The Princess and Her Seamstress

Thread drove through pricy fabric, piercing the material over and over again, binding together two separate pieces and unifying them into one. There were few in this domain who had the means to wear such pristine products and even fewer still who had the privilege of working on them.

It was an honour to be one such craftswoman and Abagail was very much aware of this.

This was lion's fur, a fine silky fabric that came from lands that were just upon the edge of this realm's diplomatic world. Though it was also a material that didn't seem to bear any resemblance to the creature it was supposedly borne from. Still, it was an amazing material: light, flowing, and radiant in the light.

"How is my design coming along, Abagail," a voice finer than this material asked.

Abagail looked up from her soft brown hands and towards the source of this voice. It was a beautiful but powerful looking woman who was staring at the seamstress in front of her. She bore a half smile, the most mirth she seemed able to afford at times. One of her chocolate hands ran through her charcoal hair, playing with one of the many gorgeous curls that nature had seen fit to bestow her with.

She wore something far more casual than the bountiful dress that Abagail was crafting. Though it was still an outfit of a royal caliber. It would seem that even her casual wear was afforded such luxurious treatment.

"It is coming along nicely, Your Highness," Abagail replied.

The Princess clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Still boring yourself with pomp and circumstance?"

"There are protocols we are taught to follow that are hard to unlearn," Abagail stated, winking at her. "Plus, I know how much it gets under your skin, Sol."

Sol snorted. "I should have you executed, you brat."

"Then you would not see this dress finished," Abagail rebutted, unphased by such threats. "And that would really be a shame, don't you think?"

She finished with some stitch work, so expertly woven that it barely showed upon the lightly coloured garb. This pile of semi-finished fabrics would one day become a beautiful work of art though it would still be many sessions until such a goal was achieved.

Though Abagail's gaze once more returned to the Princess, watching the way she looked out the window and upon the countryside beyond. It seemed like she had something upon her mind, something festering away as her brow tented.

It wasn't uncommon for such things to plague their encounters. After all, the work of a monarch was never an easy labour. The wants and worries of a Kingdom were upon her shoulders, a weight that no other man nor woman could claim to bear.

"How have you been, Sol?" Abagail asked.

Sol smiled though her expression was still strained, practiced, hiding something and poorly at that. "Stressed... though I am sure you are able to pick up on that easily enough."

"You are not the hardest woman in the world to read," Abagail conceded. "Is there something that I can assist you with."

"No, there are few who can help me," Sol replied, biting her lip. "Sorry, that was a horrible unproductive answer." She sighed and shook her head. "I am required to attend a social function that I would rather avoid."

"Anybody that I know?" Abagail asked.

Sol glanced towards her, suddenly looking quite sad. "Baron Trembly of Applewood."

Abagail hissed. "That is... a rather awkward situation to be in."

"It's a fucking nightmare is what it is," Sol grumbled, reaching up and massaging her brow between a forefinger and thumb. "I should've just locked that bastard up for what he did to his servants but..."

"He won over the courts and you'd be seen as a tyrant if you overruled them," Abagail offered, turning her attention towards Sol. "It wasn't a winnable situation to be in."

"Not in the slightest," Sol grumbled.

Abagail pushed needle through fabric again and again. "But that doesn't mean that you need to be happy about it."

"No, I don't," Sol agreed.

She shook her head and leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes. Her brow tented and it was obvious that some more unkind, unproductive, and laborious thoughts were coming forward to fill her thoughts with fresh torments.

Abagail had worked with this woman for years and knew her as well as she knew the fabrics she worked with and the stitches that she made. Which meant that every little twitch was a tell that she could pick up on with intimate familiarity.

The way her brow cocked now spoke to a deep anxiety, possibly about public perception or her own honour.

"Can I just bestow you with my crown?" Sol asked.

Abagail snorted. "Absolutely not, this is your mess and I have no interest in inheriting it from you."

"Bitch," Sol jeered though there was no legitimate anger behind her words, only exhaustion and fatigue.

"Call me such things again and I might need to remind you of our informal dynamic," Abagail warned, looking up from her work.

Sol smirked and cracked open an eye. "Are you threatening me with a good time, seamstress?"

"Good is subjective," Abagail replied.

