The Archduke and the Little Princess
(M/g ped spank rom)

Written by cc


	"So you see, Your Grace, the...pacification process is well under way," the government aide remarked.

	The Archduke simply replied, "Yes, I see." His guards glanced at each other, minimally raising their eyebrows. The smarmy aide hadn't caught it, but they had noted his Grace's sour note of displeasure. 

	Indeed, the Archduke was thoroughly disgusted with this host and this country. It was near enough to his own land that both the government and the rebel alliance were courting him, hoping for his influence in their favor. He had already spent some time with the mostly Christian rebels in the south, and now was finishing his tour with the Islamic government in the north. And none too soon, he thought bitterly to himself.

	The sights he had seen clung to him like a foul odor. Burned villages, slaughtered civilians, tortures, rapes. And there was more.

	He knew himself, and he couldn't deny that some of what he had been shown was...stimulating. Little preteen girls lined up like so many cattle, mostly naked and bound with a rope around their necks, offered on the auction block; what little resistance they made being quickly quelled with the crop across their bottoms. He would have welcomed such a vision, except for the fact that he knew the brutality that accompanied it. True, he often fantasized about spanking and whipping a preteen girl, and 'raping' her too. But he always pictured it as being done with gentleness and love, the punishments no more intense than those a father might mete out to his daughter. And only done at all if the girl was willing to be his little slavegirl. Seeing these poor children sold off to the grown men who took them for who knows how cruel a life: yes, he grew hard at the sight, but he didn't like himself afterwards for it. And he would do what he could to stop it. Indeed, it was only with an effort that he kept himself from leading his bodyguards, expert marksmen and swordsmen like himself, in a charge to at least free what few children he could. But he knew that would be a futile gesture, resulting only in his and his guards' death, and no improvement in the lot of the slavegirls-to-be. So he stifled his gallantry, hoping to be able to make an impact on this war once he returned home.

	He had come expecting to find the usual mishmash of issues so common in civil wars. Each side accusing the other of various horrors, both sides guilty of some; each side proclaiming the righteousness of their cause, both sides having some reason to think so. But what he had found was a rebel alliance of mostly Christian, and a few animist, civilians, trying to reestablish on sound principles the constitutional monarchy which had itself been overthrown by the Muslims, unable to achieve any relief from the Islamist regime that, far from hearing and responding to their just grievances, instead had launched brutal attacks on civilian targets. He had seen no evidence of atrocities committed by the rebels, but too many to count on the part of the government.

	He had met with the murdered king's court, now in hiding in the south. Six years ago he had been deposed, then cruelly killed. The people were rallying around his vassals, but the government forces were pressing them ruthlessly. Any members of the royal family found by the Islamic troops were liable to have a short lifespan. The Archduke had been introduced to some of them, though, including the old king's surviving children: a son, Phillip, now turning teenage, and liable to be a great leader in his time, if he could avoid being shot down, and a young daughter, Laura, now eight years old, a pretty little thing, who looked to his Grace like an angel; an angel in despair, considering her meager surroundings and harried life.

	He pitied the poor little thing, and not only for the straitened circumstances she found herself in. Her mother had died soon after she was born, also a victim of the northern Muslims' wrath. She was now in the charge of a stern governess, and more than once the Archduke witnessed her being spanked or whipped, somewhat more harshly than he thought necessary. A hug and a soft word from her caretaker after her discipline would have sealed a bond of affection between them, and probably covered completely over any 'offense' the punishments created in the little girl's mind, but this was not the governess' way. Yet despite the hardships of her life, the Archduke noted little Laura to be a loving and gentle child, and his heart had gone out to her.

	He came out of his musings to find that they were back at the chateau that had been made available to him during his stay. He gladly took leave of the slimy government aide and relaxed in the relatively more congenial surroundings of his temporary home. His eyes closed briefly as he sank back in an easy chair. He allowed himself a few moments of fantasy before drifting off to sleep...

	[SMACK!] "AAAAA!" the little preteen girl cried out as the Archduke's crop flashed out and seized her shivering bottom, and "OOO-OOO-OOO!" she yelped again as he continued to discipline her sharply, now on the cheeks of her reddening buttocks, now on her slender thighs, back and front, as she danced and wailed. He brought the strap-end of the crop to bear upon her nipples and breastbuds, [SNAP!], and, "AAAH! AAAH! AAAH!" she nearly screamed from her punishment, so embarrassing and so intense as it was.

