I was seated on a tall stool at the edge of her work area, and she talked and chatted about a whole lot of nothing while she worked. The kitchen was full of people at various workstations doing their own jobs, and the head cook seemed to be whipping up the most complex dishes while she supervised everyone else. Most of the room appeared to be employees, though a few workers wore collars denoting them as slaves. Everyone was dressed the same, whether slave or employee.
“How long have you worked for Her Majesty, Ma’am? Is it okay to ask?”
“Nearly ten years. I was working at a restaurant and she took a liking to her meal. Walked into the back without asking anyone if it was okay, asked who’d made the stew, and offered me a job on the spot. Took me a few years to move up to head cook, but she says she put me in charge because she likes the way I mother everyone.” She gave me a conspiratorial look. “I’m pretty sure Her Majesty means she appreciates both the way I feed people, and the way I discipline them when they mess with my kitchen. If everyone does what they’re supposed to do, it runs smoothly. I can get cantankerous when someone interferes with the flow.”
“You like working for her, Ma’am?”
It was a dangerous question for a slave to ask a freeperson, but I needed to know more about Her Majesty, and the cook seemed to enjoy talking.
Everyone outside the palace is terrified of The Winter Queen, but so far the people here had a healthy respect for her but didn’t seem to be walking on eggshells.
“I’m good at what I do, Little One. Her Majesty rewards those who please her and punishes those who don’t. She’s fair and just — I couldn’t ask for a better employer.”
“Thank you for answering my question, Ma’am.”
When I finished eating, the cook had someone take me to the baths. I was handed off to a handsome man, naked and in a tiny cock cage and slave collar.
I wanted to ask him if he was being punished or if he was always in the cock cage, but I followed him into a room clearly set up to give enemas, so I kept quiet. It’s best not to annoy the person about to clean you out, whether they’re a fellow slave or not.
“Is there anything I need to know before we get started?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m a pleasure slave. I’ve been regularly cleaned out as long as I can remember.” Even child slaves are cleaned out on a schedule, so they don’t annoy people with their need to go at random times. Toddler slaves lose their diapers when they learn to walk, and they’re spanked for accidents. However, they really only need to learn not to pee all over the place, because their enemas keep them cleaned out so they don’t make stinky messes.
“Her Majesty was clear this isn’t a punishment, but she expects you to be squeaky clean when you come to her. I’ll be punished if you aren’t, so you understand I’ll need to be thorough while trying to keep you as comfortable as possible?”
I sighed and looked to my feet. “Let’s forego comfortable and try for fast instead, please? I’d really like to get this part over with.”
His cock pulsed in its tiny steel cage. “You like pain.”
He said it as a statement and not a question, but I answered him anyway. “I do, but I dislike enemas. Keeping me comfortable means giving me five or six, each larger than the last. However, if you load the first up with soap and force the whole thing in me even if I beg for relief, we can get me clean with two soapy enemas and then I’ll just have to deal with the clear-water rinse enemas.”
He sighed. “And I thought someone was taking it easy on me by giving me a slave who didn’t need punishing. Very well.”
I noted the whips on the wall, the lemons in a basket, and the rack of spicy oils, and realized he probably specialized in giving punishment enemas. I chuckled without thinking, and then stopped myself. “You’re a sadist in a cock cage, forced to hurt people when you can’t enjoy it?”
“I am, Little One. Let’s get you strapped in.”
“So, with neither of us allowed an orgasm, she’s managing orgasm denial on both of us, without lifting a finger?”
“Our Queen is very good.”
He grasped my hand, moved it to a corner of the enema table, and locked it in. I moved my feet and my other hand to the corners, so he wouldn’t have to move them.
I’d remain here until we were finished — the table was tilted so my feet were slightly lower than the rest of me, and with plumbing between my legs to drain the mess away, there’d be no need to let me up when it was time to release. He’d hopefully hose me down to clean me off when necessary, but slaves don’t get to go relieve themselves in private during routine maintenance.
As a child, we’d been bent over a short wall outside, lined up side by side, and tubing stuck in our bottoms like an assembly line. Someone squirted water to wash the mess away almost as soon as it hit the concrete under our bare feet, but the place still stank.
However, I hadn’t been put on an enema table and so thoroughly cleaned until the day I’d lost my anal virginity. It had been auctioned off to the highest bidder, and I’d never had anything large put inside my bottom-hole before — only the narrow enema nozzle used on children. I had no idea how to prepare for such an invasion, and didn’t have an opportunity, even if I’d known what to do. I was cuffed that morning when they told me what was to happen, and had no access to myself throughout the day, while I was cleaned out, then waxed from my neck down, and then professionals worked on my hair, nails, and make-up. My owner had taken my woman-hood three months before, and I knew I’d eventually be required to submit to having my bottom violated, but I’d thought I had much longer.
Also, I had no idea it would be auctioned off in the manner it was, but my initial pleasure training alerted them I’d be a good candidate. I knew none of this at the time, and only figured it out later, when I was occasionally called in to help train the younger slaves.
Later, I was taught how to relax and accept such an invasion into my bottom, but the first time had been a horrible nightmare — hanging in a harness with no way to move or protect myself, my arms and legs bound out of the way. Men were allowed to bid to be the first, the second, the third… all the way to the thirtieth. My bottom-hole had hurt for weeks, afterwards.
This slave pulled the monstrous plug from my bottom with as much care as he could manage, but part of me wished he’d just tugged it out and hurt me. However, he was in charge of seeing to me while I was in his care, so I didn’t comment.
So far, none of the slaves or employees at The Dark Queen’s castle had treated me with cruelty. There was no guarantee this would continue, and I kept expecting a horrid taskmaster to step forward with implements of torture hanging from his or her belt, but it hadn’t happened yet. Her Majesty had enjoyed hurting me, but that was different.
I’d been abused by other slaves who had seniority over me before, so I knew it could happen, but something told me the Winter Queen’s castle ran differently than the other places I’d lived.
This slave was methodical, precise, and professional, though I noted his caged cock fruitlessly tried to grow when I cried, squirmed, and begged to relieve myself of the soapy enemas. He didn’t leave the first in for terribly long, but he set the timer for the second at forty-five minutes, and only released the valve when the timer dinged. When I’d also endured the two clear enema rinses and fully evacuated them, he sent for someone to get me.