Castle Slave Ep 03 True Servant

As a harlot - a Rose Girl, by any other name - I never had the luxury of choosing who used me, but some who had used me once would often ask for me again. Lady Elizabeth was one, and I loved the time we spent together, but most I had little affection for. There were a few, however, that I was willing to continue serving as a Blue Belle.

Lady Ana and Sir Eric were occasional visitors to the Castle. Lady Ana wore fur and jewels, and little else, and Sir Eric was always very formal. He spoke of little but the acquisition of wealth, and she spoke of little but how to spend it. I had nothing of value to say to either of them, but it wasn't words they wanted from me.

A few days after I received my new blue corset - elegant, embroidered and exquisitely tight - they arrived at the Castle and almost immediately requested me. With very mixed feelings, I made my way to their suite.

Lady Ana was on the phone, talking in a language I didn't know. Seeing me slip into the room, she sat at the edge of the bed, spread her legs, and pointed at the floor between them. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom and guessed her husband was there. Part of me wished Lady Ana were there too, because I knew what was awaiting me.

Lady Ana clearly believed the only way to clean a pussy was to have a poor servant like me lick it. To call her aroma rich or raw would be an understatement. Perhaps it was her natural musky odour, but always on the day of her arrival she stank of stale sweat and semen. On the one hand it repelled me, on the other...

Once I got past my initial disgust, I couldn't get enough. I could spend hours running my tongue between her labia and sucking her clit. It was intoxicating. I drank her. I devoured her.

The first I knew of her husband was the gel squirted all over my ass. Hands massaged my cheeks and fingers penetrated my ass, but I kept my attention on Lady Ana's magnificent pussy, and all the while she continued talking unaffected on the phone.

Sir Eric's cock - one of my all time favourites - pushed into me, forcing my face against his wife's pussy. She lay back on the bed, and with her spare hand she held my head in place while Sir Eric's hands tried to pull me back onto his cock. My ass was no stranger to cock, but Sir Eric's girth stretched me gloriously, and with each thrust he penetrated deeper, and deeper. He fucked me with long, lingering strokes, delicious with friction, while Lady Ana held me tight, her sharp fingernails digging into my scalp, and fucked my face with her increasingly wet pussy.

I had learned over the years that Lady Ana disliked anal, especially with a cock as large as her husband's, and Sir Eric loved to watch a woman go down on his wife (almost as much as she did). "I'm close," she said after what seemed like forever, and Sir Eric picked up the pace, slamming his huge shaft into my ass with vigour while I struggled to keep my weary tongue in place, sweeping softly but firmly over Lady Ana's clit.

Within my corset my nipples were achingly hard, and my untouchable clit was screaming for attention. Sir Eric's cock was giving me exactly what I needed, however. I was so close, all I needed was something more, something to push me over the edge.

"Yes!" Lady Ana cried - and I nearly drowned in her pussy as her hips convulsed beneath my mouth. Moments later, the cock ravishing my ass stiffened and unleashed its cum deep within me. As so often before, Eric's wonderful, virile cock, dancing to the tune of victorious orgasm, delivered my own climax, the first in months. My cry of pleasure was muffled by a pussy still in the throes of its own orgasmic pleasure.

The three of us writhed and convulsed together, until Sir Eric withdrew, and Lady Ana pushed me away. "Come back tomorrow," she said, and returned to her phone conversation.

Weary, but satisfied, my ass blissfully sore and leaking cum, I slipped away. I just wished the corset would leave my nipples alone. By the time I crawled into my own bed, I was horny again.

*

"What is that?" I'd demanded. I hadn't worn a waist-trainer since my first year as a Rose Girl. I hadn't needed to. I still didn't need to. My waist was shaped perfectly, and my relatively large breasts accentuated my curvaceous figure. "That is not what I asked for."

Daisy contrived to look offended. "You asked for elegant. Is this not elegant?"

In truth it was, the blue satin base embroidered beautifully with white flowers. "The material and the design are gorgeous, Daisy, but it will crush my waist."

"Don't be absurd. Besides, the Queen demanded this for you, and I am not one to argue with her."

I was dumbstruck. Why would the Queen care what I wore? Why would she even know I existed? "The Queen?"

"Not in person, of course. But Mariella speaks for the Queen. Now come. Try it on."

