Prince’s Pet

The wood is damp and cold beneath you. Your hands ache with an unknown source of pain. Your back aches too. Everything is black. Your tongue feels dry and your lips have cracked. You taste blood. Details slowly fill your mind as you process your situation. Your hands are bound. Your ankles are bound. Stale cloth is stuffed in your mouth, and a rope binds your lips. You are lying on your side in a fetal position. Your body is jostling slightly up, down, side, to side. The details begin to tell your mind a story.

You have been captured after a bloody, ashen battle. You saw your family killed. You saw your home burn to the ground. You were beaten, abused, traded between men who used your body for pleasure, for release, and for dispelling anger. You thought you died. You haven’t died. You’re in an old, splintering carriage being taken somewhere.

You wonder to yourself, What did the men say after they’d used you and tired of you? They’d called me pretty. No, gorgeous. You can help but silently scoff, Odd… why even mention that. But scoffing is a bad idea. Your chest burns in pain as you convulse back into yourself. They’d kicked you in the stomach, then the ribs, the back, and who knows where else. You wonder where they’re taking you. If you’ll live through whatever hell awaits you.

Then the carriage stops. You hear muffled voices outside of the carriage. Laughing. Then a loud groan of wood as the back door to the carriage is wrenched open and you can hear the voices more clearly now. Two men.

Man one chuckles darkly, “Yes sir, this was one feisty little fucking slut. I heard it even spit on one guy. They taught it a lesson real fast after that. I’m honestly surprised it lived after the company was done with it. The captain saw them after everything and told us to bring it back with us. It’s a pretty little one. Has all its teeth, pretty rare. Might find use at the keep. If not sucking dick, then scrubbing shit boxes or the like.”

Man two murmurs with a disgusting glee, “Ahh I see what he meant. It is quite beautiful. If you can look past all the fucking bruises and cuts.” A wretched laugh. “Well you know what we do. We’ll clean it up, train it proper, offer it up at the next event.”

You don’t listen to much after that. But you know your fate. You are being sold to the royalty of the Kingdom who invaded your home, as a sex slave, or as cheap labor.

---

A month goes by of absolute torture. Your body is constantly splashed with freezing gritty water. You’re held down by rough, strong hands as you struggle and panic, while sharp needling brushes scrape and scrub your body until it’s raw and red. Drugs, dry stale bread, and who knows what else are shoved down your throat, eliciting laughs when you choke. You're stripped naked and never have clothing returned. You’re trained. Harshly.

You learn the Kingdom’s demands of a slave. There’s rules, and they are etched into your mind as the only words you can even think of:

Rule One: Always on your knees, only crawl to move. Rule Two: Never look up. Rule Three: Obey your Master without hesitation. Rule Four: Never make a sound unless given a direct question or command and only from your Master. If you speak, always address with ‘sir’ or ‘master’. Rule Five: Only live to please your Master.

You learn the common positions and commands given to slaves:

Rest: On your knees, legs tucked under you, back straight, head down, eyes down. Show: Face up, eyes down. Look: Face up, eye contact. Pout: Mouth open, tongue out. Extend: All fours, back straight. Present: Chest to floor, head to floor, ass up. Open: Back on floor, hands on under-thighs, legs pulled back to chest.

Your body learns how to please a man. Sucking cock, rim jobs, getting fucked in all positions, correct hand job techniques. Everything.

You are modeled to be a perfect pet. You are taught the consequences of making mistakes.

---

A month and a half later, the Autumnal Ball has arrived. An event where almost all lords, ladies, the castle’s royal family, and visitors from across the world come to take in the splendor of the Kingdom. You are to be offered up to the royal family by your slave company for sale.

Your body is waxed hairless from your nose down. Your skin is oiled, lotioned, and dusted with sparkling glitter that makes your skin glow. Your hair is shampooed and styled to frame your face in a beautiful softness. Your rough, aged leather training collar is replaced by a shimmering one made of laced golden vines. You’re perfumed with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon to match the seasonal theme of the ball.

For the first time in so long, you smell the outside air as you are transported into a plush comfortable carriage with padding and frills. The Master who’s trained you all these weeks sits in his seat rigidly upright, his hair combed back and slick with gel. A tuxedo fitted to his body. He grips your leash tightly. He’s tense, anxious, on alert. He must make a good impression on the royal family. You must be on your best behavior.