A Cracked Jewel Outshines a Stone

With her final push, she reared back and once again swallowed the princess whole. An incomprehensible shout heralded a violent rock of her hips and the rapid convulsing of her dick.

Do it.

Do it.

Do it!

A torrent flooded Ana's throat. Streams of thick fluid coated the inside of her mouth and dropped deep into her stomach, her lips sealed to prevent any escape. She pulled back slightly to taste more of the treasure. With the tip all that remained, more ropes painted her tongue with indescribably human flavor.

The princess's voice had all but degraded into primal moans. Each rope seemed larger than the last, and the spend never seemed to cease. How long had she been waiting to do this? Had she withheld herself to deposit all she had within her royal plaything?

Ana realized her mouth was full to bursting and slipped off. Streaks released across her face, lining her chin and hair and eyelashes. Even more splashed on her exposed breasts. She was thoroughly marked by everything that remained of the princess's climax until the woman's throbbing finally ceased and her cock came to rest across Ana's lusting face.

Ana's own balance failed. She collapsed onto her back without any feeling below her waist—all the better, as she was able to focus on what the princess gifted her. Her fingers were coated in her own fluids and ached from her thighs crushing her joints. Her assault had concluded, but the princess had screamed herself into silence and heaved on her ornate bed.

Ana traced fingers through the viscous fluid on her face and deposited the sample onto her waiting tongue. She savored it, tasted it, and when she had finally collected as much as she could, she pursed her lips and swallowed.

A heady sigh escaped her as she admired her work. The princess had demanded her everything, and for once Ana was proud of her labor.

She traced the view of the crown molding atop the crystal walls, the hanging tapestries, and the gems forged into the ceiling. She tainted this sacred place as she laid there in a puddle of her own making.

The thought carved a smile into her face.

It lasted only moments, until a hand squeezed her neck and the vengeful stare of Princess Dianthel was all that remained of the view.

"You whore!" she roared.

She tore the servant's head towards the bed and nearly tossed her across the soiled bedding. She caught the animal by surprise, and in her shock, she allowed herself to be rolled over the bed and pinned by one of her wrists. Dianthel curled her fingers delicately around the woman's throat.

The servant struggled to escape, she failed and kicked, and she relished in watching her squirm. The momentary weakness that had overcome her was gone. It was a fluke, naturally—of course her command over servants hadn't wavered.

She imagined for a moment that the person she crushed was her frail, failure of a father, and the thought made her nails dig harder into the soft flesh. But she would be a fair ruler when the day never came that she took the throne. It wouldn't do to lose her composure.

She leaned into the girl's terrified eyes, where the fire had momentarily burned out. "What possessed you to be so bold, servant?"

Her mouth sealed shut, she refused to answer. Refuse. Refuse. Refuse! She wondered if the fluttering feeling in her stomach was the same one monarchs felt when they signed off the army to quash an uppity lord's militia. An understated satisfaction of doing what needed to be done.

"I was hoping this night would be a lovely, romantic little affair, but it seems you need to remember your place." In time with that last word, Dianthel gripped tight. “Where is that, servant girl?”

She wasn’t expecting an answer, obviously, but a laugh still boiled in her lungs as this cretin garbled through her crushed windpipe. A gracious teacher, she sat herself and her softening, glistening cock on the girl’s exposed stomach, exactly where they deserved to be.

“I knew you were a conniving sort. One measly encounter with the princess, and you believe yourself superior? That you are better than me?”

She dove in for another kiss. Her grip loosened just slightly to let the air flow, and nonetheless tore into this vagrant mistake with all she could muster. At every taste she pushed harder, tightened her grip further, and let this girl know the one fundamental truth all of her servants ought to learn. She could taste herself on her charge's tongue and relished in knowing that she had tainted her so deeply.

Dianthel slipped aside and growled in her ear. “I am the one in control here. Me. No one else.”

Though she wanted to watch her toy’s skin keep bruising as she missed her breaths, the delicate part of her regained control and she was forced to let go. The girl spewed coughs and even spat up some of the essence she had swallowed. A disgusting little whore.

