The rest of the walk to the market square passed in a daze of humiliation. Her feet dragged in the dust, weighted down by the chains, unable to take more than the shortest paces. People laughed, cheered, called out names; two or three more spat at her; people even reached out and touched her as she passed. She’d felt nameless hands reaching out, groping her buttocks and thighs as she was paraded, unable to defend herself or to brush them aside with her hands restrained by the yoke. Twice, men had stepped forward from the crowd to grab at her exposed breasts as she walked, mauling and squeezing at her to the accompaniment of laughter from the crowd, before they were pushed back by laughing guards. Every time she hesitated or stumbled, she was spurred onwards by another stinging swipe from Lucius’ crop, so that by the time they reached the Market square her buttocks and thighs were reddened and hot, criss-crossed with stripes.

They came into the market square, and Elizabeth’s heart sank as she saw the crowd milling in front of the raised stage. She thought back, remembering occasions when she’d stood with her father to watch criminals punished here in public; petty thieves and swindlers would often spend the nights in the solid wooden stocks to be ridiculed by the townsfolk, and corporal punishments for offences were often meted out here rather than in the castle itself, the added humiliation of the public display giving both an additional element to the individual’s punishment and acting as a deterrent to others. Elizabeth remembered Lucius’ anger about public floggings here, her memories of watching one young kitchen girl who’d been convicted for stealing some of Rosemary’s jewellery; stripped naked to the waist, her arms chained above her head, sentenced to twenty strokes and then left in her chains for the rest of the day as an example. She remembered observing the punishment, her mouth going dry and heart beating faster as she watched the young girl’s soft white skin pressed to the rough wood of the whipping post. She had caught her breath each time the kitchen girl squealed and begged for mercy, proclaiming her innocence as strongly after the twentieth stroke as she had before the first. No matter that there had been rumours round the castle later that Rosemary had planted the “stolen” jewellery in the girl’s bed after she’d accidentally spilled wine on her favourite yellow dress. For several nights afterwards alone in her bed at night, Elizabeth had slid her hands down between her legs, furtively pleasuring herself as she remembering the crack of the strap and the squealing and pleading of the girl. For each of those nights Elizabeth had pictured herself as one or the other participant in that scene, some nights fantasising that it was her wielding the strap whilst the young girl begged and whimpered at her mercy, more often imagining what it would feel like to be chained there herself, stripped and on show under the strap. She whimpered at the irony of that now, as she realised it was Lucius’ intention to show her exactly how that felt!

Her reverie was interrupted by another stinging swipe across the backs of her thighs, the crack of the blow and her squeal greeted by cheering and laughter from the watching crowd. Elizabeth’s face reddened; to be paraded naked and humiliated like this was bad enough; to be physically punished, too – she realised how exquisite a punishment that was, the sting of the stroke itself swiftly fading, but the hot, burning shame lasted far beyond the heat from the crop.

“Are you going to get your lazy arse up there yourself, girl, or am I going to have to drag you?” Lucius grinned, the second option seeming to appeal to him, tapping the crop lightly against the top of his boot.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, reluctantly placing one bare foot on the first of the twelve steps up to the platform, the bare wood cracked but worn smooth by the footsteps of those penitents who had climbed them before her. The chains between her ankles made it impossible for her to climb the steps normally; she had to raise one foot and then the other to each step at a time, then repeat for the next, making even the simple the task of climbing the short staircase a harder and more drawn-out process.

As she ascended to the stage, Elizabeth hung her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face allowing her to glance out over the crowd from behind her fringe; she groaned, taking in the rows of faces gazing up at her naked body, the height of the platform designed to ensure that no watcher’s view was impeded. Elizabeth blushed redder, keeping her legs squeezed tightly shut as she stepped forward, feeling countless necks craned backwards, multiple pairs of eyes staring directly up at the tautness of her thighs, her belly and the underside of her breasts, their gaze automatically drawn to the tight V of short mousy hair between her legs.

Lucius grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head upright and uncovering her face. Tears leapt to Elizabeth’s eyes as he pulled at the roots of her fringe, shaking her head slightly by her tresses.

