Queendom 07: Swordsmaid

Author's Note: This chapter is in honour of Ran Masaki and Masahito Segawa, for the magic they managed to capture on celluloid. It is recommended to read the previous chapters of this story, to better understand the storyline and characters. It starts slow, but gets going pretty quickly. The tension between the players works the best if you know the characters and their progressions well. Here is a quick remainder of the story so far.

To recapitulate..

Queen Elanor, the Great Chaste, of Wolkernshire is having a hard time keeping a level head, navigating the daily politics and policies of her court, while still mourning from the unexpected demise of her true love, King Barthomius. Listening to the High Priest, she employs Bellatrix of Agrafena, a promising horse trainer. Bellatrix correctly identifies that key to the solution, but it involves manipulating the Queen's bodily cravings, primarily the sexual kind.

Bellatrix took upon the challenge, to treat the 'condition' in secrecy, without violating the Queen's chastity, nor risking any exposure that would seriously impeded her ability to function as the true ruling monarch. To avoid suspicion, Lady Agrafena was given the official title of 'Head of Households', a powerful position in its own right. Like any relationship, ironing out the kinks can be tedious, yet the Queen manages to struggle through the tasks set by her new employee, and now Mistress, Lady Agrafena.

But the sheer sexual nature of the tasks waking up her inner dormant cravings, an untameable beast of true deviancy, was something that the Queen never expected. Last we saw, the Queen narrowly escaped being discovered following the 'Domestication', a task that went horribly wrong. And with her telling Bellatrix, may be its time they parted ways.

***

**

*

Yashim couldn't believe his eyes.

A young maiden, clearly high-born, writhing in ecstasy right before.

Her quim, so ripe and pulsing, merely inches away. Undoubtedly innocent, yet yearning to be defiled. Am I to be the first, to rob her off all her purity, to impart in her the pleasures of sin.? The way her lips quiver, all moist with not just my saliva, but her own juices in outpour. What a unique taste she has, like a quality maiden should. Not to mention how tender it felt, chewing that young nether. Like a well-marinated steak, juicy yet elastic. Not to mention that intoxicating mounds of hers, heaving as she breathes. The way her thighs redden, with a tight grip. And that large, sharp cleaver, cutting into the table. Wait, a cleaver..? Who put it there? Oh God, Uncle Ridge.?!

"You ungrateful swine..!!" Barged in Ridgemund, yelling.

Yashim woke up screaming the sixth time, enraging the horses pulling the cart. The stage-coach driver glared his way, his eyes stating clearly. 'Boy, this is your final warning.'

Giving a fake smile in an attempt to pacify, he rubbed his chest, calming himself down. Only his Uncle Ridgemund could turn such a sweet dream into a nightmare. It's been three weeks since he boarded the carriage, since that fateful night in Wolkenshire. Well a surreal erotic night, culminating in a fateful moment, to be precise. Though traveling to Calthea once every few months had been a part of his job, what bothered him so much was how things left off last time. One moment, he was about to devour the best pussy he'd seen all year, and the next, he was about to be chopped by the very man who gave him a job. It's not like the severity of his actions escaped him, but he had never seen Uncle Ridgemund so furious.

It's a good thing that Yashim had become absolutely necessary for the smooth running of his business. His duties including, submitting the documentations of newly registered cattle, especially the rare imports, to the Domestication Board, in the capitol city of Calthea. Though funny enough, this time he was asked to go to a totally different Domestication Office. Supreme Board of Domestication- Principal Office. Not that he was complaining.

He had many reasons to love these frequent trips, like the like-minded perverts who visit the ill-developed Kingdom often. Entertainments like ostrich races, canine races, cock-fighting and betting had been criminalized in most Kingdoms, but these weird Caltheans had an entirely different outlook on entertainment. Not to mention the flourishing unregulated brothels, and their personal pride, the slave-pony racing shows. Truly a land of the wild and adventurous. He took out from his satchel the one thing his employer asked of him, before sending him on this journey the middle of the night, with his pecker still leaking. The file read,

Supreme Board of Domestication: Wolkenshire Division

Registration Form for Category: Quadruped

'Never knew Wolkenshire had a Domestication Board. Well I know for sure it's closed now. I wouldn't have had to come all the way to Calthea now, if it did.' Yashim continued to read, his lips smiling, reminiscing the way that strange girl moaned as she shuddered, with her right leg still chained to the table. His left hand kept searching for something else in the satchel as he continued to read.