"Oh, so you are threatening me with a good time!" Sol beam, an excited edge entering her voice. "Very well, please remind me of this dynamic that you think we have."

Abagail couldn't help but notice the shit eating grin that Her Majesty now bore.

Sol got to her feet and made her way over, ensuring that she put a little extra swing into her step as she approached. Her presence was enticing and it was hard for Abagail to return her attention to her work, keeping her gaze locked upon the Princess' face.

"Maybe I desire to continue with my work," Abagail teased, cocking a brow. "Did you ever think of that, Your Majesty."

Though she knew that such words were futile. There was nothing that could sway Her Majesty when there was something that she wanted. And judging by her body language, she very clearly had a rather crude objective in mind.

Abagail briefly glanced towards a mirror on the table, taking a moment to straighten her wild blue hair. She hoped that she looked fit for royal consumption, praying that the bags under her eyes were not off-putting.

"You do know that I cherish our time together," Sol stated.

She was now at the desk, bracing her hands upon it. There was a predator's smile upon her lips as she slowly licked them, pushing out her chest and trying to look as enticing as possible. Not that she really needed to try very hard. At the very least, it seemed that her worries had fled quite quickly, leaving her mind rejuvenated.

Abagail tilted her head to the side. "I couldn't tell." She then smirked. "You only call upon my company on a biweekly basis like clockwork after all."

She reached out and carefully placed a hand upon the Princess' arm, carefully stroking her flesh.

"What are you in the mood for this afternoon?" Abagail asked.

Sol hummed and turned away, instead resting her rump upon the edge of Abagail's desk. "I would very much like to be put in a position where I don't have to worry about the world ending or court intrigue or any petty bullshit or public perception or..."

She motioned vaguely in a huff, letting the silence answer for her. Obviously, there were many worries and now Abagail was tasked with taming them.

"We do hate petty bullshit," Abagail quipped.

She stood up from her seat and made her way around the desk, taking up position in front of Sol.

Sol didn't seem perturbed by her presence, merely maintaining her contented smile and playful little demeanour.

Abagail reached out and brushed Sol's hair out of her eyes before leaning forward and kissing her upon the cheek.

"How rough would you like me to be?" she asked.

Sol hummed. "I do have quite a few social functions this week."

"And knowing you, you'd love the tabloids to gossip about them," Abagail quipped, offering an evil smile. "I do admit that I love it when they try to figure out who your mysterious suitor is."

"They always pick the most boring men imaginable," Sol teased as she let out a heavy note of disappointment.

Abagail nodded. "Could you imagine if you actually had an affair with Count Agincourt?"

"I would rather die than allow that man to touch me," Sol grumbled. "He has such cold and clammy hands. Now if it was the Duke of Warwick maybe I'd have a more positive reaction."

Abagail rolled her eyes.

"What? He's a total hunk," Sol teased.

She then reached up and placed her hand overtop of Abagail's own, interlacing their fingers together. There was an energy to her touch, a euphoria from the mere act of coming into contact with her. It was incredible that something so simple could feel so good.

Yet, when it came to Her Majesty, there was no such thing as simple.

"I love you," Abagail whispered.

Sol smirked. "And I tolerate you."

Abagail glared at her.

"Kidding kidding," Sol chided. "I am just... bad at expressing myself."

"Then I suppose, I will have to teach you to get better about such things," Abagail whispered.

She dipped forwards and pressed her lips against Sol's neck, planting a kiss upon her tender flesh. Though the kiss wasn't left tender for long before she suckled quite roughly upon Her Majesty's neck. She even dug her teeth into it, surely leaving a beautifully pronounced blemish behind.

Sol gasped and reached up, digging her fingers into Abagail's hair. She shivered under her lover's lips as a faint moan escaped her.

"You brute!" Sol growled.

Abagail chuckled. "And you love me for it."

Her other hand came up and gripped Sol's chin, using it to hold her head steady and leave her neck exposed. She then took immediate advantage of the Princess' vulnerability as she planted a couple more kisses upon her flesh. Most of them were gentle and tender though ever so often she would dip forwards and leave something a bit more animalistic behind. Her teeth were a tool, after all, and she used them quite liberally.

