Licentia, the Cunted Queen Ch. 01

Author's disclaimer.

This series indulges heavily in degradation through misogyny. Delightful as this is, given that I contribute this to a broader culture, I feel obliged to preface, misogyny is bad.

The arguments used to justify the oppression of women within this story are fallacious. Patriarchy is incredibly harmful towards women, and very much so towards men as well-- not to mention all those that do not fall into the gender binary. Please, when leaving this story, be aware of the desensitization the consumption of these stories may evoke, and settle back into empathy for all peoples. We are all just creatures, in the same existential position at the end of the day. Hold grace and love for all people, especially for the downtrodden.

With that said, I present the latest in my depraved stories. Indulge, and enjoy~!

******

Preface: This series is a sequel to an earlier story, "The Tale of Licentia the Wife-Doll." Feel free to read on regardless!

******

A century ago, more than most men live, a young noble girl of the name Lasenia, wept tears of frustration into her satin sheets.

Daughter of the royal mage, day after day, she would watch him kneel for King and Queen, despite his immense strength. And so she knew she wished to grow proud and powerful, more so even than that wizard, her father.

Yet, in a single night, she had learned that she, as a woman, could not pursue the magical arts, nor could she contest her bitter rival-- that entitled and cruel Prince-- for his birthright as King. She could not earn it, nor best him at chess nor sport for it. To be married off to him was the only precarious path she may have, to ascend the throne. That same night, into the woods the girl vanished.

No one knew what came to pass, what she had learned, in that enchanted wilderness. The Prince became the King, and for seventy winters hence, wondered what had become of Lasenia, that pretty noble girl he would torment as a pastime.

'Til one day, in his middle age, his curiosities were indulged. In the Old King's very throne room, a beautiful woman, of barely forty, materialized from shimmering, violet, eldritch light. She should not have been so young, but despite knowing her only in his boyhood, he saw at once she was Lasenia.

Yet but a glimpse reached his eyes, for in a slice of a moment, her lips sang some curse-- then that senile Old King swelled and burst into a flurry of violet drapes. Before a single guard could raise their spear, all their helmets twisted 'til their necks snapped.

And so, Lasenia stood alone with a frightened young man. The new Prince, son of her rival.

She told him to kneel. He did. Thus she smiled, pet his head and called him, "good boy," then disappeared into violet light and nothingness.

This son became the New King, yet in his heart, knew that his throne was only his because Lasenia allowed him it.

And for the next thirty winters, she became a legend, and soon all the kingdom knew she was its true and secret ruler.

The ambitions of her girlhood had been sated. For she had become Lasenia, the Sorceress-King. And so, when she was not indulging her whims and toying with the citizens of the kingdom, she would simply repose in the elegance and luxury of her palatial sanctuary, secluded in the wilderness of those enchanted woods, simply bathing in those heights of dignity and respect.

******

The formerly arcane academician, and newly tattooed, wide-hipped, melon-teated, fat-assed, loose-haired, soft-tummied, puffy-lipped, drippy-pussied, jiggly-giggly-giddy-girly, well-behaved, dicksucking, cuntbrained, ditzy, titsy fuckdoll of a woman, Licentia...

...sizzled her silly little morning away with some long, hard, yummy hours of having her extra-tight, extra-soppy, extra-warm, enchanted fuckholes raped silly 'til she could not stand straight, 'til she had drooled and dripped pools of puddles onto 'her' palatial sanctuary's linoleum floors.

Thanks to the cutesy, heart-shaped womb tattoo spiraling heretically from her pussy up to her navel, the fuckdoll, that was formerly Licentia's body, had no control over her orgasms. 'Twas in the clawed hands of her creator and owner, the Necromancer, whom had taken the liberty of showering the pathetic whore in climax after climax, so her pretty, puffy pussy lips essentially never stopped twitching and spazzing and clenching away for the whole morning through.

And for every manly load she took in one of her pretty, girlish holes, a tally mark appeared, magically tattooed upon her inner thighs-- a record of her whorishness. She must have been enslaved for under a half-dozen sunrises, and yet, already, her thighs bore dozens of sharp, criss-crossing tally marks-- denser near her twitching cunt, and lessening gradually the further down and 'round her thighs they progressed, a gradient.