Name: CRIMSON

Age: 18

Domestication Identification Number: XIVLNR0601

The grin widened as his fingers found what he was scrambling for. He carefully opened the circular metallic wax box. Looking inside he got an instant erection, with all the smells and sounds of that magical hour rushing back to him. He didn't care what would the rest of the passengers think, huddled up right next. Thankfully most of them were still asleep.

'Go, it looks so life-like. Her folds, her sweet-salty folds..!!'

Inside the box, was a wax-mold, a life-size replica, of the vaginal lips, of the most powerful person across all six Kingdoms. The impression of the royal loins, of the Great Chaste, Queen Elanor herself. As procured safely by Ridgemund, on the very night he tattooed on to her skin, her identification number. As the crowded cart neared the Capitol city gates, Yashim remained lost in the entrancing beauty, of the magical folds he almost defiled. Such a missed opportunity.

The truly unfortunate thing about it was, due to the ruckus followed that night, and the rift it created between them, neither the Queen nor her trusted employee had a clue, that the Domestication file had gone missing. Even Fyodor Belkin would have no re-collection of the file, because it was a swift decision made by Ridgemund. Sending the file to get approved at the earliest, sending his aid away the very same night itself. Elanor would have no way of knowing, that the likeness of her modesty would be catalogued, and stored alongside pelvic impressions of the most sought-after pleasure ponies in the Domestication archives of Calthea. Nor had she a clue, how it all would come back to bite her rear, when she least expects it.

**

*

Sharpening the mind

"Advance.. Parry. Push. Parry. Retreat, retreat.. To the left, push.. and Lunge!"

'And there she goes again..' Drubin watched, with hands on his hips, as his student advanced aggressively at her partner.

Her moves had grace, but lacked precision. Her technique was sound, though not extra-ordinary, and her fire... Not just the fire in her gaze, but the unbelievable ability to commit, blow after blow with such passion.. Even with all the criticisms, Drubin was impressed. A distinguished war-veteran, retired General, and the best fencing trainer in the Kingdom, Drubin took great pride in training the Princess of Vankenbraum, whenever she found time.

Although he certainly didn't appreciate his entitled pupils, taking out personal frustrations on the training arena, he saw in a her an anger that could be harnessed. And it wasn't like he could be much assertive, for his disciple this time wasn't a budding nobleman, or a bored Princess. It was the true ruling monarch of the whole of Wolkenshire, the Great Chaste herself. Still, he had a duty.

"Elanor! Take five.."

The Queen approached, taking of the helmet, and shaking free her undone hair.

"I thought you 'd appreciate it, Instructor Drubin. Me channeling all my anger into combat." She knew from his face, she may have overstepped this time.

"That was no channeling, Elanor. At best, that was directing all your anger, in measured outbursts. That's controlling, still. Channeling is when you let it flow, letting the anger out through your movements, yet breathing-in the equalizing peace, one lungful at a time. The way you just did, the way you control, that can be easily flipped the other way. I've had my share of incidents, with students blinded by anger. You don't want to realize too late, that it was the anger directing you.."

Nodding in agreement, Elanor asked.

"What about the partners.? I asked for your best. It's either they go too easy on me, or they are not up to my skill. How am I supposed to improve.? You think I can't handle your best.?!"

Drubin shook his head smiling. The spirit of this one..

"You misunderstand. Combat imparts its own wisdom, but its a long and hard road. Not all of us make it, and it'd be unfair to expect wisdom from the young-bloods. We are inside your palace, Elanor. Inside your personal dojo. And yet I address you as Elanor, and not Her Majesty. Now why is that..?"

"Because inside the sacred grounds of dojo there are no Kings, nor Queens. Only Master and disciples. Only combatants. All equals, and all bows to the Master."

It was hard for Elanor look at him, while saying the last line. Especially in light of the recent events, corrupting forever in her mind such a common term, Master. The last thing she wanted was other parts of her life getting tainted by memories of the same. She wanted to know, deep down, that she still held the reins. And not some bouts, not some cravings. The Queen enquired.