“Look out at ‘your people’, your highness,” he laughed. “Isn’t it nice of so many to turn up to see you?” Lucius held her upright, turning her head left to right by her hair to force her to look out over the crowd; as he turned her head to the right, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the wooden table next to the punishment block itself. Her heart sank and she gasped as she saw the collection of metal and leather implements laid out there, sunlight glinting from wicked metal teeth and sharp edges, chains and straps and cold unyielding iron.

Tears ran down her cheeks, thankfully blurring her vision and dripping from her chin to the wooden boards beneath her feet. Somewhere deep down she realised she’d been hoping this was all a bluff, that he just wanted to scare her a little before packing her off somewhere like her family. But now, standing here naked and in chains, the full horror of what he intended for her hit her and she sobbed loudly; her knees trembled and her legs turned to water, and she felt vomit rise in her throat in panic.

Lucius maintained his grip on her hair, holding her upright as she faltered; he bent close and whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her bare neck: “Don’t worry, girl. This is only the first of several visits here I’ve got planned for you. I’m sure you’ll get used to it in time!”

Elizabeth sobbed again, holding herself up now on trembling legs as Lucius turned to the gaoler who stood waiting next to the block, the feel of his eyes roaming over her naked body tangible. He licked his lips as Lucius spoke aloud, addressing the Gaoler but intending the crowd – and Elizabeth herself, of course – to hear;

“Ring her and mark her!”

Elizabeth gasped; she’d been half-expecting this of course, ever since he ordered her to parade herself to the market square in the first place but still, she realised, the hope was there that he simply intended to shame her a little, to show off his new-found power by degrading her in front of the people. The idea of being tattooed or branded like a common slave, marked with an owner’s sigil and ringed like…like livestock! That was worse than she’d imagined. She’d been determined to keep what dignity she could, to ensure that no matter what he did to shame her she’d rise above it with a quiet self-assurance and not give him the satisfaction of getting to her. Now, though…she looked up at him through tear-reddened eyes, her voice cracking as she spoke quietly;

“Please Lucius...you’ve made your point. Please. You can’t do this.”

Lucius smiled, but his eyes were cold as he placed one finger under her chin, lifting her face.

“You will learn, princess. Don’t deign to tell me what I can or can’t do. And never…never!...refer to me as Lucius. You call me Master, and you speak when you’re spoken to and not before. When we return to my rooms this evening, you will be punished for that lapse in your behaviour. Am I making myself clear, now?” He glared at her.

The combination of the collar and Lucius’ finger prevented her looking down but Elizabeth lowered her eyes and swallowed once.

“Yes…Master.” Even whispered, the anger in her voice was palpable. Lucius hesitated then released her, turning to the Gaoler and nodding once.

The gaoler grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in as he tugged her to the block; he reached up, undoing the padlocks which held the bar closed, releasing her wrists and removing the collar from her neck. Elizabeth rubbed her wrists, her fingers tingling slightly from having been held upright for so long. The gaoler grinned, patting the top of the stone block.

“Get that pretty little arse of yours up here, girl. Or do you need me to help you?” His grin broadened, and Elizabeth shuddered; she didn’t want to find out what sort of ‘help’ he’d deliver. Slowly, trembling slightly, she leaned back against the edge of the raised platform, the stone cold and hard against her bottom. Lowering her eyes and trying to avoid the noise of the baying crowd, she placed her hands on the edge of the block and lifted herself to sit on the block, legs dangling, hampered by her shackled ankles.

“On your back, girl.” Heart pounding Elizabeth swung her legs up, knees clamped together, and lay on her back on the hard stone top. She heard a cheer from the crowd, and looked around in time to see the gaoler holding up a long vicious-looking needle. Elizabeth whimpered; she’d seen enough of her father’s subjects up here sentenced to slavery for their crimes to know what that was used for. Biting her lip, she screwed up her eyes and took a deep breath.

She felt the gaoler’s hand caress her right breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh in his calloused fingers. She clenched her teeth, fighting the instinct to cry out, to slap away his hand, maybe even to scream and kick. She grunted and her eyes flicked open as a sudden jolt of pain lanced through her body as the gaoler pinched her nipple hard, twisting slightly and tugging it out, stretching her breast conical before releasing and letting it snap back. The gaoler squeezed her breast once more, and she winced as she felt the cold sharpness of the needle scratch against her nipple.

