Queen Captured – Act I: Pawn

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First Chapter of W.H. Collins’s dark erotic fantasy. All fourteen chapters are now available from Amazon under the title The Fall of the Black Queen.

Note that this story is intended for mature audiences only and contains extremely graphic depictions of material that many audiences will find disturbing, including spanking and forced nudity. Nothing herein is intended to glorify or condone the horrific experiences which the protagonist endures, and the reader is strictly instructed not to take any prurient interest in this tale of medieval violence and sexual exploitation.

Her hands were bound. As the Black Queen struggled painfully toward consciousness, the dull discomfort of the rope entwining her wrists and the unpleasant sensation of immobility penetrated her fevered dreams and hastened the onset of wakefulness.

The Black Queen? Yes, that was her. The realization was an important corner piece out from which she could reconstruct the jigsaw puzzle of her situation. Her mind still straddled  the dizzying precipice between lucidity and the unconscious. In that twilight where one’s sense of place and of time and even of self become disoriented and elusive, the words were a beacon.

The Black Queen. Yes. Even before her father’s death had thrown the realm into chaos, people had spoken in terms of the Blacks and the Whites. The enmity between the court’s two most powerful factions had a long history, but it was the succession issue that brought the divide into focus, turning what had once been merely a rough, color-coded shorthand into a more-or-less official badge of allegiance.

Black referred to the black cross of the Duchy of Aardmore, the clique’s principal base of power and where the Queen had spent many of her formative years during her mother’s brief exile from court. White might plausibly have come from Whitehold, the coastal fortress that had more than once been the site of political intrigue by the Queen’s half-sister and her supporters, or from the white rose that was a traditional symbol of royal authority. Or perhaps the label came to be used simply because it was the opposite of Black.

Whatever the origin, the symbolism was self-perpetuating. As the Old King’s health worsened and the camps coalesced, nobles and knights and churchmen across the kingdom declared their loyalties by flying their faction’s colors: black gowns and white banners; black ribbons and white cloaks; black armor and white lances. There were neutral parties, of course, counselors loyal first and foremost to the realm, who in the Old King’s final years begged him to name an heir and unite his fraying kingdom.

Sadly, the imperious and long-reigning monarch known as the Grey Lion had always preferred to keep the succession card in play, sending ambivalent signals and intentionally setting the cadet branches of his dynasty against one another as a means of exerting his will upon his unruly barons. By the time the need for an unequivocal declaration became undeniable, it was too late. The rapidly deteriorating state of the King’s mental faculties was an open secret at court, such that any proclamation could be plausibly challenged later as a product of the Grey Lion’s dementia. For this reason, his advisors ceased to press the issue, and the Blacks and the Whites positioned themselves for an inevitable civil war.

Lady Isabella of Aardmore. The Black Queen. Yes. It was her birthright.

She was well aware of the arguments to the contrary, of course. Some claimed the annulment of King Harold’s marriage to Isabella’s mother had retroactively thrown her legitimacy into question. If so, then Joan D’Montefort, the eldest surviving child of the Old King’s second marriage, the vain, cruel woman now holding herself out as the White Queen, who might seem to have a viable claim. Joan may have been younger—twenty-two years to Isabella’s twenty-six—but she had shored up her claim with a strategic marriage to her first cousin, the Earl of Carteaux, the ineffectual, porcine pretender known now as the White King.

But Lady Isabella cared little for what the lawyers said. The Blacks had their own lawyers, who had their own theories, based upon Isabella’s lineage through her maternal grandfather, the late Duke of Aardmore, and upon changes to the laws of inheritance wrought by the Treaty of Barrington, and upon other more esoteric precedents that they assured her demonstrated conclusively her legitimacy. It mattered little. The Black Queen knew that power did not spring from the law; it was the other way around.

As the sides had positioned themselves in anticipation of the Grey Lion’s death, Lady Isabella had been pressured into a strategic marriage of her own. The elderly baron now hailed as the Black King, unlike Cartreaux, brought no royal blood to bolster her claim to the throne, but he did bring 200 knights, 1,000 footmen and extensive landholdings located in key regions. It was not a match that conformed to her girlhood fantasies, but the Queen recognized its expedience. And whatever conjugal comforts were beyond the capacity of her kindly but frail Black King could be amply provided by her long-time consort, the comely Sir William Cantor.

“. . . the Black Queen.” This time, the words were not in her head. Someone was speaking of her, and not with the tone of deference to which she was accustomed. The intrusion of the voice upon her dreams made her newly aware that the force that immobilized her, pressing her thighs tightly together and wrenching her arms behind her back was not the warm embrace of her Sir William as she had begun to imagine.

Captured. That’s what had happened. She had been riding north at the head of a full mounted regiment to relieve the siege at the Black stronghold of Malburgh Castle. She knew the risks of the mission. Yet she insisted on leading the Black forces personally against the urging of her advisors.

If God had seen fit that she should fall before the stout walls of Malburgh, that would have been one thing. But the manner of her defeat was more shameful, and, as her mind struggled haltingly into the present, a deep sense of dishonor awakened, more painful than her dawning physical discomfort.

Foolishly, she had ridden out ahead of her main contingent. She had hoped to see for herself where and how the White forces were arrayed. They were said to be under the command of Sir Stewart, the cavalier young knight whose service to the White cause had been distinguished both by military acumen and by sheer brutality. If she could outmaneuver the White Knight on the battlefield, it might decisively change the war’s momentum. Instead, she was ambushed before she ever got to the ridge overlooking the castle.

Ambushed not by Sir Stewart. Nor by any other knight or castellan fit to meet a queen in battle. Instead, in her carelessness, she and her small company were set upon by a band of lowly foot soldiers. No more than armed peasants. The last thing she remembered was seeing one of her men pulled from his horse and slaughtered. Then she had suffered a blow from behind.

Her Magnificence the Black Queen laid low by a rabble of ignorant peons. As the shameful memory rose to the surface, she squirmed in discomfort. Again, the alien bite of her bindings twisted against her wrists.

The smell of campfire was in the air. A cold wind snaked its way underneath her dress and chilled her bones. Her head aching and her arms stiff from confinement, the Black Queen finally opened her eyes.

She was in a small clearing, dense woods pressing in all around. Her body was propped up against a tree trunk. It was night, and, aside from the dim moonlight creeping its way through the foliage overhead, the only illumination emanated from a fire, which cast eerie shadows over the thick layer of pine needles that covered the forest floor.

Tending the fire, which had been built in the center of the clearing a little more than ten feet from where the Queen lay, was a figure in what had once clearly been a white uniform, though the jacket was so heavily caked in soot and grime that it almost reminded the Queen of her own soldiers’ livery. As the figure leaned in to stoke the flames, the Black Queen could discern the details of his leathery face. He had the grizzled, pockmarked look that was a badge of his serfdom.

Suddenly, the soldier looked over at her. The Queen tried to shut her eyes, but it was too late.

“Hey, Nollie!” she heard him hiss, “Her majesty’s up from ‘er nap!”

Opening her eyes once again, she saw a second soldier, equally dirty and disreputable, emerge from the darkness carrying an armload of firewood. He dumped it unceremoniously by the fire and joined his comrade staring in the Queen’s direction.

“Wha’? Are you sure she’s up, Red? I can’t see er eyes…”

“Sure sure. I jus saw er move,” replied Red, “Hey, yer majesty! So nice ‘o you ta join us!”

It was time to confront her fate, and the Black Queen gathered her courage. With a small groan, she did her best to pull herself up into a sitting position. Using the tree to take most of her weight, she raised her chin and fixed her captors with her most regal look.