	The Archduke stepped back and looked at her. She was a vision: a stunning little preteen girl, completely naked except for her white socks and saddle shoes, heartbreakingly slender, her breasts mere buds barely breaking the plane of her chest. Completing the picture was her puffy girlcleft with prominent clitoris, peeping out from between her gleaming thighs which were now marked with the faint red lines left by his crop. Her nipples were fetchingly erect and likewise reddened. As the Archduke strode around her, drinking in her loveliness, slapping the crop into his palm as she trembled, he felt a touch on his shoulder...

	"Your Grace," one of his guards said, apologetically. The Archduke was instantly alert, his hand going automatically to his hip, although his sword was in the keeping of one of his guards.

	"Yes, Tomas?" he replied, not at all put out to be awoken; he could tell from the guard's attitude that something important was afoot.

	"There is a representative from the southern alliance here."

	"I assume he is not wearing his tribal colors, no?" the Archduke asked dryly, as he followed his guard to the sitting-room. There he found a nondescript man, but with the bearing of one used to privation; a soldier, for those who had eyes to see.

	"Your Grace," he said, bowing as he rose to his feet, "I will be brief. I am told that you do not look with disfavor on our cause," his eyes asked the question.

	"That is true enough, though I don't know how much assistance I will be able to bring to bear."

	"There is one favor we would ask, even if you do nothing else for us. Yet I will not hide from you that it is not without danger."

	"Go on," the Archduke replied.

	"Government forces have located the king's family. We fear there is a...what do you call it?...a mole in our midst. We cannot risk losing them both. The prince refuses to leave the country, and indeed we need him. We have moved him from place to place, and he is surrounded by his most loyal retainers; it is all we can do for him. But the little princess..." he hesitated.

	"Go ahead, say it," the Archduke prompted; he thought he knew where this was going. 

	"Your Grace, we realize that you cannot just...take her out of the country. We have a plan..."

	And so it was that the Archduke found himself back at the slave market, again viewing the line of slavegirls offered for sale. Only now he was incognito, his guards near, but not obviously with him. And there, being brought to the fore, was little Laura. 

	She was dressed in only a skimpy pullover, barely adequate to cover her nakedness; indeed, the slightest movement displayed the lower edge of her buttocks and cleft. The handlers seemed to treat her no differently than the other girls, but the Archduke knew that they were handpicked, the rebel alliance expending much of its intelligence forces and abilities to temporarily replace the usual slavers with their own people. And they had done what they could to 'pack' the crowd, so that the Archduke would have little competition in the bidding. Price, of course, was no object, as real money would not change hands. But they wanted to keep the proceedings as short as possible.

	The event went smoothly, and the Archduke soon found himself back in his carriage, now with the little princess in tow. She was shivering, distraught; the courtiers had tried to explain the plan to her, but she could not help being terrified, both at the risk, and at the fact that she seemingly was now a slave, even though her family's advisors had labored to convince her that the Archduke was a friend. He held her on his lap, trying to comfort her, rocking her back and forth. Despite the danger, and his concern for her, he could not help being aware of her slender body, so soft and warm, her little cleft peeping out from under the inadequate hem of her shift...

	She seemed to settle down, and they reached the chateau without incident. He and his staff tried to make her comfortable. She was subdued, but spoke briefly with his Grace, and sat down with him to eat a few times. But just a few days after her arrival, trouble suddenly flared.

	"Your Grace, code three!" Tomas shouted, slamming the communicator into its holder. The household sprang into action. The rebels had sent word that government spies had learned the secret, and the little princess's life was in danger. 

	"How close?" the Archduke asked, as he buckled on his sword, and strode towards little Laura's room. 

	"Too close to make it on the ground, your Grace," came the reply. "We'll have to use the balloon."

	For just such emergencies, the Archduke's entourage had come equipped with a hot-air balloon, disguised as a portable sauna. The government flunkies had sneered at the 'soft, foreign prince and his luxuries'; they would be cursing, not sneering, now!