With no further warning, no hesitation, a searing stab of pain leapt through her breast, taking her breath away. Eyes screwed up, fists clenched, she squealed loudly as her nipple burned and throbbed at the same time, all feeling in her body seeming to be concentrated from that one white-hot point of origin. Tears welled in her eyes and she screwed them shut, sobbing once and drumming her ankles on the stone beneath her.

The gaoler grunted in satisfaction, and Elizabeth whimpered softly as she felt him withdrawing the needle from her flesh. She gasped as he tugged and prodded, glancing down to see him forcing a shining silver ring through the red nub of her nipple. He closed the ring tightly with pincers, turning it in the fresh hole. She caught her breath as he tugged on it gently, testing it, stretching her breast. He nodded, and Elizabeth groaned as she felt his hand move to her left breast, once again squeezing and plumping the flesh, again twisting and pinching the nipple, then again the scratch of the needle against the sensitive bud. Elizabeth clenched her teeth and screwed her eyes shut.

Knowing what to expect didn’t make it any easier to take; Elizabeth sobbed and squealed anew as the same procedure was followed on her other nipple, the needle pushed through then withdrawn in one movement and replaced by a cold metal ring. The gaoler closed the ring tightly, tugging and twisting it once again to check its fastness. She breathed hard and fast through clenched teeth; her nipples felt like they were on fire, burning and throbbing in time with the pounding of her heart.

The gaoler patted her stomach with the palm of his hand, smiling to himself. He looked down at her and licked his lips again, his eyes travelling down her body from her freshly ringed nipples, over the slight swell of her belly, to her sex; “Spread your knees, bitch. Feet up under your arse.”

Elizabeth gasped, tears running down the sides of her face, wetting her hair and trickling into her ears; he couldn’t be serious. No way could Lucius intend to have her ringed down there too…surely?! Her disbelief was short-lived, as the gaoler slapped her knees apart, yanking the chains between her ankles up towards her bottom and spreading her knees wide. She sobbed as he exposed her, pushing her knees wider still until she felt as if he would dislocate her hips. He held up two more shining silver rings, the metal glinting in the sunlight, and bent down, whispering close to her ear.

“Listen, girl, you’re getting these no matter what. You can wriggle and kick and beg and plead, and I’ll tie you down with your legs spread like a common whore. Between you and me, I’d like nothing more. But it will be easier on you if you lie still and let me do my job. You understand?”

Elizabeth sobbed, nodding her head the tiniest amount. Her mind was in a whirl. She couldn’t believe what was happening to her, and she still half expected to wake up sweating and out of breath, finding her hand between her legs and her fingers wet like she had on many nights before, her feet tangled in her sheets, tingling as her orgasm subsided, excited and ashamed in equal measure at herself and her fantasies. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the sight she made right now – lying on her back, the glint of silver rings at the tips of her bare breasts, ankles chained and her legs spread wide open, her pussy exposed and vulnerable. Despite herself, she felt her stomach tense at the image, the vulnerable young girl at the mercy of the brutal slave-owner. Her nipples throbbed hot and sore from the piercing, and for just a moment she allowed herself to revel in the sensation, the way she’d revelled in pinching them harder then harder still, alone and naked in her room, imagining the sensation of clamps or probing fingers. Suddenly, her eyes flicked open and she whimpered as she felt the gaoler’s hand move down her belly, sliding over her mound and bringing her crashing back to the here and now, reminding her that this was no private fantasy. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingertip probe between her legs, running along her slit and parting her labia. She gasped as his digit slid inside her, instinctively tensing her muscles and drawing her thighs together; then, as quickly as it had invaded her, the finger withdrew, and she heard the gaoler chuckle to himself low in his throat.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying yourself, princess. You’re wetter than a virgin on her wedding night down there.”

Elizabeth groaned as he held his finger up to her face, the tip glistening and wet; she turned her head away as her rubbed his thumb against his fingertip, smearing her juices around, then sobbed in shame as he lifted his finger to his face. Her mind swam, and she reddened in hot shame; what was happening to her? Here she lay, on show, her body abused and violated by this man…and she was getting aroused? She groaned, looking away as her tormentor grinned once more, chuckling as he sniffed his fingertip then slipped it into his mouth, sucking it.

“I always wondered what that pretty royal cunt of yours tasted like; no different to any other girl’s, though. You’re nothing special, you see, princess. Now open your legs!”