“You there! What lord do you serve?” she demanded.

The two soldiers looked at each other. Red took off his dingy white cap to reveal a gray and patchy mat of hair that left no clue as to the origins of his name. Nollie, several decades his junior and some two feet his superior, scratched his facial scruff nervously.

“What lord you reckon we serve, Nol?” Red said. “I meself grew up on the estates of Lord Gascon, but that was before the Old King stripped ‘im of ‘is lands an’ granted ‘em to the Earl of Tallybrook. Now Tallybrook married ‘is daughter to some nephew of ‘Ouse of Cartreaux as best I understan’ . . .”

“You will unbind me at once,” the Queen interrupted in exasperation. “You will bring me at once to your commanding officer that we may discuss terms.”

“Oh,” Red responded, knitting his brow and nodding slowly in showy consideration of the Queen’s words, “So that’s what we will do. You get all that, Nollie?”

Nollie simply looked nervously back and forth between Red and the Queen.

“I’m sure glad you woke up, Yer Majesty, to tell we aimless pawns what we will do. Why, I was jus’ wondering what I will do. Wasn’ I, Nol?”

Red cautiously sauntered closer to the Queen, making an awkward snuffling noise that might have been some sort of a chuckle. He stopped just short of where she lay, propped up in her uncomfortable half-sitting position, and examined her. His eyes glazed over, transfixed in wonder. The Queen squirmed, causing the ropes wrapped round her legs to dig painfully into her thighs.

She looked up, and, for a brief instant, the Queen saw herself reflected in the peasant’s yellowing, sunken eyes. It was said she was a beautiful woman, the most beautiful in the realm if her flatterers were given any credence at all. But even her detractors could not deny her striking, delicate features nor the way her intense green eyes were set off by stunning cascades of dark black hair, creating a face that had inspired a hundred poems.

And her body. Her body had captured the attention of every man at court. Her corsets could barely contain her ample chest, and many a male courtier and ambassador had longed to glimpse the long legs and shapely bottom that were no doubt contained underneath the flowing black gowns she always favored.

At the moment, however, that flowing black gown was covered in pine needles, and that near-to-bursting corset was threatening to suffocate her. As the Black Queen looked up at the rough face of her captor, she felt herself recoil. Her shame and anger were joined by the first hints of an emergent panic.

“Well? Release me, footman. I am the trueborn daughter of King Harold the Grey Lion and his rightful heir. Do you understand?  I wish to speak to your superiors. You marched on Malburgh with the butcher Sir Stewart, yes? I would treat with the White Knight at once. Take me to him. I will not wait on the morrow.”

Red let out a low whistle.

“We’d ‘eard that the Black Queen was a pretty one, but the stories don’t do it no justice. Ain’t that right, Nollie?”

“She’s pretty all right, Red,” Nollie agreed.

Red crouched down and brought his haggard face within inches of the Queen’s. The smell of onions and roasted forest animal clung to his breath.

“How about a liddle kiss for ol’ Red, Yer Majesty? It gets awful lonely out ‘ere on patrol, it does.”

The Queen felt as she might vomit, but, instead, she spit. Gathering what little moisture she could from her parched mouth, she managed to land a modest gob of saliva just below Red’s eye.

“You will release me at once! I shall report the disrespect you have shown me to your commander!” she said, her tone of command undercut by a faint note of hysteria. “I shall . . .! You will . . . !”

“Nasty nasty. Wut kinda manners is they teachin’ at the palace nowdays?”

“Even I knows better than tuh spit on people, Red,” contributed Nollie, still standing several feet away, fiddling nervously with his coat buttons.

The impertinence of these common soldiers was now beyond all belief. She itched with the urge to land a blow across this arrogant peon’s cheek with the back of her hand, a move she had honed to stinging perfection over the years on her own servants, and reflexively she attempted to rise. Immediately, her ropes squeezed, and she rocked back against the tree with a thud.

As she lay there, her muscles quaking with fury, Red placed his hand on her knee and bent forward to place a wet kiss on her collarbone, which protruded ever so slightly from the ruffled neckline of her gown. Queen Isabella’s eyes went wide in complete disbelief.

“You-… I’ll have you-… you’ll be lashed for this!… Lashed, do you hear?!” she sputtered, struggling to squirm away from the defiling touch of this upstart Pawn.

“Lashed? Oh yes, I’ve been lashed before,” responded Red with a toothy grin.

“Yeah, me too, Red!” contributed Nollie, “Yuh don’t serve wif Sir Stewart’s men too long without takin’ a lashing or two.”

Red grabbed one of the Queen’s ankles and gave it a sharp tug, pulling her roughly away from the tree. Her head hit the soft dirt with a gentle bump and a crackle of leaves. Her pinioned arms twisted beneath her, eliciting from her a yelp of pain. Red stood over the Black Queen with a foot on either side of her torso, preventing her from wriggling away.

“You see? We’re lashing hexperts, you might say. Why, once, when I was a boy, the old Duke of Aardmore, your grandfather if I know me noble fammy trees, he n’ his house was guests of Lord Gascon. To shorten what’s a might lengthy story, I got caught peepin’ on the Lady Aardmore when she was at her bath. The Duke had me lashed like I never been before and since. Lashed me Ma and Pa and me old Nana too for me wicked upbringing while he was at it. And me Pa never was the same from that day. Oh I been lashed no denying.”

The pockmarked old footman sluffed off his coat and tossed it over by the fire. He untucked his shirt from his trousers and raised it to demonstrate. Indeed, his skin was marked by a latticework of long, beveled scars. He let his shirt drop and leaned down towards the bound noblewoman at his feet.

“Question is: Have you ever been lashed, Yer Majesty?”

The Queen was so stunned she stopped struggling for a moment.

“Have I-. . . Lashed? I most certainly have not, you filthy cur! You- You shall release me if you wish to keep your heads!”

“Never had to take a bit of the lash, eh? Well no wonder yer manners hain’t fittin’ a proper young lady. Yer daddy good King Harold hadn’t time to take you cross ‘is knee give that arrogant royal bottom a lesson, that it? Nor your granddad the Duke, may the son of a whore get buggered in ‘ell, ‘e too captivated by ‘is pretty Black Princess to take a rod to ‘er backside when she needed it?”

Rage was convulsing her, and, as her breathing escalated, she feared she might suffocate in her tight corset.

“How-…” she panted, “How-… How dare you!”

Before she could continue, however, Red grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her violently to her feet. Nollie joined him, and, between the two of them, they lifted her and pinned her face-first against the tree trunk. With Nollie holding her securely, Red undid the rope around her wrists, only to retie them on the other side of the tree as Nollie pressed against her back, holding her helpless and immobile.

Then, Red undid the knots by her thighs and unwound the rope that held her legs together. The Queen tried to kick, but between the two soldiers they were able to neutralize her while Red tied both her ankles tightly to the tree, fixing them on opposite sides of the trunk and spreading her legs slightly apart. Another stretch of rope was wound around her torso, just above her hips and knotted tightly on the other side of the tree.

The Black Queen was in agony, her arms pulled taught around the tree and her face and body squished forcibly against the bark. She began to scream, hurling incoherent curses.

“Nollie, do something about that noise, huh? Nobody around to hear it, but I don’ wanna go deef…”

Nollie found a strip of filthy cloth, a greasy rag that was probably used to clean the cooking gear. Red took it and forced it into the Queen’s mouth. With difficulty, he managed to wedge it in between her teeth and tie it around her head, muffling her cries of outrage.

