A Handmaid's Tail

"But you must be. If you are not Princess Antoinette, you are her twin," the Squire said. "Even if you are but a maid, you are close enough in appearance that men would lay down their lives to put you on the throne....if we get you out of these clothes...and put on a wig maybe."

"Oh! " Antoinette gasped. Princess Mary was calling her in her usual fashion. Some ladies rang a bell for their maids. Mary used the ring upon her finger. This time dipping it in a cold glass of wine, causing her maid to jump in shock, then for chill bumps to cover her fair skin starting with her denuded sex. Now Mary blew on it. Then proceeded to tease the pink pearl with a finger. Antoinette shifted from side to side as her body began to respond. From intense cold, to become warm. Tingly.

"Are you alright Milady?" the Squire asked.

"Yes Lord. Just surprised. Ahhhhh....you are having me on or someone has played a cruel joke on you. The most excitement I have each day is combing the Princess's hair or carrying out her chamber pots." It was taking all the poor handmaiden's concentration not to gasp and moan as her clit sent shivers of excitement through her loins.

"But Highness...." the Squire was astounded. He had offered an attempt at the crown but this girl didn't want it.

Antoinette's could feel her excitement growing, putting her in such a state she wouldn't be able to control herself much longer. She must answer the Princess' summons now, else she wouldn't have difficulty walking - much less talking. "I must go my Lord," Antoinette said, her voice husky and breathless. "The Princess awaits."

The Squire slowly came to his feet and watched Antoinette quickly strut down the hall. Was it his imagination, or did she reach up and squeeze her breasts. She was facing away from him, so it was impossible to say for sure. Watching her ass swish becomingly from side to side. She showed more of her body than any whore he had seen. Her voice, she talked as if she were in the throws of passion. The way the color suffused her cheeks and chest, it was very sensual. Could this really be the Princess? He began to doubt his own eyes. But...perhaps....perhaps she was being held against her will. He was determined to know. He wouldn't be back this way again.

The Squire followed the Princess a safe distance away. Followed her to the Princess's private chambers. Edged open the closed door. Peeked into the room beyond. Princess Antoinette. The girl that had spent summers at his Duke's estate was on her hands and knees. In this position, he could see right up her indecent skirt. Almost cried in surprise at her lack of underclothes and at the realization that she had been impaled both front and back. There were also fresh pink stripes on that alabaster bottom. They were fresh. Perhaps from this morning. He had heard stories of men who had taken a whore in her arsehole, but this girl was being speared at all time. Could this be his Princess? He could feel his cock grow hard beneath his breaches as he watched the girl crawl to the English Princess she served.

"It took you long enough my juicy little Quim." Mary said. "I've been calling for ages."

Antoinette kissed the Princess's ring. The Squire had seen others kiss the ring of royalty. He himself was required to do on rare occasion. But this kiss was unlike any he had seen before. It was reverent ...worshipful..almost sensual. Antoinett'e hips moved of their own volition as she kissed it, humping an invisible lover. Dear Lord, this couldn't be the French Queen. It was a pleasure slave. The Squire couldn't help himself...he began to rub the hard cock straining against his breaches..

"There was a merchant Mistress," Antoinette said. "He mistook me for a French Princess."

"Surely you jest Quim," Mary laughed. "Who could imagine you .....you....a Princess."

"I can't imagine Mistress," Antoinette said, as she reached beneath Mary's gown and drew down her undergarments.

"Did you tell him what you were Quim?" Mary giggled, fingering her pink ring.

"Yes Mistress," Mary said, her voice throaty. "Merely the Princess's handmaiden."

"Oh you are being too modest," Mary purred, as her handmaid began to kiss her ankle, her knees, and then the insides of her thighs. "You should have told him you were the Princess's French whore her head clam eater. But you know my favorite title?"

Mary got up from her fainting couch and glided over to her vanity. She gathered her gowns up and leaned forward on the vanity, watching her handmaid in the mirror. This was one of her favorite positions when she had Anelle. Now that she had her French handmaid, some things had changed. Had grown even more depraved.

Antoinette shuffled forward on her knees. Saw the Princess watching her in the mirror. Leaning forward, with one knee bent, the other straight. Her large bottom thrust out invitingly. Antoinette hated this part. Wasn't it bad enough to be enslaved? To have her womanhood wrapped about the girl's cruel finger? She was sure Anelle had never been subjected to such humiliation.

"Tell me my favorite title?" Mary licked her lips. Her eyes beamed like pools of hunger.

The poor handmaiden kissed on cheek of the Princess's bottom and then the other. She blew into the valley of the Princess's backside.

Mary moaned and shifted her feet apart. Setting her elbows on the vanity, she arched her back. "Stop teasing me and tell me what I want to hear," Mary said breathlessly. "Hurry...."

Antoinette gave the Princess a kiss in her crack. Then another on her puckered crater.

"The Princess's Arse Kisser," Antoinette said softly, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She gave another kiss and then another. Thank God the Squire couldn't see her now. She would never live it down.

"French kisses Quim," Mary gasped. "Oh please - let me feel that sweet French tongue my little Arse Kisser."

The Squire knew he should turn away. He knew if he was caught he would be sentenced to death or worse. But he couldn't. Watching the lithe slave press her face into the English Princess's broad backside. Knowing that she was kissing her 'there' of all places. My God. The depravity of the English knew no limits. They weren't just kisses either. She was using her tongue on the spoiled princess. Licking noisily. Groaning. Stiffening her tongue and working at that tight crater till it grew warm and flexible.... before finally working it in. It twas hard work and always left her tongue aching from the effort. One in, her task grew easier, bobbing her head in and out. Fucking the Princess's arsehole with her mouth.

