The Prince's New Slavegirl

Chapter 1: Obedient Slave Girl

It was the first day of summer - that is, the first day upon which the coolness of early spring had fled before the warmth of a full sun and gentle breeze. Flowers were awakening in the fields and the first of the tiny white and yellow butterflies had been spotted fluttering across the meadows. The whole earth was shaking off the mantle of winter cold to greet the earth’s rebirth.

And in the dungeon, the slaves were screaming.

Prince Logan stretched his legs out upon the lounge, tilted his head back and allowed the warmth pouring down from above to break upon his face. Life, he decided, was perfect. Which is just as it should be for the first born of the man who currently wore the gold and silver crown of the very wealthy island kingdom of New Caladon, and the man who would one day wear that very crown himself.

A tiny tinkle of metal told him that one of the slavegirls was coming up, undoubtedly bearing the ice tea he had ordered. Should he punish her for being late? She was a cute thing, not quite out of her teens, and with pair of breasts that could only be called “perky”, and a very nice little bottom that wiggled delightfully when she walked. Perhaps a few good swats with a riding crops across that cute little ass... But then that would break his enjoyment of fine spring morning. There were, after all, something enjoyments in life beyond the whipping of a slavegirl’s ass.

The tinkling of the chains linking her ankles ceased. “Put it on the table,” he commanded and listened as the glass was placed upon the metal table. He could even hear the ice cubes striking the sides of the glass. He smiled. The ice tea would taste nice. One eye peeked open a bit. It was the girl he had expected, standing there, hands demurely at her sides, head bowed as all slavegirls should in the presence of their Lord and Master. He opened both eyes lazily.

“Remove your shorts,” he said. Instantly the girl obeyed, hands flying to the side of her waist to unhitch the fastener there. Then she was wiggling down the tight white cotton shorts, pushing them over her hips and down her long legs. Then she was stepping out of them. She left them lying on the floor and returned to the submissive position of bowed head and hands at her sides. Logan smiled to himself. A well trained slavegirl is a joy. “Kneel,” he commanded. She knelt immediately. “Hands behind your back.” Her wrists crossed behind her back. “Put your head on the ground.” She leaned forward and lowered her head until her forehead was resting upon the concrete, keeping her wrists in a crossed position all the while. Prince Logan smiled.

The tea was very good, just the right amount of sugar. He sipped it, watching this slavegirl. Obediently, she remained kneeling with her head on the ground, an awkward and not very comfortable position, but not very difficult, either. Idly he wondered how long she could hold it. Well, it would be easy enough to find out. “Slave,” he commanded in a voice of stern authority he had learned early in life, “stay exactly as you are until I tell you to move.”

Then he dismissed her from his mind, having no intention of allowing her movement in the near future. He might leave her there until she fell over, from lack of sleep or hunger or whatever. It mattered not what was the cause, but eventually she would no longer be able to hold the position. Of course, punishment would follow for failure to obey, but that was only to be expected. She was, after all, only a slave girl; a mere female to be punished at the whim of her Master for good reason, poor reason or none at all. If she were still in position when he decided to go somewhere else, he would post a guard to watch over her and report to him with the exact time she failed in her duty. Then he would decide her punishment.

The sun, he decided, might well be her worst enemy. It was only mid-morning and already it was very warm. Her naked skin, especially those upturned ass cheeks, would be warmed by that sun. And when it went beyond warmth, it would turn to sunburn. That soft, very smooth, very youthful skin would turn pink, then red. It would hurt, but the real pain would come later when she was finally able to move again. It amused him to consider how much like a good whipping serious sunburn on a bare ass would be. They both turned the skin a bright red, and both hurt. If she lasted the day, she would be uncomfortable sitting down for a while. And he fully expected her to last at least the day out. Maybe she would surprise him and still be kneeling there when the next morning broke over the Asuda Mountains. How amusing that would be.