Her wandering hand found the girl’s cunt again, which she had oh-so desired to explore before being interrupted. Its sheer wetness was almost a surprise—almost. She knew how slutty this girl was before she entered the chamber, but not how willing she was to discard her modesty. To sate a curiosity, Dianth traced her index finger through the sheen on her thigh and placed the collected fluid on her tongue. Peachy. Intriguing. Such a peasant taste.

She wanted more.

“Princess,” the servant groaned. She had started to regain enough strength to kick her legs and flex her arms, but she was hardly a match for a practiced athlete. “Get off of me. Let me—”

“Let you go? The same courtesy you declined to offer me?”

“Courtesy?” For some reason, the servant found her argument confusing. “I did exactly what you wanted me to! You’re such an insufferable—”

“Oh? Tell me your true thoughts. Tell me all the things you secretly think about me.”

She laughed into her palm. It was a bold challenge. Not many servants would dare, but she had faith in this one, intriguing specimen that she was. Were she to ask any of the others, they would have already prostrated themselves and waited for the guillotine. This one, however, had more spine than she had brains.

"I wager that you think of me as a harlot. Perhaps you suppress the urge to pin me down and use me. You would love to take this cock as yours and make me your own personal slave."

"Do you think I'm like you?" hissed the servant.

Even without the physical pleasure like the mind-shattering orgasm that she'd just experienced, her cock was already rising to attention. She prayed to hear this girl's vitriol. She was close to climaxing on the thought of breaking such barbarity alone.

And she was almost disappointed when the worm beneath her elected to ignore the rules and forfeit the game without saying anything. However, she felt something drip down and pool at her chin, and she curiously dabbed at her face to find a clear fluid. She hadn't noticed it hit her in the heat of her rage.

This… this rat.

She spit on her!

Dianthel suddenly sprung from the bed and left the servant girl scrambling as the grip on her wrists and throat released. Once she realized what was happening, she stumbled off the bed and raced for an escape in all her nude glory, but Dianthel planted herself in front of the magnificent crystal doors.

She had retrieved the discarded breast wrap, as well as her waylaid saber.

A tense standoff held them for painful eternity. The Princess tested her sword and positioned her stance, while her opponent adjusted her footwork for ease of motion. How thrilling it was to chase a wounded elk's scared tail.

The servant jumped.

Against all common wisdom, she threw herself at the armed princess, a ploy so genuinely idiotic that she faltered a second too long.

Hands clawed at her grip on the hilt and directed it away, and air escaped from her chest as she was tackled into the crystal. Cracks spidered from the point of impact. Dianthel jammed one elbow into the woman's stomach to force her to release her, yet she held her ground and kept wrestling for the sword. The wavering blade jammed into the servant's thigh and she hissed, but in a feat of impressive will, she persevered.

The saber clattered to the floor. Dianthel's arms were pinned above her and then cranked behind her back. They crashed through stacks of books and knocked the harp to the floor as she failed to regain control. Such deft work was not amateurish—had she fought in combat before?

A finessed fighter herself, Dianthel was not so upstanding as to let herself be treated like this. She jerked her entire body to shift her weight and roll them both aside, and then threw her head back to smash her skull into the woman's nose. The servant screamed and let go.

Dianthel scrambled for her sword. The servant recovered quickly. She wrapped her fingers around its hilt and tore it around. Her attacker came up on her again, but this time she was prepared.

She thrust her saber and grazed the woman's naked side—she screamed and instinct tore her backwards from the pain. Dianthel rushed forward, took hold of one the servant's forearm, and forced the blade's edge to her throat.

Neither of them moved or spoke as she held it there. A sanguine stream flowed from the girl's crooked nose to her chin.

Dianthel's cock was horribly solid. Those short few seconds had excited her more than the girl's mouth! She pressed herself forward and let it glide along the paralyzed girl's lips. Though she tried to restrain herself, her body refused to lie, and the shudders of her hips and shoulders pressed her throat further into the princess's blade.