	With practiced speed, the guards assembled the device on the roof. The Archduke stood at the door, fearing that spies of the government might try to attack before the body of troops, still halfway across the capitol, were in place. And so it was, for two men suddenly sprang out of the shadows and launched themselves at the chateau. There was a brief clash of arms, and one lurched back, groaning; the other fell dead with a thump. "Your Grace!" his guards called, and he sped back inside, picking up the little princess, who stood stunned at the sight of the skirmish. He dashed up the stairs, and lifted Laura on board the balloon. Fortunately the wind was brisk, and in the right direction. Before the government troops were in range with their antiquated arms, the party was well on its way to the Archduke's borders.

	Once there, more communication was received from the rebel alliance. There was little hope, now, of a speedy end to the hostilities. The advisors to the royal family did not want the little princess to live in imminent hope of return to her native land, so they proposed an alternate plan. The Archduke agreed, with some provisos, to which they acquiesced, having indeed little alternative...

	In the few days she had been with him, Laura had come to rely utterly on his Grace. He was dashing, and authoritative, and wise. To her he was her father, come back to life. Now he sat down with her to talk. "Little Laura, I must tell you something. Your family's advisors tell us that you must not return to your country anytime soon. Indeed, they say you must be prepared to live your life away from your old home." She hung her head, but a part of her thought: Good; I can stay with his Grace!

	"Now I will give you a choice: I could find you a place in some orphanage, far from here, hopefully out of reach of your enemies. If I do that, I will not see you again, but you will be cared for. Perhaps someday your family will be able to come for you." She made the universal preteen 'yuck' face at this prospect. He chuckled. "It seems that this option does not appeal to you. Well, I have another.

	"I think you are a very beautiful little girl, and I want you to be with me always." She ducked her head shyly at this, but clearly was happy at his words. "But I know myself. If I have such a beautiful little girl as you with me, I must be able to do with you as I please. And what I want to do is to love you and care for you as my daughter. I will teach you, and make sure you you are safe, and have plenty to eat." Her eyes half-closed; this was like Nirvana! 

	"I also want to have you as my wife. This means that I will have my way with your body as a husband has with his wife's. You may not understand this yet, but you will!" She looked confused, but not unhappy at this. "And I want to have you as my slave." This brought her up short. So she WAS to be his slave!  "That means that I will use you, and punish you when and how I like. But I will tell you now that they will not be severe punishments. It will be just like spankings, no worse than that, although some of them may seem a bit...strange, at first. And," he added with a wink, "I'm an old man, so I don't think I can spank as hard as your governess did!" She smiled back, shyly. "But most importantly, little Laura, you will always be safe, and I will love you and care for you, and I think that you will find that you enjoy being with me more than you might expect.

	"So there it is, little one. You must choose: will you go away to an orphanage, or stay with me, as I desire?" He waited breathlessly for her reply. But it was a foregone conclusion.

	"I wanna stay with you, M'Lord," she whispered shyly, without raising her head.

	"You have made me very happy, Laura!" the Archduke exclaimed, and enfolded her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, giving her gentle kisses, reveling in the feel of her slender body. After a while he whispered in her ear, "You've been a naughty little girl, haven't you?" He waited a beat, then she nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Naughty little girls have to be spanked!" he announced, and pulled her over his lap. He tossed up the hem of her shift, pulled her little cotton panties down, and proceeded to give her a brisk, business-like spanking; quick and sharp, but not too hard, leaving her little bottom fetchingly reddened as she squealed and kicked. Finally he stopped spanking, and gently caressed her quivering, smooth bottom cheeks as she moaned and cooed. He slid his fingers further and further into the crack between them as he rubbed. 

	Suddenly he turned her over, so that she was lying face up on his lap. She blushed, knowing that her little cleft was so exposed to his gaze. Then her eyes widened as she saw his hand poised, then SMACK-SMACK-SMACK! he gave her three front-spanks in quick succession as she gasped and cried out wildly. Then he gathered her up in his arms, stifling her sobs with his lips laid gently on hers, his hand now massaging her unfledged cleftlips and clitoris as her breath came short, her mouth dry, the room spinning...But nothing else happened. She felt, somehow, that something else should happen, and she thought it would one day, but not yet.

	The Archduke let a few more weeks go by before moving much farther with his plans. He spent much of every day with his new little girlslave, and he frequently spanked her, enjoying the feel of her little body across his lap, jerking and trembling as he smacked her little round-soft bottom, and hearing her gasp and moan as he seized her little naked parts, kneading and working them.