The Squire couldn't help himself. He undid his breeches and stroked his hard stave.

"Now my pearl," Mary moaned. "Lick my quim. Suck my pearl."

With her small hands resting on the Princess's broad backside, the handmaiden tilted her head back further. Licking her clam. Sucking her clit. God, how the squire wished he could see better. The English Princess reached back and took the back of her handmaid's head and pushed her forward, her regal looking nose....the nose that had made him mistake her for the Princess. Watching that very same nose be pressed deeply into a broad English ass.

"That's good my little arse licker," Mary moaned. "I'm going to come so hard. That divine tongue of yours is driving me crazy."

Mary's hands grasped either side of the vanity tightly. Her knuckles turning white from her exertion. Her broad hips working round and round. Then they bucked up and down as her climax slammed home.

The Squire was coming too. Though he wished he could hod back, his balls erupted, and thick milky ropes of his desire splattered the door and fell to the stone floor. In the mirror he could swear he could see the Princess look at him and wink. Had he been seen? Her jerked the last few times. He couldn't stop now, no matter the consequences. Thankfully, the English Princess had closed her eyes and dropped her head on the vanity. The door was covered by his desire. He felt guilty about the poor handmaid. She wasn't the Princess....couldn't be. No Princess would do what this handmaid had done. That much he was certain of after watching *this*.

But he felt some concern for the poor thing. She looked so much like Antoinette it was scary. And she was also French, just like him. After doing what he had witnessed, the girl lived a poor poor existence. She would probably be the one cleaning up the mess he had made of the door. To ease his conscience, he took out 5 gold Francs. Then he thought the better of it. She was a whore..a slave after all. He gently lay down three silvers instead. It was probably more money than the slave had ever possessed.

Several hours later, Mary found her maid outside her door. Sitting down against the wall, her chest heaving with great sobs. Three French copper coins clutched tightly in her small fist.

"God Quim," Mary sneered. "Stop your sniveling. And what have you smeared on the door. Disgusting. Get a napkin and clean this mess up. I'll be back later and every drop better be gone."

But Mary knew very well what was smeared on the door. It was from the French merchant, although she had her suspicions about him being a merchant. He was a little too broad of shoulder where the merchants were fat of belly. She had seen him at the door. If he had been English, he would have been punished severely. But he was French and she had given him an extra good show, in hopes that he would report this back to his master. The French Princess wasn't going anywhere....and even if she did, what could sort of symbol could she be, after worshiping her fine English ass.

Mary turned and walked down the hall and turned the corner and looked back at her slave. Waited until the handmaid returned with a rag and began to wipe. The edges of Mary's lips turned up in a wicked grin as she fingered the ring softly. Not hard enough to let Antoinette suspect it was the Princess's doing, but just hard enough to work her up, to make her doubt herself.

Antoinette wiped the congealed mess up. Gods, it stuck like glue. This was from the man who had been sent to save her. Who else would have left French coppers? Copper pieces, that's all she was worth now. And he had obviously watched her. Watched her engage in the perverse whims of a sadistic English Princess. Yet, he had done nothing to save her. He had looked at her with those hungry eyes already. It seemed that everyone had hungry eyes these days. She had thought it might just be these cruel Englishmen, but now she had learned it was the same for the French as well. At first she had regretted not letting the Squire spirit her off. She had only said no because Princess Mary still held her pearl on her finger. It was the only cure to bring her release from her growing sexual desires.

She knew another fact too. That very same pearl that gave her such raw pleasure, could also be used to give her pain. Once the Princess had held her hand above a candle. Making Antoinette dance and sweat as she grew hotter and hotter. So uncomfortably hot. The poor handmaid learned an important lesson. No, she could never leave.

Yet, most times the Princess used the pearl to give her pleasure. Such pleasure. God, even now.... Reaching down between her legs, she pushed the dildo that was embedded in her sex in a little further and bore down on her inner muscles. Gave it a good squeeze. Dear Lord how she needed it. But no matter how many times she tried to bring herself off, it only left her in a worse state. For only Princess Mary could provide what she needed. And Mary only provided it rarely and at great expense.

No, she couldn't leave. Not without Mary's pearl. Besides, the Squire would have only spirited her off to sexual servitude of another sort. Of that she was certain. At least now she only had to serve one English Princess. Of course she still had sessions with Hilda, but now that Mary held her pearl, the head maid couldn't effect her as strongly as she had done before. Sometimes a jealous maid would trip her and cause her to spill Mary's chamber pots. It made a mess, but she was getting used to it. No, there would be no glass slippers or fairy godmothers. Her fairy godmother's name was Mary. And if she pleased her really good. Which didn't happen very often. Then she would be granted her wish - and that wish was pleasure. Pleasure so intense, she would pass out from being overwhelmed by it.

The Princess gave a sigh...almost a moan. A hand stole up and tweaked an aching nipple. Her slim hips pumped. Her loins ached with need. God, what was happening to her? She should be mortified after the Squire had seen her debauchery, yet she was hot and tingly. Antoinette shivered. Was she becoming as depraved as the Princess? Perhaps. Or perhaps the pearl had touched the folds of the Princess's gown as was prone to happen on occasion. Yes, that was probably it.

Watching unseen from behind the dark corridor, Mary looked on with smoldering eyes at her french maid. She applied her lips ever so softly to the pearl on her finger and smiled wickedly ... watching as her poor maid gave a moan from deep within her throat, her flexible back arching like a cat... her lean legs spreading like the basest whore...her whore.