It seemed to Elizabeth as if she had only just closed her eyes for a moment when dawn arrived, and with it her summons to see Baron Harzel. Lilly woke her by kicking her in the face and shouting, “Get your ass up, you lazy slut!” She clipped a lead to Elizabeth’s collar and pulled the Princess to her feet with surprising ease. Elizabeth had not realized how strong her personal attendant was. She made a mental note to do everything possible to avoid arousing Lilly’s anger in the future.

It was immediately clear that this would not be an easy task, as Lilly was evidently even more irritable than usual in the morning. She dragged her charge, who was as yet no more than half-awake, so quickly through the castle passageways that Elizabeth stumbled a half-dozen times. Each time she did, Lilly would belabor Elizabeth’s naked flesh ferociously with her rod and shriek foul curses at the Princess until she regained her feet. As Elizabeth’s hands were still confined behind her back, she had no way to defend herself from these blows.

Out of the dank lower levels and up a spiral stairway to the top of a high tower they rushed, with Lilly impatiently tugging on the leash. The tower had narrow windows, and Elizabeth was gladdened by the sight of sunlight, the first she had seen since she had passed out in her coach two days earlier. Even this was not an unadulterated blessing: the windows allowed in air as well as light, and Elizabeth had to endure the icy cold morning breeze that played over her unprotected body as they ascended the stairs. The climb was long and the pace unrelenting. By the time they reached the topmost level of the tower and stopped before a heavy oak door, Elizabeth was panting for breath.

Lilly knocked on the door. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Baron Harzel opened the door himself. Did he not have any servants to perform such menial tasks for him? she wondered.

“There you are, Lilly,” he said, smiling. “You as dependable as the sunrise.” The girl blushed modestly, and mumbled something.

Elizabeth reddened with anger when the Baron addressed a common servant before he spoke to her, an intentional insult, she was certain. Almost worse was the way he talked to her. as he seemed to with all his menials: he treated them as if they were real people! Elizabeth thought indignantly. If she had needed any further proof to confirm of her low opinion of Baron Harzel, this certainly provided it.

“And a good morning to you, Your Highness,” the Baron said, deigning to notice Elizabeth at last. He appeared to be in good mood this morning, Elizabeth noted. Of course, he had also had seemed to be in a good mood the previous day, just before he ordered her to be whipped, she remembered. “I trust you have no complaints with your accommodations, my dear. I fear they may have been somewhat plainer than what you are used to.”

Elizabeth had already decided that complaining to Baron Harzel about her living arrangements was unlikely to improve her situation and, indeed, would probably make them worse (if that was even possible). She therefore simply answered, “Yes, my Lord.”

“Excellent,” said the Baron. “Thank you, Lilly. The Princess and I will require some time alone this morning, as we have a great deal to discuss. If you have not yet broken your fast this morning, I bid you do so now. You will be summoned when your Princess again requires your assistance.”

Lilly curtsied and left, closing the massive door behind her. Elizabeth was now alone with Baron Harzel. He silently drank in her nude, bound perfection, circling around her to view her from all angles. “Yes, you are lovely,” he said at last.

“I have heard it said that you are the most beautiful woman in the Empire, Princess Elizabeth Rosenbrach,” he continued, “and seeing you now, I cannot otherwise. It is unfortunate that such a magnificent exterior should be mated to such a disagreeable interior. But fear not, my Princess. We can change that, and so we shall. Step over here with me, if you please.” He directed her to stand with her back to a heavy chain that descended from the ceiling. The chain hung in a loop three feet above the floor, and then ran through a series of pulleys and gears that were fastened to the ceiling.

The Baron went behind Elizabeth’s back and hooked the end of the chain to her bound wrists. There was a clanking sound as he began to pull down on one end of the chain and the iron links passed through and over the system of gears. The effect was to raise the portion of the chain attached to Elizabeth’s wrists, and thus draw her arms up higher behind her back. When the chain raised her hands to shoulder height, Elizabeth was obliged to bend forward at the waist to relieve the pressure. As the Baron continued to raise the chain, the unrelenting pressure gave Elizabeth no choice but to bend forward even further, and when this was no longer possible, to stand on the balls of her feet, and then to go up on the tips of her toes. Just before she thought that both of her arms would be dislocated at the shoulder, he stopped and locked the chain in place. Elizabeth was now bowed forward at a right angle, her back arched in a graceful curve that displayed her fine rear hemispheres at a most delightful angle, with practically all her weight resting on her fully extended toes. The Baron looped the slack chain over a hook set in the wall, and then he moved over to stand directly in front of Elizabeth to study the results of his work.