"Why can't I get a decent sparring partner.? Someone who isn't shackled by being considerate. Someone who'd truly come at me, no holds barred. Right now it feels like I'm punishing them, with their hands tied."

"It's not that they aren't skilled, Elanor. It's because you're.."

"A woman.?! This again.." She knew the Instructor held no such prejudices. But pushing him would surely get her to an answer quick. Tantrums. The ways of a Princess, after all.

"No my Queen.! Elanor. See, for these are young virile men, with no field experience, and all the faults that plague men... You think they'd pass up on an opportunity, to put a woman in her place.?! Especially within the protection of a dojo?! Elanor, they're not hesitant because you're a woman. They are petrified in fact, because you are their Queen. Look at them, these are young kids. It's a wonder they managed this long."

"I understand. It's just.. How am I to improve if they keep wearing kid glows.? Don't you have a batch of Caltheans?"

"These are the Calthen batch. A Queen is a Queen, Elanor. Calthean or Wolkenshire. Consequences are the same, they know."

Elanor looked around a moment. Then leaned in and said, in a low voice.

"What if..? What if we don't tell them.. If I came already armored up? They wouldn't recognize with the fencing mask, and gear on."

Drubin took a moment to think it over. But his reply came quick.

"This is a big ask, Elanor. Playing with my students' trust.?! They can't know it's you, no matter what. We'll need a believable cover-story.."

"That's a yes..?!" Elanor couldn't hide her glee, bobbing like a teenager. She reassured."Sure, sure. I'll come geared up, masked proper. I can even arrange for a locking mask.."

"No real swords. I can't risk you harm, even with a blunt blade. It'll have to be like the old days. Bamboo swords. I'll need a day to set up, it'll take some truly unruly partners, to match your anger. And.."

"Yes..?"

"Not here, not in the palace. If it's a private venue, they'll be on the best behavior. It'll have to be.. We'll meet at my dojo."

That surely lifted her spirits, and it reflected on the rest of the practice. Her blows were more fluent, footing more graceful, and anger fuming, rather than flaming. Ending the session, as she walked back to the chambers, the Queen ran into the Lord Scarlin, a well revered General, and the Head of Defence and Strategy.

"Scarlin.. Why so early, and why wait out here? You could have sent a message..?"

"Apologies Her Highness. Since you hadn't been to the Royal Castle in about a month, I wasn't comfortable sending an assistant. I felt like I should personally check, if Her Majesty were all right."

"I appreciate the concern, but.. Why this early.?"

"I just got confirmation on my intel, Her Majesty. It's regarding your scheduled meeting with the Commander Carmine, from General Radoslov's command."

"You mean the Prince, Radoslov of the North? I didn't recall him specifying that.."

Radoslov, that log-head.. God, am I to deal with again..?!

"Is this with regards to the Eastern skirmishes.? Or the big one?"

"I'm afraid, the big one, Her Majesty."

"And you want us to reduce the financial aids, and start sending troops instead." Elanor shook her head, with a disapproving smile. This wasn't the first time them discussing the same.

"You know its immoral, My Queen. To stand by the side and reap rewards of the hard fight won spilling the blood of our neighbors. Besides, it wont do any good, for the morale of the Great warriors of Wolkenshire, to waste their life away, when they could fight alongside their Calthian, Deznian, and Aestrikan brothers in arms. Against this Great Orcan evil.!"

Elanor purposefully slowed the pace of their walk, not wanting to give the impression, that she was rushing through it.

"I negotiated the deal myself, General. We ensure the steady supply, in arms and ammunition, and they maintain the troubled borders. No provocations, nor invasion. Just holding the line, for now. That's what the council agreed upon, until we have some sound strategy."

"We have a strategy in place, Her Highness.." Scalin retorted, his voice not confident.

"An all-out war.?! That's no strategy, that's doom, General. We can't match them in sheer numbers, the same way they can't match our tactics. These aren't some foolhardy Noxtrans. These are the Great Orcs.! No matter how many blood we spill, both theirs and ours, they just keep coming. The jungle is their turf, and its brutal on our men. It takes fifteen years to build up a proper spear-men, our lowest rank. A beta orc can mature into fighting-shape in two years. And their womenfolk breed like crazy. You know the orcan lifecycle, you know there is no way in hell we can match them in numbers. And I will not allow wasting the blood of Wolkenshire, on some haphazard bravado. We are not having another 'Bloody Spring', not on my watch!!"