Mariella was a Servant of the Court, one who was often seen amongst us Blue Belles, bringing us royal commands and other news from the Court. It was Mariella who had spoken with me my first night as a Belle.

The corset was an overbust, and it lifted and supported my breasts comfortably, but as Daisy worked the laces, my waist was cinched tighter than ever. I could breathe with reasonable ease, but the constriction below my ribs was fierce. At least it didn't look quite as bad in the mirror as it felt.

My nipples were inexplicably hard and itching to be touched, but the corset encased my breasts too securely. I couldn't feel anything through the reinforced fabric.

"That'll be the stims," Daisy said, with a snort of gentle amusement.

"Huh?"

"There are electrodes wired into the bust to stimulate your nipples."

I glared at her. "This isn't a corset. It's a torture device." A torture device for stirring a hunger I couldn't satisfy. At least I could take it off. The chastity belt I couldn't.

"You wanted to catch the Queen's eye," Daisy said. "You should be more careful what you wish for."

What I wanted, eventually, was to be a Servant of the Court, so that I could dress in black and perhaps be seen by my mother on the television. But being a Servant of the Court meant serving the Queen, and the Queen was not renowned for her kindness. Quite the contrary.

"Do any others have to wear corsets like this?" I asked.

"I've known a few. All of them young ones like you who've served the minimum as Rose Girls. But you've got harlotry in the blood. That's your true craft, not crawling about in the Castle's walls like a rat."

Was she right? I studied myself in the mirror, my curves more pronounced than ever. I certainly looked the part, and despite the blue uniform, at heart I was more Rose Girl than Blue Belle, more harlot than electrician. I had been both surprised and dismayed to be promoted so soon.

"But what does that have to do with being a Servant of the Court?" I asked Daisy.

She chuckled and tapped my shielded crotch. "There's a reason it's called the Queen's cunt," she said. "Your belt's been keeping it safe for a purpose..."

Since the day I gave myself to the Castle, my cunt had belonged to the Queen. All the servants of the Inner Castle wore chastity belts - all save the black-garbed Servants of the Court. (The Greenmen didn't count, and were trouser-wearers besides.) Your cunt, if you had one, was the Queen's cunt. Your cock, likewise, the Queen's cock.

With one brief exception, the only thing to have touched my clit in my ten years of service was water for cleaning, and that had never threatened to stimulate. While I had grown used to living in a semi-permanent state of sexual frustration - which is anyway useful when your ass and mouth are frequently in demand by people you despise - having my nipples constantly stimulated was something I could live without.

During the day, I had an excuse. My new corset was completely impractical for crawling around in ducts; I had a different corset to wear then. But in the evenings, without the excuse of my day job? Did I dare risk the displeasure of the Queen?

No. If the Queen wanted her cunt to be constantly wet, who was I to argue. I was lucky. Those who ended up in the dungeons were the unlucky ones.

*

For half a year, that was that. I spent my days working with Jack. I spent my evenings feeling bored and horny whenever I wasn't being used by a bored and horny aristocrat. My body adapted gradually to my new corset, and the corset adapted to my body. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant either.

But if the Queen had her eye on me, there was no further evidence of it. Perhaps it was arrogant for me to expect more, and I kept telling myself not to, but the sense that I had been forgotten caused some distress. But then, just as I struggled through a period of depression (not my first), I returned to my room one night to find Mariella waiting for me.

My heart lifted immediately. "Hi."

"Hi," she said. "How's the corset?"

"It's fine. Apart from the stims."

She laughed. "I mean, does it need any adjustment? What if I told you you could never take it off again?"

Never? That was a chilling thought. "I, er,... Well. No. Are you telling me that?"

"Maybe. Tell me, Belinda. Do you want to be a Servant of the Court?"

My answer was immediate. "Yes."

"There is a test. Failure means death. You must be sure, and your loyalty to the Queen must be absolute."

"I am sure. It is."

"Then come with me."

Deeper inside the Castle than I had ever been, on the periphery of the Royal Court itself, Mariella took me to small room with a simple bed and a white, plastic table. The walls were bare, with no windows. On the table sat a glass jar with something black inside, and next to it a paint brush.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

"Remove all your clothes and give me your corset," Mariella said. When I was down to just my chastity belt, she waved her hand over it and the lock released. "You won't be wearing that any longer."

I had often hated the belt, but I found myself reluctant to let it go. My relationship with it had been intimate and intense. The act of taking the belt off really brought home the realisation that something huge was happening.

