A Handmaid's Tail

Hilda spanked her roughly. Ordered the other maids to accompany her upstairs. Made her tell the Princess what she had been caught doing. It was awful. Even more awful than the retelling.

"The crone does what she will," the Queen said. "Besides, the crone exacts a high price. How well I know."

"Please....mummy...." Mary whined.

"Can't you handle your own maid?" the Queen asked. "You will be Queen one day. You can't very well call the Crone for every disobedient maid."

"Oh I won't mother," Mary said earnestly. "Can I just talk to her? If we can't come to terms, it's no price at all."

"I suppose," the Queen said. "But I don't like it. The Crone is smarter than she looks. And she always seems to have just what a person wants."

"That's what I'm hoping mother," Mary said.

**The Crone**

The woman older than anyone Antoinette had ever seen. The Crone's eyes were misty blue with no pupils. She had wrinkles upon wrinkles. A large hairy mole on her nose and chin. Truly an ugly woman. No wonder they called her the Crone. The witch would have been an even better name. She was clothed in rags that appeared almost as old as she was and she carried a gnarled can to support her as she walked.

Training her unnatural eyes on Antoinette, the Crone pointed her gnarled stick at Antoinette. "So this is what you wanted to see me about?"

Antoinette gave a shudder. To her knowledge Mary hadn't yet told the Crone about her.

"Yes Crone," Mary said.

"I see why she interests you," the Crone said. "I smell nobility...yet that is an impossibility."

"She's French Crone," Mary offered.

"Ahhhh....." the Crone said. "Things fall into place. I can feel her need even from here. I can smell her. Her body begs for it."

Antoinette blanched. God, was she so transparent. The constant sex and teasing had taken it's toll. All she thought of was sex, sex, and more sex. That and escape. And escape would bring an end to her constant frustration.

"It's a good method you've chosen," the Crone said. "Taking something so personal to her. You wish to extend it yes?"

"Yes Crone," Mary said, her cheeks flushed. How much did this old woman know?

"You could cut off a certain pink rosebud," the Crone said. "Snip-snip. That is how the desert peoples do it. It's quite effective."

"But that would have other side effects I think," Mary said.

Dear Lord! Antoinette's legs shook so hard she had to hold the cold stone wall for support. If they were talking about what she thought they were talking about. Maiming her. Cutting off her pearl. Without which, she would never find release again. Talking about it as calmly and cooly as if they were talking gelding an animal.

"There would be a loss of feeling certainly," the Crone said. "You would never be able to put her in the state she is in now. But she would never be able to achieve it on her own either."

"But that isn't what I want Crone or I'd have done for myself," Mary said. "I want -"

"I know what you want child," the Crone said. "You want to own that part of her. That is why you called for me."

"Yes Crone," Mary said.

"Well...it is possible," the Crone said. "Quite possible. The right materials. The right spells. Oh yes. Possible. But there is a price."

"What is it?" Mary said.

"A bit of royal blood for my spells," the Crone said. "I am running low."

"My mother has told me of what happens to her when you make your spells and how it still effects her."

"She knew the price," the Crone said.

"She knew the price was blood," Mary said. "Not of the later effects."

"Must I have a barrister to practice magic?" the Crone said. "I tire of this talking."

"Wait Crone," Mary said. "Royal blood you say. My handmaid's blood is blue. Oh it is blue indeed."

"Not enough," the Crone said. "It needs be King, Queen, Prince, or Princess. No other will do."

"My handmaid is the French Princess. The true Queen of France."

"Is this true?" the Crone said. "Can this be true? Is she...is she pure of form?"

"She's comely in her own fashion," Mary said.

"No girl," the Crone said. "Is she still intact. Her virginity."

"My housekeeper says yes," Mary said. "I haven't checked myself. Tell her Quim. Are you still a virgin?"

"Yes..." Antoinette admitted. Wondering if she answered wrong, that it may cause her even further distress.

"I will do what you wish," the Crone said. "My price will be blood. Her first blood."

Mary caught a tone in the Crone's voice. The old bag of bones wanted this. Wanted it badly.

"This is more than you first asked for. My blood would not have been pure. You will grant me this and two other favors." Mary haggled.

"One other."

"Two."

"Aye," the Crone said. "A hard bargain. I'll grant them if it's in my power. We shall perform the spell at the next full moon."

