The Captain of the Guard has lived in the castle most of his life, yet never set foot in this room, sealed for years before the new regime took over. He is hanging upside down, stripped bare, his legs tightly-roped, arms bound behind him. A small open window seems to mock his imprisonment, a night sky brimming with stars just beyond it.
The blood is rushing to his head and now comes the clop of approaching footsteps from the nearby hall - Clarissa's boots, the Queen's torturer and occasional lover. A woman who has treated him like a rival since the Queen appointed her, three long years ago.
Things were not always this way, the kingdom had been a happy place before the current young Queen and the Captain had been one of its most decorated soldiers. (Some would say most decorated but the Captain detested self-admiration.) Now it seems certain his lean, battle-hardened frame belongs to a condemned man. He may not be killed tonight, no there is most likely too much enjoyment for Clarissa to gain from his humiliation, but his fate is still sealed.
With a CLANG, the heavy cell door opens and Clarissa's muscled legs come into his view. He hears her low breathing, deviant and sexual. She greets him in a throaty voice, the sick pleasure contained in it makes his head burn hotter.
But he cannot be angry any more, he has become too weary. A deep, three year long tiredness since the death of the great older Queen, the flight of her chosen successor and induction of the Queen's corrupt daughter. He thinks on this as Clarissa stands before him now, her muscled frame filling out an animal-hide corset and loincloth. And he realizes she has dressed up for him, hates him this much. She will extend his torture as long as she can, dominate and humiliate him. Clarissa runs her hand (up) from his shoulders to broad chest and past his flat stomach. Then, stopping at his cock, she takes it in a firm grip, she brushes it like a favorite pet. "I knew I would get you in here eventually, Captain. Every inch of you belongs to me now."
The Captain hears an odd whistling sound and realizes she holds one of her many torture instruments an instant before his buttocks are whipped, hard. He almost cries out but holds his cry. Hears the exhale of his torturer as she doubles her efforts, bringing the whistling lash down again and again.
The Captain tries to think of something else. And he finds there is one thing he can focus on, only one, he lets his mind drift to it. To her. To the reason he is in this situation with - oddly - little regret.
------
A mere three hours earlier, the Captain stood outside the Great Hall in full military dress. The uniform had a centuries old design, ribbons of color each with their own symbolic significance, three dozen medals representing different battles where he had served the kingdom. The collar was tight on his neck but he gave no sign, waiting for Clarissa's personal bodyguards to allow him inside. In the past the guards would have been under his command but again, much had changed.
The doors opened revealing the opulent throne room of the Queen, though any view of her was blocked by Clarissa, standing in his way. Even Clarissa's clothes were a contrast to his, dark and sheer. Clarissa sized him up as she always had, then turned and motioned for him to follow. At the center of the Great Hall sat the Queen, barely twenty years old, drinking port with red-stained lips. She was lean and severe-looking, a young woman too slothful to toil yet too paranoid to rest. Cruel, calculating and forever unsatisfied, if Clarissa was the muscle, the Queen was the mind.
A coarse-grained horse blanket lay on the ground at the Queen's feet. The Captain had been summoned here but he would let the Queen tell him the reason when she was ready. He felt it was not proper nor his place that he should ask. Finally the Queen shouted drunkenly, "At ease, Captain, relax!"
He nodded but did not slacken his posture. She continued "A big day, historic day." She snorted a laugh, port wine coughing up through her lips. Then she reached down toward that covering on the floor and yanked it off.
A stunningly beautiful young woman was revealed, crouched in a fetal position. She was roughly the same age as the Queen, bound and gagged, meeting no one's eyes, still determined to hold on to what dignity she could. Even the Captain, a veteran of war and strife, was moved by her plight.
Her (he couldn't even think of the woman as a simple prisoner any longer) once elegant clothes were covered in mud, as if she had been dragged through it. The Queen voiced surprise, "Captain, don't tell me you don't recognize our guest?" At this, Clarissa stepped forward and roughly yanked the prisoner's face up. The Captain knew her then. This was Rachel, the Old Queen's choice for successor. And some would say, the rightful heir to the throne.
But such thoughts were forbidden. Though the Old Queen had decreed Rachel over her own daughter, protocol had not been followed and the Queen had died amid a looming civil war over the outcome. The Captain loved the old Queen but he had followed orders, helping to place her daughter while Rachel had been forced to flee the country under cover of night. Apparently, for the young Queen and Clarissa, exile had not been punishment enough.
"Strip her." The Queen's order was directed to Clarissa who answered that it would be her pleasure. Every stitch of Rachel's muddy clothes were quickly ripped and then cut from her body. Totally exposed now, her nude form resembled a fine work of art - pert and full breasts, a flat stomach and though she wasn't especially tall, long shapely legs. The girl was slim but had lean strong muscles and the Captain didn't doubt she could put up a fight if given the chance.