“Spittin’ on good honest folks,” said Red. “Callin’ ‘em all sorts of nasty names. Where I was raised, that’d be more’nuff to earn Yer Majesty ‘er first taste o’ the lash. Yer lucky you ran into us, M’lady. You should hear the stories that’re spreadin’ bout your bo-have-i-or. A firm punishment, like yer daddy outta given you long time ago. I’d say that’s jus’ what you needa turn yer life round. Why, yer gonna thank us when this is done. . .”

The Queen’s head swam. What was this vile peasant suggesting? He wouldn’t dare raise his filthy hand to someone of her birth. She was a prisoner, perhaps, but a royal prisoner. White or Black, any lord who found out what this lowborn thug had threatened would surely see him hanged, drawn and quartered. She strained her neck to look behind her and tried to shout these same observations back at her deluded captors, but the angry words were muffled by the rag in her mouth.

“Hey, Red. I broke off a piece of this here birch. Think this’ll do?”

Nollie handed Red a branch, from which he’d stripped most of leaves. It was two feet long and about half an inch in diameter at its fattest part. Red stripped off a few more leaves and imperfections before whipping it around experimentally. The Queen flinched at the whizzing noise she heard it make.

“Ooooh… I’m gonna injoy this, Yer Majesty,” Red said, wheezing with excitement, “me n’ Nollie here are gonna teach you some manners. We’ll see how high n’ mighty you act after you’re through with your liddle punishment…”

Even now, the Queen’s mind refused to process her predicament. Did they really mean to strike her with that crude branch? Never in her life had someone dared lay hands on her royal person in such a fashion. And to have such brutality justified as “punishment” was an affront too humiliating to bear. These White thugs could not possibly follow through with what they were implying: the rightful queen of the realm tied down and whipped like a servant or a schoolchild? It was unthinkable.

“Well… I’d say this is a rod fit for a royal behind.”

“Oh! Can we pull up her dress, Red?” asked Nollie, practically sputtering in excitement. “We can pull up her dress can’t we? When they whip the serving girls at the manor, they pull up theirs dresses. I seen it! Make them take off their dainties too! Yes I seen it plenty times! Bottoms just shaking out in the wind, naked as God made em. I seen em, Red!”

“You must think I’m a village idiot, Nollie. Wouldn’t be no proper punishment otherwise, now would it? You go ‘elp ‘er Majesty’s naughty liddle arse get ready to taste this ‘ere birch.”

The Queen gasped into her gag at hearing this exchange. The taller, younger soldier eagerly bounded over to the tree and bent down to grab the hem of the Queen’s skirt. Her eyes grew wide and she began to struggle, bucking and tugging against her bonds. Some of the dress was wedged in between her calves and the rope, but Nollie soon freed the material and began to shimmy it upwards, exposing the gauzy chemise that she wore underneath. He took a moment to feel the soft, thin fabric, rolling it reverently between thumb and forefinger, before tugging it upwards after the dress, bringing the Queen’s bare legs into view inch by inch. Isabella collapsed against the tree in helplessness, fighting against the tears of frustration welling up in her eyes.

As the footman pulled her dress up higher, he encountered the silk undergarments that Isabella wore for horseback riding. They were exuisitely tailored, their frilled edges circling tightly around her hips and thighs. The men paused in curiosity at the sight.

“Well, would you look at them fancy little bloomers,” laughed Red, “tuck that dress up so’s it don’t fall down, Nollie, then let’s ‘ave a look’t what Er Majesty hides beneef dem drawers…”

No instruction was necessary. Nollie had already bunched the skirt up and secured it well above the Queen’s waistline and was reaching eagerly for the string that tied her underwear. Though she struggled mightily against her restraints, the proud monarch was unable to prevent the gangly footman from loosening the knot and then, to her utter dismay, yanking them down to her knees.

The Black Queen moaned in shame through the rag between her teeth. Even in the royal bedroom, her body was seldom so exposed. She felt the cold night air whip across her naked skin, its violating caress circling the firm round orbs of her buttocks, down to the backs of her knees and then up the inside of her thigh to stroke her womanhood with its chilly touch. Never had her body been put on display in this fashion, its private curves mounted in the open air for the pleasure of strangers.

The two White soldiers stepped back to admire. Before them was an object of beauty to which nothing in their miserable lives could compare. The drooping, birthmarked asses of the whores down at the Hart’s Head Tavern could not possibly have prepared them for the long aristocratic legs or the perky royal bottom tied helplessly to the tree in front of them.

Red gave a whistle of appreciation.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a damn pretty rump, Yer Ighness? Seems a shame we’ve gotta mark it up like this, but then how else you gonna learn your lesson and come out of this a good little princess, eh?”

As Isabella struggled against her bindings, she felt the rough bark of the tree rub against her naked crotch. It was a completely alien sensation and reinforced the abject humiliation of her situation.

Red stepped up to her and whipped his wooden rod through the air. With a flourish, he brought the stripped birch squarely down in the middle of the Black Queen’s captive ass.

Whizzzz. CRACK!

The Queen let out a gagged shriek. She had not been prepared for this sudden assault. The sting that the supple wood rod left in its wake overwhelmed her.

“Now, thas one, Yer Maj. Yer gonna take five more jus’ like that so’s you’ll learn better behavior. Then, I promise, me n’ Nollie will show that royal arse some better treatment…”

Whizzzzz. CRACK!

Another shriek. Nollie giggled and clapped.

Whizzzzz. CRACK!

The shock of the impact made the Queen jump, almost rising off her feet. Her naked thighs and cunt scraped against the cold tree. Pain, fear and humiliation pushed her breath from her in violent sobs, choked by the rag crumpled inside her mouth.

Whizzzzz. CRACK! CRACK!

Red gave her two swift lashes as she squirmed left and right trying to avoid the blows.  Deep red lines began to emerge across the Queen’s pale ass cheeks.

Whizzzzz. CRACK!

A tear rolled down Isabella’s face. Her posterior in agony, her arms aching from her restraints, the Black Queen felt she would gladly accept any death rather than endure this torment any further. To think that she, the rightful sovereign of the entire Kingdom, should find herself tied to a tree, her silk underwear pulled down around her knees, having her naked buttocks beaten by a pair of filthy foot soldiers. It was insupportable.

“There now, Yer ‘Ighness. Don’t cry. It’s all over. But I ‘ope you learnt your lesson. Sumptimes even queens get a bit naughty and gotta be punished. Ain’t tha’ right, Nollie?”

“Can I touch ‘er bottom now, Red?”

The Black Queen did not hear an answer, but she did feel one. With a noisy crunching of leaves, Nollie scurried up behind her and placed his palms over her sore and throbbing cheeks. With a moan of pleasure, he began to trace the circumference of the two luscious globes, rubbing her ass down with his outspread hands in large, circular motions.

Overcome by shame and indignation, the Queen could only shut her eyes as Nollie continued his frantic exploration of her naked bottom. He began to knead and squeeze her cheeks, pushing them up and down, back and forth, playing with the Queen’s buttocks like a hyperactive child playing with a new toy.

Nollie gave his plaything a few light slaps before resuming his eager manipulation. He squeezed her ass cheeks together, then pulled them apart, exposing her more fully to the cold night air. The Queen shivered from the shock.

“Ohhhhh…” breathed Nollie, peering down at the pucker of her asshole. “Red! Red! Can I?” The Queen froze. Behind her, Nollie was making eager slurping sounds as, in near-ecstasy, he began to lick his index finger up and down.

In a moment of sheer horror, the Queen felt a single, slimy finger graze its way down her crack and come to rest just outside her anus. Her eyes opened wide as it began to twist, pushing its way inside her with a slow insistence. She wanted to scream and kick, but the best she could manage were muffled cries and a frantic bucking of her lower body that only pushed the finger in deeper.

