Taming the Queen

Petra saw her girlfriend Kate lurk at the bedroom door, biting her lip, looking everywhere but at Petra. One of Kate's hands tugged at her hair. The other fiddled with the waist of her pajama bottoms. Petra knew what Kate wanted to say, and she knew Kate needed a push to say it.

Petra set down her book, and said, '*Shameless submissive*.'

The post-hypnotic trigger rolled through Kate, shaking her body, rolling her eyes back in her head. Kate leaped into bed with Petra.

'Can you tell me a sexist fairy-tale!?' Kate asked, eyes wide and eager as a puppy.

Petra had grown used to her girlfriend's odd kinks, the kinks of a highly-stressed career woman who fantasised about alpha male patriarchs putting her in her place. Petra had even gotten used to reading her sexist bedtime stories. She'd bought a whole book called *Sweet, Sexy, Sexist Stories* by Peter Roi (most famous for *How to Hypnotise Yourself a Housewife*). The feminist in her used to crinkle her nose at the book, but love of her girlfriend made her power through. The stories were sweet and silly if you didn't take them too seriously.

'What kind of sexist are you wanting,' Petra said, pulling the thick book of stories from her bedside table. 'Do you want all women to be secretly submissive sweethearts, or just the heroine.'

'All girls,' said Kate. 'All girls, and I want us to be too silly to be left to ourselves.'

'All right, well, I think I have just the story for you. This one is called, "The Bratty Queen Finds a Man".'

--

Once upon a time, there was a young queen, called Emily -- though given how bratty and immature she was, you'd swear she was just a princess. Unfortunately, her parents died when she was just twenty-two, leaving the spoilt brat to rule the kingdom.

Queen Emily's rule was disastrous. She drained the treasury by buying jewels and dresses. She crippled the army by promoting young, dumb hunks. And worst of the worst, she gummed up the government by letting girls become ministers! These girls in government spent all day arguing over how high a bailiff's hat should be!

It is known the world over that a ruler is like a common well: if pure, it purifies; if poison, it poisons. Queen Emily was a poison well. All the women in the kingdom copied her. Wives, who once obeyed their husbands without question, now drove their husbands like donkeys. Businesses, which had descended from father to son since time immemorial, were usurped by girls, who demanded no fees from customers -- only kisses and flowers. Girls who'd reached adulthood refused to marry as their fathers ordered -- instead they prowled the streets looking for young men to fondle and fuck.

Despite her shrewish character, and her fracturing kingdom, men from all over the world came to woo Queen Emily, for she was the most voluptuous woman anyone had seen. Since her mummy and daddy died, no one could stop her wearing dresses which hugged her bountiful breasts, accentuating her cleavage, dresses whose skirts parted like curtains when she spread her legs. She would often tease the ministers of court by parting her skirts in the middle of parliament, revealing her bare pussy, her fingers fiddling with the tops of the socks that reached half-way up her plump thighs. Kings and Princes the land over would give anything to throw her down on a bed and fuck her silly.

Which is why one morning, like every morning, she had a whole queue of suitors winding from outside the city walls to her throne room. The first suitor to beg for her hand had an oiled moustache, bejewelled boots, and a golden codpiece, a codpiece so large the Queen let spread her legs unwittingly.

The first suitor knelt before her throne, and said, 'Most precious Queen, if you take my hand, I offer all the riches my kingdom can offer.'

She slammed her legs shut. Queen Emily scoffed. 'Win my hand with money? Am I a prostitute?'

Emily barked, 'Next!'

The second suitor to beg for her hand had a sword slung at his waist, bigger than Emily's body, and had thighs and arms bulked by war and horseback riding, muscles so impressive the Queen's hands unwittingly stroked at her cleavage and kneaded her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

The suitor knelt before her throne, and said, 'Most deserving Queen, if you take my hand, I will conquer nations for you, so every summer you shall have new lands to holiday in.'

Her fondling hands snapped into fists. Queen Emily scoffed. 'Are you suggesting my own kingdom's not good enough to holiday in?'

Emily barked, 'Next!'

The third suitor to beg for her hand looked twice her age. His brow was creased with experience, his hands were hard with labour, and his clothes were singed with flame and heat. Nevertheless, he had the dignity and vigour of a wolf radiating from him. Despite herself, Emily felt her maiden heart flutter, more primal than for the first two suitors. She slapped herself for feeling attracted to such a brute, but unwittingly her legs spread, parting her dress, revealing her pussy, as her other hand snuck southward to tease her clit before the whole court.

