"Put her in irons and then we'll do the rest." That was Lord Aker's order.
Princess Catalina tried to get away, to crawl across the hard dirt floor, but she didn't get very far. The stable lad was the first to reach her. He grabbed an ankle, the better to see her cunt, and the arms master and the barber each took hold of a wrist.
Quickly the surgeon helped the stable lad. He took a firm grasp of her other leg, and the good Lord and her future husband grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back, looking into her eyes. His face very close.
"Look at me!" he ordered. "You still don't understand. You've got no place to go. There's no way out. I could drop you down a well and nobody would ever know, or ever care, what happened to you. You'd simply disappear. You would be gone, forever. No last rites, no final confession, no absolution, You'd be doomed to hell for all eternity. I don't think you want that. Or I can keep you around ... for as long as you amuse me, for as long as you satisfy my wants...for as long as you give me pleasure."
She had never been spoken to like this before, and princess Catalina was clearly terrified. Then he kissed her on the mouth, just before they picked her up and carried her to the bale of hay.
The men must have done this before, with some servant girl or perhaps the wife or daughter of some peasant. It was all very quick and very coordinated.
First they made her kneel at the hay bale. Her knees were in the dirt, her body stretched out across the hay. In that uncomfortable position she was forced to grind her tits and belly into the rough hay, and the more she struggled the more it hurt.
The stable boy held her from behind and she felt his stiff prick against the crack of her ass. She was sure he hadn't bathed since last Easter, and he stank. The other servants were reasonably clean, for whatever it was worth.
They began with the shackles on her wrists, cold heavy iron. There was only one link between the cuffs, and her movement would be severely limited. Later, Princess Catalina realized she would be able to piss, and wipe herself dry. But she would have to beg a peasant woman or, God forbid, the dirty stable boy to wipe her ass every time she needed to perform that particular form of elimination. The ankles cuffs had several lengths of chain on each side.
"Put the cuffs on her ankles for now," her Lord commanded. "We'll join the links when we're finished with her.
They picked her up and turned her over on the bale of hay. The barber held her arms over her head while the others forced princess Catalina to bend her knees. The chains went once around each thigh and small locks were used to hold the chains in place. Then her new husband took control of her arms and the surgeon and the stable boy opened her legs wide.
"Shave her cunt and then under her arms. We'll see if we can guess how many times my blushing bride's been broached. Then the surgeon will inspect her body to make sure she doesn't have a disease, and while he's at it he'll look for the 'witch's mark.' It would be a shame to have to turn this tasty piece of fruit over to the Inquisition."
Princess Catalina almost peed with fright from the mention of the Inquisition. She prayed a silent prayer while slowly, slowly, the barber began to sharpen his razor.
"Please, dear God, don't hurt me."
Princess Catalina hated to beg, and she really wanted to say, "Please, fuck the shit out of me –ream my asshole with that big stiff prick of yours - hurt me with your cock as much as you can."
Lord Aker knew the truth. He could see it in her eyes. Some women never get enough cock - in their mouths or their cunts. Or if they are very special, in their asses. Sometimes they just needed a little bit of encouragement to bring them to that realization.
She was on her back, her arms over her head, her ankles chained tight against her thighs.
"Start under her arms, with the scissors," her future husband, her present Lord, and Master, ordered.
The barber grasped a handful of her underarm hair and pulled it hard.
"Owwwee."
"Sensitive bitch," as he cut the first handful.
Slowly, painfully, he cut the hair from both armpits, pulling the handfuls of hair and chopping it off. Towards the end he laid the scissors on their side and trimmed very close. He nicked her once or twice with the large blades, and finally had to threaten to cut off her nipples if she didn't stop her whining. Princess Catalina was blubbering, besides herself with fear, by the time the first part of the ordeal was over.
"Now her cunt," Lord Aker ordered.
The surgeon and the master at arms held her open, wide open, her knees wide apart with her hairy cunt totally exposed. The stable lad was allowed to watch, his eyes open very wide, as the barber hacked off most of her public hair with the scissors. Then the servants continued to hold her as the barber sharpened his razor, back and forth across the stone, back and forth, back and forth.
"Barber, soap her up." The barber had a bowl of water and a bar of soap straight from the castle kitchen. He wet the dirty rag and rubbed her cunt with it.
"No, please don't."
"Shut up, bitch."
Then the wet bar of soap was rubbed against the stubble of her pubic hair. Princess Catalina tried to squirm but they held her tight. The barber worked the bar back and forth against her stubble until he finally worked up a little foam.
Princess Catalina had never bathed with kitchen soap before. She was a royal princess, used to finer things in life. This soap was not a fine thing. Even on the march, when she was leading troops in battle, she brought along the fine things that gave her pleasure.
This soap did not give her pleasure. It was made from cooking grease and lye – ashes from the hearth, really, and it was formed by a very simple chemical process. It smelled of pig and it only made a slight lather. Worse, it burned her delicate private area.
"Please, it hurts. Wash it off, please."
"When your cunt is as smooth as a newborn baby's bottom."