Once more, he pushed her knees apart and she felt his hand back between her thighs. This time though, instead of probing at her gently he took hold of her outer labia between thumb and forefinger, pinching the right firmly and tugging it downwards. Elizabeth whimpered loudly, thigh muscles trembling as she fought the urge to clamp her legs shut; what he intended to do was bad enough, she thought, without the added insult of being restrained, spread open like he wanted.

She screwed her eyes tight, clenching her teeth as she felt the scratch of the needle once more, this time against the sensitive flesh of her labia. She felt the tip start to press against the skin, pushing and stretching before suddenly she felt the release of tension as the tender skin gave way and the cold steel needle pierced her flesh.

The sensation this time took her breath away; if the piercings at her nipples were bad, this new intrusion was ten times worse. Elizabeth screamed and shook her head from side to side, tears once again welling in her eyes. She caught her breath then moaned loudly as the gaoler tugged on the wounded flesh, pulling the needle free and replacing it with yet another metal ring. She sobbed quietly to herself as he clamped the ring shut, rotating it through the fresh piercing.

He gave her no respite this time. Even as the shock of the first piercing was subsiding to be replaced by a dull throb, Elizabeth felt him pinch and tug at the other labia, and scratch the needle against the skin. She tried to catch her breath, begging and looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

“No, no, no, no more, please….” Her pleading turned to a scream as the needle pierced her once more. She arched her back up from the surface and clenched her fists, screwing up her eyes against the tears. She snivelled and groaned as the gaoler fitted the final ring, closing and twisting it once more to check its fastness before patting her belly once again.

“Turn over, girl.” Elizabeth looked up at him uncomprehending through eyes moist with tears, her nipples and pussy throbbing and hot with pain; surely, she thought, there was nowhere else to stick his needles through? He glared at her; “Turn over!”

Slowly, Elizabeth rolled onto her belly, wincing as every movement tugged the skin around the rings, making them sting and throb afresh. She gasped as she lay down flat on her belly, keeping her thighs parted a little to ease the pressure on the labial rings. The stone surface was cool against her tortured mound, and helped to cool the heat from the piercings a little, but she caught her breath as her sore nipples touched the unyielding stone, her own weight as she lay flat pressing against the rings and making them hurt as if they were being pierced all over again.

The gaoler bent down to her ear once again; “You’re lucky, girlie. Lord Lucius has decided that his mark would look better inked black against your white arse. I can see his point – but it’s far quicker just to brand it onto you than this nonsense with needles. Still, you belong to him, so I suppose what he says goes. I’ll warn you though – I’d not move around too much, unless you want this to get blurred and spoiled. Then he’d have to have it burned off and reapplied somewhere else. Somewhere more…sensitive…I imagine!”

Elizabeth whimpered; it was true, then…marked like an animal, to show who she belonged to. She sobbed in shame burying her face in the crook of her arms, resting on the cold stone.

Suddenly, she felt a pain like a hundred bee-stings on the upper left slope of her buttocks; there was a tapping noise, and sting after sting was repeated on the soft skin. She moaned – she’d seen this process carried out on others; a set of twenty or so needles closely set on a small wooden handle, like a tiny version of the rakes the gardeners used to level the pebbles on the paths and driveways outside, held against the skin and tapped with a small block, piercing the skin deeply over and over again. This tapping went on for what seemed like an age then just as abruptly it stopped, the sting of the needles replaced by a different sting and a wetness over her hip and buttocks. She whimpered, realising this was the dye, a mixture of charcoal and Indian ink, jet black and totally, irrevocably permanent. She moaned to herself once again, feeling the gaoler wipe away the excess from her skin, knowing she was now tattooed and marked for the rest of her life. She sobbed once more; that was that, then – the piercings might heal over time if she were able to remove them, but this was a slave mark which she could never get rid of no matter what. She’d seen enough of them over her twenty-one years, on men and women convicted of crimes or captured and brought back from overseas. She also knew what it meant to wear such a mark; to no longer have the rights of normal citizens, to make decisions or to enjoy even the most basic of freedoms. She closed her eyes, burying her face in her arms and sobbed loudly, finally accepting what Lucius had said earlier that day; her old life was over. She was no longer a princess but simply a slave, property to be toyed with and used, to be put to work or made to tend to the whims of others, in whatever way her owner saw fit.