'And what can *you* offer us?' asked Emily, biting her lip.

The suitor did not kneel. 'I am but a blacksmith in your kingdom, descended from blacksmiths, so I am called Smith Smithson. I can offer you no riches unless iron be riches. I can offer you no lands unless my smithy be land. What I can offer you is experience, experience I had with my first wife (bless'd be her departed soul).'

'And what is this experience,' Emily asked coyly, a coyness undermined by her fingers pumping in and out of her pussy, and her voice hitching on every pre-orgasmic jolt she frigged herself to.

'My experience,' said Smith Smithson, 'is in taming hell-cats.'

The whole hall hushed. Queen Emily's fingers stopped their piston-beating in her pussy.

Smith did not notice the ice that came from Emily's glare. He continued, 'My first wife was a hell-cat, but with proper praise and spankings, I brought her to heel. She would come at my beck and call, and I tell you she was the happiest she'd been in her life.'

Emily jumped out of her throne. 'Out! Out! All of you! Out!'

The queue of suitors fled from her rage, and only Smith Smithson dared to wait until the guards escorted him out. Emily was too incensed to stay in the kingdom. She ordered a carriage and train of servants to take her to the Shrine of St Sally-Bet the Celibate, the patron saint of single women.

She rode alone in the carriage, fuming and fantasising about Smith Smithson. When she got back, she'd lock him up in the dungeon, wear her leather torturer's garb, strip Smithson naked, and whip, whip, whip his naked flesh, and kiss him till his cock got hard, and then he'd be so energised with lust that he'd break the iron restraints she'd have him in, and he'd bend her over a table before fucking her from behind, and she'd scream:

'Fuck me, sir! Fuck me, sir! FUCK ME-'

The carriage door opened, and Queen Emily pulled her fingers from her sopping cunt. 'Knock first!' she screamed at the servant who'd opened the door.

He informed her they'd arrived at the Shrine. She barged into the Shrine, and kicked out all the other pilgrims, so she could have a personal chat by herself with the saint. She did not kneel by the saint's statue to pray -- she didn't even pray, for she felt she was with an equal.

Emily moaned, 'Oh, men, awful, awful men -- I know what it's like to be you, Sally-Bet, who'd rather die than let a man have her.'

'Dohn go whinin', yah spoil'd brah',' said husky female voice.

Emily saw the statue move. It's marble lips flapped and its hands were on its hips.

'"Boo-'oo, a silver-fox 'unk wants ta smack my boh'om when I misbe'ave." I ran from ev'ry spankin' men tried to give me -- an' look where I've done ended up! Burn'd a'the stake an' only a statue ta show for't. I wish I'd 'ad the chance to be a docile darlin' like you!'

Emily shrieked, 'Of all the impudence! Of all the disrespect! Of all-'

The saint covered Emily's mouth, 'Why dohn' yah be a dear and sleep on't.'

The saint's ruby eyes stared into Emily's. Emily's whole body felt heavy, her eyes drooped.

'Y'r gonna have a nice lih'le dream 'bout submih'in' to a man.'

Emily forced her eyes open, knowing the statue was putting a spell on her. But surely it couldn't hurt to rest her eyes for just one second...

--

Warrior Queen Emily rushed over the battlefield with her army of Amazons, all of them covered with big, clunky, ugly armour. They had sacked and pillaged every city behind them, and were going to sack every city in front of them, kicking good hardworking men out of their smithies, bakeries, apothecaries.

Their path of destruction was halted by a barbarian Prince, Prince Smith Smithson. He wore no fancy armour, only scanty leather over his torso, naked elsewhere, whose silver hair, bulging muscles, fierce eyes, and his exposed, erect cock made Queen Emily go weak at the knees.

'Out of my way, male worm!' bellowed Queen Emily, the Shrewish Swordswoman.

Prince Smith Smithson replied, 'You best calm down, little miss. If you apologise right now, I won't even spank you.'

Queen Emily's hair turned to flame, she was so angry. Her eyes shot cannonballs at the impertinent barbarian Prince.

'HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU!' Sword raised, she ran to battle, her fellow soldieresses rushing behind her.

Prince Smith Smithson sighed, holding his erect member like a wand, he chanted a magic spell.

Emily's armour dissolved, just plain faded into nothing, along with her silk undergarments. For miles behind her, her army women shrieked as their armour vanished, as the masculine magics left them starkers in the middle of a field.