It took a week before the moon waxed full. During that time Antoinette managed to find a French merchant and gave him a message to take back to Duke Lagnelle. A man she knew was loyal to her father. Perhaps if word got back, she could make arrangements to escape her current predicament. By now, she was almost willing to risk anything...even taking on her Uncle if necessary. Surely, there were some still loyal to her father's line.

The night of the full moon, Antionette was staked out on the floor in the Princess's quarters. A pentagram outlining her form, drawn in white chalk. A candle lay at each point of the star.

"Please Mary," Antionette begged, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. "You don't have to do this. I'll be good. I promise."

Antoinette had no idea what the Crone had in mind. She didn't believe in magic, yet the Crone could still snip her. Maim her forever.

"This must be timed just right," the Crone said, taking a wooden phallus and vial, then doing her best to bend down between Antoinette's spread legs. "Oh...these old bones..."

"Only I may touch my handmaid without gloves," Mary said.

"Princess," the Crone said. "My patience grows thin. Here take this. It is probably for the best, you are far more able than I."

Mary took the wooden phallus and glass vial and knelt between Antoinette's spread legs.

"Now place a drop of the liquid on each breast and then one on her plum, then rub it in. Careful you don't touch your own privates," the Crone said.

"What does this do?" Mary asked as she rubbed harsh smelling liquid into Antoinette's intimate areas.

"It increases the sensitivity."

"Maybe two drops then?" Mary suggested.

"I don't advise it," the Crone said. "But if you wish, you may coat the phallus in the oil. Actually, that could help things go a bit smoother in the end."

As the oil seeped into Antoinette's nether regions, she began to fear the old Crone even more. She had no doubts of the woman's power now. The old crone was right, she could feel a warmth settle in and then the sensations began to grow. She could feel Mary's breath move across her sex like a soft caress. She could feel her nipples hardening. Could feel her pulse. Could feel the liquid drip from her sex.

"Please...Mistress...please Crone....." Antoinette begged. "Don't do this to me. I'm no Princess. I'll do like you tell me. I can pay you....I know people....ohhh God......" Her cries devolved into a low moan. A pant. A gasp. "God....feel....so...tingly....mmmmmmm...."

"Now work her up," the Crone urged. "You seem to have a talent for it. She must not have release yet, so you must be very careful. Your breath will be sufficient. If you had a feather or small brush..."

Mary proceeded to blow her warm breath on her handmaiden's sex. Antoinette gave a moan and tugged at her bonds. Not to free herself, but because she couldn't stop her body from writhing in pleasure.

"I have a brush on the vanity," Mary suggested to the old Crone. "Would you bring it to me?"

"I'm not some handmaid or servant," the Crone grumbled. With her cane stabbing at the floor she made her way to the vanity and then back with the small makeup brush. Mary took it and proceed to twirl the fibers against her handmaid's hard crinkled nipples.

"Who's my little French Princess?" Mary teased.

"Me...." Antoinette said breathlessly. She could feel every fiber of the brush as it worked over her nipples. They had always been small but sensitive, now the sensations overwhelmed her mind.

"Who's my French slut? My juicy Quim? The Palace whore?"

"Me..me.....me...." Antoinette cried.

"Give her plum some attention," the Crone said.

Then the brush was applied to the handmaid's sex. To the lips. To the mouth. To the clit. Antoinette couldn't stop her hips from humping, from trying to find more stimulation. So desperate she was to cum.

"Would you like to feel more Princess?" the Crone said her voice cracking. "See that pretty wooden cock? Wouldn't you like to feel that deep inside you? It is covered in even more of that splendid oil you seem to be enjoying."

"Yes...Oh....yes....." Antoinette moaned breathlessly. "Fuck me..."

"Do you give up your maidenhead freely?" the Crone cackled.

"Oh yes....fuck me.....please...." A part of Antoinette, a tiny voice in her mind cried, "Don't do this. Don't let her do this to you. This is exactly what she wants."

But so strong was her bodies urges, Antoinette begged for the wooden cock. Begged to be violated. To be fucked and fucked hard. Fucked like whore.

"Would like that Princess?" the Crone cackled. "I confess I would like to see that.. to see this French Princess get taken like a whore. Undo her bonds and you can do it if you like. Just don't smudge the chalk or put out the candles."

Mary was eager as well. She undid her handmaiden's bondage and put the girl on her hands and knees. It was hard at times, due to her formerly prude handmaid begging to be taken, begging to lick her, begging to kiss her.

"Tell me what you want French whore," the Crone teased.

