Licentia, the Cunted Queen Ch. 02

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~!

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All sexually-involved characters in this story are adults.

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"Bitches and Gentlemen, come one, come all!

Witness, Lüstoffe Sinnoman's Vagrant Circus!"

Thick draperies of forest-black and blood-crimson elegantly spiraling round the stage, formed an open, circus-striped tent; and with pyrotechnic splendor, torches planted in the ground suddenly came alive with violet flames. Upon the stage, our showman, himself a wondrous specimen-- seven feet and thick with beastly muscle, yet upright and noble, clad in the showiest attire-- tailored shining shoes, black buttoned vest over cuffed crimson sleeves, a ribboned top hat nestled into his enormous smoky mane, and all.

Sinnoman's disrespectful profanity alone attracted some, the curious and outraged, men and women alike-- and yet the extravagant attraction soon had more than a mere 'some.' A fair crowd coalesced with great interest round the theatrical stage of darkwood that had seemingly sprung up from thin air in the midst of the Bakersville Plaza. Market people, farmers and tailors, housewives and chefs, local guards on standby, modest and fair-valued people who had been raised in this village and lived subjected to the rule of the kingdom, looked upon the shiny, masked showman before them with great intrigue.

And with an extravagance and a wave of his staff, the show began.

"Hello, my friends of Bakersville,

both people and the cunted--

I ask not for your silver coins,

for the layman's wealth is stunted...

We merely come to entertain,

with colors, shock, and dance!

So lend your eyes and listen well,

our show's sure to en-trance...~"

"For here, I, humble Sinnoman,

bring a tale for young and old.

But hide away all children,

to whom this story shan't be told.

That blasted Sorceress-King, Lasenia,

bearing down her wrath,

met a fitting end-- I promise friends--

impaled upon my staff!"

Gasps arose at the shocking news of demise, at the vulgar innuendo. The phallic shape of the jagged show-staff, though stylized, was not lost upon the crowd...

and so the audience grew.

"That painfully proud woman

had a bosom fit for wives,

an arse that cushioned thrusting nicely,

a milky pair of thighs...

A corpse so fair, a shame to waste,

with magicks, I revived.

Her curves swelled as her will was quelled...

Ideal wife was my prize."

"Those who think I jest and fool and lie,

see this wonder of the world!

Teated-fool, she-jester, whorish clown,

an obedient silly girl.

The Pinnacle of Womanhood,

wife-doll sculpted without flaw!

Licentia, your Cunted Queen--

be awash in lust and awe!"

To the edge of the stage the showman bounded, waving his staff to where he stood. For suddenly, from behind the shining, silken veils, apparitioning from the erotic silhouettes she casted upon them, the beautiful main attraction appeared!

The veils did not drop, but instead, slithered magically through the air, and as they folded and tightened and revealed the woman behind; at the same time, they coalesced round her breasts and round her crotch, giving sensuous coverage to her barest intimates while accentuating her curves...

Thus, appeared LICENTIA! With the vast expanse of porcelain-fair skin bared, her luscious body posed with front and behind pushed out most lewdly... Thus, all the peasants in attendance basked in the utter shock of seeing the legendary shadow tyrant, the Sorceress-King Lasenia, with every intricate detail of her perversely altered, dollishly decorated, feminine posing body, on public display.

The nude, milky bareness running up her shapely calves and legs, only occasionally interrupted by the streamers of crimson silk flowing ethereally around her...

The softly fattened ham of her thick thighs, matching her expanded hips, lewdly widened to be primally attractive, ready for child-bearing...

The fat, heart-shaped cheeks shaping her bottom, begging to be slapped and clapped and made to jiggle, adorned with heretical tattooing to match the curves of the heart-shape, and silken streamers wedging mercilessly up between them...

The ever warm, ever glistening, ever pink and ever swollen lips of the woman's pussy, all-too visible thanks to those thin crimson silks, and how tightly they hugged the curves of those lips, even running teasingly between them...

The womb tattoo painted up her pubic region, curving up round her navel in girlish, wicked hearts, accentuating her womanly purpose as a thing for breeding...