Should the noon sun have peeked through those stained-glass windows, it would have bore witness to a thoroughly used, empty-minded, and delighted Licentia, fat teats down and fat ass up, spewing and waterfalling hot semen from her cunt and asshole, flowing like honey from her gaping, smiling mouth as her cheek was pressed against the floor; not to mention the rest of her ridiculous slut body, slimy and dripping with a layer of that seed-- sponged into those wavy, silky, pitch-black locks which draped long down her back, coating her gorgeous face, shining her titties and ass, running down the folds of her waist and tummy, glazing down her inner thighs, painting and splattering cross her back...

It was in this state-- glazed like a pastry with globs of semen still sliming off of her, her pussy and face still twitching with lustful, mindless delight from overuse-- that a handful of her cummy hair was suddenly gripped and she was yanked up by the locks, hanging in the air like a ragdoll.

Yet no hand had grabbed her. 'Twas thanks to the heretical tattoo running down her spine, that she was enchanted so the Necromancer could lift her from afar like a puppet, with just a finger's motion.

The vacant doll of a woman barely registered the pain of being lifted lopsided by her hair, barely a wince piercing through the ditzy, drooly, drippy-brained smile her pretty, pink bimbo-lips were making, tugged up by her thick-lashed, shimmering, happy violet eyes.

She just hung there like she was some toy he could just pick up, some girlish dolly, a feminine figurine plump with fertile, womanly curves.

Without a word, the Necromancer released his hold, dropping her by the hair onto her feet. The woman's knees wobbled and buckled as she struggled in her silly, clownish way to keep from slipping on the puddles of cum beneath her; with every slip and wobble, her ridiculous breasts jiggled, the irreverent movement of their weight further throwing her off balance.

It was as if watching a whore of a jester trying to entertain with pathetic and comical shenanigans. Except this jester was genuinely a ditzy-headed bimbo of a woman, making a fool of herself by her inane difficulty in keeping herself from slipping on a semen-slick floor and falling onto her succulently fat and 'natural' asscheeks-- especially difficult thanks to her perversely lewd, jiggly, and exaggerated womanly body, proportioned with delightfully erotic excess in all the right places, and yet horribly unbalanced, in such precarious situations as these, because of it.

The Necromancer simply stood by, as for a comical length of seconds, his whorish doll danced around on the semen.

"Foolish toy."

For nearly a full ten seconds, she slipped and jiggled, until she finally found comfortable-- if still precarious-- footing, knees bent inwards strenuously, back hunched, and immense breasts hanging. The woman then slowly looked up at her maker, wary at first of her balance, but then smiling a proud smile and giggling at him, as if to say, 'I did it!'

Though she could not see his face behind his mask, she could sense he took pleasure in her antics. In watching a woman, previously so potent, so self-assured, so commanding, reduced to this. To some stupid pet that delighted in delighting him with her nudity and stupidity.

"Follow, cunt.

Today, on the morrow, and in the days that follow,

you shall be of great use and whimsy.

Let us profane Lasenia's legacy together.

Let us show all the kingdom what has become of its proudest and most frightful of women."

And all the while, hung from the Necromancer's neck, the soul of Lasenia the Sorceress-King resided trapped within his amulet, watching as this beastly man made a mockery of her body-- her stolen and perversely reanimated body.

Marvelous. Simplymarvelous.

******

After carrying his silly woman-thing by the throat, 'washing and unsoiling her' by dunking, nay, nearly drowning the semen-stained wife in Lasenia's luxurious outdoor Sacred Fountain (to the crystal's furious petulance) while he ferociously jack-fingered each of her three holes, cleansing them of his wicked semen until she was squeaky clean; he then dried his doll with the hellish southern winds blasting up beneath her from a fissure he evoked in the ground-- which had her giggling from the stimulation to her unreasonably sensitive cunt, and had her body rippling and jiggling with silly reverberations, her breasts bounding up and back and forth.

Through necromancy, the heretic commanded the lifeless bodies of the forest, 'til the fungal and mossy rotting darkwoods coalesced into an elegant, wicked, yet altogether showy and alluring

Carnival Carriage~!

The delighted and clapping little whore Licentia, hadn't a moment to take it in before her maker gripped between her fat asscheeks and hooked two fingers into her, one for each of her lower holes, sending up through them a surge of invasive delight. The Necromancer lifted her by the cunt and asshole, and then threw his doll nonchalantly into the carriage. His luggage.

