The King's Aquarium Ch. 01

Disclaimer: All characters in this story are 18 or older.

*****

"Dad, what's the name of that thing on his head?" The ice-blue eyed beauty asked while looking at the passengers descend from the private plane.

"It's called a keffiyeh. Please don't ask that sort of thing in front of our guests."

"That's why I'm asking now... isn't his wife younger than me!?"

"Daughter..."

"I know, that's why I'm asking now!"

Of course, the king's bodyguards came down first, creating a ring around him and his (fourth) wife. The king looked to be in excellent shape, moving with the security and strength of a man that was both used to be in charge, and had multiple personal trainers and doctors to make sure he was in the best possible condition for his age. His wife smiled at him, then reattached her veil over her, quite honestly, stunningly beautiful face, and demurely followed a step behind him over the red carpet that had been stretched all the way from the plane to the Russian businessman and his daughter, both of which were waiting by the open limousine's door.

"Your Highness." The ice-blue eyed man greeted the king politely. "It has been too long."

"Alexi, you can still call me Omar, you know!?" The king smiled broadly, and pulled his college friend into a hug. "And this young lioness must be the Veronika you are so proud of. Truly, God must be worried, for he seems to have misplaced one of his angels."

"Hm. You're still full of it. And don't let her looks fool you, she's a little devil, this one."

A step behind the king, his wife tensed up, shocked beyond words at the casual way in which her husband was being spoken to, but the king gave up a huge grin and nodded, gripped his old friend's shoulder, and laughed merrily.

"This is France, the sunlight in my life." His Majesty introduced his wife,

"As beautiful as you bragged." It was Alexi's turn to smile. "Welcome to Russia."

"T-thank you. You are. Most Kind." The milky-skinned redhead replied in fumbling russian.

"France's russian is still shaky, but she speaks sixteen languages, so you'll have to excuse her lack of mastery over yours, I fear."

"Better than my daughter's arabic."

"Hm. Let them mingle and get to work on it while we catch up and talk about the boring business of men."

Alexi invited his old friend into the limousine, and the vehicle rolled away into the city. Somewhat later, he was sitting across the table from his old friend in his own manor's drawing room, with the relative privacy afforded by each man's well-trained, professional bodyguards and assistants.

"France, was it? She does seem younger than my daughter... Omar, surrounding yourself with girls old enough to be your daughter or grand daughter is a great way to show your age, you know?"

"Well, there's a story I wouldn't mind telling."

The friends spoke until dinner, while Veronika showed France's to her and the king's accommodations and tried to make the redhead comfortable in her home.

"I... am grateful for you kindly." France said calmly, her accent hard to place.

"It is the least I can do... your majesty? I am afraid, I do not know the proper way to address you?"

"Not majesty!" France corrected Veronika in a hurry. "Officially, His Majesty's fourth wife. Reality, Master's slave. France is good way to address me, miss Ivanov."

"Slave!?"

"It is. Long story. Very happy long story." The redhead smile under the veil was full of mirth.

She turned around and dismissed the lone (female) bodyguard, whom promptly retreated to stand against the wall next to the door.

"Father found her in the slave market." Explained His Highness to Alexi. "Her parents had been killed during a terrorist attack, and the last thing her mother taught her was how to say 'Not America. I am France' in arabic. The woman must have hoped that by making it clear that she was not american, she would be spared from the anti-american feelings running high at the time."

"Pretty girl without a guardian in such a environment, I think her mother was being naive." Replied Alexi, gravely.

"Optimistic. Hopeful, maybe. She was white, nobody cared. Would have been sold to a brothel and dead within a week, but father bought her and brought her home. He gave her to me, and since we had no way to know if she had anyone to contact, I kept her around as a house pet until one morning she ran into my room and told me she wanted to marry me."

"Couldn't you have contacted the french embassy?"

"I am but a man, not a saint, and she was quite pretty. She has bloomed into a stunning beauty."

"Hm. Is she actually your wife, then?"