“Ohhhh-ho…”

As Nollie’s right hand invaded her asshole, his left hand continued to knead the fleshy cheeks that surrounded it. He gave her a few playful slaps and worked his finger in deeper. A few feet behind them, Red was laughing.

“Oh, if only yer ladies’n-waiting could see you now, Yer Majesty. Tied to a tree with a finger up yer bum! How’s she treatin’ you, Nollie?”

Nollie was grinning from ear to ear.

“Jus’ fine, Red. Oh, she’s a pretty one. Real pretty.”

“You’d bes’ loosen up and let ol’ Nollie in, Yer Maj, or you’ll be gettin’ another taste of the switch…”

To illustrate his point, Red walked up beside her and began to deliver a series of stinging blows with the palm of his hand to her already-tender ass. The Queen bit down hard on the dish rag between her teeth. Meanwhile, Nollie had worked his finger in almost up to the knuckle.

“Awright, Nol. The Queen’s had her punishment. You’ve had yer fun. I think it’s time she showed us some royal treatment, doncha think?”

“Oh, sure, Red. Sure.”

Nollie pulled his finger out of her ass and walked around to the front of the tree, where he began untying the Queen’s wrists. As soon as her arms were free, she began to fight, but the footman was too strong for her. He managed to grab both wrists and pull them both behind her, where Red was waiting to retie them. Once her flailing arms were secure, Nollie pinned her legs against the tree as Red carefully released her lower half. Then, between the two of them, the men lowered her down to the forest floor.

Red climbed on top of her as Nollie tore away her silk undergarments with a long rip that seemed to echo across the forest clearing. He grabbed her legs to keep her from kicking. Breathing heavily, sweating excitement through his pores, Red violently pushed her dress up past her waist. He paused for a moment, staring down at the elegantly trimmed patch of black pubic hair. Still pinning her shoulder down with one hand, he reached down with the other to feel the soft folds of her pussy.

As he did so, the Queen realized with horror how moist she was. It was a response her body had always had to danger. She often found herself growing damp as she rode into battle, never aroused exactly but certainly stimulated in some sense. She was mortified that this physiological response might now look like a sign of pleasure to her captors.

“Well, what have we here? It looks like we won’t be needing to use that bacon grease after all, Nollie. Her Majesty’s been gettin’ all hot and bothered.”

She struggled with all her might, trying to knock the old peasant off her, but the two footmen held her firm.

“I’d lie a liddle more still if I was you, Yer Ighness…” hissed Red, and from behind his back, he produced a large hunting knife.

The Black Queen was terrified, and, for a few moments, did indeed lie still. Red grabbed the collar of her beautiful black gown and began to saw at it with the knife. Immediately, it began to tear, and Red continued to slice his way down the dress’s front, mutilating the expensive vestment beyond recognition. Eventually, her corset was exposed. Red began to slice away at the strings that held it tight, finally tearing it asunder and allowing the Queen’s bountiful breasts to pop free.

The Black Queen screamed into her cloth muzzle. She was completely helpless and exposed. Tatters of her dress hung here and there, but her body was largely laid bare, exposed to the cold wind and the cruel whims of this leathery goblin.

Red, for his part, was dumbfounded by the huge, gorgeous bosom that the Queen’s corset had concealed. He reached down and grabbed one of the immaculate white mounds, squeezing and caressing it. He took hold of one of her nipples and began to pinch it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Jeeeezuz… Will ya look at that, Nollie? I hain’t never seen a whore wif ninnies that big. Has you?”

“They’re big awright, Red,” replied Nollie, putting more pressure on the Queen’s legs to prevent a new fit of kicking.

Red let go of her breasts and reached for his crotch. He unsnapped the white trouser flap, and, with some careful pushing and tugging, released his throbbing erection into the chilly night air. When the Queen saw this, she began to struggle all the more, and Red was forced to pin her shoulders down once again.

Nollie backed off a little, and Red maneuvered himself between the Queen’s legs. Using his right hand to guide, he slowly eased the head of his penis inside her. Shrieking and sobbing beneath her gag, the helpless monarch tried her best to pull away, but Red, with his superior leverage, was able to force his stiff cock deeper and deeper into her.

“Ohhh, Lordy,” he groaned, “if me ol’ Pa could see me now. I may notta had the luck to be born a gentleman, but, by God, at least He’s given me the chance to fuck a proper lady.”

As he humped her squirming body, the Queen’s legs began to lash out, landing a series of ineffective kicks on Red’s back. Ignoring this futile resistance, he grabbed her breasts, using this fleshy handhold for support as he pounded away at her.

In no time at all, however, the aging soldier came to the end of his stamina. With an appreciative moan, he thrust one last time into the Queen and stopped. With a wave terrible nausea, she imagined she could feel his penis pulsate and expel its grotesque load inside her body.

“Ahhhhh…” sighed Red, pulling out and rising to his feet, “Yer Ighness is a damn fine fuck, I must say. I hain’t tasted a tart that juicy in years.”

“My turn, Red? Huh?” asked Nollie, clapping his hands together absent-mindedly and bouncing around the Queen’s prostrate body in anticipation.

“Sure sure. She’s all yers, Nol’. Jus’ be quick. It’s almost dawn, and we gotta meet up with ‘Is ‘Oliness.”

Using what little energy she had left, the Black Queen rolled over onto her stomach and attempted to rise to her feet, the tatters of her dress and corset still hanging off her shoulders. She did not manage a single step, however, before Nollie grabbed her around the waist and held her tight.

“Red! Red! Help me get ‘er dress off!”

Red rebuttoned his trousers and picked up his knife. With Nollie holding her steady, he went to work on the remainder of the Queen’s clothing. With a few well placed slashes and rips, the black dress fell loosely to the pine needles below. The Black Queen was completely naked, shivering against the cold and struggling in Nollie’s arms.

Nollie dragged her over to a small boulder stump near the campfire and roughly forced her down on her knees and over the rock. Red came over to assist by pinning down her torso, smashing her breasts down against the cool stone and forcing her ass up into the air.

“You ever been fucked like a dog, Yer Majesty?” asked Red, smirking insufferably, “Cuz I think thas’ what ol’ Nollie here has in mind for you…”

The Black Queen shut her eyes, trying desperately to pretend that this nightmare wasn’t happening. She tried to imagine she was somewhere else: The beautiful gardens in the courtyard of the palace library where she loved to spend her afternoons reading. The woods near Aardmore Castle where she used to secretly rendezvous with Sir William. Anywhere. She wanted desperately to escape, but she was jerked forcibly back to reality by the second White footman’s penis forcing its way from behind into her cunny.

Nollie’s cock was much larger than Red’s, and it took some insistence to get it inside, all the more so due to Queen’s intermittent and feeble struggles. Nollie had to grab her hips firmly and gradually guide his prick in between her pink lips. His thrusts started out slow, but gained momentum as he grew more confident.

“Ohhhh… Ohh yeah…” Nollie sighed as he started ramming himself ever more rapidly against the Queen’s ass, his belly making an almost comical slapping sound as it collided over and over again with her whip-marked cheeks.

With one hand, the younger soldier held tight to the rope that bound the Queen’s wrists behind her back, forcing her shoulders back and her head up as her naked body rocked back and forth against the rock over which she’d been draped. Nollie’s other hand gripped the Queen’s hip tightly, yanking her ass violently back into his prick as he fucked her.

The Queen’s second ordeal lasted much longer than the first, and, as the tall, gangly foot soldier continued to thrust his penis in and out of her, his fingers digging into her hip,  Isabella felt the merciful caress of unconsciousness arrive to relieve her of the pain in her arms and her chest and between her legs.

