The Perilous Path of a Former Princess (m/f)(fantasy)(piercing)(humiliation)(long)

Three years ago the world had been a different place. The nation of Khol-Hon had been proud and strong. Supported on many sides by allies and friends. That had all changed when the current king of Khol-Hon, enthused with the idea of wealth through slavery, had declared an unjust war and began the road to ruin.

The wars had stopped only when a princess of Khol-Hon called Vrasha had raised an army of rebels, facing off against her father and later her brother, she had managed an impossible victory and taken the crown.

If this was a simple story, that was where it would have ended. The good queen had overthrown the evil king, truth and justice were restored, and everyone rejoiced. Screen goes black, fade to credits.

It didn’t work out like that. The kingdoms around Khol-Hon were angry and betrayed, many wished to continue the war. Others sought to invade and conquer for its own sake. Only by desperate diplomacy, careful promise and, frankly, a certain amount of fatalistic posturing, had Vrasha managed to fend them off.

Prestor was a duke of Khol-Hon. He was new to being a duke as he had previously been a soldier fighting during the war. His role was to try and make the best of a bad situation. Alternately dealing with internal matters such as lack of food, a ruined economy and the abolition of slavery while also making sure that no outside force tried to take advantage of the situation. It was hard work, and he sometimes wished he were a simple soldier still.

He had one other benefit though. One that was was best not boasted about in public.

It was a little known fact that the palace of Khol-Hon had a dungeon. It was not often used. Vrasha’s father had put in for his slaves, and since he had been overthrown, it had been empty and forgotten. The old man had been sure that it was stocked with everything and anything he might need to punish or torment his captives. There were all kinds of things, toys, chains, torments and pleasures. The first time he had seen it, Prestor had shivered.

It was, in spite of its name, a small place. It consisted only of about six cells buried deep below the palace. There was also a single central chamber and several storage areas. As he padded through the stone corridor, Prestor could see that the torches were lit and cast the whole place into a flickering half light. He could hear her before he saw her. The sound was haunting and sensual, a deep and heavy breathing combined with a series of soft moans. Feminine and needy. It turned him on and chased the last dregs of tiredness from his body.

The sound was primal, wordless. a mixture of desire and humiliation. Shame and mortification at a body’s betrayal. It was the sound of someone defeated and broken, cast down from her highest peak and forced to endure the unrelenting stimulation of her own nerves. The sound came from one of the cells. Prestor turned, peering at the woman who was chained there through the bars.

She was pale skinned with a proud face, a mane of dark hair which fell down her back. Her breasts were small, her nipples were hard. Sweat beaded her body, glittering in the half light of the torch. Even without her crown or her royal dress, there was no way to miss who it was.

It was Vrasha. The former princess turned queen. The hero of the rebellion. The saviour of Khol-Hon.

She was blindfolded; a strip of cloth tied over her eyes. Her hands were bound by thick ropes behind her back. She was naked; not a scrap of clothing to hide her dignity. Prestor looked at her, still believing on some level that this whole thing could not possibly have happened.

Vrasha, it seemed, much like her brother and father, had certain tastes. Unlike them, hers were the opposite. Where those two liked to dominate and control, the new queen liked to be controlled. Of course, news of that could never get out. It would harm her reputation and therefore also the reputation of Khol-Hon. Rather than repress herself, Vrasha had chosen someone she trusted to remain quiet and promoted him. It was part bribe, part reward. So long as he was willing to play his part and torment her behind closed doors.

The sight of the queen, so naked and helpless, it awoke a hunger deep inside of him.
He turned the key to the lock, announcing his presence. Vrasha shifted. She couldn’t move very far because she was riding a wooden horse. A long and triangular mass of wood which was just taller than she was, forcing her to stand on the tips of her toes. The wide and heavy base was set against the floor while the narrow top was pressed between her legs. Her back was arched, her legs were chained to the ground and her arms bound behind her.

An iron collar had been clamped around her throat.