Mentioning Bloody Spring gave them both a pause. As they walked on, Scarlin said.

"They are going to leverage their position now, Her Highness. The Caltheans. Ask for relaxed trade sanctions and the likes."

"Respectfully General, you leave the negotiations to me. I've gone head to head with Radoslov, this is some kid trying his luck. And Scarlin.." Her tone had zero condescension.

"Yes My Queen.."

"Thank you for the concern. We may not agree on strategy, but I look up to you. I don't look up to the Calthean opportunists who agree to my every whim."

"Your Majesty..!"

"This isn't me delaying the inevitable. This is me buying time, so my best military minds think up a better solution."

"On that we agree, my Queen."

The general bowed and left, as Elanor retreated to her chamber.

As she walked in, the chambermaids came running, helping her out of the practice armor. It felt weird, having so many hands untying knots all over her body, all tending to her at once, even though it should be normal for any Princess. Since losing Barthomius, the Queen had drastically reduced the number of chambermaids. And for the last few months it got further reduced, to just Bellatrix, and at times the Queen herself. Since the incidents from the Diplomatic Meet, Elanor wanted an absolute palette cleanser, be it with her daily regiments, her diets, her exercise routines. That's why she had shifted to the Winder Fort for the past three weeks. It only felt healthy, to keep away from any remainders of that unfortunate day.

Once she was down to her sweat-soaked shift, the maids were excused. Alone in her chamber, gazing back at a large oval mirror, Elanor slowly pulled it over herself. This has been her ritual every morning. By five at dawn, Instructor Drubin would be waiting by the arena, ready to get right into some serious training. Elanor knew she needed something active yet meditative, to drive away her morning fogs. And she was always been good with swords. Drubin was used to Princes and Queens getting sudden fleeting fascination with the art, but he never expected the Queen would be up to such hard drills. For Elanor's part, she surely had enough just anger to work through, and even if it left her panting at times, she truly loved the strain. Now looking back at the mirror, she felt a sense of pride at how her naked flesh looked. Especially contrasting it with her first day.

She remembered bruised skin, with patches of dirt, hand-prints on her bare sagging breasts, pinch marks in her under-thighs, leather striations alongside her entire spine. Her arms and thighs, and her whole body, coated not just in sweat and dirt, but a few additional pounds of fat, which almost made her unrecognizable. Her bosoms bounced and drooped, ass cheeks jiggled at the slightest jerk, making her look from any angle like an erotic graffiti. Something a dirty-minded peasant would decorate the walls of a public latrine with. Something to stroke at, as they piddled on. The result of a regimented diet from Lady Adriana, to sculpt her into some voluptuous sex-pot.! And now..??

Now she weighed a little less than when she was nineteen. Her thighs had lost most of the jiggly fat, if anything she looked like a toned warrior. Her waistline was still evidently an hourglass, though her hips, her love-handles, had significantly shrunk. Her abdomen got seriously trim and fit, with just enough fat to hint at her supple femininity. Of course, pushing down with her fingers, she could feel at least four well-defined packs of strong core. And finally, her pubic hair was filling up nice and thick.

Her breasts now looked proud, pleased and full, with little to no sag, and her ass.. Well her ass refused to co-operate. Though way less jiggly, it remained promisingly full. If anything the recently toned waist-line helped accentuate its bulginess.

Most of the whip-marks had disappeared, except for one, which remained across both cheeks in a horizontal crimson line, its impression darkest at the tip, the middle of her right ass-cheek, in a clear silhouette of the riding crop lip. From the Stable Maester himself! Elanor shook her head, not wanting to think anymore of it.

On her mantelpiece was a letter from Bellatrix, with a small metal box next to it. She had sent it the Queen's way four days after the incident. The same day she took the long leave. Bella was contractually obligated to stay on job for two months, in case the Queen decides to terminate her services. But it never specified she couldn't take a leave of absence. Elanor understood it, as she herself found it difficult staying in the palatial premises, wanting to take a break. Finally today, two weeks from the incident, Bella opened the letter.

"Forgive me Her Highness.."

Nope.! The Queen folded it back to the envelope as soon as she read the first line. She wasn't ready to listen to her yet.