Poor Antoinette couldn't help but blush, suffering in humiliation, yet that didn't make her hesitate. Not even for a breath. "Fuck me. Fuck me Princess. I'm a whore. A French whore. Give it to me. My ass. My pussy. Just fuck me. Please..." The handmaid worked her hips as lewdly as any whore. Her sex was dripping her sweet nectar to the floor below. So intent was she on her bodies urges, she didn't notice that the candles gave great sparks and began to grow brighter, spewing out a purple smoke.

"Your maidenhead...your virginity...do you give it?" the Crone said.

"Take it. Take it. Hurry...ohhhh hurry...." Antoinette said.

"She gives it freely," the Crone cackled. "Use the phallus and give it to the French whore. But wait I must get down there for this part. I must collect my due."

With old bones creaking, the Crone knelt beside the Princess and her handmaiden. Mary lined the wooden phallus up with Antoinette's slick sex. Placing her other palm on her handmaiden's tight ass, she pushed the wooden cock home.

Antoinette gave a low groan as she was impaled. She had thought it would feel like it did when the Princess shoved a feather duster up her arse. And though each did penetrate her, this was altogether different. Pushing against her maidenhead, and then a sharp pain of tearing, which thanks to the oil, she felt the pain of ten-fold. Crying out to God, at that moment she would have sworn she wanted it over, to never have anything inside her sex again - despite the months of frustrations she had endured.

But then cock slid home. Opening her flower. Filling her up. Completely. By then the pain had subsided and left only sweet pleasure. And what sweet pleasure it was too. So much pleasure, she gave no thought to the Crone's disparaging comments to Mary. Croaking: Look at that French whore. She how the slut fucks it. Oh you did well to come to me Princess. Oh this one needs a firm hand and a tight leash. Now let me collect my due. Oh there's so much of it. Keep going Princess. Slam it home. Oh you can do it harder than that, see how she craves it. Now reach around and work her pearl. She's almost ready. I can feel it in my bones."

Antoinette was past ready. She could feel the pounding in her blood. The lightening in her loins. Oh yes! Yes! Finally!

"Tug her pearl Princess. Oh and what a big pearl it is too. Grasp it between your forefinger and thumb and give some little pulls. Oh she's just about there. Almost done my French Princess, do you want more. Are you ready for bliss? Do you give your Mistress your pearl? You must give it if you want her to continue. Give it. Tell her the words....tell her...."

The French Princess was oblivious to what she was saying. In her state she would have said anything. "Oh tug it. Tug my pearl. It's yours Mistress. I give it. Oh just keep going please....oh oh....oh.....God......"

The orgasm slammed home. It took her breath. Her speech. She lengthened her body, felt it sliding down. Pressing her small breasts into the cold stone floor. Her knees wide. Back arched. Face laid against the floor. Lip trapped between perfect white teeth. Eyes rolled up behind her eyelids. She had felt pleasure before, but never like this. Her pearl almost felt alive. Driving bolts of pleasure through her loins. Dear Lord, she was going to climax again.

"Are you a French whore little Princess?" the Crone teased.

"Yes...." Antoinette purred.

"Roll over then," The Crone said.

Antoinette had no thought of rebellion or consequences, such was the blissful state she was in. She obediently rolled to her back, one knee up, the other sprawled out to the side. Her nipples were hard small pebbles. Her bare sex, engorged and dripping with nectar. The mouth contracting in time to the pleasure. The pink lips, open and waiting for a kiss. But inside the pink clam, where that pink pearl should have been, it was empty. Princess Mary smiled wickedly, her finger rubbing rapidly against her new ring, capped by an elegant pink pearl.

"Open your eyes my juicy little Quim," Mary purred.

But it was so hard to open them with the sensations Antoinette was feeling. The things Mary was doing to her pearl right now were beyond belief. She had thought herself well acquainted with that tiny appendage, and now it felt as if she hardly knew it at all. Her eyes opened a crack. She saw dim forms huddled over her. Yet, that didn't seem possible. Who was doing these things to her down below?

Mary grinned and gave the pearl on her ring a small pinch.

"Ouch!" Antoinette gasped. Then realization struck.

The handmaid's hand flew down to her sex. Fingers searched. This wasn't possible. And yet...."Noooooo........." she moaned. The pearl she had touched so many time to bring herself pleasure, to bring herself to conclusion was gone. Missing.

"Come on my little French whore," Mary said, as she began to delicately stroke the shiny pearl on her ring. "Get those legs back out. Come on. Wider."