"You really are as fascinating as I thought you were," breathed Dianthel. "You surrender, do you not?"

Terrified, the girl nodded her head, her mouth stitched tight

"And you are aware of how easily I could end you, correct?

Another nod.

"Good. You will march back over to the bed, lay yourself down, and present to me. Now."

She hesitated to fulfill this request, which boiled Dianthel’s blood further. She pressed the blade further into her throat until she winced and a thin stream of blood drained to her collarbone.

“What are you waiting for?” ordered Dianthel. “Move at once, or else—”

Her face.

It was twisted, awfully misshapen, and not just by her crooked nose. She had to remind herself that this woman was a soldier or a rebel, and her tears were nothing more than strategy. She would not allow herself to be disturbed, not even by her soundless whisper of “why” or the spasming of her stressed muscles.

The servant slowly backed, with the blade to guide her, towards the bed. Her shoulders fell onto brilliant white sheets—her leaking wounds stained them when she sunk into their grip, and Dianthel picked up the scent of iron tang in the air among the fragstone by her bedside.

“Present.” Dianthel repeated it sternly.

With some hesitance, the servant girl tore her knees apart and put her beautiful, dripping cunt on display.

Her deceitful, treasonous, pitiful, broken, pleading face begged her to go no further. Dianthel ignored her lies, straddled her chest to weigh her down—she screamed silent as the wound in her abdomen was disturbed—and wrapped her wrists together with a knot of the discarded chest wrap. The remaining length of it was attached to the headboard, leaving her firmly cuffed in place.

“Lovely,” cooed Dianthel. “I could see you like this forever.”

She left the bed for a moment, brandishing her blade to remind this girl who exactly the victor was. Her eyes no doubt followed her as she rummaged through her drawers and vanities to find pieces of long ribbon, after which she returned to bind the woman’s ankles to the corner posts. She remained unresponsive throughout this whole process, though terror deepened on her face as she was forcibly spread open. She was no longer fighting, but she hadn’t it in her mind to stop thinking yet.

With one final knot, she was secure. Dianthel reclined at the end of the bed to admire her handiwork and finally threw away that ungodly sword. It was such an indignity that she’d been forced to use it anyway. Nonetheless, she had quelled her plaything's barks and bites.

“Try to struggle, will you? I only tied them because I knew the knots could hold.”

But she didn’t. Her limbs were slack and her chest wasn’t even heaving. Where had that life gone? That fire? Dianthel found it befuddling and more than a little unarousing, and hoped the game wasn’t coming to an end so soon.

“Speak,” she ordered.

The girl lost her penchant for language. Her lips dance on each dead syllable, and it was beginning to bore her.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid? Speak!”

“Princess,” she tried.

“Use your words, toy,” she said.

“Why me?”

It was the softest whisper Dianthel had ever had the displeasure of hearing. And for some reason, she really hated repeating that phrase to herself, so she skipped the formalities and dove between the woman’s bound legs.

She tore her tongue all the way up her puffed lips to the engorged clit at their peak. The servant thrashed much less intensely now. Regardless, Dianthel took her plump rear within both her hands to imprison her and attacked with fervor. Though her muscles and voice grew quiet, she couldn’t dam her wetness.

And soon, like clockwork, her shudders returned, her instinct struck at each lap of her cunt, and finally she returned to moaning, though with frustratingly less enthusiasm than before. Dianthel pulled the lips apart with her thumbs and beheld.

The woman's cunt was alive. Like a famished beast, it thrashed for the nearest meal, seemingly independent from its master that tried to suppress her noises.

"Look at you. So ready and inviting." She softly kissed the clit and laughed when the servant's hips threw themselves at her in search of stimulation. For every one second she suckled and played, she spent another two leaving the girl wriggling in the cold air. Her pauses drew longer as she experimented. The servant became more violent with each passing second, and a horrible sigh escaped her each time the touch finally returned.

Her whines slowly overcome her enforced modesty. They were involuntary responses. The animal was overtaking whatever part of her still tried to resist. The fine wooden bedframe creaked under her weight and the torque the restraints placed on its posts.

