash, groom and feed her. She sleeps immediately.
She wakes late, in time to eat, drink and bathe before she is taken out to the local woman servicing point. It is much more basic. Legs tied to cleats in the ground and two smooth wooden bars, one to bend over with the other to tie her to. Her father and brother soon have her lashed securely. The ritual continues. Her father has one hour to teach her mouth work on his erect cock. Warm, wet, mobile and accommodating, she’s a natural. The end of his hour comes far too soon. Her brother now opens her tight rosebud. He is gentle but firm as she is opened to the pleasures therein. She learns to grip and relax; squeeze and massage. Despite the taboo, he comes in her just before the hour is up.
Minsk is left alone for the next hour, ostensibly to be used by any man who wants her, but tradition states she is not to be touched. Her mind wanders to thoughts of the velvet covered fence post in her mouth and ass. She shudders but is aroused. She opens her mouth as if to welcome it. A piece of cloth is forced in and before she recovers from the surprise, a large wooden ball is wedged behind her teeth. A strap is fastened under her hair and her scream becomes a tired whiffle. A blindfold follows. She is parted from the frame, her hands and ankles tied and she hears the clink of coins on the ground. She is dumped on a pile of furs in a leather bag that smell of horse; helpless but comfortable. At regular intervals, she is taken out to relieve herself and given a drink. Each night, she is ungagged, unbound, fed and watered all the time with her blindfold on. She understands not to remove it. She is rebound and sleeps in the warmth of furs and her captor. She burrows into the niche.
After five days, as the end of the daylight approaches, the saddlebag is unslung. She bounces as her captor bounds up and down flights of stairs, but he puts her down gently. She hears whispered commands. Soft small hands direct her. She is released but still blindfolded. Perfumed water and soaps clean her. Emollient creams are worked into her skin.
“Keep your eyes shut.” The gag and blindfold go. Her hair is washed and treated. Mobile fingers cleanse and perfect her face. She is back to her natural state. A fresh blindfold of the finest silk is tied over her eyes. The small hands lead her into an echoing room full of warm air. She feels the heat of sunlight on her skin. Soft leather wristlets and anklets are locked on before she is spread by tightening chains. She is left alone.
Zeeland escorts his father to the old chapel. He touches a finger to his lips. The older man’s eyes go large and he bulges in the groin. They look at the stunning redhead displayed below. He pushes a button and she rotates slowly; the sunlight spotlighting her every curve, protrusion and fold. She circles several times then he stops her. The two men go back to the library.
“She’s beautiful. Where did you get her?”
“She’s the one I was starter for. She took me all the way and came many times. I came four. I feel she already has my child growing inside her.”
“What do you want to do with her?”
“I want her as my wife and slave; like mother.”
“You want her to become queen?”
“Let me see you fuck her. She seems too small and delicate to take your massive cock.”
They leave the library and pad back to the chapel. She shifts slightly as she hears them. Zeeland’s hose hit the floor as his hands comes from behind to grope her breasts and stretch her nipples. She is wet within seconds. Five days of being helpless and close to virility has left her more than ready. She growls deep in her throat and pushes against him. His fingers dip into her juices. He circles to face her, bends his knees and irresistibly drives his manhood into her, ball deep and hard against her sensitive clit.
She hears him call. ”See.”
She does not see his father nod. He flips off her blindfold. As her eyes adjust to the light she sees a massive chest leading to a thick neck and noble head. His hair is brown, sleek as velvet. He smiles with all his face which makes him unbearably handsome. He kisses her tenderly then speaks in his deep growl.
“Minsk Stobo, will you be my wife and slave?”
She looks into his eyes looking for the lies but sees only truth. She ponders what he has said. She would have expected such a proposal in a romantic setting, him on one knee and offering her a ring; not in a dungeon with her chained to immobility and his cock deep in her pussy. He must be sincere as he could have her as and when he wanted.
“Yes, Master,” she replies.
He beams, withdraws his cock, and rams it back in. She grunts. “Now count with me to a thousand.”
It is better when she can see his eyes. The lust she sees in his face is a great aphrodisiac. He fucks himself to a standstill but his cock wants more. He releases her and drives her onto his cock from above. She bounces on him while he plays erotic tunes on her breasts. Eventually, they collapse; spent.
“Is my master pleased?”
“You are all I’ll ever need.”
Over the coming weeks, she spends much of her time as a lady; the fiancée of the crown prince. But, just occasionally, he takes her to his dungeon and acquaints her with its tortures and pleasures. Each time they count to a thousand. He continues this even when they know she is with child.
At the end of the eighth week there is a great wedding of royal proportions. All her family and friends, the royalty of both kingdoms are present to witness the perfect fairy tale princess.
Later, before the banquet starts, another ceremony takes place in his dungeon. She in slave position, naked at his feet. He reads her the agreement to her slavery. And she signs. Her pink tongue shows. Her chest heaves. Her nipples harden and juices flow. He puts a silver slave collar on her and promises to explore her mouth and ass after the banquet.
“I’ve decided to tighten your corset tonight so you don’t eat too much before I stretch your ass.”
Zeeland and Minsk live long and productive lives of many pleasures and children from their long reign. They still count to a thousand even in old age; but more slowly.
Copyright© 2015 by Doc49. All rights reserved.
I welcome your comments. Email me at Patandjerry49@gmail.com