Prestor’s eyes flickered towards her womanhood; it was swollen with desire and humiliation. Her whole weight had been pressing down on it for some time now, and her lower lips had been forced apart as she slowly lost the ability to hold herself off the frame. She was moaning softly in the darkness of the cell.

This was a sight that he had never thought to see. Vrasha, the Queen of Khol-Hon was chained and bound before him. Humiliated and aroused and absolutely at his mercy. He felt his mouth go dry.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he told her. “You’re soaking down there. Dripping onto the wooden horse. I’d ask if you had any sense of dignity but I already know the answer to that is no.”

She didn’t respond.

“Have you enjoyed your little ride? Are you willing to accept your place yet?”
A shudder passed through her body as his fingers brushed against her pale skin. She felt warm to the touch, her body heated by the raging desire inside of her as well as the shame of her humiliation. Her chest rose and fell quickly. She almost looked feverish.

They only rarely got to play games like this. Usually, their various duties kept them apart but for once fortunes had aligned and they had several weeks together. Prestor had been determined to make the most of it.

His fingers curled about her breast. Her body shook, her nipple was warm and stiff against his palm. Hen felt his cock hardening and desire thundered through him. He didn’t give into it. Today wasn’t the day for that.

He had something else in store.

“What do you think your precious people would do if they saw you like this?” He whispered into her ear, enjoying the way her body moved. “If I dragged you outside and presented you to the masses, would they accept you now? Chained and bound? A queen of whores. The precious maiden that they look up to and respect? Nothing but a fabrication. She never existed and only the two of us know it.”

Vrasha had not wanted someone to simply pleasure her. She’d wanted to be dominated, to have someone else take charge totally. Someone she could trust to play the role. She wanted to be dominated, humiliated and forced to submit. They’d talked about it at length. They’ve developed codes and phrases, things that they could use to steer or end an encounter. Safe-words and warnings and all sorts of things.

The first time they’d done it, he’d been nervous, but by now, he was well used to his role. He enjoyed it.

“How many times have you cum while riding that?” He asked, running his hands across her side and chest. One of them fell to her legs, following the curve of her upper thighs.

“Have you gotten off on the idea of being seen like this? Of being paraded before the public? Can you imagine their jeers and their stares?”

She moaned softly, the sound like music to him.

“Of course, I haven’t found a way to do that just yet.” He said. “Not while preserving your secret identity. As fun as it would be, we don’t want you to be found out, do we? As far as the rest of the kingdom knows, you’re that blessed maiden, right? An innocent little princess who led them all to victory.”

He chuckled.

“How little they see the real you.”

She was shaved down there. Prestor had made sure of that. It was one of the first tasks he’d set her as a sign of her lack of freedom. She shaved regularly, keeping herself bare for him. Her vulva was a rounded ridge, her lower lips gleamed with arousal. He examined her, taking a step back and marvelling at the fate which had brought them both to this.

Vrasha was a strange creature. For most of her youth she had been a lady of the court, and she had been good at her. She was slim, her legs and arms were lithe. Her figure was womanly but not indecent by the standards of the land. Her breasts were small, her stomach tight. Her waist was thin. All of these features would be considered attractive in Khol-Hon. But she had also been a soldier. When you looked, her arms and legs were tempered with muscle. Her build was powerful in spite of its small frame. He’d seen her fight a few times, and she was beyond merely deadly!

Maybe that was why she enjoyed being powerless as much as she did. Maybe it was a reaction to how powerful she was normally. Not merely as a queen, but simply as a person. She was strong, bold, commanding and able to inspire those around her. Such things could become tiresome, like a weight around your neck you simply wanted to slip off.

Perhaps that was what these times were for her. The precious hours where she could be someone else. Not some hero-queen who shouldered the fate of her people, but simply a woman who possessed desires that any human might.

“Do you want to get off the horse?” He asked her. “I am sure it has become quite painful by now. Your full weight pressing down on your pussy. The edge of the wood biting into you, humiliating you with pain and pleasure. Are you ready to beg for release?”

She said nothing, turning her head away.The defiance on her face sparked another wave of arousal in him.