Her fair skin, so spotless it seemed porcelain, bruised easily from her mercilessly rough handling. And yet, the pretty woman merely giggled as she lifted herself daintily from the floor-- for the heart-shaped tattoo above her left breast pumped pink panacea through her blood. She sat her plump ass upon the carriage seat whilst her bruises glowed pink, tickling her tummy with giggly lust, then healed themselves away. A fitting blessing for a sadist's doll, such as herself.

Then, he, himself, stepped in to join her-- the weight of his seven-foot stature tilting the large carriage slightly-- and the moment he sat down, the carriage roared to life, the dark yet elegantly carved darkwoods glowing with sacrilegious golden necromancy, and its wheels growled forward.

"Oh my!" the silly Licentia giggled, tossed about, and her well-endowed teats jumbling around, as the vehicle brusquely lurched forward. Strangely, though, from then on, the ride within felt extraordinarily smooth, as if the pliable wood of those enchanted wheels were shifting and transforming to accommodate the forest floor. Licentia's fuller, plushier feminine bits jiggled only mildly.

As she readjusted, Licentia noticed the fungal darkwood of her carriage bench was adorably decored, carved with roses and petals, so detailed, they seemed as soft as their true-fleshed, newly bloomed counterparts. The Necromancer let out a monstrous huff through his heretical mask, a sign of amusement from the beast. For his silly ditz of a cunt appreciated the flowers with innocent vapidity, unaware of how they reflected the beautiful, ornate roses tattooed round each of her nipples, and spiraling thorny vines in intricate designs around her breasts.

Then the doll looked across at her Man. Her molasses thoughts eventually realized-- after some seconds of plump-lipped thoughtlessness and blank staring-- that compared to hers, his carriage bench seemed more like a throne, carved with subtle motifs of crooked, edgy tendrils, cracking up towards the carriage ceiling, and ending in vaguely phallic, jagged spears. She already felt small in comparison with his huge, broad body. Sitting in her cutesy little flower seat, whilst the Man, who'd claimed her, lounged on such an imposing throne, a seat of such import, had her shivering with drippy-cunted inferiority. She was his doll.

"Excited for our show, are we, teatdoll?" The Necromancer mused nonchalantly, yet suddenly and meanwhile, the gothic threads and leathers covering his torso began to magically disassemble themselves, gradually undressing him.

"Oh yes! I do feel so very excited!" the sweet thing mewled back with a giddy smile, pressing her hands politely into her lap-- with a fervour that, along with how tightly the woman held her voluptuous and luscious pale-cream thighs together, spoke to the delightful arousal the sweet whore had emanating from her loins. Of course, she was making no attempt to hide this; on the contrary, her movements were impulsive attempts to squeeze and push some more stimulating bliss from her happy cunt.

The sweet doll drank in the delicious sight of her creator's increasingly nude body... Off came the worn yet bulky trenches and canvases of his ritual necromancy attire. Pants unraveled at the seams, undershirt dissolved into shadow and glimmering gold light, boots fell apart into leather and metal, which dissolved into fungus and rust.

The sweet and wide-eyed Licentia looked on in lusty delight at the well-defined, sharp tanned musculature of her Man. A massy, tattooed chest, draped by his enormous pitch-black mane, flowing like smoke... A broad, widening back... Thick shoulders, biceps, rippling forearms and eager veins-- blackened veins, running down to shadowy, clawed hands... Sculpted, muscular thighs, large enough to match her own, soft, jiggly feminine ones... A plushy layer of fat, barely covering his hardened, well-split abdomen, flanked by beautifully defined cum-gutters, which trailed the gaze downwards to that untamed manly flush of thick, flowing public hair, maning that prized manhood of his, the object of Licentia's worship...

Immediately upon seeing it, her chest trembled, breath fluttering. Her nipples hardened with such immediacy, the pink glow of magically coerced lust could be seen running through her veins, shimmering and coalescing round the tips of her breasts-- to say nothing of the doll's pretty cunt, sparkling wet with desire, the silly whore ruining the pretty bench she sat upon.

The eager woman dropped forward onto hand and knee, with loving, desperate eyes locked intentfully on the sight of her lord's penis, as she crawled towards him. Every step she drew closer, the burning in her cunt surged, like firewood tossed into bonfire. She felt the greatest reverence and submission, as she sat her voluptuous, heart-shaped behind upon the floor, staring forward at it.

Not even yet erect, and yet hanging thick and massive with matching balls. Beastly, like the seven-foot man who wielded it, tanned like him, but shaded a tint darker. Grown, manly, detailed with veining and a thickening and curving length despite being soft.