The shameless Queen rushed forward, ready to bang her dissipating sword against her enemy, but the Prince just hoisted up the naked Queen. She dropped her disintegrating sword and was reduced to beating her fists on his leather-jerkin-ed back.

'Let me go, let me go! Soldiers, help me!' But her soldiers stood transfixed before the enemy soldier, who held their cocks like magic wands, chanting a spell which made the women as weak as kittens. The girls' martial pride dissipated as even the scrawniest men of the enemy forces could overpower the muscliest Amazon.

Smithson pulled Emily over his knee.

'Now, now, little missy, I'm going to smack your bottom until you apologise for playing soldier and causing chaos.'

'Damn you!' said the half-humbled harpy Emily. 'Damn you! Damn- EEP!'

His hand collided with her bum, her fulsome cheeks rippling under the smack. He smacked, and smacked, and smacked her bottom -- his hard worker's hands spanking the pampered softness of her Queenly bum.

'Stop, stop! I beg you!' screamed the shameless strumpet Emily, not because she hated the feeling of the spanking -- No! She begged him to stop because she was enjoying it. If he kept on spanking, she'd beg him to keep going.

Every smack thrummed through her bum to her wet cunt, and every futile struggle she made left her feeling more helpless, more horny. The Queen had never known the pleasure of being dominated by a righteous man.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

'Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!' She couldn't help herself -- showing respect to the man who had defeated her, reinforced how helpless, how submissive, and how docile she was becoming.

'I submit! I submit!' she yelled in joy.

The barbarian Prince set her on her knees before him. The humbled Queen looked over her army, some of her soldier getting spanked into submission, other of her women were sucking on their former enemies' lips as they banged their pussies onto their cocks, each woman's breasts bouncing up and down as they fucked their men.

'Now, little missy, afore I carry you back to the palace I conquered the other day, to fit you in dresses worthy of my Queen, I'm wanting you and your rebellious maidens to scurry into my mess-hall and whip up my boys something good. Your hell-cat fire has tired us out something fierce.'

Giving her orders -- it made her want to spit! Her submissive epiphany vanished. She got to her own two feet and shouted, 'You don't order me! I'm the Queen, and I order you to...' She bit her lip. '... to fuck me silly.'

The Prince smirked and threw her to the ground. Her haughty sneer dissolved into dewy eyes and moans when he pushed his tongue into her mouth, and his cock into her cunt. She wrapped her legs around his torso as he slid in and out of her, her toes curling, her voice squealing, her face snuggling in the nape of his neck. She moaned higher and higher as he thrusted harder and harder, faster and faster, the fire in her cunt rippling through her skin, till a juddering orgasm turned her mind white.

Lying in her own arousal and sweat, Prince Smith Smithson stood over her. 'How did you enjoy the last order you'll ever give a man?'

'I, mmm, loved it,' purred Queen Emily.

'Good,' said Smith Smithson. 'Because you've tuckered me out even more now, so you're finally gonna get in that mess-hall and cook me some dinner.'

She hopped to her feet. 'Of course, sir!' she chirped.

'Girls!' she yelled to her army of muscled maidens, who now all gazed doe-eyed at their conquerors like sheltered damsels. 'To say sorry to these nice men, we're going to make them dinner! Queen's orders!'

The women were so eager to please their menfolk with their cooking, they practically skipped to the mess-hall. With Queen Emily at the head of the cooking regiment, they'd make up for all the mischief they'd caused.

As the formerly martial maidens cooked, they couldn't and wouldn't supress their smiles, the smiles of girls who'd been put in their place.

--

Queen Emily woke up in a puddle of drool on the floor of the Shrine. The saint had given her an epiphany! She would marry Smith Smithson, and love him, and honour him, and most of all -- obey him! She kissed, and kissed, and kissed the statue's toes, before she was kicking awake all her servants.

'My kingdom, my kingdom -- we must get to my kingdom!'

And so, in the wee-hours of the night, she ran her servants and the horses ragged back to her kingdom. Many servants almost fainted when they reached the city walls.

She ordered her carriage to the kingdom's most eminent blacksmith -- Smith Smithson. Queen Emily knocked on the blacksmith's door herself. She was shocked to have it answered by a girl a tad bit older than herself -- the blacksmith's daughter. The buxom girl wore a diaphanous nightdress, showing her nipples and pussy through a pink haze of fabric. The girl yipped as she saw her Queen, falling to her knees in the spirit of submission.