Just before she passed out, Queen Isabella dimly heard Nollie cry out in ecstasy as he released his disgusting juices into her defenseless cunt.

When she awoke—moments or hours later, it was impossible to tell—her naked body was lying next to the fire and covered by a dirty blanket. Staring down at her were, not two, but three faces.

“You…” she croaked. “You will hang for this . . . I swear it.”

The middle face bent down, and it was only then that she noticed the white miter billowing up from his skull like a misshapen toadstool. She knew this man. Thomas Trolwick, Archbishop of Evanshire. What was a man of his rank doing among these brigands?

The Bishop eyed her bare shoulders, sticking out from the blanket. He frowned a disapproving frown and crossed himself.

“Like we was sayin’, Yer ‘Oliness . . .”

The Black Queen cringed at the voice of the ugly old foot soldier who had beaten and defiled her.

“ . . . a powerful spell indeed. I swear on me father’s grave. She’s a witch jus’ like they all say, sure as the nose on me face. Soon as we capture her, she starts openin’ ‘er legs up to us, tryinta’ seduce us. Me n’ Nollie we resist as best two mortal men can, but what chance do we ‘ave gainst black magic like wut this witch queen ‘as. Before we can do a thing, she’s takin’ off ‘er clothes an’ drawin’ us into ‘er and sayin’- . . .”

“Enough!” The Bishop held up a hand with two raised fingers to silence the footman. “The tales of the Lady Isabella’s lasciviousness are well known. That she attempted to use her body to gain her freedom I have no doubt.”

“That’s just what she did!” exclaimed Nollie. “Lassivied the pants right off me. Right, Red?”

“Thaas jus’ wut ‘appened, Nol,” said Red. “Now, Yer ‘Oliness. ‘Ere’s yer traitor queen. All in one piece. Jus’ like we found ‘er. Or near as. She’s all yers. Now such service to God and the realm . . . why, I ‘spect that earns some reward, if ya beg me pardon?”

The Bishop nodded gravely and gestured behind him. From out of the darkness emerged two soldiers in White uniforms, crisper and more professional than those of the Queen’s two grubby assailants. Wordlessly, one grabbed Nollie and one grabbed Red. In one fluid motion, each pulled a dagger and drew it briskly across his victim’s throat. Nollie and Red both dropped to their knees in unison, blood gushing from their wounds.

As the death gurgles of the two footmen slowed and faded, the Bishop knelt beside the Black Queen. He fixed her with a pair of pale, empty eyes which flickered with reflected firelight. She drew her blanket tighter around her nude body and shrank away.

“You shall come with me, Lady Isabella. And we shall cure you of your wickedness.”

 

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The Initiation: Chapter 12 – The Wal-Mart

The hours passed more quickly than Jessica expected, and much more quickly than she could have wished. She had barely had time to settle herself, to stop her tears and to wash the makeup off her face, before Nick was knocking on the door: “Time to head out, Jess!”

Jessica’s jeans still had a wet spot in the seat from where the Vaseline had seeped through. Her only other option was a pair of cut-off shorts she’d stuffed into her suitcase at the last minute. These showed off her long, shapely legs more than she might have desired, but it was better than going out in public looking like she’d wet herself.

She completed the ensemble with a bra and t-shirt, gathered her belongings into her bag, and walked out to the motel parking lot to meet whatever new cruelty fate had in store for her.

***

On Nick’s instruction, Jessica threw her bag into the trunk and got into the back seat between Dylan and Nick. Shannon had finally emerged from her room, wearing a thick pair of dark sunglasses and cradling her head as she slumped into the passenger’s seat. Matt took the wheel, and they pulled onto the highway once again.

Jessica tried to keep her eyes locked firmly on the road ahead of her, ignoring the fixated way Dylan kept staring at her bare legs. After they had been on the road fifteen minutes or so, Nick leaned forward to speak to Matt.

“Next exit. There oughtta be a shopping center on your left. The place is only like two miles up the road from there. After you meet up with our guy, one of you just head back and pick us up. Shan, you’re with us, right?”

A huge blue Wal-Mart signed loomed ahead.

“Yeah. Whatever,” Shannon sighed.

“See? What did I tell you, Jess?” Nick said, slapping Jessica on her thigh, “Girls love shopping.”

***

“Blow the old guy a kiss, Jess,” Nick whispered to her as they passed the Wal-Mart greeter.

Embarrassed to make eye contact, Jessica self-consciously blew a half-hearted kiss in the greeter’s direction.

“Why thanks, little lady,” she heard blue-aproned senior say, “I’ll keep that someplace special.”

Shannon had pulled an energy drink from someplace which she was guzzling as she walked. At one point, she turned to give Jessica a glower over the rims of her shades.

“Nick told me the nasty shit you got up to at the pool this morning, Rushie,” she said. “Jesus, what a little slut. I really hope you wash out this weekend so I can tell everybody at school what a horny skank you are.”

Jessica said nothing and continued following Nick and Shannon, eyes fixed downwards. Eventually, the three of them reached the lingerie department. Jessica shifted her weight nervously as Nick perused the racks of sensual undergarments nonchalantly.

“Jess, you’re… what? A 36 D?” Nick asked

Jessica blushed. Did he have to talk so loud?

“Hey, he asked you for your fucking bra size, Rushie.” Shannon joined in.

“Your tits,” Nick persisted. “You’re rocking like a 36-D, right?”

A woman at an adjacent rack turned her head.

“Four,” Jessica mumbled, looking down at the floor.

“What’s that?”

“Th-thirty four. Thirty four D.”

“Okay. Let’s see here…”

Nick began hunting around the racks. Jessica looked around her nervously. The store did not seem terribly crowded, but there were still customers strolling by at a steady rate. Suddenly, Shannon pulled something off the rack.

“Here we go,” Shannon said. “What about this hot little number?”

“Ahhh . . .” said Nick. “Good pull, Shan. I think that will work.”

Jessica looked in dismay at the red, lacey atrocity that Shannon held up to her. It was a matching set, bra and panties, both clipped together on a single hanger with a trashy flair fitting of the Wal-Mart lingerie department. She couldn’t imagine herself wearing something like that.

“Go ahead and try ‘em on.” said Nick.

Jessica gulped but knew better than to argue. She took the hanger from Nick and started off towards the changing room.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Shannon demanded. “You think we’ve got all day? Just throw it on right here.”

Jessica stopped in her tracks.

“You mean… o… over my clothes?”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Shannon said. “No, not fucking over your clothes. You know better than that. Come on, there’s no one around. Just be quick.”

“B-but somebody could. . . Please. I mean… We’ll get kicked out of the store…”

“Then you better hurry, Jess,” Nick said. “Are you forgetting your lessons already? Just think how much attention a bare-bottom spanking is going to draw to us. I’m sure Wal-Mart would not approve.”

Terrified, Jessica arranged herself so that a rack of discount panties was between herself and the aisle. Frantically, she sprang into action. Just like she did changing for gym class in middle school, Jessica tried to minimize the amount of time she was nude while finishing the job as quickly as possible.

She unhooked her bra underneath her shirt and then pulled both shirt and bra off in one gesture. However, this still left her in the middle of a public shopping area with her big naked tits on display for several agonizing moments while she tried to figure out how to put on her bra’s sexier replacement.

At last, she managed to get it on. This did not make her feel any less self-conscious, however, since the loud color of the bra drew all attention straight to her chest. Furthermore, it pushed her breasts up so that they stuck out straight in front of her, and the delicate lacey cups barely concealed her nipples.