The gentle feminine fat of her soft belly-- which might've embarrassed proud Lasenia of times past, with her strong and tightened abdomen, but now complemented Licentia's weak and wifely status...

The gentle hang and sway of her deliciously full breasts, the intricate tattooing emanating round their curves, the hardened nubs of her nipples protruding clearly through the translucently thin silk just barely hanging off her...

The erotic curve of her back, playfully pushing out her bottom and her chest, accentuated by the spinal tattoo flowing up from tailbone to nape...

And finally, resting above her smooth neck's collar-tattoo, Licentia's beauteous face... Bearing not a drop of blush nor shadowing, her lips ran plump and soft into an ever-so-gentle smile... her sultry eyes-- bearing such capacity for scathing, hateful coldness-- instead shone bright and serene... and her long, wavy, flowing pitch-black hair? Loose, yet adorably accentuated with light braiding round her head, coalescing into a cute, crimson satin bow, and with matching rose petals strewn here and there through the locks!

All in all, Licentia appeared to the crowd as a sweet, sensual, beautiful doll.

"Good morne, 'ville of the Bakers!" Licentia called, with lewd chest puffed towards the crowd of onlookers.

"My lord!" chirped a milkmaid.

A potato farmer leaned pensively on his rake and scratched his beard. "Lasenia, eh? You don't say..."

"Scandalous WENCH!" called the town drunkard with a repulsive smile.

A plump housewife crossed her arms and snorted. "She could be the moon itself, she's still a tad empty int' she? 'Ville of the Bakers?'" Some of the men and women around her chuckled along amongst themselves at Licentia's foolish wording.

Once the prudish yelps of indignity and the excitement had calmed, though, some whispers and murmurs hissed through the crowd like a rolling fog. The crowd's apprehension bubbled palpably. All, from royals to peasants, knew the terror of Lasenia the Sorceress-King, though only from legend, and even the suggestion that she stood before them left a nervous taste in the air.

The guards watched on, with their mitts near their weapons. And yet... some merely leaned on their swords, enjoying the lewd view of a bared and voluptuous woman. For, at the same time, it was difficult to be afraid of that thing standing on the stage, that over-inflated bimbo, with her soft, feminine curves melting off her like pudding, a giddy and vapid smile shining along with her simple-minded gaze, pretty girlish braids decorating her hair into the style you might adorn a girl's doll with... She looked quite ridiculous, and quite like she was made of sex-- as if the courtesan slave of a wealthy noble.

And right on cue to meet these expectations, Licentia held her hands politely in front of her-- further pressing her unbelievably cleavage together-- and stood upright to address the crowd before her, in a most gentle, ethereal, wifely tone.

"Thank you for your hospitality, in kindly allowing our circus to entertain you. I must confess-- indeed, formerly, I was Lasenia. But," she continued, with the most polite and gentle smile, "I do hope that you all may cast into oblivion thine memories of that abrasive thing that I used to be. I find myself ever so fortunate to have been corrected by a Man who recognized the impropriety of Lasenia's womanly pride. Thanks to my Lord and Sir, Sinnoman, I have been taught my errs, and I have learned the truth about my place as a woman!"

"All right," shouted the plump housewife, hands rested firmly on her hips and a glare turning from annoyance to proper indignation, "that's quite enough outta that piehole of yers! I won't have no whorryin' wench wif not a brain to spare sayin she the best of the women."

Emboldened by the housewife, one of the town's nuns chirped her say. "You're dressed like a highway siren-- I fink it's time you get off that stage, yeh? Too much! Too much indecency!"

It wasn't just the women; once they voiced their protests, crowdgoers from all around seemed to nod and shout 'Yeh!'s in agreement.

And yet, upon the stage, Licentia's flawless, ethereal composure remained unbroken. Her blank, doll's gaze was merely tinted with confused sympathy.

"Empty? Indecent? Why, you confuse me, cunted sisters," Licentia sang in a genuinely worried tone. "Are these not the most apt descriptors for us 'women'? After all, 'tis quite obvious," she exclaimed, "that we carry less thought and smarts! Why, we would be quite helpless without Men around to think for us and take care of us!"