"Are you about to release again?" Dianthel asked between tasting the beautiful treasure. "So soon? How easy."

Dianthel suddenly buried her index finger up to the second knuckle deep within her heat and the servant bit her tongue to kill her scream. A gush of fluid coated the princess's hand and even struck her hovering face. She licked her lips. How improper, but she simply could not help herself.

The finger explored. Each wave of response over the servant girl's body mirrored a suffocating crush inside of her cunt. She was trying to swallow her far, far, deeper, which made Dianthel pray for the moments when she could finally give this horrible little slut everything that she wanted.

The princess offered her tongue to its depths. It worked its way into her folds above the piercing finger and pushed her open from the inside. She resisted the invasion by only paltry measures. The clenching of her muscles was not a defense to keep her out—it was to ensure that she could never leave again. Dianthel lapped deep into her for the ever-sweeter taste of flesh and juices, enjoying how each prod forced another involuntary motion from her captured prey.

"Is—is your purity so far gone?" Dianthel tore away and spoke through gasps. She wasn't taking much time to breath herself. "You do not want to keep me out. In fact, you want to be filled every waking hour."

She slithered her way up the girl's body while keeping her finger thrusting inside, and even added a second. One arm around her shoulder, their legs intertwined, her cock dripping what it couldn't contain onto her exposed stomach. She became one with her suspended toy. Her balls felt so heavy, so overflowing, so ready to release.

"I did not ignore your slip of the tongue. You mentioned I was your third… what? Third encounter? Third partner? Why should I believe the words of a lying slut?" she whispered in the girl's ear. Her second finger plunged inside and nothing could prevent the servant from singing. Dianthel penetrated as far as she could, futility reaching for her womb. "Perhaps you have had ten. Twenty. Hundreds. Perhaps you rode to the square of your village each morning, said good tidings to your fellow neighbors, and then dropped your skirt to be used until you could no longer stand. A regular village sow. I wonder how many would stop by and watch as you screamed to high heaven while a soldier was balls deep inside you. How many would play with themselves while waiting their turn."

The servant girl weakly tried to argue. Cut-short defenses of her virtue. Lying about how truly modest she was. Her eyes had glazed over and her mouth hung limp. The only word that managed to form on her lips was yet another please.

Goddess, how the Princess realized wished she could be each and every one of those fantasy partners that saw her on the street and decided to take her. In every life she wanted to find and control this girl, especially if she could leave this one behind.

"You have lied with women before. Do not lie to me. Perhaps you even prefer them. But I doubt you have standards. Cock, finger, tongue, prosthetic. You want anyone with the means to tear your knickers aside and reach deep enough for you to feel filled."

A third finger, as well as a thumb rolling over her clit. There was no part of her that Dianthel could not conquer. An opera played from the girl's heart and soul.

She kissed her face in tandem. She was quite gentle. "I do not intend to insult you, girl. I love everything about you. I simply want you to know that you need no one else to finally have what you desire."

She withdrew her three soaked fingers, teased her entrance with gentle traces, and tickled her clit with whispers.

"I can remove any evidence that anyone else has ever had you at all. No matter how virile or powerful they were, I will scrape everything out and fill—"

She thrust her fingers. The servant cried.

"—you—"

She thrust again. The girl screamed. If this was torture, it was more beautiful than she could ever imagine.

"—up."

With one final, powerful motion, all of the girl's feelings overwhelmed her. Her legs thrashed against the binding as she lost herself. Whatever she was experiencing was more powerful than any emotion. She must have been seeing someplace beyond the stars and was no longer capable of thought. Her back arched in vain to spread the sensation from her nethers and make it bearable, but with herself held in place, there was nothing more she could do but accept it. Dianthel had the pleasure of seeing her unravel thread by thread and gush onto the sheets.

Seeing a girl reach her peak like this, it was beautiful. Dianthel could never watch a sunset or see distant falls again, knowing that the world's greatest wonder was already revealed right in her very bedroom. And it was she that brought it about.