The Beauty and the Bondage

An eBook By Reese Gabriel.

CHAPTER ONE

Rochelle D'Masset-Valiogne, the only child of the Marquis D'Masset-Valiogne was as beautiful as she was cruel. By all accounts she was born this way, and some even said that it was the darkness of her spirit in the womb which killed her mother during child birth. More likely it was the natural result of hemorrhaging from a breach birth, though it was certainly true that from an early age Rochelle proved to be a terror to all those under her power.

Her father, having little interest in raising his only daughter and having no love for the servants, gave her free reign to do to them as her little heart desired. She indulged herself quite often, subjecting them to floggings and other dire punishments for the tiniest of offenses.

Sometimes the little blonde Marquesse punished for no reason at all. It was her wont to travel about with a small whip her father had made for her and if her victim happened to be too tall, she would order them onto their knees or stomach so she could thrash them soundly.

If she was feeling particularly sadistic, she could have them thrash each other for her amusement. The most wretched among her victims were her ladies in waiting. These she forced to attend to her night and day, depriving them of sleep and food.

Each morning she would require ten thousand strokes to her silky, golden tresses with the horsehair brush. The servant would have to count them aloud and if she missed even once, she would be thrown to the stable slaves to be bound and abused.

They were also made to scrub the floors of the castle upon hands and knees with only the smallest of brushes. Again, if they faltered or collapsed or missed so much as a single spot, they would face horrific vengeance. As Rochelle became older, attaining adulthood, her games changed from merely wicked to blatantly sexual.

Her most intimate servant and chief recipient of abuse was Lisette, a lovely dark haired girl who had at one time been Rochelle's dearest friend. A boy came between them shortly after their eighteenth birthdays and when the young man expressed his preference for Lisette, Rochelle swore the most terrible vengeance. For a month she pestered her father until he finally agreed to have Lisette's father, a prosperous and honest merchant, brought up on false charges of treason against the king. Through the application of a healthy series of bribes, the Marquis secured the man's conviction and was awarded the bulk of his confiscated estate.

Lisette was forced to become a handmaiden, coming under the immediate tyranny of her one-time friend. Because they were both of the age of majority, Rochelle was free to expose the girl not only to physical tortures but sexual ones as well.

Lisette's virginity was taken by a group of stable slaves who took her mercilessly. Lisette was forced to submit in a pigsty, on her back in the dung. There were a dozen and they used her repeatedly in every orifice. Lisette was left filthy, her hair and body soiled, covered in mud and semen.

Afterwards, she was forced to crawl to the young man who had picked her over Rochelle and to tell him, naked on hands and knees, that she was no longer a lady fit to be courted, but an animal, fit to be abused and fucked.

The young man said nothing, walking away without a word. A week later, however, he called for Lisette and with Rochelle's blessing was allowed to commit atrocities on her for an entire night. After this, he never spoke to her again.

Lisette's heart was broken, which was Rochelle's goal--that and her lifetime subjugation. In the year since--the girls were nineteen now--Lisette had learned well how to hide her emotions. Rochelle continued to watch like a hawk, for signs of weakness but she found fewer and fewer to exploit.

"You've become a dishrag," Rochelle complained while whipping her one day. "A rag doll."

"Yes, Mistress," the naked girl hung listlessly in her bonds, hands chained over head, feet lifted to tiptoes.

"Where is your pride, Lisette?" she demanded. "Will you let me do anything to you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Rochelle slapped her hard. "Are you mocking me? Who do you think you are?"

Lisette's cheek was pink, warm to the touch. "I'm a slut," she replied, almost by rote. "A cunt to be beat and fucked."

The calm, almost dispassionate tone infuriated Rochelle. "I'll make you cry," she said. "I'll make you bleed."

"Yes, Mistress."

It wasn't that Lisette couldn't feel the pain--she did--or that she wouldn't do anything to avoid it. It was just that she lacked the energy to fight any longer. Rochelle was simply too powerful, too perverted of a personality.

Lisette had run afoul of someone greater and that was that. The world was cruel and suffering was never explained. It was merely meted ... and endured.