Mariella had laid the corset out on the table. She opened the jar and painted the inside with a thick layer of the black liquid. "Hold your arms up," she said, and wrapped the corset around me. I waited for the black stuff to ooze out as Mariella tightened the laces for me, but although I could feel the wetness filling all the space between the corset and my skin, none escaped at the edges. Indeed, although I could certainly feel it, initially cool but rapidly warming, I could see nothing to indicate its presence.

"What is this stuff?" I asked.

She gathered up my clothes along with the jar and brush. "I'll explain later - if you live. You will start to feel hot, and perhaps very ill, but it's essential that you do not take the corset off. Understand?"

Of course I didn't, but I nodded. "Yes."

"I will be back in the morning," Mariella said. "Just remember, Belinda. The cunt between your legs is the Queen's. Don't touch." She kissed me on the forehead and smiled. "Have faith, and she will give permission."

She left me all alone and thoroughly confused. I checked the door out of curiosity, and it was locked. Alone and naked - except for the corset. The building heat was becoming really quite uncomfortable.

The heat was building elsewhere too. A more familiar heat. A stirring of the hunger that was normally frustrated by the steel shield over my pussy.

But there was no shield. There was nothing to stop me scratching the itch that was getting worse by the minute. I spread my legs and peered down as best I could at my pussy.

At my cunt.

At the Queen's cunt.

The Queen's cunt was wet and begging to be fucked. And I couldn't see any cameras. No one would know. "Fuck me," it whispered in my head. "Fuck me hard!"

"No!" I shouted aloud, and snapped my legs shut, embarrassed (despite the lack of witnesses) to be talking to the imaginary voice of my own cunt.

"The Queen's cunt," I corrected myself. "Don't touch..."

I paced back and forth, trying not to think about Sir Eric pounding my ass while Lady Ana fucked my face with her feral cunt, or was it Lady Ana's face being fucked by my cunt -

"The Queen's cunt!" I hissed at myself.

- while Sir Eric fucked my throat, filling my mouth with so much cum it spilled out and covered my breasts and drenched my pussy -

I slammed my hand against the wall. "Not mine!"

- Lady Elizabeth licking my skin clean of the creamy aphrodisiac, just as I had licked hers clean of that sweet, delicious cum and it had driven me almost mad with lust...

Understanding dawned. Mariella had coated my corset with an aphrodisiac, and this time I didn't have a chastity belt to protect me from myself.

I was burning up all over. Sweating profusely. My- The Queen's cunt was literally dripping. The thought of flipping the table over and fucking its square legs...

"No," I snarled. "I am the Queen's cunt!"

- which was not quite what I had meant to say, but I didn't correct myself this time.

Suddenly dizzy, I lay down - I lay on my back on the bed, arms trapped underneath me...

... trying to make myself come through sheer force of will...

... repeating over and over again the mantra, "I am the Queen's cunt; the Queen's cunt is me..."

... an absurd thing to say, perhaps, and an even more absurd thing to believe...

... and yet with each repetition I felt my body's heat and that unbearable tension dissipate...

... because in some fundamental and inexplicable way, it was true...

... "I am the Queen's cunt," I whispered as I yielded to unconsciousness, claimed by exhaustion; "the Queen's cunt is me..."

*

I awoke amidst sweat-soaked sheets, feeling weak but mostly back to normal - and feeling oddly naked despite the corset I was wearing.

If it was a corset.

It certainly looked like a corset, and it had the same shape as the blue corset I had been wearing, the same familiar pressure shaping my figure, but this one had the appearance of smooth, black leather.

Leather that had bonded with my flesh, becoming a second skin. My fingertips felt only the leather as they caressed the dark surface, but my belly, my breasts and even my nipples were sensitive to each touch, no matter how light.

There was no way to pinch my nipples, but I could feel them swelling unseen as I brushed my fingertips across them.

"You made it!" I looked up to see Mariella beaming at me from the doorway. "I was sure you would. I've brought you your uniform."

I took the pile of black clothing reverently from her outstretched arms, and laid it out on the table before dressing. There was a garter belt, since the transformed corset had nowhere to clip stockings to. That went on first, then the stockings, and boots. All black, like the floor-length skirt and the long-sleeved silk shirt.

"Wow," I said, looking down at myself. "I can't believe it's real."

