The Queen and the Slave

The Queen and the Slave

The Queen lay back amongst the bed's plush cushions with her eyes closed, and groaned in frustration. She glanced down at the head of the man between her spread legs and regarded the mop of curly blond hair bobbing frantically as he tried to please her. His tongue jabbed erratically between her pussy lips, like he was trying to stab her with it. There was no rhythm, no technique. Just as she was beginning to feel some waves of pleasure building he'd ruin it time and time again by changing tempo or doing something else to break the build-up.

The man had shown such promise when he'd been captured during the siege of Garanelle far to the south. When she finally led her warrior maidens to her enemy's throne room, this man had stood defiantly at the head of the old king's bodyguards. He was tall and bare-chested, his sun-kissed skin glistening with the heat and sweat of battle. He crouched in a defensive pose, two short swords held ready before him. Ten other men stood by him, glancing nervously at each other and looking almost like they'd break and run as the Queen and her warriors approached. Only he had stood firm and defiant.

The battle had been quick and bloody, her fierce maidens making quick work of the enemy. Within minutes only the whimpering king and the handsome captain remained alive. Knowing their Queen's insatiable desires well, two of her smirking maidens bound the man's hands behind his back, hauled him to his feet and carried him away. Satisfied, the Queen swiftly executed the snivelling king at her feet, installed one of her close allies as city governor, and began preparations for the long march home.

The Queen's dungeons were filled with men like the captain -- proud, brave and fine male specimens taken in her endless conquests of neighbouring lands, shackled and marched back to her palace for her pleasure. She had her maidens bring her one, sometimes two, every couple of days. She would dominate them, force them to worship her pussy and fuck her, in her constant search for anyone who could satisfy her, who could meet her demands and match her burning passions.

After spending close to a month in her dungeon, the Garanellian captain's bravado was gone. No doubt he'd watched as others before him were taken to her. Some, those that particularly displeased her, would not return; others would be dragged whimpering back to the cells displaying the signs of her displeasure for all to see -- angry red whip marks, maybe pierced or torn nipples, sometimes removed cocks or balls. She liked to think such men acted as warnings and encouragement to those awaiting their turn, like the captain.

The defiance he'd shown in battle was definitely gone when he was brought to her bedchambers, and he was eager to please when she ordered him between her thighs. But who would have thought such a fine looking man would eat pussy like a bird pecking for a worm? Sighing, she propped herself up on one elbow and reached down to push him away. Sensing his failure, the panicked man began to furiously try rubbing her clit.

She winced at the sudden discomfort and kicked him sprawling to the base of the bed. "Stop it, you idiot!" she snapped, "What was that? Were you trying to light a fire on my clit or something?"

"Mistress, forgive me!" he spluttered.

She reached for a gold bell on the ornate side-table and rang it. Almost instantly, the large double doors to her chambers swung inward and an attendant entered. Like the Queen, the woman was powerfully built, with dusky skin and long brown hair. She was barefoot, and wore a flowing white robe cinched at her waist with a gold braid. The fabric was sheer, the servant's small breasts, dark areolae and pointed nipples clearly visible. She rushed to the bedside and dropped to one knee, both palms flat on the tiles before her and head bowed.

"What is your desire, my Queen?"

"Take this one," said the Queen, gesturing dismissively, "Cut out his tongue, and remove the index and middle fingers of his right hand."

"As you command." The attendant gestured beyond the open doors and two muscled warrior maidens entered. The captain sobbed as they each gripped under one of his arms and hauled him away.

The attendant waited until they had left, then returned to her kneeling position, head bowed and eyes cast down again.

"There was something else?" asked the Queen.

"A message from General Syndara, my Grace. I did not wish to disturb you."

"What does my general say?"

"General Syndara has returned from her raiding in the savage tribal lands to the far north. She has captured one of their chieftains. She has him in the throne room now and says you may be....interested in him."

"Oh?" the Queen arched a curious eyebrow, and felt the familiar itch deep in her pussy, eager to be scratched.

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The Slave stood naked in the crowded throne room. Where the Garanellian captain was bronzed with golden hair and clean chiselled features, the northern barbarian chieftain was snow pale, with a smooth bald head and a bushy beard speckled brown, red and a dusting of blond around the upper lip. His bared chest was similarly covered in hair, and his powerful arms were bound before him. He tested the metal shackles around his wrists. They were solidly built, but there was a little give in the chain links. He thought he could probably pull them apart, but in this immense crowded hall it would mean nothing but a swift death.

Many of the buildings he'd passed on the long march to the capital had been amazing, far beyond anything in his frigid homeland, but the palace throne room was the single most impressive space he'd ever seen. The vaulted ceiling was over 80 feet high, supported by two rows of ten thick marble columns. At each side of the hall, just below the ceiling, were rows of arched windows, stained glass illuminating the cavernous space in brilliant natural light. The walls were decorated floor to ceiling in elaborate murals of a carnal and hedonistic nature, tricks of light seeming to make the depicted seas of flesh writhe in passion, painted mouths open in ecstasy.

But the murals were not the most shocking things in the throne room.

The hall was packed with women -- hundreds of courtiers, guards and officials crowded around him among the towering pillars. All were dark and stunningly beautiful and most were completely naked, adorned only in glittering jewellery -- gold or silver necklaces plunging between firm breasts, precious bands inlaid with gems wrapped around their arms, elaborate head pieces catching the light as they moved their heads. Even those women who wore some fabrics the Slave would not call 'clothed'. The dresses were long, light and flowing, but invariably cut to leave very little to the imagination.