The handmaiden wanted to resist. Something had been stolen from her. Something that should never be taken from any woman, be she Princess or handmaid. But her pearl, oh the sensations it was giving her right now. Making her sex contract. Making her writhe and moan. Making her loins wet and tingly. She wanted more. Needed it no matter what had been done. She spread her flexible legs wide. Those lean royal thighs open and wanting.

"Wider..." Mary said. "Show me how much you want it."

Antoinette put her feet flat on the stone floor and raised her bottom off the floor. Her hip bones stood out from her pelvis. Her sex offered freely. The mouth tensing with every Mary's every touch to her ring.

"Do you like this slave?" Mary said. "Do you want another?"

"Yes..." Antoinette moaned. She flexed her hips, drawing her pelvis even higher, going onto her toes, hands cupping small breasts, tweaking hard nipples.

"Then tell me what you are," Mary teased.

"A whore Mistress. Your French whore," Antoinette moaned as lightning ran through her loins once again. This orgasm slammed into her lean body, dropping her to the floor. Causing her to cry out loudly. Making tears fall from her eyes. It was almost too much pleasure for her to contain. She couldn't even escape the sensations coming from her pearl. No matter if she held her hands over her sex. No matter if she squirmed away. Princess Mary held it upon her ring finger.

Writhing uncontrollably, Antoinette gave a final keening. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Then her body relaxed as her consciousness fled.

"Are you satisfied," asked the Crone.

"Yes Crone," Mary said, lightly fingering her ring. "Well satisfied. Thank you."

The Crone quickly packed up her belongings. Double checking her precious liquid. Royal blood, not just royal blood which was rare enough, but the first blood. The power from it would help her lose some of the effects that time had bestowed on her old body. She was older than anyone realized. Thanks to some new blood and high magic, she would still be a crone, but she would be able to erase 75 years and still have enough blood for other spells.

It was six more months before Antoinette heard back from Duke Langelle. Either he had received a message from Anelle or the merchant. He had sent his own squire, disguised as a merchant.

"Your highness. My God, what do they have you wearing..." the Squire said. He had been here looking for her for a week. Had seen her several time in passing, but never imagined this slave with her hair cut short, no longer wearing those beautiful long regal tresses. Her hair was also shades darker, as if it had been washed in Elderberry. The collar about her neck proclaimed her a slave, not a Princess. It was only in catching sight of her eyebrows, the way they arched and her full pouting lips that made him recognize her. Worse, her clothes, they were indecent for any woman save a whore. "Who did this? I'll make them pay for this myself."

Though he feigned rage, Antoinette could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked her up and down. The collar about her thin neck. Her short skirt. The tights. The heels. Her small corset, making her small waist even smaller. Her bodice cut too big for her small breast, tempting him to look down into her bosom. Yet he didn't know the half of it. What would he think if he knew that beneath the former Princess's skirt, she had been denuded not only of her womanly curls, but her very own pearl - the most valuable jewel of her collection. Worse, wasn't even allowed to wear a ladies undergarments. That her stockings were held up by thin strips of silk to a belt about her waist. That the belt also had been modified with a solitary strap down the center and up the back. Or that attached to this strap were a pair of stubby phalluses, one inside her quim and another up her arse. They served not only to remind her of her sexual subjugation with every step she took and most especially when she sat down, but also they had effected her gait. Her lifetime of proper learning, of how to walk like a lady had been erased in a matter of hours. Since this latest addition to her attire, she walked like the sexiest courtesan, a rolling of her hips and a strut that couldn't even be touched by the whores that worked at the dock. Consciously she strove not to. To walk like a lady. Yet, every step made her work those twin phalluses. Made her body react to them. Made her body betray her. To work itself on them with every step.

"Oh my Lord," Antoinette said. If only this Squire had come some months ago. When she needed him. When she would have been able to fly from this place as fast as she could. But now? Now she lied. "This is most unseemly. Whatever will people think if they see you kneeling before a handmaid."

"No handmaid. A Princess," the Squire said reverently. "The true Queen of France."

"Oh master," Antoinette said. "You are going to make me blush. I am but the Princess's handmaid." Her cheeks bloomed a bright red as she flushed. It was bad enough being turned into this perverted handmaid. Providing oral satisfaction for a rival Princess, while being helpless to satisfy her own carnal desires. Being ridden like an animal. Looked down upon by everyone, even the chamber maids. Not even able to leave the castle lest the Church get their hands on her and burn her for being a witch. What made it worse? The memories of being a spoiled Princess. And now this Squire was here providing a harsh reminder.