Her profane words echoed through the crowd in her voice's serene timbre... carried, by her enchanted silver tongue, deep into their minds and their hearts.

The housewife clenched her teeth and her cheeks reddened. And yet, she could not understand why...? After all, 'twas quite obvious that women were a tad dumber, perhaps a tad more helpless, a tad less competent than Men.

Licentia's words imbalanced her memories, and so any instance of women's intelligence, competence-- especially rising above Men's-- faded into shadow; while any moment she had found herself embarrassingly corrected by a Man, or condescended to by a Man, or simply lacking in thought, losing an argument, needing help solving a problem... these instances outshone all others, claiming absolute primacy in her mind. She felt something had changed, something was wrong... and yet, it wasn't. This is the way it had always been. Women are empty-headed, and need male supervision. The housewife blushed furiously, and yet could not find the words to rebuke Licentia, and so she only crossed her arms as if hugging herself, subconsciously feeling smaller, and glared up at the wife-doll, helplessly relenting to her words.

She felt like a dumb cunt.

And a similar conflict ran through every woman in attendance, as their prior frameworks melted away, making space for the truths Licentia had spoken. Not new truths, no-- it had always been this way. Their body language expressed this internalization-- the women in the crowd stood differently, with a vein of deference, some protectively hugging their male companions, others lowering their head timidly in feeling a newfound helplessness on their own, others gazing up at Licentia with wide eyes, embracing their newfound sense of ditzy simplicity.

The women were not solely affected, however, for the humble Bakersville men heard Licentia's words, too. Though distinct, they faced a similar internal conflict, having lived their lives in community with women, supported by their strength and their knowledge... and yet, they hadn't. For, in reaching back through their recollections, this history of women's ingenuity and competence could not be summoned, as if a fog slipping through their fingers. All that they remembered were the moments upon moments where a woman acted silly.

Where a neighbor couldn't fix a shed herself and so humbly asked the carpenter's help.

Or when the daughter of the pastry baker tried helping her aged father by manning his stand in the market, but found herself blushing when she couldn't count the proper coins to return to the young Man who had bought a cake from her.

Or when the milkmaid tried carrying two buckets at once, but the silly thing spilled them both all over herself, and appeared in her farmer's doorway sniffling cutely to herself, her pretty dress clinging wetly to her dainty body.

And so, as the women's dignity had dissolved under the undeniable light of the new reality they had realized, so, too, dissolved the men's respect for them. For they, the men, searched for reasons to respect the women around them, as they always had, intuitively feeling this was how it should be. And yet when they searched, they found nothing but reasons to condescend the women, to take care of them as one might take care of an animal that cannot take care of itself; to make their decisions for them, to keep them on tighter leashes (figuratively) so they do not hurt themselves nor others; to talk down to them, gently and kindly, as if talking to a silly child or a mewling kitty.

The swaying of these minds and feelings and the shifting of bodies, these changes rustled through and overcame the crowd mere moments after Licentia's words had been spoken. As she gazed between the faces of the crowd, innocently searching for their rebukes, not a one person denied her claims.

"And, I wish not to overstep," Licentia melodically assured, "however, for a cunt to be decent, clothed, is like for our cattle to wear top hats! As they are beasts of nature, to priss them up would be naught but clownish and silly... Why, 'tis quite the same for women-- creatures made of sex~!" Her calm, guiding tone flowed syrupy with sensuality, and continued...

"Us cunted things are made as the toys and broodmares of people-- that is, Men! Our soft, carnal bodies are so manifestly indulgences of the sensual, to be touched and experienced," she mewled, holding the thick weight of her practically uncovered melons in her dainty delicate hands, and pushing them up and together and about in a playful, teasing way.

"Why else might we cunts be given such lewd and humorous teats! Or such plumps and eye-catching behinds-- with glaring, swaying hips to boot? Or such pretty cunts between our legs, tight and wet..." she moaned, pressing her thick, jiggling thighs together, heavily insinuating the tight wetness of her own fuckhole right then...