	It wasn't long, however, before he felt the inner pressure to take the next step. One day he bade the girl dress in her best outfit, a little sailor's suit he had gotten her, and they drove in his carriage into town. To her mingled joy and trepidation they stopped at a small chapel, and, after a brief ceremony, with the guards as witnesses, they were married!

	That evening he called her to him. Without warning her pulled her shift over her head, and tugged her panties down, leaving her naked except for her white socks and saddle shoes. "From now on," the Archduke commanded, "you will be naked at all times, unless I give permission otherwise. It will be part of your punishment, to know that I, and my guards, can see your pretty charms any time we want! And they may take a hand in punishing you at times, as well!" To soothe away her stricken look, he enfolded her in his arms and rocked her back and forth, kissing her silky hair and stroking her back and shoulders. In fact, a part of her was not too displeased with this news; she rather liked his guards, and they fairly doted on her.

	But for now she was in the Archduke's hands. He guided her to the middle of the room, ordering her to stand straight, hands clasped behind her head. He pulled his belt out of its loops and strode around her, slapping the strap-end of it in his palm as she stood there, trembling, mouth dry, knees weak, an inexplicable moistness and heat between her legs...

	SWAP! "AAA!" she cried out, as he snapped the end of the belt against her bottom, and "OOO! OOO! OOO!" as he continued to whip her, reddening her little buttocks as she danced and yelped. He shifted aim, now targeting the backs, then the front of her thighs. Then he startled her, tossing the belt aside for the moment, seizing her little breastbuds and nipples in a firm grasp, kneading and working them, twisting and pinching her tender nipples as she gasped and cried out.

	He let his hands slide and roam down her front, tickling her belly button for a moment as she giggled, then down, down until he was there, seizing her cleft in his firm grasp, pressing suddenly against her hymen as she cried out, then rubbing and pressing relentlessly against her clitoris. With his free hand he snagged a small tube of lubricant from a nightstand, opened and applied it one-handed, then insinuated his fingers between her buttocks cheeks until he was at her little rosebud. He began to spank her cleft, sharp, medium-hard smacks, reddening her little cleft as she jerked and yelped. He suddenly pierced her anus, penetrating and probing her deeply with first one, then two, and even three fingers wrenching cry after cry from her.

	As he punished her, one part of his mind simply drank in the scene: an angel-faced, heartbreakingly slender eight-year-old girl, naked in his hands. Her tender, delicate anus was impaled on his fingers, buried deep within her; he could feel her little muscles clench and spasm on his hand. He was front-spanking her, smack after loving smack landing on her mons, unfledged cleftlips, and prominent clitoris poking out between her reddening labia. She jerked and spasmed, moaning and crying out, arching and bucking, clearly nearing orgasm, then finally lost in her climax, yipping and yelping, pressing her anus backwards to receive his molesting fingers, and rocking her pelvis forward again as if to offer her cleft up to the spanking.

	When she was finally spent he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. There he proceeded to give her three enemas: a cleansing, a rinsing, and a perfuming treatment. She cried out and struggled at first, but he gave her a sharp SMACK! on her cleft and she subsided, shuddering and moaning at the feel of the ridged nozzle invading her, and the embarrassment of it all.

	When she was sufficiently clean he carried her to an overstuffed chair, draping her gently over one arm of it, so her bottom stuck up in the air, her anus and cleft sweetly framed between her cheeks. he spanked her a few more times on her bottom, reaching around to molest her cleft and clitoris with his other hand for a while, then snagging the lubricant and applying some to her little rosebud. He pressed the head of his rampant rod against her little bottomflower, poised for a moment, then thrust into her, raping her of the virginity of her anus, burying himself within her with one stroke as she arched and nearly screamed from the intensity of the moment. He simply stayed pulsating within her, holding her tenderly as she wailed for a while, shoulders shaking. Finally her distress died down to the occasional sob and sniffle. He began to rape her anus in earnest, long, hard strokes, not slow, but steady. She cried out rhythmically with them, "AAA-AAA-AAA!" as his rod stretched her tender tissues. He reached around and continued to molest her cleft and clitoris, and her hips were soon moving of their own accord as the stimulation made itself known. But he had desired her for too long; in no time he was emptying himself inside her rectum, grinding his pelvis against her bottom as she bleated. Finally he picked her up, still impaled on his rod, and carried her to bed, collapsing on it with her, hugging her, stroking her hair, whispering in her ear how much he loved her, as she sobbed out the last of her distress at her punishment and rape, and shuddered out the last of her orgasm. When she awoke the next morning, he had slipped out of bed, but next to her was a new doll.

