They brought her to the bailiff. She would keep her head, but not her freedom. She would keep her chains, but not her clothes. A slash of knives and she was bared.

They put her to work in the basements. She scrubbed flagstones, hauled laundry baskets and stirred cauldrons of soup. She ached and her shackled wrists and ankles were a misery. Her palms were worse and her poor soles the worst of all.

She slept in a blanket on a pallet. She was so tired it felt comfortable. She still cried herself to sleep. The cell held three girls, none chained. One was older but the other two were her age. Like her, both yet to have their first moon’s blood. Like her, one was pale and flame-haired.

On the fifth night they taught her to make herself feel nice below her waist. At first they only helped and had her watch. Then they gave; they did not offer, nor did they ask in return. She let them. On the eighth night she gave back. From the ninth night she gave and got, got and gave together. Her chains kept her on her back, the other atop, feet to head and head to feet.

After her second full moon she was taken to be washed. The girls had talked of this Her arse would be greased and she’d be tried. One, the whore’s daughter, said the tool it was bigger than any man’s prong she’d seen. Another that it bore many bumps.

She was shaved between her legs, smooth as porcelain. Fingers smeared tallow everywhere in and over her arse. She knew little of rutting, only what the girls had said. Would she prove too weak?

How many times could you be ridden? Less than three and it was the dungeons. Only rumours of that place; none returned. Seven and the chains came off. Eleven and she’d serve in the house above. Seventeen to be a ladies’ maid. One hand left free to touch yourself. Bloom three times and it was the pleasure dens for you. A happy outcome, but few could manage it.

The Dames bound her over a trestle. The highest ranked had first turn. The small end inside the highborn as she buckled it on, the large part - larger than she’d guessed - brandished. She felt each stud against her ring. Soon more painful than she’d ever known. In and out, always pumping, never slowing.

The first rider cried out and shuddered. The torch was passed and soon a second was slamming in. So it went. She knew a hand, a bud, an arse, a club, a slit. Everything else forgotten, to bloom and not to beg her only desires.

The third wrenched free. The relief took her the last inch and she exploded into pleasure, her first blooming clear to all. The highborn smiled. Her own hand was hard at work as she watched each sister take her turn.

Seven women rode and used her although she couldn’t count it. To bloom and not to beg. Make pleasure, survive pain. The ladies whispered to each other. How long could she last? Was she for the dens? She was a pretty little thing. Anyone would want her.

Three outcomes were close when she begged for mercy - once, twice, thrice as required. Her eleventh withdrew, so close to finishing she tore it off and plunged her hand between her legs. A third bloom, her ticket to the dens, so close for so long. Now denied.

They unlocked her wrists and then her ankles. She’d already got used to the hobble chains. The Lady, her face betraying little, spoke. Give her lighter duties and more food. The others seemed surprised.

They swapped scrubbing for sweeping, hauling for folding and stirring for ladling. There was thicker broth and cheese with bread. The cellmates did not begrudge her fortune, nor would they let her share.

Two moons passed and a third drew nigh. They spent many enjoyable nights, together and alone. She learned much from the three of them and her talents finally surpassed theirs. At the third moon she could be ridden again, if she chose. She chose.

She had been soft when she arrived. Weak and skinny. Four moons later she was still pale, still fire-maned, but lean and sculpted. She remembered nothing of who she’d been, only who she was, and where she’d go.

Seventeen, or three. Either way she’d have a mistress. Below their waist or not, she’d serve and ease their cares. A hard ride awaited. She’d be a thoroughbred.