“Still resistant? Well, that is your choice. I will give you another hour to decide but after that I have decided how to punish you.”

He ran his fingers through her dark hair, the warmth of her body so close to his own was intoxicating.

“I am going to have you pierced,” he told her. “That was a common thing with slaves back in the day and I don’t see why you should be any different. Both your breasts and your pussy. I think that would be an appropriate punishment for defiance, don’t you?”

In spite of his words, he was nervous. The two of them had discussed a great many things that might be done during their game and this was one of them. But it was one thing to suggest something and another to have it done. He would not be surprised if she rejected it using one of their phrases or safe words.

She said nothing. Staring at him through the blindfold, waiting for him to say more. He licked his lower lip, mouth suddenly dry.

“The reason I have chosen to pierce you there – asides from tradition – is your precious purity. The people could not see that their wonderful, perfect queen had marred her body in such a way. But unless things go very badly I doubt they will see your tits or your pussy! And you are neither married nor betrothed, so there will be no angry husband or husband to be.

“You can continue wearing your fine dresses, but after today you will always be marked. Part of you will always be here, reminding you of what you really are.”

His fingers closed around her breast, rubbing it roughly and making her moan. Her back arched, shivers running up and down her spine at his touch.

“Imagine that. You’ll be talking to diplomats and kings, making treaties and agreements which affect thousands. And all the way, your body will be pierced like that of a slave. No one but you will know, and how you’ll fidget and writhe!”

He was getting excited, his fingers circled her right nipple, rubbing against the sensitive areola made her gasp.

“And besides we can have more fun once you are pierced. Have you ever been chained by the tits? Or locked down by your pussy? You will. Unless you beg me for forgiveness right now.”

She continued to refuse to speak.

“Very well then,” Prestor said to her. “You have an hour to change your mind.”
He left the room, locking the gate again after him.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

She could see nothing. The darkness of the fabric pressed against her eyes. The memory of Prestor’s voice rang in her ears.

The collar around her throat was cold. The rope which bound her arms behind her back was rough. More than any of that however was the feeling between her legs. Painful and arousing and humiliating all at once. She tried not to squirm. Tried to sit and endure, like a regent should. But she was also a woman and as a woman, her body was crying out. The wood was hard and unyielding, Her body pressed down upon it, chains holding her legs apart so that all of her weight was distributed to her womanhood. At first it had been simple to push herself up with her feet. Standing on the tips of her toes she could – just- raise herself off the device. But as time had gone by, her feet had gotten tired. She had felt herself sinking slowly, feeling the wooden length of the horse start to press into her pussy.

Soon, that became uncomfortable. She rested and lifted herself into the air again. But she could never stay standing for long and the rests started to become longer and longer. Her clit buzzed. The intrusion and gradual penetration was more arousing than she had expected. It was cold and distant, machine-like. There was no passion to it but rather a slow invasion of herself and her womanhood. Her dignity stripped away as she was forced to feel pleasure and pain at the hands of an inanimate piece of wood. Anyone could be watching her and she would have no way to tell. Alone in the cell, she’d gone through her fantasies, feeling her inner fire flare and grow.

Maybe she’d been captured during the war and she was being made an example of. Maybe there had been a rebellion and she was being humiliated and displayed to the public. The former queen turned public whore. That thought made her tingle, filled her mind with images but her hands tightly bound and could bring her no pleasure. She had no means to distract herself, all she could do was sit and endure.

Her legs grew weak. Her pussy became hot and wet. The pain started to spike as well. She tried to find a comfortable way to position herself, squirming in a manner which a watcher would have found most pleasing. But there was no such place. That was the point of the device. Any respite was short-lived. She simply had to endure, feeling herself being spread and displayed by it. At once both punished and exposed.

The humiliation was exquisite.

When Prestor had told her of his plans, she’d felt a bolt of panic. Piercings? Yes, they had talked about them but she had not expected the man to actually move forward! He’d grown into his role much more quickly than she had expected.

