Free The Empress's New Lingerie and Other Erotic Fairy Tales by Hillary Rollins Page A

marry a common thing like herself? Especially as it had now been revealed that beneath her maidenly airs she harbored a lewd and shameful nature. If she was not pure enough to serve him as slave, surely she was not worthy to serve him as wife! This part of the contract she was sure would never be enforced, and so again she nodded consent.
    Eager to extract his pleasure from the first half of the deal, the little manikin set about positioning his victim in the ideal posture for her punishment. He turned her to face the wall and tightened the chains on her wrists and ankles so she was stretched akimbo against the cold flagstones. Her leather-clad face and beleaguered nipples were pressed into the mossy chinks of the wall while her back and buttocks and plump thighs were unabashedly displayed to the lecherous eyes of her torturer.
    When he was satisfied that her position would afford him the maximum access in this delightful beating, he took his place behind her and lifted his bundle of sticks (which he refered to as his “training rod”) high over his head, then brought it down, hard, against her unblemished rear. The sounds this made—a high-pitched siren of a whistle then the “thwack” as twigs met flesh, leaving both the rod and the receiver marked as they’d not been before—grew into a strange kind of music as he played his instrument against her in a rhythmic assault. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, his training rod sang its song on her hips, buttocks, and thighs, and the player punctuated each stroke of the baton with a chanted slur against the wayward maid.
    Hiss/thwack, “Slut!” Hiss/smack, “Whore!” Hiss/crack, “Liar and infidel! Your father promised gold, but did you deliver? Of course not! Liars and children of liars must be taught a lesson!” Hiss/thwack, hiss/smack, the birch branches cut into her again and again, leaving great, red welts in their wake, making the poor maiden writhe against her iron bonds as she twisted this way and that trying in vain to avoid the agonizing blows. Alas, there was no escaping the relentless fall of the rod. From behind her leather gag she uttered guttural moans and stifled screams. Boiling tears spilled from her panicked eyes and soaked the leather straps that bound her face. Tiny droplets of blood, like ruby chips, dotted the welts and gashes that the crazed martinet inflicted on her hind parts. But still he would not let up.
    â€œStrumpet!” Swoosh. “Useless cow!” Thwack. “Well, now you must bow to me, mustn’t you? Now you must grovel and fawn and submit to my will if you wish to see tomorrow!”
    His raspy voice rose and rose with furious excitement as he laid ever more crimson stripes upon the milk-white flesh, and just as the unhappy girl fainted dead away from the acute sensations of pleasure and pain, the little man erupted in an enormous gushing orgasm all over her well-seasoned globes.

    Some time later the miller’s daughter awoke to find herself alone. She was still chained and gagged, still naked and trembling, but now somehow less naked, as her derriere from the small of her back to the bend of her knees was dressed in a lattice of blisters and cuts. Purple welts and pink gashes were woven together like a fine lace petticoat and spread across her back and thighs in a veil of pain, and the only available balm to cool this burning garment was her tormentor’s sticky effusion, which he’d left exactly where it fell, in gobs of dripping wetness, upon the sleeping beauty.
    Fortunately, the little man had also left her spool after spool of gleaming spun gold in place of the straw. And the king was so pleased with these riches, which he assumed were the result of the maiden’s handiwork, he decided to make her his wife!

    Years passed, and the miller’s daughter, despite her longing to be slave and not queen, accepted her lot with the grace of unquestioning