"Or should I kill you outright?" Rochelle wondered aloud, her eyes brightening as she hit on a new tack.

"I am yours, Mistress," said Lisette, stating the fact. "Keep me, use me, sell me, give me away, destroy me ... I am nothing."

Rochelle tapped her taut belly with the whip. Lisette ate little these days but scraps. Alone among the servants she was not permitted at the table, ever.

"I could kill you, you know, very easily." She lashed her breast, hard.

"Thank you, Mistress," winced Lisette, acknowledging the whip.

"I hate you," Rochelle frowned, hating her strength.

"Thank you, Mistress," Lisette repeated as her former friend struck out at her thighs.

Deep down, Lisette did not truly fear for her life, though she knew things would only get worse and that Rochelle's cruelty would only worsen. Thus she was greatly relieved when the stranger arrived, bringing with him a tale most mysterious from out of the north.

The man wore a black robe and his skin was full of crevices and deep crags. His beard was white and his eyes fearsome green. He did not seem as one of the caste of storytellers and traveling entertainers, but more like a warrior or even a king, long ago dethroned.

He shared his story over a warm hearth, in exchange for bread and soup and a tray of meat. The Marquis and two of his guests were privy, along with Rochelle, who had a way of worming her way into the business of her father.

Lisette was allowed to sit at her Mistress' feet. The old man seemed taken by her--a fact which pleased Rochelle none too well.

"Let her stay," said the old man when Rochelle tried to dismiss her. "I pray you."

The Marquis overruled his daughter and the story telling continued.

The old man, it seemed, came from a kingdom, once the most powerful and wealthy in the world, but which had been laid low by a most bizarre curse. In that land was a prince, who at one time had been a very fair young man and exceedingly vain and selfish. One day, while traveling in the woods, he encountered an old woman in need of water. He refused to stop his carriage, ordering his men to run her down instead.

Before they could do this, the old woman revealed herself to be a witch.

"A curse be upon thee," she swore. "For thou art ugly of soul, a monster in the guise of a man. From henceforth, let thy true nature show."

At once the handsome young prince was transformed into a hideous beast, complete with fangs and fur and fearsome claws. The coachmen ran away in terror, leaving him alone with the witch.

The prince screamed in helpless rage, seeing his new form. The witch did nothing but laugh, telling him he had receive his just desserts. The prince did beg her for mercy, telling her that he had learned his lesson.

She told him that as of yet he had learned nothing, but that one day he might. His only hope was love. Should he find another person for whom he was willing to sacrifice himself blindly and give up all that he had, then and only then would he be freed of the curse.

In the mean time, he would live in his castle, a recluse, never aging, never feeling the hand of time or of love or simple kindness.

"That was many decades ago," said the traveler. "And still the prince waits for one to free him."

"Perhaps there is no love in the world that strong," said the Marquis.

"Or no woman fair enough," said the visiting Baron Guillelmo.

Rochelle's ears perked up at this. What better challenge for her? What better way to prove to the world her own worthiness as an object of love?

"Forgive my presumption," said the stranger. "But there may be such a woman ... in this very room no less. Indeed it is her powers, I believe, that have drawn me here to share with you."

Rochelle feigned modesty. "I thank you for your kindness," she smiled brilliantly. "But I could never undertake such a mission."

"I do not mean you," the old man shook his head. "I mean her."

Rochelle gasped. He was pointing straight at Lisette.

"You mean the servant girl?" Said the surprised Marquis.

"Precisely."

"Preposterous." Rochelle was on her feet. "This little tramp couldn't woo a toad much less a tormented prince."

The old man shrugged. "What do I know? I am only a humble traveler."

"Daddy," Rochelle decided on the spot. "I will go to this kingdom. I will find this prince and prove that I am the one who is worthy and beautiful enough to break the spell, not her."

The Marquis, used to the outbursts of his spoiled daughter, bargained for time. "Rochelle, we will discuss the matter later."

"I am going," she countered. "And that's final."

And final it was. The very next day, Rochelle was on her way, in a fully outfitted carriage, she and Lisette, along with two coachmen and three of the Marquis' men-at-arms.

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