She was sure of his loyalty, though. During the war he’d been one of her staunchest supporters. He’d started out as a simple grunt but by the end he’d been a captain with a cadre of loyal followers of his own. He had power and charisma which was at its best on the battlefield. His hungry eyes had caught her attention once, but just as soon as she’d seen them he had dragged them back and the look had vanished. Gone like it had never been.

That was the day she had learned about how he was really two people. There was the Prestor that he presented to the world – all smiles, reassurance and confidence, and the one that he kept suppressed. The one who liked to dominate and control. That part of him did not make him evil. He took great pains to reign it in when it was not needed. Prestor was a man who had grown up fearing his own appetites. Feared that he was like her father and her brother, someone who would abuse, hurt and ultimately kill to get his way.

This was not the case. Vrasha had watched him for years and knew the truth. His desires were the same, but simply being aroused by a certain thing did not make one evil. It was how one responded to that arousal. Her father and her brother had been aroused by power. They had sought it in everything, becoming bloated and evil step by step. Maybe they once had been like Prestor but they had gradually lost themselves.
Prestor was always so careful not to do the same. He watched himself, all the time. His harshest judge was always himself. No wonder everyone else thought that he was so good, so noble, so pure! He was always standing behind his own back, criticising his own motives if they were anything less than utter perfection. Left on his own he would have destroyed himself eventually.

So she chose him to be her duke and her tormentor. Not merely because he was loyal, not merely because it would bring her pleasure.

Her goal had been to free two souls to be what they really wanted to be.

Vrasha was left alone in the cell, the pain and pleasure mixed between her legs,
She sat in the dark and rode the wooden horse.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Prestor returned an hour later as promised. By then, she was in quite a state. Her pussy was swollen and red, each movement brought a flood of pain and she was breathing hard. Squirming against the mixture of humiliation, pain and pleasure.
It was not the pain as such which turned her on. It was the helpless feeling that came with it being inflicted.

Things like this wooden horse had been used to punish and torment female slaves by her father and her brother and Vrasha had always wondered what they would feel like if used on her. Growing up as a woman who wanted to be used and dominated in a house which was as evil and corrupt as that of her father had confused and frightened her. Even before her rebellion, she’d had a submissive side. Seeing the chained women, hearing their cries, their torments. It had turned her on and made her feel like she was as evil as her family. She had struggled to decide if she was a bad person. She was getting off on the misery and pain of others, was she really so different from her father? Even if she liked to imagine herself as the target of those torments?

Such thoughts had haunted her prior to her defiance, and she had often fallen asleep after a session of late-night masturbation filled with doubts and self-disgust.

Now it did not matter. There was a certain freedom to that. Vrasha had overthrown her father and the her brother too. She’d fought them because it was the right thing to do even if it was also one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Years fighting in the dirt, running from any fight she didn’t think she could win. Slowly building power and numbers, escalating as she went. She had thought that they were doomed all the way through the first year. Yet even as she had felt defeat was inevitable, something had stopped her from abandoning the cause.

According to Elody, it was because Vrasha was a good person. Vrasha herself did not know about that. It had been a lost cause right from the start and if not for luck and the random chance of stumbling upon a greater weapon, they would have been doomed. Elody had been that weapon. As far as the world knew, she was a sorceress with power beyond comparison. Someone willing to back Vrasha’s side and give them the might that they needed to really stand a chance.

The truth of course was different. Elody was no sorceress. She wasn’t even human. But she was a friend, and she had helped to turn the tides.

Now here she was. Tied up in a dungeon and living out all of her fantasies. The wooden intrusion of the device between her legs was rough and cruel, but fired her imagination and her desire like nothing else. She didn’t get off on the pain, she got off on the defeat. On the humiliation and the fulfilment of her darkest fantasies. The ones which had bounced and echoed in her mind ever since she had first seen the treatment of the slaves who had filled the palace.

The cell door unlocked again. She heard the key turn and click.
The sound of Prestor’s boots on the hard floor echoed in her ears. She strained, tried to make herself presentable but really, what chance was there of that?

“Well?” He asked her. “Have you thought about surrender yet, my queen? All of this can be over, you know. All you have to do is beg me and the torment will end.”