"Made for happily receiving furious, pent-up manhoods! Why, I could not imagine," she chirped like a girlish princess, "us cunts being anything more than the submissive, breedable, sweet and pretty, silly, teated, cunted pets of Real People! Should a Man wish to dress us, he may do so as he pleases. And yet, looking upon a clothed woman, a sensual animal pretending that there does not, beneath her garments, lie the most ridiculous, jiggling, soft and weak, wombed and impregnable body... Why those clothed cunted creatures are always such a laughable sight!"

She spoke down, now, to the women of the crowd, looking from face to face with a giggle and a pretty smile. Each and every face filling with shame and embarrassment at their own amusing silliness. What adorable little things, prissed up in clothing, in pretty skirts and plain dresses, in thick aprons and white bonnets, in undergarments and earthy necklaces...

The nun felt completely self-conscious, in her coversome robes. Whether or not they were really there, she felt a thousand eyes on her... How silly she must've looked! Her whorish little body, dressed to the brim in layers of cloth, hiding what she truly, most obviously is. A jiggly, usable cunt! She could not strip, for how could a woman merely strip herself down in the middle of the street? And yet, this simply boiled her embarrassment, paralyzed and forced to simply stand there, aware that she looked just absolutely ridiculous, dressed in clothes as if she was a person, covering her teats and cunt as if she wasn't a woman, an adorable, entertaining little animal.

And she was not alone in her thinking. Shame-filled women had the urge to remove their ridiculous clothes, and condescending Men suddenly saw all the stupid women around them, dressed and restrained in such silly clothing.

"Oi, c'mere love," the plump housewife's farmer husband murmured to her, adjusting the hems of her dress. "Look, I know you got all dressed up in your little dress," he condescended to her, making her blush, "but I think its it's time you take your little costume off, okay, sweetie?"

The housewife was flabbergasted. She knew not how to respond to her husband's sudden advance, sudden suggestion to strip herself nude...

And yet, she couldn't muster a word in her own defense. She was stupid. Whatever she was thinking, it was silly. Men are the smart ones, she knew that, so she was s'posed to listen to what her husband says. And it made sense. Her lewd, uddered and curvaceous body looked ridiculous draped in clothes as if she were a person.

The plump housewife, red in the face, lowered her head in embarrassed agreement. And so, untied came her blouse, the frills of her dress lifted up over her head and off her shoulders, and even her stockings and underwear peeled off of her, so that the plump housewife had nothing to cover her womanly physique. She held her breasts in her arm, and covered her bushy pussy with her other hand, thighs pressed together. The only thing her husband left, at his own discretion, was the bonnet round her hair; he could decorate his woman as he pleased, after all, and so the mere bonnet was a cute little accessory for her.

The crowd all around watched on in amazement; sexual energy ran rampant through it, as gazes feasted upon the sight of the housewife's nude cheeks, her voluptuous breasts spilling onto her arm, her soft tummy and the rolls of her waist and hips, her thick thighs...

"There, that's better, hm love?" the husband asked, eyeing around proudly as if showing off to the world that his wife was properly nude. The housewife, meanwhile, still felt the absolute burning embarrassment of her own public nudity, and yet she knew this was right... obviously.

And so it began.

Other husbands began helping their wives undress themselves. Some women would happily oblige-- after all, they were so silly for wearing clothes in the first place! And so their teats would bounce free, they'd get a kiss or a 'good woman' from their husbands, and they'd stand submissively near the Men, obediently undressed little cunts. Most women were less eager, covering their privates with their arms in lewd shame as their lovers undressed them.

Unmarried young women were a different story. The daughter of the pastry baker was suddenly reprimanded for being all dressed up in a light outing dress, and was told by her father to remove her clothing like a good girl. Some young women were suddenly surrounded, and gently coaxed from their clothing by multiple Men, guiding them into undressing as if they were confused animals. Others merely took the initiative, feeling so utterly stupid and strange and judged, wearing clothes! And so they voluntarily bore their own vulnerable nudity to the world, and stood to themselves as newly domesticated cunts.

The nun, perhaps, got the most aggressive treatment. Some Men surrounded her, with snorts at the absurdity of her overly prude attire.

"This's too much."