"Legally, yes." The king stated off-handedly

"But not by rites."

"She is non-muslim. I am king. We make it work. My faith and station allows for me to have non-muslim slaves. The prophet had several, after all. It is... expected."

"You bastard." Alexi said in a good mood, which did not disturb His Majesty in the least, even as it caused his bodyguards to stiffen. "And the fact she looks the way she does is just good luck, is it?"

"God is generous with his chosen." The king smiled.

"But still, France?"

"It took more than a few months for her to learn arabic, and by then we were all used to calling her France. We thought it was amusing enough to keep."

"Well, as long as you're both happy, I guess. So, about business..."

They chatted and planned until dinner time.

"And that is why. I am France." Explained the redhead.

By now, in a room with nothing but women, she had removed her veil, revealing the dazzlingly beautiful and youthful face beneath. Her eyes were bright blue, and her small mouth looked so inviting and kissable that young Veronika caught herself staring at the young 'slave' a couple of times.

'I'm not gay.' She reminded herself again. 'I'm not.'

"We have... thre? four hour until Master calls for I? So, please show your city to me."

"Ah, yes! But, do you need to keep the veil outside? We will stand out."

"We are in Russia, but please, do not take my veil. Can wear. Not the burka." Replied France after a thoughtful moment. "Could Veronika loan. Clothes?"

"Sure! I always wanted a sister, I will be happy to dress you up!" Declared the (slightly) older girl.

"Sister, is it?" The king's slave smiled gently.

Indeed, Veronika had a well-supplied wardrobe, and France had no issue slipping into the russian girl's clothes, though she seemed uncomfortable until she convinced her host to let her wear her longest coat.

"It is a shame. You are so pretty..." Veronika sighed as France slipped into the coat.

"It is shame. Only Master should enjoy I body."

"I think we just used 'shame' in completely different ways."

They went to town and did some sight-seeing before returning to the manor. The truly wealthy do not go shopping for clothes into the mall, they either call for a tailor, or visit exclusive stores that are not just outside the means of the common folk, but even beyond their knowledge.

Veronika and France spent more money in a couple of hours, than a regular family would have spent in five years. Most of it in France's underwear, a rather sensual affair that caused the russian girl to feel oddly warm and unsure about her preferences more than a few times, much to the amusement of her new friend.

"More beautiful than you act." France commented during their ride back.

"Thank you? Hold on, I have an idea! Say it in arabic!" Veronika held her smartphone in front of France's veil, and the machine did it best at a translation.

[Your beauty is waiting," Said the smartphone. "for you to allow yourself to be femininely beautiful. Strength is not beauty in a beauty girl.]

"You are calling me a tomboy." Sighed Veronika. "I understand that much. But you know, I think I could never be as ...girly as you are. It would be frowned upon, nowadays."

France's eyes glittered gently, and she placed her thin fingers atop Veronika's own, then pushed the phone down before speaking in arabic again.

"A girl as beautiful as you are, you'll be a priceless treasure once you're chained." The redhead smiled warmly. "Don't worry, it won't be long now until Master makes you his."

"I'm sorry, I don't know any arabic..."

"I can tell, you'll make a superb slave. I'll be happy to call you 'sister', in the open and in Master's bed." Continued the redhead. "Did you know, Master's slaves are slaves not just to him, but to each other, too."

And then she leaned in, and gave the russian beauty a little kiss.

"Ah..." Veronika found herself unable to look away from the younger girl's eyes, just as she found herself unable to pull away or to push her off.

They kissed until the limousine came home, and then France pulled back, smiled and replaced her veil over her face.

"Veronika will be a great Russia." Said the alluring redhead.

It took Veronika a couple of moments to realize her new friend was waiting for her to leave the limousine first, and she was obviously distracted all throughout dinner, barely paying any attention as her father announced a trip to China, and was barely able to reply when he asked about her and France's day in town. In fact, it took her quite a while before she could fall asleep that night.

