Noble Intent

"No...no...no...no..."

The noblewoman sighed, waving her fan in an effort to offset the heat of the stuffy cargo room. The lace on the ends alone was enough to buy the entire district and still have enough left over for a carriage ride back to the castle--if she were charged for it. And the castle was exactly where she wished she was right now, instead of this dreary, lightless corner of the world.

She milled past, the merchant shaken to his core. The rich woman was displeased. And bored. Two things that made royalty very scary to be around. When the woman of means had stepped into his humble shop, he'd been terrified, worried that he'd lose either his store or his head before the day was over. Instead, she'd stated she was seeking an 'acquisition.'

He knew exactly what she met, and had led her into the basement, down a dank and dinky-lit corridor to a hidden room, where waited his 'other' stock.

People looked out from the iron bars of various cells. They were silent, their hopes of freedom long dashed, resting in their chains as she sauntered by, regarding them as one might a tray or cup someone had left out.

"Your selection is...lacking." she stated simply, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I would think with all the effort a slaver must put in to keep their business secret and lucrative, you'd have better supply."

"A thousand apologies, Your Highness." squeaked the shopkeep. "B-Business has been slow since the embargo, a-and with a more focused view on protecting trade--"

"Bored." The noble yawned, continuing to fan herself. "You bore me. Your fear bores me. And your selection bores--"

"HELP!"

The noble quirked an eyebrow as a figure slammed against the bars. A young man in slave rags, shackles around his hands and feet. There was wild desperation in his eyes as he gripped the bars, looking up at the noblewoman. "Please, help! You have to get me--"

"Back, you cur!" The slaver slammed his fist against the cage, the young man refusing to budge. "I

said

ba--"

The noblewoman brushed the slaver's hand aside with her fan as she approached the bars. She regarded the man, taking him in. Young. Fairly fit, despite his situation. Wild hair. He glared up at her, defiance etched into his face.

She smiled. "This one."

"B-Beg pardon, Your Highness?"

Pointing her fan at the youth, she repeated "This one."

"Y-Your Highness, that boy is an uncouth lout! He knows not his place--!"

The royal stomped her foot, the echo of her heel ringing. "Clearly, neither do

you

. I gave you an order. You are to execute it, and there is to be nothing said from you further, apart from 'Yes, Your Highness.' Is that clear?"

"Y...Yes, Your Highness."

"Good."

-/-/-/-/-

The princess eyed him up and down, wrinkling her nose at the sight. "He's...a bit scrawny."

"Yes, well, time spent in a slaver's dungeon feasting on scraps will do that." the queen remarked. "I've already talked to the cooks and instituted a meal plan for him, so you needn't worry."

"And he'll do whatever I say?"

The queen smiled and tapped the collar on the man's neck, bluebell runes glowing, matching the ones on his shackles. "Any command at all."

Squealing, the princess leapt from her chair and wrapped her mother in a hug. "Oh, thank you, thank you! This is a lovely present, mother!"

"Enjoy yourself, dear. Send one of the maids if you have need of me." She then left the princess and her new 'toy' alone.

The young man's mind was in a daze. Surely this had to be a dream. Or some kind of twisted nightmare. From being snatched by raiders from his village, to being shut in a slaver's dungeon, and now before a smug-looking princess who he'd been sold to as some kind of depraved gift from the queen.

It was all too sudden, too bizarre to be real. Was his lot in life truly that bad?

The princess clapped her hands, pulling him from his pondering. "Alright, you! I want you to get on your knees and pull off my heels."

He wanted to do nothing of the sort, but his restraints glowed, compelling him to obey. No matter how much he tried to resist, he found himself kneeling down and gripping one of the princess' heels, gently pulling it off to reveal a cream-colored foot with a bright pink, blushing sole. Even as she giggled impishly, he removed the other, setting the footwear aside.

"Ooh, you really

do

do as you're told! Then...sniff one of my heels!"

"W-WHAT!?" he exclaimed, but his hands were already moving. "No, no! I don't want to do this!"

"That's the fun part," the princess giggled. "It doesn't matter that you don't; those spells don't care what you want, only what

I

want!"

The young man grimaced as, completely against his will, he pressed the heel against his nose. He expected a royal woman to have clean-smelling feet, and saw that as his one saving grace, but his hopes were dashed as the scent of aged cheese and shoe leather filled his nostrils. He wanted to cough and pull away, but the spell wouldn't let him, only allowing him to sniff.

"Ooh, that doesn't look pleasant. Which I shouldn't be surprised by. After all, I've been wearing those heels for quite a few weeks now. A bit of a bet going on with some friends of mine."

He didn't care what she had to say about who; all he wanted was for this to end. He almost--

almost

missed his cell.

After a few more minutes of forced sniffing, she broke the command, allowing him to take in deep breaths of cleaner air. But just before he could get acclimated, she said "Sniff my feet!"

He exerted every ounce of willpower he had, tried his damndest to resist, but it was futile. His body moved as though it were his truest desire and nothing would stop him. His hands gripped her ankles, his face moved towards her soles. "No, no, nooo!"

His nose pressed against her soles. They were plush and soft, befitting that of an idle rich, but the smell...that same scent of aged cheddar, but more powerful, more pungent. One would've never guessed upon looking, but if they got close enough...

His eyes welled up with tears as he sniffed, the smell winding its way into his nose until it was practically filling up his brain. He'd do anything to avoid this torment, to forget this mind-melting stench. A cruel twist of irony, given that he was forced to do anything.

"Hehehe...I love this...normally, I'd have to order a peasant like you to do this sort of thing, maybe threaten you. But I don't really like doing that. This is much more...diplomatic."

She was a sadist, through and through, but her next command cemented just how twisted she really was. "Lick my feet!"

This time he didn't even have the energy to protest. Not that it would've done him much good. He resigned himself to his fate as he stuck his tongue out, starting from her heels and moving up her smooth soles. The taste was salty and sweaty, especially between her toes, where she demanded he lick between each and every one. The smell alone had him feeling as though his ego was steaming out of his ears, but compounded with the taste, he could feel even the freedom of his thoughts slipping away.

'This...is awful...her feet stink so much, but she's making me sniff and acting like she's doing me a favor...gods help me and end this torture...'

"It's settled." the princess spoke, clapping her hands again. "You're going to be my permanent footslave. This'll be so much fun! You'll sniff my heels every day, lick and sniff my feet whenever I want, I'm so happy! I'd ask if you're happy, too, but..."

She ground her feet into his face, swooning at the sight of his despair as he continued licking at her command.

"I don't really care."

[END]