His words turned her on, sending heat flushing through her body. This was what she had always dreamed of. Beaten and captured. Not a princess, not a soldier. A simple slave with her legs spread wide by chains.

Vrasha shook her head, refusing to surrender even now. She heard a chuckle, had he expected this of her? Of course he had. The two of them were cut from the same cloth. He wanted this to end just as little as she did.

“Last chance,” He said to her. “Do you want to avoid punishment? Just beg me to forgive you and promise to serve me for the rest of your life. I’m not asking much.”

She still refused to speak, but his words fired her blood like nothing else. How the hell did he know exactly what to say to get under her skin? Vrasha jumped, his hands brushed against her flank, stroking her with a back and forth motion that was at once both gentle and yet invasive.

“Let’s be honest, even if you refuse to beg, that’s the fate you’re going to have anyway. It’ll just take longer for you to accept it. Still not going to break?”

Silence greeted his remark.

“All right then but remember, you had your chance to turn back.”

She felt him moving around her. The ropes binding her arms were cut, then one of the chains that connected to the cuff around her ankle came loose. Soon, the second followed and she sagged to the side, half collapsing as her legs refused to take her weight. An hour on the wooden horse had robbed her of the ability to support herself but Prestor caught her rather than let her hit the ground. His grip was almost gentle, and he supported her by letting her put an arm around his shoulder. Her legs trembled, her womanhood felt like it was bruised and burning. Pain and humiliation followed her like a shadow.

“Look at you,” he chuckled in her ear. “You have no chains now but you are totally helpless. Can you even run? I doubt it. You can barely hobble. I could do anything to you and you would not be able to resist.”

He plucked at her nipple as if to drive in the point, twisting it just enough to cause her to cry out. Then he helped her to walk. The blindfold was still wrapped around her head so she could not see where she was being brought. She guessed it was out of the corridor and into the central chamber of the dungeon though.

A moment later, she was made to sit down. She was on a chair which was cold and hard. Leather straps were quickly secured around her arms and legs. Prestor pulled them tight until she couldn’t move at all. Vrasha forced herself to keep breathing. The pain which pulsed from between her legs was great and still growing. Suddenly, however, she felt something wet pour down her body. Vrahsa jerked. She hadn’t expected that! It was cold and sticky, certainly not water. But as it trickled down across her body, Vrasha found that her discomfort started to fade.

“Do you like it?” Prestor asked her. “I had an apothecary prepare it in advance. I figured after so long on the horse, you would appreciate a little relief. But of course, we need to rub it in for it to be effective.”

He ran his fingers across her mound, slowly circling the raised hill of her vulva. Vrasha moaned softly. After so long riding the horse, her nerves there were raw and sensitive. Even the smallest touch made her shake. He rubbed his palm across her, spreading the liquid as he went. It felt cold, cold to the touch and then followed by a wave of tingles. After a few moments, the discomfort would fade. Never totally, but enough for her to focus on other things.

Prestor took his time, using his fingers to knead it into her skin. His touch was sensual, moving back and forth across her sex. Vrasha’s back arched when he started to run his fingers up and down her slit. The cool lotion made her twitch and tingle. Her core ached to be touched, and there was no way to hide how aroused she was becoming by this. Gently he massaged her, running his hands back and forth across her pussy. The contact and stimulation made her head swim, and she was soon biting her lower lip to keep from moaning.

His touch was soft and delicate. Almost loving. After the time that she had spent on the horse. It was enchanting and yet also erotic, the soft brushes and flutters of his fingers against her folds drove her further and further into a state of arousal. The leather restraints bit into her body, making the whole thing unbearably erotic for her.

By the time he pulled back, Vrasha was aching desperately for more.

“You should see yourself now,” Prestor chuckled. “Your pussy is so wet and your skin is gleaming with the lotion.”

He ran a hand across her side, his fingers rising to brush against her breasts. For a few moments, he enjoyed groping her. Then he seemed to catch himself.