	So their lives ran together for the next two years. He simply couldn't get enough of her, padding about the house in the bare, receiving her lessons naked as well (which afforded many opportunities for disciplinary measures). The Archduke's guards loved to catch her arm as she raced by in some game or other, making her 'pay toll' with ten smacks to her jiggling little bottom. Even music was done bare, her violin teacher quietly enjoying having such a darling naked little girl to instruct, and to save up the punishment for every wrong note, and give her a bit of a whipping with the violin bow before the session was over.  Of course, the Archduke or one of the guards was always nearby; the violin teacher, like everyone who had any contact with his Grace or the little princess, had been thoroughly vetted, but no chances were being taken that, carried away by temptation, he would try to go beyond the simple whippings he had been empowered to apply.

	The Archuke continued to finish her punishments off by raping her anus. Very often he succeeded in forcing her to come, molesting her cleft and clitoris as he pounded into her nether aperture. And he usually gave her a toy, or some trinket, after each punishment session, sort of to make it up to her. And Laura, what did she think of all of it? She hardly knew how she felt. She loved the Archduke, and was ecstatic to be so loved and cared for after her previous experiences. She felt anxious whenever she knew that she was due for punishment, but if she had been given the choice whether or not to have to have it...she didn't know what she'd do.

	Time flies. Before the Archduke knew it, she was ten. She was even more stunning than before, a little taller (but still barely up to his chest), and even more heartbreakingly slender. Her nipples barely broke the plane of her chest, and her cleft was still unfledged. After an evening of intense punishment, culminating in the riding crop on her anus and cleft, she lay trembling and whimpering in his arms as he molested her clitoris and cleft. "I think you're old enough to get flowers some times, instead of toys, don't you think?" he asked her. Wanting to appear more 'grown-up', she agreed, tho' secretly she thought she'd rather have the toys! But she changed her mind when she saw the three beautiful roses he had gotten her, red ones. He knew what it meant, and somehow, deep down, she did too, by some budding feminine instinct: flowers to replace the flower he was going to take from her that night, red for the blood that would inevitably mix with his semen as he raped her.

	He lay her back on the bed, the flowers at her side, and proceeded to kiss her, all over: her eyelids, glabellas, tip of her nose, and sweet lips; nuzzling her neck, then sliding down to seize first one and then the other nipple with tongue and teeth, nibbling and sucking; drifting down to her belly button, pausing to blow a flurbish into it, making her giggle."No laughing, young lady!" he commanded with mock-sternness, smacking her thighs once, sharply, making her gasp. Then he was there, essentially raping her preteen girlhood with his mouth. He pressed his tongue firmly against her unbroken hymen as she cried out. Then he fastened on her clitoris, taking it in a long, excruciating bite between tongue and teeth as she bucked and moaned. 

	Soon she was nearing climax. He raised up over her, positioned his rod at her cleft, and thrust deeply within her, raping her of her maidenhead, driving for her cervix as she screamed, "OH, M'LORD!" and nearly fainted. Again he paused for a while, remaining buried within her, as she wailed and sobbed, her cleft burning at the loss of her virginity. Finally her distress died down to the occasional whimper, and he resumed raping her, long, firm, and fast strokes, pinning her to the bed with each thrust as she yelped. Inevitably the orgasm she had been nearing previously reasserted itself as her clitoris, like the rest of her girlhood, was hyperstimulated by a grown man's rod. She bucked and rocked beneath him, her slender body covered by his six foot frame, as he pounded into her. She screamed again as her orgasm peaked, and he ground his pubic bone against her clitoris, emptying himself at her cervix, then collapsing with her on the bed, rocking and hugging her, kissing and nuzzling her, as she kissed him back between her sobs and moans.

	And they lived happily ever after!

	The End

	by cc

	
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ccccc12345@lavabit.com