“Can I- Can I take it off, now?”

Nick strolled up to her. Desperately, she looked around her. Someone was going to come, she knew it.

“Hands at your sides, Jess.”

She complied. Nick reached a hand out and gave one of her breasts a squeeze. Then, he snapped a covert picture and quickly concealed the camera.

“Yeah, this is real sexy, don’t you think? We’ll buy it. A little present for you after all your hard work. Put the panties on, too.”

“Oh god…”

Jessica hurried to pull off her shorts and white panties, not even bothering to take off her tennis shoes. She hunched over, completely nude from her tits down before finally slipping on the skimpy red panties and pulling them up to cover up her shaved crotch. It was a thong, and Jessica shuffled awkwardly as it lodged its way between her ass cheeks.

“Oh god… Can I please get dressed now? Someone’s gonna come…”

“Just put your shorts on over. We’ll wear them out of the store.”

How was that going to work? Were they planning to shoplift this underwear? What if they got caught? Yet, Jessica, desperate to cover herself, made no argument. She simply put her shorts back on as quickly as she could possibly manage. As she reached for her shirt, however, Nick stopped her.

“I think you could use a new top, too, Jessica. Stay right there.”

Nick disappeared around a corner, and she was forced to stand there, still wearing nothing over her torso but that gaudy and revealing brassiere, as Shannon regarded her with a haughty sneer, taking one last swig from the energy drink in her hand.

“You ever been fucked in the ass, Rushie?”

Jessica didn’t know what to say. She just stood there, her stomach reeling, avoiding Shannon’s smirking gaze.

“No? Well, first time for everything. Maybe a second and a third too? Who knows what the night’s got in store . . .”

Before Shannon could go on, the sound of someone coming around the corner made Jessica jump. Jessica did her best to crouch behind the panty rack, folding her arms across her chest.

It was Nick. In his hands, he was carrying a sheer white blouse. He tossed it to Jessica.

“See if this top fits. It was on sale.”

Jessica gratefully grabbed the blouse, eager to cover herself. Before she could slip her arms through the holes, however, a large woman in a blue apron rounded the corner with a stack of merchandise. When she saw Jessica, standing in the middle of the store wearing nothing but a gaudy red bra over her enormous tits, the flustered employee nearly toppled over backwards.

“Oh! Oh my, I do apologize, Miss,” she stammered, trying her best to look away, “I didn’t mean—Excuse me. I’ll- uh- I’ll find someone to let you into the fitting rooms.”

The woman tripped over herself backing away and out of sight. Jessica watched her go, mortified at the scene she had just made. Meanwhile, Nick began helping her with the blouse.

“You two better hurry up and finish our shopping before you have to talk to a manager, Rushie,” Shannon laughed.

Jessica began to frantically help Nick button the blouse all the way up. She dreaded having to explain to Wal-Mart management why she had chosen to disrobe in the middle of the store. Couldn’t she be arrested for something like that? Public indecency? Wasn’t that a law? Nervously, she glanced overhead and saw an abundance of security cameras, many of which would have picked up perfect footage of her nudity. What had she done?

Finally, she managed to close the blouse, several sizes too small, around her chest and to button the final button.

“Come on. Just one last thing to complete the ensemble, then we can check out. Shan, grab Jessica’s panties, will you?”

With Nick’s hand pressing her back, Jessica scurried briskly away from the lingerie section, stealing a brief look behind her to see Shannon picking up her shirt and underwear as Nick instructed.

As they walked, the other customers they passed stared at Jessica. Some flashed her looks of disgust, some curiosity. Most of the men, however, gazed at her with hunger and transparent lust. Jessica blushed deep red and avoided all these eyes.

Before leaving Wal-Mart’s vast clothing wing, Jessica caught a brief glimpse of herself in a full-length mirror. Immediately, she understood the way people were looking at her. Her appearance was ridiculous, although tormentingly sexual. The blouse was completely inappropriate for her shorts and tennis shoes, and, while it was too tight, it nevertheless hung down low enough to make it look like she was wearing no pants at all. Worse, though, it was nearly see-through. The red brassiere displayed itself underneath the white material in full glory, available to even the most casual observer.

Blushing worse than ever, Jessica concentrated on the linoleum floor as she continued to let Nick parade her through the store. Finally, they turned down an aisle. Jessica looked up to see where they were and was puzzled to find that the sign overhead read “Pet Supplies.” Nick began to browse.

“Hmmmm… Let’s see,” pondered Nick, “This looks like a good one.”

From off the shelf, Nick selected a red, plastic dog collar and detachable leash.

“Let’s see if this works. Hold still, Jess.”

Jessica tensed but did not move. Nick adjusted the collar and then slipped it around Jessica’s neck. The front fastened with a snap. He attached the leash.

Nick stepped back to admire the effect, the leash trailing from Jessica’s collarbone to his right hand. Over Nick’s shoulder, Shannon gave her a tiny smirk.

“Is she trained?” Shannon said.

Nick grinned and tugged on the leash.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Jessica looked down the aisle, desperately. No one was around. But for how long?

“Sit,” said Nick again.

Knowing she had no choice, Jessica did her best to do as she hoped Nick wanted. Trembling, she lowered herself to the ground, attempting to sit Indian-style on the shiny plastic floor.

“No, Jessica. All fours. Like a doggy”

Jessica gulped and adjusted herself. She knelt down facing Nick and put her hands down on the floor in front of her, causing her ass to stick out and her breasts to dangle beneath her.

“Good puppy. Now, walk towards me.”

Nick tugged the leash again, and Jessica hesitatingly began to crawl towards him on all fours. The effect was humiliating. Please, don’t let anyone see me doing this, she thought. Please—

“What the HELL is going on here?” a voice boomed from behind her.

Jessica looked behind her to see a man in a security guard uniform.

“You kids needa quit screwing around and get the hell outta this store. This issa place of business!”

The guard seemed to be mostly addressing Nick, but Jessica saw his eyes drifting down frequently towards her bottom, which was still sticking up into the air.

“Jeez, we’re really sorry, sir,” Nick said cheerfully as he strolled over to shake hands with the guard, “See, my girlfriend here, she sometimes likes…”

Jessica got up from the ground and tried to listen to their conversation, but she was distracted when Shannon leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t say a goddamn word, or you’ll be sorry,” she hissed.

“Man, I don’t want to know nothing ‘bout none of that!” the guard was bellowing, “You three just gotta get outta this here store NOW, before I call the cops!”

“Alright. Alright. We’re going,” Nick said. “C’mon, Jess. I told you your little games would get us kicked out. Let’s pay for our purchases and go.”

Nick detached the leash but kept the collar around her neck. As he led her out of the Pet Supplies aisle, she heard the security guard muttering half to himself.

“Man, gettin’ all nekkid in the middle of the store then lettin’ yourself get drug around like a dog? What the hell’s wrong with you, Girl?”

Nick ignored him as he marched Jessica up to the front of the store, Shannon skulking close behind. There were few people checking out, and Jessica found herself pushed immediately in front of a cashier, a bewildered-looking teenager with a mop of shaggy dark hair. The boy looked at Jessica’s dog collar with puzzlement, then his eyes drifted downward towards her chest, and his puzzlement turned to fascination.

“Um…” he muttered, unsure of how to proceed. Luckily, Nick was there to remind him of his duties.

“Hi. Sorry. We’re kind of wearing all our merchandise. Sorry about that. Jessica here just couldn’t wait to try it all on.”

“Oh. Ah… What would you… um… what should I… that is… ring up?”

“It’s just the dog leash. The collar. That blouse that Jessica’s wearing. Oh, and also the little red number she’s got on underneath.”