She looked up at her captor with tears forming in her dark eyes and groaned in distress. She could not see any sign of mercy in his smiling visage. “Ahh, my Lord. Please, it will pull my arms out,” she said.

The Baron slapped Elizabeth once, twice and a third time. The blows were so hard that she imagined for a moment they had dislodged her brain and the organ was rattling around inside her skull.

Elizabeth saw that the Baron’s lips were moving, and she concluded that he was saying something to her. However, the ringing sound in her ears caused by the slapping was so loud that she could not make out more than a few syllables.

“I… I must…ask your leave, my Lord,” she stuttered, “for…I heard not your words…and I…and I…” She trailed off.

Obligingly, the Baron began again. This time he lifted her chin to face him, and spoke very slowly and clearly. “I said, Princess Elizabeth, that before all else, you must learn the first rule of Hildesheim, to wit: you may speak to your superiors only when first you are spoken to by them,” the Baron told her. “Since, at present, you rank lower than the humblest kennel boy in the castle, this means you have not the right to initiate any conversations at all. Do you understand that?”

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and traced a silvery path over her bruised face as Elizabeth answered, “Yes, my Lord. I understand you now.”

The Baron slapped her two more times, and again pain exploded in her head. “Another rule of great importance, Elizabeth,” he said mildly, “is that you have a duty to express gratitude when you are corrected, whosoever your benefactor may be. Think you that you can remember that?”

When Elizabeth answered, she discovered it hurt to move her jaw. With some difficulty, she said, “Yes, yes, I will remember the rule... Thank you, my Lord,” she added, hastily. He nodded.

The Baron turned away from her momentarily and moved to the side of the room where he removed something that hung from a peg on the wall. He returned, and showed the object to Elizabeth, holding it under her nose for her examination. It was an inch-thick, foot-long rectangle of leather, dyed red and mounted on a sturdy wooden handle. The leather was worked with an intricate raised pattern of diamonds on the surface. The Baron waggled the wooden handle, demonstrating the suppleness and heaviness of the leather.

At first, Elizabeth could not identify the object. When she realized that it was a paddle, and that the Baron intended to use it on her naked body, she began to tremble uncontrollably. She wept softly and without hope.

“I had my court saddle maker prepare this paddle to my particular specifications. It is made of the finest Spanish leather. For this reason, it possesses rare suppleness,” he explained to the shivering, nude beauty. “I have found it to be a most effective tool in the training of girls, especially the unusually recalcitrant ones, among whom I must number you. I can assure you that it is far more painful by far than the birch rod.” He smiled genially. “But I would not expect you to take my word on such a matter. After you have experienced for yourself, Princess, you shall be in a better position to judge its efficacy.”

“No, please…” Elizabeth began. She got no further than this. Her beginning plea was abruptly cut short when he drew back the heavy paddle and swung it down to slam into Elizabeth’s defenseless bottom.

There was a loud smack! as the thick slab of leather met the soft flesh of the Princess’s rear hemispheres. As Baron Harzel had promised, the pain inflicted by the Spanish leather paddle did not bear any comparison to what she had suffered under Lilly’s rod the previous day. The red paddle laid down a broad band of agony that was a hundred times, no, a thousand times worse than the birch rod had done. For a brief second the pain paralyzed her throat and Elizabeth could not even scream. She lunged forward, nearly dislocating her shoulders, and then finally released a scream, a wordless cry of unbearable anguish.

Baron Harzel patiently waited for her to cease screaming and regain control over her vocal cords. When at she did at last, she could barely gasp out the words. “Dear God, that hurt me so! Please, my Lord, I am but a weak girl. Another like that will kill me… I beg you… eeee!”

Elizabeth was not permitted to finish her futile plea for mercy. The Baron lifted his arm high and swung down hard again, imprinting the elaborate inlaid design on the face of the paddle in red across the formerly smooth surface of the girl’s tender ass cheeks. She screamed again, and jumped straight up in the air.

As soon as she was capable of forming words, she cried out another hurried appeal to Harzel for clemency.