"One last thing," Mariella said, and produced a black horse's tail from behind her back. I had worn a pink tail for a week, once, but this black one had a significantly thicker plug. "Lift your skirt and bend over."

I assumed the position, and enjoyed Mariella's fingers as they lubricated my ass. I sighed with pleasure as the plug stretched me wide, and slotted into place, and when I straightened up the tail brushed the backs of my stocking-clad legs.

"You are now officially a Servant of the Court," Mariella said. Pulling me close, she kissed me on the lips. "It's time to meet the Queen."

She led me out into the maze of the Royal Court, the corridors busy with aristocrats hurrying from place to place, or arguing with each other in alcoves while sipping tea from delicate china cups; busy also with other black-garbed Servants of the Court, all of whom stopped briefly to welcome me with a smile and a kiss on my lips. I really wasn't used to kissing strangers, but it was nice.

"Do we all have tails in our asses?" I asked Mariella.

"Yes. How do you like yours?"

I grinned at her. "Very much." I loved the feeling of being constantly stretched and filled, almost like having a good, thick cock in me. I loved the way it shifted with each step I took, as if it were alive. I loved the tail caressing my legs. Inevitably it was making me horny.

"And none of us wears a chastity belt? Not even the men?"

"No."

"What if they get erections?"

"Then they get erections, and their cocks rub against their skirts." She looked around and waved to a Servant of the Court who was washing windows nearby. "Stephen, come here a moment."

He dried his hands on a cloth, then wandered over to us. His general build and the features of his face confirmed that he was a man, but his uniform was identical to mine, as far as I could see. "Welcome," he said, and kissed me.

"One of the things the corset does," Mariella said to me, "is make men's nipples as sensitive as women's." To Stephen she said, "Do you mind?"

"If you must," he muttered, looking less than enthusiastic.

With a cheeky smile, Mariella said, "Oh, I think I really must." She put her hands on his silk shirt, her thumbs positioned where his nipples would be, and stroked gently. He whimpered at first, but closed his eyes after a moment and soon had the same expression on his face that Lady Elizabeth would get when I sucked on her nipples. "Look down," she said to me. "What do you see?"

I looked at Stephen's crotch. His cock was tenting the folds of his skirt. She bent down and lifted it about his waist, and his sizeable cock sprang up, free and fully erect, precum glistening at the tip. "The Queen's cock," Mariella said. "How would the Queen's cunt like to fuck the Queen's cock?"

All I could do was nod. Between the plug in my ass, and Mariella's erotic teasing, it was getting difficult for me to think past the throbbing of my clit. And there was no chastity belt to stop me. Only a skirt and watching eyes and my own sincere promise and dedication to the Queen. I closed my eyes and sighed. "Not without permission."

"Later, then."

When I opened my eyes again, Stephen was back at the window. Mariella took my arm and led me up a long flight of stairs, and then another, to a wide corridor that seemed to have been furnished with the contents of ancient treasure hoards. Everywhere were silver cups and marble statuettes, displays of peacock feathers, ruby-studded swords and pearl necklaces, interspersed with gold-edged paintings with a common theme.

A well endowed swan fucking a maiden princess, its two thick cocks penetrating her together, ass and pussy. A beautiful goddess with pale, gleaming skin and a lacy, white, gossamer-thin dress, fucking a filthy beggar in a dark, muddy alley; coins falling from her hand into his begging bowl. A portrait of a severe and elderly king, his crown on his head, his lips, cheeks and beard splashed with cum. Two naked women, their skin streaked with blood, in sixty-nine position; beside them, a naked man, dead, his severed cock discarded on the floor, still erect and leaking cum.

A painting of the Queen herself, naked but partly concealed by the black-corseted, bald-headed subject - presumably a Servant of the Court - kneeling in front of her. Although it cannot be seen for sure, the instinctive impression of the scene is that the kneeling subject is sucking the Queen's cock.

Mariella paused at last outside a pair of ornate wooden doors. "Is the Queen's cunt wet?" she asked. "Is it ready to be fucked for the very first time?"

The Queen's cunt was indeed very wet, but now that the moment was here, I was terrified - of meeting the Queen. As a child, I had seen her as an exotic and enigmatic figure. As a servant of the Inner Castle, she was an unseen figure of power and cruelty. It was difficult to reconcile these ideas with losing my virginity.