Yes, because you're such a slut

"Your room is a mess and smells like you fucked a dozen whores," observes Odesworth. Or maybe just one a dozen times, you think to yourself. The new flow of juices that thought brings cause a wave of pain from the Rush Pepper oil. You do your best to control yourself and only let out the quietest of whimpers that trails off into a slight moan. It hurts so good. Your minister just barged into your butlers room claiming that your castle is besieged. Even if you can get out of this without your dark secret being exposed, you'll still have an invading army to deal with.

But you can only think about sex, and how your play was cut short.

As you huddle in your hiding spot, your mind drifts back to the rope walk your servants had made you enjoy. There had been knots at regular intervals along the rope clearly for the sole purpose of measuring distance. Mistress Aime had ordered you to straddle the rope, while she chained your ankles together with a short chain.

Master Edgard had ordered you to walk to the end of the hall. You complied taking the quickest steps your hobble chain allowed. The rope had worked it's way deep into your slit, and ground against your tender lips continuously as you hurried forward. The constant grinding was broken only by the knots. The first knot had stopped you completely, what little momentum you gained bumping it into your clit. You had to lift yourself off your heels of your shoes just to make it over.

It hadn't been fast enough and your master had dragged you forward by a fistful of your violet hair. As you tried to keep your feet under you, your mistress had said "If you want to encourage the bitch there are better ways." This had prompted your master to stop leaving your clit pressed into a hard stone of a knot.

"Oh, perhaps we should make a game of it. I win and she sleeps with my cock in her mouth, if you win its her tongue in your cunt instead."

After agreeing Mistress Amie had prepared a delicate minute glass. And soon your master was again dragging you by your hair. You frequently stumbled and only made it over two of the knots before Aime said it was time, and that she could do better.

Her style had been to use encouragement. She kissed your breasts sucked your nipples. Then she had crouched down near the rope a few inches in front of your wet cunt, telling you how wonderful it would be to have something to lick. You found it arousing but would have preferred something a rougher. Without the excitement of pain or peril you can not beat your previous distance.

Master Edgard lit a candle and you were lined up with the next knot. Not only did he drip hot wax on your breasts when he felt you moved too slowly but also told you he would drip it directly on your clit if you disappointed him. Unfortunately, you didn't. The excitement had put a spring in your step and lube between your legs that helped you ride over three knots.

It was Aime's turn next. She tried dragging you like Edgard had done earlier, but by clamps on your nipples and pussy lips. She pulled hard enough that it was probably cheating and managed to get you over three knots.

You had almost reached the other side of the hallway. Your hobble chain had been undone, you were turned around and you were turned around.

As Edgard prepared his next attempt, they agreed they would get one more try each. He had picked up a flogger and taken a few warm up swings, before Aime flipped the minute glass. Edgard viciously whipped your breasts and bottom screaming at you to go faster. Spurred on and quite wet, you have little difficulty sliding over the first two knots. He had arched a few strikes under the rope to hit the inside of your thighs hard enough to make you almost bounce over the third knot. "Almost out of sand" warned your mistress.

Your master had leaned in and hissed in your ear "touch one more knot with your cunt and I will shove this whip handle up your ass."

It had taken all of your effort to make it to the fourth knot before your mistress yelled "time." But you succeeded, and Edgard had yanked your head forward onto the rope to deliver your promised reward. He dipped the handle into your pussy, and it had came out sopping wet, but your master still had to **** and wriggle the punishment device into your tight ass.

"Thank you master," you had moaned. The rope had felt slick to you, and the aroma of the arousal trail you'd left on it was thick in the air.. You gave the rope a tentative lick and collected some of your juices from the coarse fibers.

"Let her enjoy that for a moment," your master had suggested, "she's earned it."

Your mistress had given an uncaring scoff before unceremoniously pulled out the handle. "I have a contest to win," she explained. "Straighten up," she'd commanded and given your hanging tit a 'love tap.' You obey. As her tool of encouragement your mistress had selected a riding crop. She looked especially sexy clad in the tight leather, her arms crossed holding the crop.

When your master had yelled "start," and she began encouraging you. first hitting your full ass. she had avoided your most sensitive areas, nipples and cunt, instead delivering stinging slaps to your erogenous zones, belly button, collar bone, quickly alternating between your inner thighs. With each sting your arousal had mounted. As you crested the third knot, your body tumbled the wave of pleasure into orgasm. You had collapsed on the rope and its vibrating against your inflamed clit had made you white out.

When you came to, you were still squirting. Your back was on the ground. The crotch rope was above you one ankle still tangled in it. The other leg hung limply connected to it by the hobble. Your mistress was angrily striking you and calling you delightfully horrid names like "useless fuckmeat," and "stupid cocksleave."

"You only care about your next orgasm. You lazy cunt-bucket of a whore," she had screamed in frustration. And she had been right. Even now, inches from the impossible humiliation of being exposed for the degenerate slut you are, all you can think about is how fun the session was.

Your hand glides towards your dampening fuck hole, and you dip your index finger in a few times, slowly as to not make too much noise. Managing not to moan, you plunge your digit as deep as possible into your needy slit. Soon after pulling it out, you use it to circle your clit.

A pain erupts from your cunt and clit like it has been violated by a red hot poker! And a deafening scream bursts from your lips before you can cover your mouth.

"What is the meaning of this?" snaps Odesworth, clearly having discovered you. "Edgard! You didn't actually bring a naked whore into the castle? Get out from under the table you gutter trollop!" In a rage, he yanks you out and tosses you to the center of the room. His anger is replaced by shock when he sees that the masturbating harlot he'd grabbed is actually his queen. You lay sprawled on the floor, your naked body covered in whip marks, degrading writing and dried cum, while your hand still vigorously works between your legs.

An uneasy quiet fills the room, and you blush furiously. "There's hot pepper oil down there," you stammer out, trying to explain why you're ramming four fingers so deeply within your cunt. But it's a lie; the overwhelming arousal of having your dark secret exposed in such a degrading when has you unable to stop touching yourself.

For a moment, the only sounds are your wet masturbation and the clattering chaotic battle outside. This reminder of the urgent situation causes Odesworth to come to his senses, now even more enraged than he was before. "What kind of? Is this some? How dare you!" he manages to sputter out. The usually mild man displays a surprising amount of strength by roughly picking you up. Before you know what's going on you're bent over a side table, your large tits dangling over the edge. "Do you think this is how a queen behaves?" he bellows. "If you want to galavant like an immature, insolent tart, I'll treat you like one." He brings his hand down hard on your upturned ass.

The spanking you receive isn't just painful; it's humiliating. You're supposed to be a dignified queen, but here you are getting punished like some bratty kitchen wench. Each hard slap makes you yelp and flinch. Your pain and shame only seems to encourage Odseworth however. He berates you loudly, ensuring you know that your nypho body makes you unfit to be a queen. The pepper burns like a bonfire in your pussy but is doesn't burn nearly as hot as you're arousal. If your kingdom was still yours, you'd trade it for an orgasm right now.

A might crash brings you're spanking to an end as Odesworth's wrath causes the table to break beneath you. You rise to your knees and look up at him from the shattered wood. Horniness has your mouth open and ready for a cock.

"Damnation!" your former minister screams. "I can still fix this. You," he points to a member of his entourage, a guard that had been waiting in shocked silence, "chain the bitch up. And you," he says to a servant with an erection visible in his crotch, "fetch her crown."