"Did you have fun today?" The king nibbled on his slave's earlobe while pushing her against the walk-in shower's wall, his fingers sinking in the yielding flesh of her gravity-defying torpedo breasts.

"Ah! Yes, Master~♪" She chirped sweetly. "Veronika is indeed ripe, and pure. She will be a delight once she abandons modern society's aberrant ideas and learnt her true place by your feet~♥"

"Hm... I think it'll be fun to let her keep a modern attitude for a while. I am looking forth to seeing her pretty face twisted with pain, anger and shame."

"As you wish~♥" The girl cooed as her master pushed down unto her shoulders and pulled back on her hips, then unceremoniously slid the full length of his throbbing cock inside her tight, eager pussy.

She was just as excited as her master at the prospect. She wasn't really a sadist, but her master was, and if he wanted to enjoy Veronika's pain before her transformation into 'Russia', then that was as it should be.

It is an open secret that most billionaires are psychopaths and sadists. It takes such a person to crush one's rivals, pile up the bodies, and make a fortune along the way. And yet, most people have forgotten the horror that is the literally cut-throat politics in a monarchy.

Fratricide and parricide are the paper and ink the history of any true monarchy is written with. A twisted survival-of-the-fittest microcosm where only the cruelest survive and claim the throne. If billionaires are first generation monsters, then what is a king but the refined essence, the end-product from generations of such monsters, a result of the cruelest evolution?

The beautiful redhead had been taught well in the king's court. Subject to the whims of a monster, she had learnt to survive. Without a way out, she'd rationalize horror until it made sense. She acted out so she was given pain. She wasn't good enough, so she was given pain. She learnt it was her fault, it could only be her fault.

Any competent psychiatrist would be able to diagnose her with Stockholm Syndrome after a 15-minutes session. It was a coping mechanism, a way to stay sane in an insane situation, a path to false hope that could be shattered whenever her master wished to see her suffer, and when he did, it was in her best interest to suffer as beautifully as possible, least He be displeased and His mood switched from lustful cruelty to righteous anger.

And it would have been her fault. This, she knew. This, is how she survived.

This is what any victim of Stockholm Syndrome knows, this is what they feel. And not only do they think 'it is my fault', but they also feel it is their obligation to act in the best interest of their captors.

His Majesty wanted the platinum blonde? Then he would own the platinum blonde, for what was a slave to do, but to fulfill her master's wishes?

"Loosen up and take me in." His Majesty growled as the head of his cock pushed against the little redhead's womb.

"Yes sir~♪" Came her reply, her body having been trained and raised for her master's convenience and pleasure.

Her womb opened up and descended, swallowing the head of the king's cock as easily as a fish breathes in a large gulp of water, then gently wrapping behind its head, and pulling.

"Hn! That's it...! Slave, yours is the best cunt!"

"Thank you Master~♥" She manipulated her body in ways most would consider impossible.

Not just the entire length of her vaginal walls, but even her womb began to pull, suck and squeeze on the king's brutal, surgery-enhanced cock. The tender folds of the redhead's sex gently sliding and squeezing around the pearl-embedded, unnatural cock of the king. And that's when the royal cock throbbed and grew another two inches, pushing up against the roof of the redhead's womb hard enough a little bulge was visible on her normally smooth tummy.

She squirmed, squeezed, caressed, massaged, twisted and milked at her master's cock, making sure His Majesty barely needed to strain himself in order to enjoy himself to his fullest. It was her duty to serve her master's pleasure, to make him feel virile and potent, to coax his balls into producing a generous enough amount of cum as to leave no doubts of his virility or potency, regardless of his age, how many times he had already cum, or how often he had his cock milked on the same day.

When her master finally pulled out of her, her pussy clamped up tight, but not so fast that a generous amount of his cum wouldn't run down her thighs, declaring the king's potency to the world.

"Ah, good work." He praised her

"Thank you, Master~♥" And she meant it.

He left her off with barely a light paddling, that night. It wouldn't do for her to be covered in welts and bruises when seducing sexy Veronika the following day.