When she finished with a couple purple welts, she drew away, grinning at her work. She knew it would take all the makeup in the kingdom to hide these ravenous love bites. Still, she knew that the Princess was shameless and she expected to see these welts sported at a future social function.

"Wonder who they'll blame for these," Abagail teased.

She continued to examine her work, proud of all the little marks she'd left behind. They formed a collar of sorts, a string of lovely purples that would look so radiant when contrasted with Sol's newest dress.

Her thumb ran across the Princess' cheek and she couldn't help but smirk as she saw the wonderful blush that Sol wore. She seemed at a loss for words, a rarity this early into their sinful affairs. Though Abagail was more than pleased to have accomplished such a feat.

"Are you alright?" Abagail asked.

Sol nodded.

Abagail smirked. "Then shall we continue with our afternoon?"

Sol once more conceded and nodded her head. Not that she really needed to do such a thing. Abagail could feel the desire to continue in the very energy of the room. They both knew that there was no stopping the inevitable at this point but it was still polite to ask.

Abagail slid her hand away from Sol's cheek and instead placed two fingers against her companion's lips.

Sol flushed and opened her mouth, allowing Abagail to push them inside. She suckled upon them without reservation, swirling her tongue around and around as if these were a phallus and not two mere digits.

These fingers ventured deep, all the way to the knuckle. They were long enough that Abagail could feel her beloved's uvula, tickling it carefully.

Sol let out a sputtering gag as these fingers lingered just a little too deep for a little too long.

Abagail drew them away quickly though ensured that they still remained in Sol's mouth. She basked in the glare that her lover shot in her direction, chuckling at it even.

"You haven't been practicing like you promised," she chastised. "Or at least you haven't been practicing well enough."

"I'm sorry," Sol murmured around the fingers, the words barely coherent but still understandable.

Abagail smirked. "I'm sure that you are but I'll ensure that you're even more sorry when I'm through with you."

Carefully she started to piston her fingers back and forth, back and forth, enjoying the act of fingerbanging Sol's mouth. There was something so pleasurable about debasing someone of regal birth, of toying with them in such a humiliating manner.

Every sputter and gag made her heart soar, filling it with a sadistic glee.

The act sent a pulse of warmth towards Abagail's loins. She could feel her pride starting to harden, straining against the confines of her panties. Still, she continued with her fingering, refusing to let it fade in the slightest.

Oh, how nice it felt to lord over a queen.

"Would you like to enjoy something a little more real?" Abagail asked.

Sol nodded; her face so wonderfully red.

Abagail obliged and pulled her fingers free, instead wiping them off upon Sol's cheek, smearing it with saliva.

Sol winced at the action though stood strong, keeping quiet.

Abagail then took a step back, giving her beloved a little bit of room to fall to her knees. An offer that was quickly accepted as Sol obediently settled upon the ground in front of her. She was like a trained dog, instilled with a reflex to kneel before her betters.

Sol looked up with such a wonderfully dopey look in her eyes. It was strange to see such a regal figure debased in such a manner. Even after more than a year of consistent affairs, it was hard not to feel something strange about such things.

This was the ruler of a nation, the queen of a people, a leader, semi-divine in nature. Yet, right now, she looked like she was hungry for cock, depraved with lust. It was a beautiful sight to behold, one that made Abagail feel powerful.

What was a monarch to a Mistress?

Abagail reached for her pants and undid them, inching them downwards slowly at a tantalizing pace. As they settled around her plush thighs, they exposed a pair of panties that lingered underneath. There was a damp spot upon the front of them and a very distinctive bulge just under that.

Sol whimpered at the sight and made a move to dip forwards. Abagail allowed it, pleased to see her beloved bury her nose within them, drawing in a deep and pleasured breath. The heat in the Princess' cheeks became more intense and it was obvious that her lust was growing in tandem.

"You are depraved, getting high off of my scent," Abagail chastised. "What are you? Some kind of animal?"

And much like an animal, Sol started to make little pleading noises, like a semi-feral mutt. They weren't words in the traditional sense but they still got a message across, one of lustful desperation and a desire for sin.

Abagail reached down and ran a hand through her beloved's hair, stroking and scritching her behind the ear. Her eyes were dopey, lustful, bearing an intense amount of depraved pleasure.