“Please, my Lord, I beg you to stop,” Elizabeth wept. “I will do whatever you wish, anything. If you still desire me, I would gladly marry you…” She stopped to shriek out in pain as the heavy paddle descended on her again, this time landing on the tender flesh at the very tops of her creamy thighs. Elizabeth launched into a dance that made up for whatever it lacked in elegance with energy and enthusiasm.

“For each thing, there is a proper time. Now is not the time to discuss matrimony, Princess Elizabeth,” the Baron told the wildly capering girl. “Rather it is the time for you to begin to learn your place.”

He struck her with another ferocious blow across the area that had received the first stroke. Elizabeth screamed and screamed. She felt as if her backside had been dipped in boiling oil. She did not know what he wanted from her, but she would have gladly done anything, promised anything in her power, if only he would stop hurting her.

“Please, please My Lord, but tell me what I can do… aahh!” Again the hated paddle struck, and again the nude beauty twisted helplessly in her misery.

He hit her ten times with the Spanish leather paddle altogether. By the end, Elizabeth had stopped pleading. She simply stood bowed forward at the waist, remaining stolidly in position, tears flooding down her cheeks, crying out wordlessly as each blow landed. She had given up. Her only hope was that somehow she could die and so put an end to her misery. It was a little while before she noticed that she was no longer being beaten and Baron Harzel was standing before her, gazing at her expectantly.

“Shall we have converse together now, Princess Elizabeth?” he asked.

She nodded dumbly. “Yes, my Lord Baron, if you wish it,” she answered wearily.

“Good, very good,” he said. “Have you ever allowed a man to touch you between your legs?”

“No, my Lord, never,” Elizabeth replied.

“Then I must suppose you are eager for the experience. Would you like me to stroke your royal nest, then?” the Baron asked, looking closely in her eyes.

“Yes, you may do whatever you wish,” Elizabeth said, her head drooping. “You can do with me what you will, my Lord.” Her body tensed eyes in anticipation of feeling his hand fondling her where no man’s hand had ever been.

Instead, he struck her with the paddle three more times. Elizabeth, who had begun to hope that the beating was over, screamed and leapt about anew.

“I asked you not what I could do,” he explained patiently. “By now it should be plain even to a simpleton that I can use you in whatever fashion that pleases me, little Princess. My question was rather if you would like me to stroke your nest.”

“Ahh…” said Elizabeth, catching her breath. “I understood not the full import of the question then, My Lord, and I ask your forgiveness for my foolishness. But to answer, yes, I would be most grateful to you, if you were to… um… perform that service.”

Again, the heavy paddle came crashing down on Elizabeth’s defenseless behind.

“I find it impossible to believe that you truly wish this favor of me, when you ask in so doleful a manner,” he said. “If you desire to be handled by me, you must be more persuasive than that,” the Baron told her. “Also, you must make plain what part you wish to have stroked.”

Elizabeth thought for a long moment before she spoke again. She wanted to please him, and she particularly did not want to feel that infernal paddle again. “My Lord, I ask you to do me the great favor of… um… stroking my love nest.”

He unhooked the chain that was straining Elizabeth’s arms so painfully upward, and let it down. Grateful for relief from the agony in her shoulders, Elizabeth sank to her knees, letting her arms come to rest on her back.

“Almost,” said the Baron, “but I think you should beg me rather to feel your royal cunt.”

“Please my Lord Baron, I humbly beg you to do me the courtesy of stroking my… my… royal… cunt,” she said, forcing out the last few words.

“Now just place your face flat on the floor, arch your back and raise your bottom up high,” he directed her. “Spread your legs apart; open them wide. You do want to be stroked, don’t you?”

Elizabeth hastily positioned herself in compliance with these orders, saying with all the enthusiasm she could muster, “Yes, My Lord, I wish it very much!”

In another moment she felt his big calloused hand caressing her. The fingers glided back and forth along the outside of her mound, and then began to press inward.

As his forefinger penetrated her slot, the Baron spoke again. “We shall continue to converse whilst I caress you, if you have no objection, that is.”

“N… n… no, My Lord,” Elizabeth managed to stutter out, “I do not.”

“Excellent,” he said, as he worked two more fingers into her pussy, which had begun to grow slippery with her juices. “Let us speak of your feelings toward me. You hate me, do you not? I am not wrong in thinking that you loathe and despise me?”

