When they finally left, the princess was exhausted. They'd done everything they could think of to hurt and humiliate her, trying to force her to sign away her right to the throne. She had taken everything, stubbornly refusing to give the usurper the slightest concession, the tiniest scrap of legitimacy.
Of course it was a Pyrrhic victory, for her cousin would take the throne in any case, but given her choices she didn't see any other course of action. Her people deserved no less from their legitimate ruler. If the usurper would rule her kingdom now he would do it with brute force, not with the God given rights of an anointed monarch.
Her great-great-grandfather had wrested this land from the Pictish barbarians who occupied it before, claiming it in the name of Christ Jesus, the Prince of Peace. It had taken fifty years of brutal suppression and mass murder to convince the populace of his right to rule and she was not about to just give it away.
She lay where they'd left her, on a trestle table in her own tower, naked, whip marked and tightly hogtied. Her body was covered with the ejaculations of a half dozen men, her vulva, virgin until yesterday, was dripping with the usurper's semen and stained with her own virgin's blood. Her mouth too was filled with their foul ejaculate, as was her poor, much abused colon.
Still, she felt a kind of pride, thinking back on her night of stubborn resistance. She almost smiled to think of them, six strong, brutal men, armed with restraints, whips, knives, hot irons, and all the devices of her ancestor's dungeon, unable to obtain one young woman's signature.
She wondered if her messenger would make it over the mountains. She wondered if King Robert would come to her rescue as she'd requested or would he simply accept the usurper as the new ruler of her kingdom. The third possibility was that he would attack, taking advantage of her country's internal conflicts to enlarge his own kingdom. She didn't want to think about that, for in her mind the idea of foreign conquest of her land was far worse than her cousin's usurpation. For cousin Eldred was at least of her royal blood, not the baseborn blood of these dark local people, with their barbaric Pictish looks and ways.
She needed to sleep but dared not. Eldred would be back soon and it would all start again.
Before that happened she needed to think, to plan, to find some escape.
Two days ago her father would have been the one responsible for defending the kingdom. But Eldred had changed that with the point of a dagger slid in between his uncle's ribs. Before she'd known what was happening Eldred's hired thugs had overpowered or killed most of her loyal guards. In fact, the only one of her bodyguard she was sure had survived was Captain Hamish himself. She'd seen him being given a large saddlebag of gold and her father's best horse yesterday morning. She assumed he'd sold her out, helping her cousin to grab the crown that rightfully belonged to her. Now he was undoubtedly half way to the North Sea coast, where he could escape the wrath of her friends, if she still had any.
She thought of the ways she'd used to keep the captain loyal, blushing to remember the taste of the big man's ejaculate, the feel of his huge tool plowing her asshole. Just because a princess needs her virginity as a source of power, doesn't mean that she has to remain celibate. She'd first seduced Hamish when she was eighteen, while wearing a semi-chastity belt that protected her hymen while leaving her asshole to fend for itself.
She smiled to remember the sweetness of his tongue going where his big cock could not, the incredible firestorm of lust she'd felt, glad that her daddy had locked her first belt onto her loins after her very first menses.
She'd protested at first. What 13 year old girl needs five pounds of rusty iron locked around her groin? But as soon as she discovered that it made her secret stinky finger games even more exciting, she calmed down a little.
Deprived of the possibility of coitus, the young girl had grown up, keeping the smith busy making them larger every time her hip bones grew a few inches.
She'd fucked her captain often, thinking that he loved and needed her as much as she needed him. She'd thought him simply incapable of betraying her.
Then, as she was being brought up to the tower, her wrists already tied together behind her back, she'd caught a glimpse of him through an arrow slit. He'd been mounting her father's big black Arabian and carrying a set of heavy looking saddle bags.
She was exhausted; her night in the tower had been long, painful and arduous. She closed her eyes, intending only to rest them a few seconds. Soon she was dreaming. It started out as a montage of her seduction of the captain of the guard, scenes of her coquettish ambushes, her sly hints, her brazen hussy-ness in the end, when all else had failed.
Finally, just after her eighteenth birthday, he had taken her to bed, fucking her every way but vaginally. It had come as a delightful surprise to discover the rear hole in her new belt had been left much larger than in her previous belts. When she'd asked her father about it, later, he'd only chuckled and said, "Just so you keep your maidenhead safe, dear, otherwise you are free to do as you please."
She shouldn't have been shocked, everyone in the castle was fucking like rabbits. Both the King and the Queen had stables of lusty lovers. Hell, sometimes they shared, borrowing each other's lovers for variety and spice. Visitors were fucked early and often, sometimes by both the King and Queen at once. Sometimes her mother would have three men at a time, brazenly flouting their sport by calling for service every hour or so.
Why should their daughter be different, except for her damned hymen? The princess didn't care a hoot for her virginity. But her family seemed to think it was their ticket to the big time. For if, on her twenty-first birthday she was still a virgin, she would be married to a nine year old boy who will bring the kingdom of Saxony under her family's power.
She awoke with a painful start, the tight ropes cutting into her bruised flesh. She began thinking about Saxony. Saxony was her only real hope. If rescue were coming from anywhere it would come from there.
But the Lord Protector of Saxony was three hundred miles to the north, fighting Danes. If he came at all it would be too late. At the rate things had gone last night she doesn't expect to live more than a week.
She drifted off again, this time dreaming of her lover's tongue licking, nibbling and suckling her swelling clitoris, until it had swollen down out of the belt, sticking out like a snail's foot, feeling around for more stimulation.
She found the thought of his cock filling her vulva slightly frightening. She knew how big he was, she'd had it up her ass more times than she could count. She found the belt to be exciting, the way it cradled her hips, the implacable lock that kept her inviolate.
She took to holding her wrists crossed behind her back, pretending she was under restraint. She even, in the past few weeks, had begun bringing short lengths of rope to his bed, begging him in the heights of her passion to bind her hands and feet, just to intensify her pleasure.
The night of her father's death she'd been in her lover's bed, naked except for her belt, bound hand and foot. At the first sound of alarm the captain had jumped up, pulled on his robe and rushed out, his sword in hand.
Ten minutes later cousin Eldred stuck his head in the door, a grin twisting his face, the key to her chastity belt in his hand. She knew her father was dead, even before she saw the blood on her cousin's robes. That key had been on a chain around her father's neck.
A very few minutes later she was climbing the tower, still naked, still helpless and no longer a virgin. It was when she saw Hamish riding out the gate, that she realized her mistake.
She'd thought lust was love and so she was betrayed.
The door opened and Eldred the First walked into the room. "We told the people that their beloved King and Princess were murdered by agents of Saxony, and that therefore We are now the King."
The Princess looked up at him, looked over at the hooded axe-man, and said, "Long live the King."