"Hello, oh Sire," the doll mewled sweetly and politely, not to the Necromancer himself, but to his penis. She addressed Him in delicate, girlish tones, the same way she might address any other male superior.

"May this vapid cunted toy please provide you with her comforts and love? She would be ever so happy to worship you, Sire!"

The Necromancer looked down at his bitch with an amused glimmer in his eyes, watching as Licentia gazed on at his cock, as if expecting a response. He knew that the jeweled Lasenia could see-- nay, was forced to watch along-- as her previously proud body prostrated herself before a large penis, begging for its permission and attention, presenting herself as inferior in rank to a dick and balls. Lasenia, in turn, felt furiously ashamed at the lewd display her own body was enacting, but unable to speak unless he allowed it, she remained forced to be a silent spectator.

Many painfully long moments Licentia waited, inches from her adoration, her hanging heavy chest tiring her back. The Necromancer enjoyed his toy's expression of strain and desperation, as she ever so obediently kept her gaze upon her sacred idol, not breaking 'eye contact' for even a moment, out of utter respect.

Finally, the Necromancer's dick twitched, a masculine invitation for the woman to worship Him with her lips and tongue, for she had piqued His interest. And so, she did.

Just as Licentia was about to run her soft, warm tongue up that musky shaft, the Necromancer pulled from his neck the amulet within which Lasenia's soul resided. The former sorceress's soul caught one final glimpse of Licentia, gargling her creator's balls in her mouth, drooling spittle down her throat onto her ridiculous teats...

before the amulet was placed into the soft cushioning of some strange, ornately carved, wooden lockbox.

And as the lockbox was closed, and Lasenia was left in the shadows, without a shred of sensory input-- except for a final whisper from the Necromancer...

"Enjoy your special cage, little woman...

I shall save for you a fitting place,

in the hell I bring to these valleys..."

The previously powerful woman wanted to seethe and scream, and yet felt a certain unshakeable dread encroaching upon her, from the endless dark of the enchanted lockbox that then surrounded her. How long she would be trapped in this prison, she did not know, but already she could sense the vacuating emptiness surrounding, creeping perniciously into her mind.

******

The whorish doll asphyxiated herself on her Man's hard, monstrous penis, eagerly stuffing the length so deep, her throat bulged and her eyes strained with tears.

Meanwhile, Necromancer allowed his pathetic new toy woman to entertain and fellate him, as he began outfitting himself in something new and more formal in preparation for their arrival to the kingdom.

Gone were the rotten leathers of his necromancy garbs, replaced instead by a satin vest sewn from the withering threads of the surrounding forest, tightly and magically weaving themselves round his thick torso-- then his rippling thighs, and arms, and even forming fancy white gloves round his hands.

Licentia paid this no attention, for the pretty thing was too busy pressing and caressing the hard penis between her enormous teats, while aiming the head into her politely parted mouth, before--

"Oop!"

Good wife that she was, she caught load after load of the Necromancer's burning-hot semen onto her tongue. Then, with all of his salty gift pooled between her pretty lips, she gazed up at him.

The beastly man had appeared unaffected by the orgasm-- or the fervent lust he exhaled naturally through his breath, and the jolting pleasure flowed naturally into the showy wave of his arms, as he placed an eccentrically circus-like top hat upon his smoky-black mane, completing his new, ringmaster attire.

"The Necromancer persona... What a drab and dreary way of being," his husky voice roared, as he condescendingly pet his woman's hair. "So we leave it behind and let it die. And in its place?"

His arms reached open, and a phallic, jagged ringmaster's cane appeared in one hand, rended and carved from the darkwood of the showcar.

"Lüstoffe Sinnoman.

Itinerant showman of the Carnival of Sin,

overseer of the wondrous cunted fool, Licentia!"

He reached down and scratched her little chin. "You, darling. Thoughts?"

"Ghskkghsllghkg!" the sweet whore gargled, cum bubbling in her mouth, and a polite and sincere look in her eyes, as if the silly thing were genuinely trying to say her piece.

'Sinnoman' laughed a hearty, chesty laugh-- which tickled his doll's heart, for oh, she so loved to amuse him! Good cunts were entertaining, after all!

Suddenly then, Licentia's bimboish, pumpkin-sized asscheek jiggled, spanked upwards, seemingly by thin air, when Sinnoman raised his finger.