The checker gulped and nodded. Nick found the tag sticking out from Jessica’s blouse and told her to lean in.

She complied, raising herself to her tiptoes and leaning over the register so that the cashier could swipe the tag with his barcode reader.

“Thanks… um… your… uh… collar, too.”

Jessica winced and leaned further over, craning her neck out so that the young attendant could read the barcode sticker. As she did, she felt her breasts pushing up against the register painfully. The machine beeped, acknowledging the dog collar.

“Right. And for the… um… the other items? You want me to… uh… you want me to call in a… like, a price check or what?” the cashier asked, shifting his weight with uncertainty.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Nick. “There’s a barcode on the bra. Show him, Jessica.”

Jessica took a deep breath before replying simply: “Where?”

“Try under the left cup. Open up your shirt and let’s get out of here.”

Jessica looked around. The store was by no means empty. The man at the adjacent checkout line was helping a customer, but every so often he looked over his shoulder to observe the scene at his coworker’s register. People continued to walk by, both in front and behind, and many of them were looking right at her. Jessica bit her lip, trying to steady her nerves, as she reached up to undo the buttons of her blouse.

She worked quickly, and her chest soon popped free of its confine. Many people were now watching her, she was sure. She opened the blouse wide open and thrust her breasts up to cashier.

“Please do it quickly,” she pleaded softly.

However, between the cashier’s nervousness and Jessica’s, it was difficult to steady the shaking barcode reader long enough to scan the tag on the underside of Jessica’s also-shaking tits.

“Um… uh…” the young man fumbled, “uh… Here. May I?”

The cashier finally grabbed Jessica’s breast and, lifting it up, held it steady long enough to perform the scan. The machine beeped, and he was just about to reluctantly relinquish the enticing globe of flesh when a shout from behind made them both stop and turn.

“Hey! What the hell did I tell you? This ain’t that kinda store!”

The security guard was advancing on them. Jessica tore herself away from the cashier and tried to cover herself. Nick took a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and set it on the counter.

“Keep the change. Let’s move, Jessica.”

They began to run, Shannon sauntering close behind, Jessica trying desperately to button up the blouse.

“Hey! Hey, you! Stop! I’m callin’ the cops!”

Jessica ran furiously. It seemed that dozens of faces were watching her. She imagined the scene that these customers must have witnessed: her running her own breasts through the WalMart checkout. She couldn’t imagine anything more cheap and trashy, and her eyes welled up with tears. They ran past the old greeter and out through the automatic doors.

Despite the guard’s apparent anger, once outside it did not appear as though they were in danger of further pursuit, and they stopped to catch their breath. Nick let out a laugh, as Shannon caught up with them.

“Wasn’t that fun, Jessica?” Nick asked.

Jessica sniffed back her tears and said nothing. In response to a gesture from Nick, she looked up to see the silver Volvo pulling into the other end of the parking lot.

“Let’s go, Jessica,” Nick said, beckoning her to follow. “We’ve got one more stop to make.”

The Initiation: Chapter 7 – The Restaurant

As the countryside flew by the Volvo’s rear windows, Jessica kept her gaze locked mutely on her hands clutching one another tensely in her lap, unable to think of anything beyond the horror of what had happened at the truck stop.

She played it over and over in her mind, wondering whether she should or could have done something differently. She had tried to enter this initiation weekend with an open attitude, prepared to do things she wouldn’t normally do, to suffer some embarrassment or discomfort as part of the Theta hazing ritual. But not this. Being forced to let strange men touch her naked boobs? Having her sorority sister’s boyfriend forcibly yank her across his knee, pull down her pants and underwear, and spank her bare ass while everyone watched and took pictures? No. This was too much.

Could it conceivably be that this was part of the Theta hazing? That all the girls went through this as Shannon and Nick insisted? It seemed impossible. Yet, as wrong as all this felt, as persistent as the voice in Jessica’s head had become, telling her that she needed to escape, abandon her ambitions of becoming a Theta, just get home, maybe even report what had happened to her, she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate that possibility.

Part of it was probably that she couldn’t let go of her mother’s dream of having her join the sorority, it was too deeply ingrained in her. If she stopped cooperating or demanded that they turn the car around immediately, then if nothing else her hopes of joining Theta Theta Psi were over, and despite everything, being part of that exclusive club still meant something to Jessica.

Part of it was also what Shannon had hissed to her just before shoving her back into the Volvo: “You wash out if you want to, Rushie, but if you ever tell anyone about any of this, I swear to god, no one will ever speak to you again. You will be a complete social outcast for the rest of your University career. And not only that but I will personally claw those pretty blue eyes out. Bet your worthless life on it, Rushie.”

Jessica looked up from her lap to sneak a look at the back of Shannon’s head. After the burst of manic energy at the beginning of the road trip, Shannon had become a relatively silent presence, deferring almost entirely to Nick. The whispered warning was practically the first thing she had directed towards Jessica in hours. She had also become increasingly nervous and twitchy, constantly rolling down the window to light up another cigarette.

This passivity did nothing to lessen Jessica’s fear of the black-haired girl, her silence no more an indication of harmlessness than a coiled snake. Yet Shannon’s threats were still only part of what kept Jessica frozen in her place, locked helplessly in the back seat of this moving vehicle between two sweaty  frat boys.

Part of it was also that she felt a strange sense of guilt at what had happened. Why didn’t she just say no when Nick asked her to open her shirt? Why didn’t she slap that creepy man’s hand away when he began to caress her breasts? Why didn’t she physically fight, scream for help, when Nick dragged her over to the bench for her spanking?

Is that what people would say if they found out? If Jessica told? Would they say she cooperated, that she must have been stupid to let things go as far as they did? Or maybe they would say that she liked it. That she welcomed the attention. Jessica shuddered.

And then there were the pictures. Thankfully, Nick had turned down Randal’s request for copies. Even when Randal offered to pay, Nick had just laughed and told him the photos weren’t for sale, giving Jessica some hope that he might keep his promise not to share them with the outside world. If she ran away or stopped cooperating, though, everyone at school would see them, not just photos of her flashing her tits, but video of her bent over the hood of Nick’s car getting her ass paddled, video of her sprawled across Nick’s lap bare-bottomed. How could she look anyone in the eye again, knowing they had all seen her in these humiliating positions?

Her only hope, she told herself, was to stick the weekend out and pray that these boys kept those videos to themselves, just as they had apparently kept secret the incriminating evidence of the other Theta girls’ hazings.

“Here, next exit.”

Jessica was pulled from her brooding by the realization that Shannon was apparently preparing to pull off the highway at Nick’s direction. They had turned off the Interstate several miles back and had been cruising up a two lane state highway approaching a town called Millard. Not for the first time on this trip, Jessica found herself wishing she had a better grasp of local geography. She had no idea where they were or how far they might be from the Theta’s cabin in Mount Greenwood.

“If you take Main up a few blocks, there’s this steakhouse kind of place,” Nick was telling Shannon as the Volvo paused momentarily at the stop sign at the end of the highway offramp, “we’ll grab some grub and I’m gonna give Jeff a call.”

What were they doing pulling off in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere?, Jessica thought. Who was Jeff? Had the others all discussed this beforehand without her? Nick turned around as if sensing her confusion.

“We’re gonna pull off for an early dinner, Jess,” he told her, “my cousin lives around here, so I figured I’d stop by and see him as long as we’re driving right by. Used to visit Millard almost every summer growing up. Real shit town. Colton’s up here on Main and 3rd cooks a decent steak, though. You’ll like it.”