"I wonder how much longer I should tease you for," she whispered. "You seem desperate for this."

Sol nodded and made some more unintelligible noises.

"Would you like me to fuck your mouth?" Abagail asked.

Sol didn't need to speak nor nod as the answer was present in her eyes. This was a woman who wanted her throat swabbed. This was a lowly creature who wanted to choke on her Mistress' cock and engage in all of the depravities that came with that.

This fact only made Abagail smile.

"Well then I suppose I shouldn't be keeping the royal whore waiting a moment longer," she chided. She reached for her boxers and pulled them down, exposing her pride.

Her cock sprung forth now that it was no longer restrained. A bead of something crude blossomed at the tip and started to drain downwards, along her shaft. She was sizeable by a lady's standards being slightly above average in both girth and length.

Sol dipped forwards through Abagail drew back, wanting to taunt her some more.

"Aww do you really think I'm going to give it to you that easily?" Abagail asked.

She wrapped her hand around her shaft and started to slowly stroke it, more for show than actual stimuli. Her hand glided all the way up from the base to the tip where she collected her ration of pre before drawing it back down again. Then she repeated the process again and again, growing a little faster with each cycle.

All the while Sol just sat there and stared. It would seem that she was beyond words, beyond thoughts, just a horny little bundle of nerves that needed to be dealt with.

"Please..." Sol whispered.

Abagail smirked. "Please what?"

"Please let me have a taste," Sol replied.

Abagail hummed and drew her hand away from her erection, instead holding two fingers just in front of her beloved's face. They were slick and coated in her pre with a strand of nearly translucent arousal just lingering there.

"Then taste," Abagail dictated.

Sol inched forwards and took the fingers between her lips again without reservation, suckling upon them quite fiercely. The taste seemed to garner some sort of reaction as she let out a pleasured little moan from the back of her throat.

Abagail snorted. "You really are such a depraved little creature. It's a wonder that you were ever allowed to rule on your own."

She pulled the fingers free and instead snapped them. "Might as well give you the real thing before you degrade yourself any further." She snorted. "It's actually starting to get a little sad how desperate you are for my cock."

Sol leaned forwards and took the erection back between her lips, suckling upon it. She rolled her tongue around it in a couple of desperation motions, bobbing back and forth with a steady but shallow rhythm.

Abagail didn't complain, knowing that she would find her stride soon enough as she always had.

And just to prove Abagail completely right, Sol threw herself into her performance with a growing determination. Soon, she was bobbing back and forth swiftly, gliding along with such incredible vigour. She suckled with a fury, slurping lewdly as she moved ahead like a woman possessed by some sort of truly lustful spirit.

Abagail bit her lip and couldn't help but moan. Her Majesty was skilled in her art and loved to prove as much.

"You really were in the mood, weren't you?" she teased.

Sol took a moment to nod before gliding down all the way to the base of Abagail's erection. She buried her nose into her thin pubic bush and lingered there for a moment. It took a few seconds for her to gag but she still remained there. This was a goddess of lust and she would prove as much.

Though even a goddess had limitations as she drew back and rasped for breath, taking a proper moment to recover. Her performance had been impressive, earth shattering, and brash. It was difficult to find a fault in it, next to impossible to think of a single error.

Yet...

The Princess did not like praise, she craved a firmer hand and a crass personality.

So, Abagail reached out and gripped Sol's hair, using it to yank her back and force her to look up. She sneered at Her Majesty and spat, splattering a glob of spit right upon her cheek.

"Is that really the best that you can manage, you stupid whore?" Abagail hissed.

She slapped Her Highness across the face with her erection, smearing all sorts of depraved fluids upon her cheek.

It was amusing to see Sol flinch, grimacing at the uncomfortable textures left behind by her blowjob. Though she still endured it because of course she would. She would endure plenty if it scratched those nasty little itches that so dominated her psyche.

"You're adorable," Abagail whispered. "But I'll expect far more out of you if you really want to get me off."

She guided Sol back down to her erection and used her leverage to start bobbing her along. Her pace was initially gentle as she glided her back and forth at a tame pace. Though it didn't take long before she succumbed to her desires and started to get a little more forceful, pounding her back and forth with none of her prior kindness.