“Ahh,” the Princess moaned, closing her eyes as his fingers worked inside her slot, flicking the rubbery knob of her clit back and forth like a kitten batting at a bit of yarn. She answered in the way that she thought he wanted. “No, of course not, My Lord, I have only great respect for you…” She paused as her captor’s invading fingers suddenly were withdrawn, and then an instant later screamed in pain and surprise, as without warning, Baron Harzel assaulted her naked posterior with two more vicious blows of the terrible Spanish leather paddle.

“When you speak to me, Princess, you will say nothing less than the truth. If you attempt to deceive me, and fail, you will be punished and not lightly. If you succeed, and I later discover the deception, you shall be punished much more severely. ‘You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ John 8:23. Of course, in this instance you shall not be free in the most literal sense not matter what, but you will at least be relatively freer of pain,” he told her.

Although the Baron had not raised his voice during this admonition, Elizabeth sensed that she had angered him with her answer to his question. She decided that in the future she would take no chances and respond to all his questions on any subject whatever, with complete and absolute candor. He was not a man she wished to provoke.

“It is… as you say, my… my Lord,” she was able to gasp out between sobs. “I hate you more… than ever I have hated… any man. If I but could kill you with a thought, you would now be lying six feet under the ground.”

“That is good, that is much better, Princess,” said Baron Harzel approvingly. He released the paddle and resumed his expert caressing of the fleshy cleft between Elizabeth’s legs. He continued to manipulate her for a long time without speaking again, until all four fingers and his thumb were plunging in and out of her pussy. During this process, Princess Elizabeth’s breathing became noticeably heavier.

Baron Harzel picked up the conversation from where he had left it. “Taking all with all, it is natural for you to hate me. Yet, I cannot but believe that already you hated me back when first we at your home this past winter, and I had done you no wrong then.”

As a virgin, Elizabeth had absolutely no experience in sexual matters, and thus her ability to resist the older man’s clever touches was nonexistent. She quite was unable to keep her body from responding to his intimate caresses. She moved her hips rhythmically in response to each stroke of Baron Harzel fingers.

“Oooh!” the aroused Princess moaned. “It was… because you… you are so low- born… ohhh! a mere baron… ahh, do not stop, sir… please…”

Instead of stopping, the Baron obligingly increased the pace of his intimate caresses. His fingers now fairly flew over the still bulb of her love knob. “I think you can see now how little such things as rank mean in these intimate circumstances, Princess. I expect you to take that knowledge from this lesson today. After this, even one such as you must see the simple truth: like any woman, whether high-born or base-born, a princess royal can be made to writhe in pleasure by a man’s hand in her pussy, even the hand of a man she detests. Will you make a practical demonstration of this for me, and display what a brazen little slut you are in truth? Will you spend in my hand, like a common village whore, Princess Elizabeth Rosenbrach?”

She moaned again, more deeply and passionately than before. At the same time, the gyrations of her hips became more abandoned and frantic. Never in her young life had she felt such powerful sensations of pleasure. For the first time, she began to understand why people were willing to endure the vulgarity of the sexual act.

“Yes, My Lord Baron! Yes… don’t stop, I beg of you… ahh! ooh!” Elizabeth panted as the heat of the climax swept over her body in an overwhelming wave of carnal gratification. She sank to the floor, squatting on her haunches, but she obediently kept her knees wide apart, shamelessly revealing her sex.

The Baron removed his fingers from the girl’s sex, and seized a handful of her hair, bending her long, graceful neck back and pulling her head up closer to him, until his nose was an inch away from hers.

“You will never be able to love me, I fear,” he said quietly. “You are incapable of any love but that of yourself, I deem. I shall instead require only perfect obedience and complete submission.” He stroked the smooth, perspiring flesh of her trembling back, ending by sliding a proprietary hand casually over the elegant curve of a perfect buttock. “You shall be my slave, Elizabeth Rosenbrach, Princess of Leiutania, and utterly devoted to me. When you have finished my course of instruction, you will gladly do whatever I bid, even slay yourself, if that be my will.” The words tolled like the peals of a leaden bell in her mind, a bell that marked the passing of the Princess Elizabeth that was. She shook uncontrollably under his hand, and wept, mourning the death of her old self and the painful birth of a slave named Elizabeth Rosenbrach.