“The surgeon will be here soon,” he told her. “He’s trained for this sort of thing. An expert in piercings and modifications. I believe he found work under your father but has since turned over a new leaf. You’re going to be seen to by the same person who saw to so many slaves. But of course, we don’t want him recognising you.

“Fortunately, I do not believe that he will. I chose someone who has never seen you up close. Your face is partially covered by your blindfold and this is a man who will be paying attention to your, ah, other assets. He is additionally a man who is sufficiently corrupt that even if he does notice something, a bribe and a threat will be more than enough to keep him from talking.”

Accompanying his words, Prestor’s hands explored her chest, sliding over her wet skin, the lotion made her oily and slippy, the lack of friction allowed his digits to glide across her breasts.

“Since you made slavery illegal though, we’re going to have to tell him something to explain this little scene,” Prestor chuckled. “I have come up with an excuse. You’re a bandit. Not just any bandit, though. One that supplied the former king with slaves. Having been captured recently, you elected to take this punishment instead of going to jail for many years. You are to live out the suffering you inflicted upon others.”

He squeezed her breast again, fingers digging into the skin just enough to make it uncomfortable.

“After all, a punishment is a punishment. I expect you to play your role, Vrasha. If you desire to protect your true identity, you must convince him that you are indeed an ex-bandit. I am sure you can be convincing if you try.”

She tilted her head. She felt nervous. Nervous and aroused. It was the first time since they had started their game that anyone but Prestor would see her like this. What if the surgeon didn’t fall for Prestor’s trick? What if he recognised her? Would he tell? If he did know it was her and couldn’t be bribed to keep silent, then he would have a lot of power over her. She bit her lower lip, her heart was pounding.
It would be smarter to give up on this whole thing now and call it off before the man arrived. That would be the only sure way to keep her identity hidden. All she had to do was say the word and it would be done. End the game. Go back to being a queen and not a conquered slave.

All she had to do was speak.

She stayed silent. The minutes stretched on. She could hear the guttering whoosh of the fires and the racing pulse in her ears. Her body shivered. The restraints on her arms and legs were very tight. She didn’t see exactly what she was sitting on but she was pretty sure it was the special chair that the former king had fitted to the dungeon. It was designed exactly for this sort of thing.

She heard someone rap at the door and her heart rate spiked. Prestor moved, Vrasha listened to his trailing footsteps. There was the sound of a door opening, then there was talking. Two voices. One of them Prestor’s, the other unknown. She was breathing quickly and tried to force herself to calm down. Methodically, she slowed her air intake, just like she would when she was about to go to battle. As she exerted her willpower, the feelings of fear and panic started to fade but the humiliation remained. The only thing that was protecting her identity was the thin strip of fabric across her face and the fact that no one would ever expect to see the queen like this. The fabric alone would not be enough, everything depending on the situation. On the surgeon not realising that she was Vrasha because everyone knew that Vrasha would never find herself in this situation.

It was dark; the cloth pressed against her eyes. She strained her other senses. She could smell burning; the torches and their acrid smoke. It was cold, the wind buffeted her naked body. She could hear footsteps coming back down the corridor. Two pairs of them.

“This is her?” Said the unknown voice. Vrasha squirmed, excitement blooming in her chest along with dread and coiling anticipation.

“This is her,” Prestor said. “She was a bandit who served the old king. Queen Vrasha captured her some days ago during a raid and she has agreed to this unique form of punishment.”

There was a moment of silence, then the surgeon spoke.

“This is extremely unusual, you know. This kind of thing is outlawed. The Queen herself insisted it be so.”

“I speak for the queen,” Prestor said. His tone was not hostile but it was firm. “I believe you’ll find that she more than approves of this course of action. The bandit herself agreed to it as well. Otherwise she was facing many years in jail. This will cut down her sentence significantly.”

“At the cost of her humiliation?” Asked the doctor, his tone clearly disapproving.

“It’s the same fate she inflicted on others,” Prestor said. “Are you really so reluctant? I thought you did this sort of thing before.”