'My most glorious Queen, we were not expecting you.'

Queen Emily shivered at the obedience of Smithson's daughter. Because of Emily's own bad influence, there was not a girl in the city who respected authority -- not a girl spare Smithson's daughter. Emily fantasised about Smithson bringing her in line like he had done his daughter and his late wife before her, Emily's hand parting her skirts and fingering her pussy.

'Your majesty...' said the daughter. 'I do not-'

Emily shoved her hands behind her back. 'As your Queen, I demand to see your father!'

'But he is asleep,' said the girl, deference to the man of the house overpowering obedience to woman of the kingdom.

'If you do not call him down now, I will throw you and him in the stocks!'

When Smith Smithson strolled to the door, Queen Emily prostrated herself at his feet.

'I beg your forgiveness,' she said. 'I've been such an awful shrew. Should you take me as wife, I'd do anything you ask, so long as you rule me as a husband should.' She told him everything that had transpired since yesterday.

Smith Smithson picked her up by the shoulders, planted her on her feet, and said, 'Good girl, but it seems you are not yet a wholly good girl. You're sweet and docile to me, but a truly good girl is sweet and docile to all the world -- and you've been very rude. First you must apologise to my daughter for being so rude to her.'

The Queen swallowed her pride, and said, 'I'm sorry if you were offended by my curtness.'

Smith Smithson's large, hard hand smacked her bum. 'And for that weaselly apology, you're going to have to do a little extra. My girl has been spending the last weeks in a dress that's falling apart. To show how sorry you are, you're gonna give her the dress off your own back. Right now.'

Get naked? Right here? The Queen wanted to question his order -- but no! The joys of submission did not come from doing what you wanted. She would obey his every silly order without question. With her servants' help she divested herself of her jewels and her dress, till she was fully naked in the cold morning air. Her embarrassment kept her warm. She ordered her servants to look away from her bare breasts and exposed pussy.

Smith Smithson smacked her bum, and she poked out her bottom wishing he would smack her again.

'Now, now, these men deserve your apologies too. You hauled them out of bed and ran them ragged back to your kingdom -- look how tired they are. Luckily, it is known the world over that the touch of a royal's flesh is a cure for any ailment.'

Let her servants touch her skin? How indecent! How impudent!

What a perfect way to prove her obedience to her husband!

'Subjects! Touch your Majesty's nakedness in any way you please!' she said.

Her thirty servants were terrified at first, but the sight of her full, creamy-skinned breasts, her taught tummy, her bountiful behind, and thick thighs enflamed their lust till terror was burned from their minds. They touched her, at first shyly prodding her sensitive breasts, but her little yips at every touch, her giggles and moans as they brushed her nipples and thighs, emboldened them. One grabbed her bottom, two nibbled at her thighs, while another two sucked her toes. None who had seen the shrewish Queen would recognise her face, from which all sneers and pride had melted into blank-minded, submissive pleasure. Her mouth gaped as she moaned from the pit of her stomach, only for servant's cock to enter her mouth, which made her moan deeper. Her skin tingled with every touch that came from every side, the hands rubbing up and down her inner thighs, making her gasp, as a cock slid into her pussy, yet another into her arse. She suppressed moans from the tongues circling her nipples, as her servants thrust in and out of her mouth, her cunt and her arse, thrusting and thrusting, harder and harder, faster and faster, until she felt a strong, sharp smack on her bottom.

She came, ripple after ripple of pleasure seizing her yielding body till she lay in the middle of a group of exhausted servants, her eyes gazing up at her smiling husband.

Smith Smithson gave her no time to recover before he picked her up and carried her into the streets. The city, just waking up to the white light of morning, saw their quarrelsome Queen submissively snuggled to the blacksmith's chest, buck naked.

As all know, a Queen is like a common well: if poisoned, it poisons; if pure, it purifies. Queen Emily was now so submissive and so pure that all the maids and maidens in the kingdom felt a change in their very core.

Those wilful wives, who had been driving their husbands like donkeys, all at once tore off their skirts and presented their bare bottoms to their husbands, begging for a spanking. Those over-ambitious wives who had usurped their husbands' businesses suddenly grew humble, crawling back to their husbands to beg them to take back the reigns. But not to worry -- these girls could still be part of the business, advertising their wares. Up and down the kingdom there were such displays as the baker's wife, who stood nude before the bakery, a baguette nestled betwixt her boobies, and a croissant over her pussy, begging passers-by to lick the butter from her thighs.