***

Colton’s could easily have been mistaken for a renovated Sizzler or an Olive Garden. With its maroon, vinyl-upholstered booths and wood-paneled walls, the restaurant had a slightly old-fashioned but otherwise completely non-descript feel.  Jessica sat across from Dylan and Matt, waiting anxiously for Shannon to return from the bathroom.

After they had pulled up to the restaurant and piled out of the car, stretching out their trip stiffness, Nick had counted out a handful of twenties (the same ones, Jessica assumed, that he had collected from the men at the truck stop in exchange for letting them touch her breasts) and thrust them over to Shannon for the meal. Then, as an apparent afterthought, he had reached back into the car and handed Shannon Jessica’s pledge paddle.

“Just so we’re clear,” he had said to Jessica, “Shannon’s in charge of you until I get back. Do what she says or you know what will happens, right?”

“Yes sir,” Jessica had finally responded when it became clear that the question was not rhetorical.

To Jessica’s embarrassment, therefore, Shannon had taken the paddle with her when they had entered the restaurant, leaving Nick in the parking lot on his phone. The entrance had turned out to be a false start, since the hostess had refused to seat them. While she had given Shannon’s wooden implement merely a half-curious, half-disapproving look, she had been unable to abide the provocative condition of Jessica’s braless cleavage.

“I’m sorry, Honey,” she had said with a critical cock of her eyebrows, “ I know that’s probably how you college girls dress these days, but this is a family restaurant, and we got a dress code.”

Of course, Shannon had played it off like the fashion choice had been Jessica’s and had sent Jessica back to the car in shame to put on her bra. This, of course, had necessitated asking for her underwear back from Nick, who, to her surprise, put up no argument, apparently too engrossed in his phone conversation to bother to humiliate her further.

Jessica had grabbed her bra off the dashboard, and, as discreetly as she could, ducked down in the passenger’s seat to quickly change her top.

Breasts newly resecured, she had braved the hostess’s judgmental looks and reached the table where Dylan and Matt were waiting for her, Shannon apparently having slipped off to the ladies’ room.

When Shannon returned, she appeared reenergized and immediately flagged the waitress down, demanding a vodka tonic. When the drink arrived, Shannon immediately pushed them to order. Shannon ordered a steak, medium-rare for herself, but, when the waitress turned to Jessica, Shannon cut her off.

“She’ll be sharing with me. Don’t want you porking out, Rushie. Not when you’ve still got so much modeling to do.”

Jessica hadn’t eaten since that morning, and, though she had been too distracted to take much note until now, she suddenly realized how hungry she was. She hoped that Shannon was serious about letting her eat some of her meal and wouldn’t simply starve her.

The food arrived surprisingly quickly, just enough time for Shannon to knock back her cocktail and order another. The waitress set down a plate in front of Shannon with a large juicy-looking cut of steak surrounded by green beans and mashed potatoes. Jessica stared enviously as everyone else began digging in while she could only stare at the empty space in front of her.

Finally, after Shannon had apparently eaten her fill, she turned to Jessica.

“Aw, is little Jessica hungy?” she cooed in a baby-talk voice, “Ok, open wide for num nums”

Shannon cut off a small piece of meat, speared it with her fork, and thrust it towards Jessica’s face. Jessica stared at it for a moment, considering reaching for the fork, but Shannon’s game was clear. She wanted to humiliate Jessica by feeding her like a baby. Unsure what else to do and enticed by the greasy morsel hovering in front of her nose, Jessica finally opened her mouth, wrapped her lips around Shannon’s fork and pulled the meat off. Dylan snickered and pulled out the camcorder.

“Well? All done?” said Shannon.

The tiny bite of steak had only increased the rumbling in Jessica’s stomach. She gave the food on Shannon’s plate a desperate, sideways look and shook her head.

“Well, ask the right way and you might get a little more.”

Jessica cleared her throat.

“May I have some more?” she asked under her breath, “Please? Ma’am?”

Shannon smiled and began cutting another piece. Piece by piece, she inserted bites of steak directly into Jessica’s mouth while Jessica’s hands rested helplessly on the seat beside her. Dylan kept the camera trained diligently on Jessica’s face as she chewed and swallowed and pliantly accepted another offering.

As Jessica’s feeding continued, Shannon began toying with her, pulling the fork away at the last minute so that Jessica’s mouth closed around empty air, moving the meat suddenly so as to dab the sides of Jessica’s lips with grease. Eventually, the area around Jessica’s mouth became spotted all around with meat juice, some of it running in drips down to her chin. It was at this point that Shannon, running low on steak, moved on to the mashed potatoes

Dipping a spoon into the white mush, Shannon measured out a heaping scoop and sent it careening towards Jessica’s face. It was a huge mouthful, and Jessica, no longer famished, was reluctant to open her mouth. Yet, she knew that refusing would surely make the situation worse. Unenthusiastically, she parted her lips and allowed the spoon inside, trying her best to suck off the entire helping of potatoes.

Before Jessica had had a chance to process that bite, Shannon had scooped up another load and was shoving it in her face. Jessica tried her best to chew and swallow quickly, but Shannon was pushing the spoon insistently against her lips. Jessica tried to take a bite, despite her mouth still being partially full. It was a messy bite, and globs of potato clung to her lips.

Jessica began to reach for a napkin but Shannon told her harshly to keep her hands where they were. Suddenly, another spoonful was knocking against her lips. Jessica tried desperately to clear her mouth to make way, but Shannon, appearing to grow impatient, kept jabbing the spoon towards Jessica’s lips, smearing mashed potato all around in the process.

When Shannon scooped up yet another mound, there was no pretense at all. She simply began wiping the spoon on Jessica’s cheeks and chin, sticking dollops of white goop to wherever they would stick on the coed’s pretty young face. For good measure, Shannon smeared some potato on Jessica’s nose and dabbed some on her eyebrow, then leaned back giggling to admire her artwork. It was probably the most happy Jessica had seen her since the trip began. Meanwhile, of course, Dylan continued to film and Matt watched with a nervous grin on his face.

Jessica’s head dipped in indignity, and, as it did, a large chunk of mashed potato dropped from her cheek and fell unceremoniously directly into her cleavage, which, due to the missing blouse button, remained exposed.

Suddenly, just as Jessica was considering whether to ask Shannon for permission to wipe her face off, Nick arrived. He was accompanied by two men, both around Nick’s age or perhaps slightly older, both with crew cuts, both noticeably muscled. Nick stopped in surprise when he saw Jessica’s face, then smiled broadly. Jessica looked up helplessly and Nick and the two strange men, conscious of the comical image she must cut, with her face caked in beef grease and mashed potatoes .

“What happened here, Jess?” asked Nick.

“Dumb bitch is the sloppiest eater I’ve ever seen,” cackled Shannon, and, for good measure, flicked a spoonful of potatoes towards Jessica, which splattered on her neck and rolled down to join the rest of the mush that had oozed into her cleavage.

“Well, sorry she’s such a mess, guys, but this is Jessica, the chick I was telling you about. Jess, this is my cousin Jeff and this is his pal Alberto.”

Jessica swallowed hard and managed a meek “hi.”

“Jeff and Alberto served in Afghanistan together,” Nick continued. “Alberto here actually just got back a couple weeks ago from . . . Faro?”

“Farah,” said Alberto.

“Farah,” Nick corrected. “Wild, huh? Anyway, there’s a VFW hall here in Millard they hang out at sometimes, and they’ve invited us to stop by for a couple of drinks before we hit the road again. How’s that sound?”

Before anyone could answer, the waitress stepped up beside the three men to check on the table. Seeing Jessica’s food-splattered face, she stopped short.

“Why don’t I just get you kids the check? . . .”