“I did and it haunted me. If I had refused, the king would have killed me or worse, taken my daughter as his next slave. I performed this procedure on women I did not know so I would never have to perform it on those I did. Now after I have finally been told I am free of this nightmare, you want me to go back to it one more time?”

Vrasha’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected that response. Nor had Prestor by the way that he sank into silence. She realised there was a very good chance that the doctor would not pierce her.

“Please do it,” She said. Though she could not see what was happening, she imagined both Prestor and the surgeon looking towards her. “I know that such things are outlawed, but the queen herself did offer me this alternative.”

There was silence and then she heard someone coming closer.

“You are aware of what I am supposed to do with you?” The man said. “I have been brought in to pierce your body. Both your breasts and your womanhood. Once I do and when you heal, those piercings will be used to further degrade and humiliate you.”

“I know,” her pulse was racing. “I agreed to it. I…I want to atone for what I did. I want to experience what my victims went through. What I did was wrong, I see that now. Spending years rotting in jail would help no one, but I want to understand what they went through, no matter how bad it is.”

“You are sure you are willing to do this? If not, I can refuse.”

“No,” Vrasha said. She realised that she was begging to be punished. Her face flushed red but she ploughed on. “Please do it. Make it as humiliating as possible. I want to feel everything. To know what it is like.”

Another pause and then a soft sigh.

“Very well but only under protest.”

There came the sound of something heavy being moved closer to the chair. A table or desk, perhaps. Then something lighter was placed upon it. A bag of tools? Vrahsa waited, but she did not have to do so for long.

“I will need to inspect your body. This may be uncomfortable.”

She swallowed and nodded. His hands went first to her chest, his fingers pressing into the skin of her breasts. It was a colder, more clinical touch than Prestor had used. More focused on feeling the shape and structure of her chest than pleasure. His fingers followed the curve of her body, moving towards her nipples. Her spine
tingled, and she tried not to show how aroused she was by the touch.

“I see you’ve been covered in some kind of lotion,” the man noted.

“That was by me,” Prestor said. “It was brewed up by our apothecaries. It dulls pain, promotes healing and also kills bacteria.”

“I see.” The surgeon noted. Vrasha hissed, he rubbed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. The friction as he went back and forth drove into her and made her moan. The sound shamed and humiliated her but he didn’t seem to notice. Or at least had the grace to pretend not to.

“Well?” Prestor asked.

“Her nipples are fine,” The surgeon said. “I didn’t expect much else, but it pays to be sure for this kind of thing. You wish the nipples themselves pierced?”

“Yes.” Prestor said. “Right through.”
“Very well.”

She heard the man reaching for his bag of tools again. Vrasha started to breathe more quickly. She still could not see, but her other senses were working all the better for it. She wondered how many slave girls had sat in this very chair, waiting for this very moment. Her womanhood was throbbing steadily, and heat was building between her thighs.

The man stretched out her nipple, something cold and hard bit down to keep it in place. It was a metal clamp! Vrasha felt the sweat beading on her forehead. The feeling was uncomfortable, but would not compare to what came next. The bite of the needle made her fists clench, her arms wrestling with the restraints which bound them to the chair. Following the sharp sting, her nipple pulsed with heat and then a slow beat of agony. The man worked as quickly as he could, and she felt him running something through the hole. Then he moved to her other breast and repeated the process. This time she knew to brace for the sudden pain and it was less intense. She was a soldier after all and had been wounded in fights. She knew how to take pain.
Over the buzzing pain of her nipples, she heard the man step back.

“That is all that’s needed?” Asked Prestor.

“Yes,” said the surgeon. “For her breasts, anyway. Keep the piercings in until the skin has healed fully or the holes might close. Otherwise, just keep them clean and they should take. The next part is the more delicate one.”

Vrahsa’s fists were still clenched, but the pain started to dull when Prestor poured more of the lotion across her chest. It didn’t vanish totally, but it became a background ache which she could ignore with some effort.

This sudden clarity allowed her to focus on the fact that the doctor was now kneeling between her thighs. Her ankles were each chained to the legs of the chair, which spread her thighs slightly, enabling the man to get to her womanhood. His fingers probed her, running along her lower mouth and making her twitch and moan.

“She is swollen down here,” The doctor said.

“That is also part of the punishment,” Prestor said. “We used a wooden horse to prepare her for this.”

“A wooden horse?” The surgeon clearly did not approve.

“We were careful. There is no real damage as you can see.”

“You are correct,” The man said. “Still, I can’t say I am happy with it. Sorry, lady bandit but I am going to have to touch and examine your clitoris.”

Vrasha’s body rocked then, the man’s fingers curling around her clit. Each touch sent a jolt of electric-like pleasure screaming through her body. Biting her lower lip did not help this time, and a soft half-moan escaped in spite of her best efforts to stifle it. Fuck, his fingers felt so good! Poking and prodding, gently guiding her clit from its hood.

“What do you think?” Prestor asked.

“We can give her a hood piercing if you want,” The doctor said. “That is where we run a metal piercing through the hood of the clitoris itself. Usually we don’t recommend that piercing. It can be pretty sensitive. It stimulates the clitoris directly, and can cause issues with over-stimulation.”

“Do it.” Said Prestor.

The doctor ignored him and Vrasha felt him turn back to her.

“Your permission, my lady?”

“Y-yes,” Vrasha nodded. Her mouth felt dry. “You have my agreement. This is my punishment. I need to accept it. Do it.”

As soon as she said those words, the man reached out. His fingers were delicate and dexterous but he didn’t touch her like a lover. Somehow, that made it worse. It was more shameful, somehow to be exposed like this to someone who did not even care. His fingers circled her clitoris, examining it more closely. He put pressure on the skin outside of it, gradually forcing it from its hood. Being exposed like this made it burn with desire, and her whole body started to twitch with each of his touches.
As soon as he had a good idea of her size and shape, the clamp came out again. Vrasha moaned as the metal claws bit down on her clitoris, stretching it out as much as he could. Then he probed her again, fingers delicately stroking and teasing her as he tried to get an idea of the shape he had to work with. It was far more intimate than what he had done with her nipples, but she guessed that was because the work was far more delicate.

Once he was sure, Vrasha felt something cold and sharp poke into her down there. It didn’t pierce her but the very contact made her shudder, a cold and instinctive tear rising inside of her. In a moment, there would be no way back. Was she going to stop it? This was her last chance!

“On my mark, breath.” The surgeon said to her. “I am sorry, but it will be painful.”
Vrasha nodded. Her heart thumped.

“One, two, breath!”

She did, sucking in a lungful of air just as he drove the needle home. The pain seared through her lower body, making her cry out. The sharp bite of the needle twisting through her, her gut clenched and her hands balled into fists. It was so intense! She loosed a ragged moan, the surgeon worked as quickly as he could, threading a loop of metal through her hood.

Through the pain, she felt Prestor put a hand on her shoulder. His grip was warm and gentle, silently reassuring. She had no words at that moment but was grateful for it. As the doctor withdrew, Prestor dripped more of the lotion between her legs and it cooled the burning fire. Vrasha found herself able to breathe properly again.

“You took it well,” The surgeon said to her. “That is all that I needed to do.”

“What should we know?” Prestor asked, his voice almost protective after seeing the last piercing.

“Nothing more than you likely already do,” the surgeon told him. “Keep the piercings in until the healing is advanced. The ones I have put in are rough and meant to keep the holes from closing over. After a few weeks, you should be able to swap them for a different kind. Obviously, keep the wounds clean and apply more of that lotion. Do not be too rough on her until she is healed.”

“Yes, I understand.” Prestor nodded. “Thank you.”

“Your thanks are not needed, I merely did my job.” The surgeon sighed and Vrasha heard him turn towards her. “If you wish to hear my thoughts, lady bandit, I think you chose poorly. Time in jail would surely be better than whatever is coming to you now.”

“She will face no pain worse than this,” Prestor promised. “But as soon as she recovers, humiliation begins.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/uvre2f/the_perilous_path_of_a_former_princess