The women were not the only ones in the hall, however; many of them were accompanied by male companions. The men ranged dramatically in appearance, and it seemed to the Slave that here was represented every race of man on the planet. Some wore various types of leather vests, harnesses or straps, though every one of them had their cocks exposed. They were not bound at the wrists as he was, but each man wore a tight collar around his neck. Some of the men stood silently with their heads bowed beside their women. With one hand the women held long chains linked back to the neck collars, while the other hand languidly stroked the men's erect cocks up and down. Others knelt on the tiled floor before their mistresses, their faces buried and tongues lapping. Those women would absentmindedly run their hands through their pets' hair while they chatted and laughed cordially amongst themselves.

Despite his situation, the Slave could not help but feel a stirring in his loins at the casual displays around him, his cock lengthening to a semi erection.

Just then, there seemed to be some movement near the front of the throne room, at a door off to the side behind the throne. A murmur of excited whispering rippled through the gathered crowd like a wave, and the Slave heard a trumpet blowing somewhere out of sight. He glanced at his captor beside him. The woman was dressed in ceremonial gold armour and the Slave knew her to be an important general, the leader of the army that had invaded his homeland.

She reached out and gripped him tightly, one arm on his shoulder, the other at his elbow. As she began marching him forward the people in front of them parted to make way, and he could finally get a proper look at the throne. It sat on a raised dais and appeared to be carved of a single piece of white stone streaked through with glittering pink. It had a high back, decorated in flowing abstracted patterns that somehow managed to look erotic despite depicting no obvious body parts or sexual acts. However, what struck the Slave as they approached closer, was that the chair appeared to site quite low to the floor, and the base, where the occupant would sit, featured a large U-shaped cut-out.

They came to a stop just before the dais, and a moment later the Slave watched as a striking woman swept across the raised platform to the throne. Her long auburn hair was tied up in a high bun, lose strands on either side framing a gorgeous face with full lips and dark brown eyes like pools of melted chocolate. Her crown was a simple silver band across her forehead, and she wore earrings decorated with a moon and heart design. Her shoulders were bare and she wore a ribbed black corset around her waist. Like most women in the room, her chest was bare, her large breasts firm, her nipples hard. She wore black silk skirts, split high to the hips at the side so that as she walked the Slave caught frequent glances of strong muscled legs and a large ass.

The Queen stopped before the throne and turned to gaze out over the sea of bodies. The murmuring died down to an attentive silence, such was the respect and devotion she commanded. The general at the Slave's side pushed forcefully at his shoulder, trying to get him to kneel. He gritted his teeth and resisted, but one of the warrior maidens behind him swiftly jabbed him in the back of the knee with the butt of her spear. He grunted with the sharp sudden pain and dropped to one knee.

The general and the Queen spoke at length. The Slave did not speak their language, but he surmised that the general was recounting the success of the invasion, occasionally pointing at him. After some time, the Queen nodded her head, stretched out an arm and beckoned towards him. The general hauled him to his feet with deceptive strength and pushed him forward, up two steps to the dais and five feet from the Queen.

He tested his bonds again, could feel the weakened chain links stretch as he exerted pressure. He was mere feet from the woman responsible for the invasion of his homeland, the slaughter of his people and the burning of his lands. With one sudden motion he could wrench his hands free, cover the distance between them and rip out her throat. It would mean certain death for him of course, but he could avenge his people and prevent this demoness's insatiable spread across the realms.

He was about to act when she surprised him and spoke his language.

"You are a bold one," she said with a hint of wry amusement, an eyebrow raised as she glanced down. Had she noticed the shackles giving way, or was she commenting on his cock's partial erection, his body's betrayal? He wasn't sure.

She turned away before he could think any more of it, and moved to the throne. A naked attendant ran up beside her and the Slave was further surprised when the Queen unclasped the skirt at her side, folded it and gave it to the attendant, leaving herself naked apart from the corset. She turned back to face the Slave.

"You are going to please me," she said, "Or, you will at least try."

He shook his head, snarled a curse at her and spat on the floor before him. She continued as though nothing had happened, her tone matter-of-fact, almost conversational. "We brought nearly two thousand of your countrymen with you here in chains, and we hold close to another ten thousand in prison camps across your homeland. If you make the attempt and fail, you will be executed. If you refuse to make the attempt, I will start with executing the two thousand here."

The threat horrified him and he stared at her with widened eyes. Part of him tried to reason that it was a lie, a bluff, but the bigger part, the part that knew the Queen's reputation, told him otherwise. He relaxed the strain in his arms. He would stay bound and obedient for the time being. He would show her what northern barbarians could do. If he pleased her, he would live a while longer to plot his next actions. He bowed his head and nodded once slightly, never taking his cold eyes off her.

The Queen's smirk grew to a satisfied smile, and she lowered herself onto her throne, her legs supported on either side of the U-shaped hole. As it was lower than a standard chair, her knees were raised somewhat higher, causing her pussy lips to part, opening her up to the floor below. As he watched, the Slave noted what appeared to be a small indented cushion on the floor under the throne.

The general stepped away and two warrior maidens took him by the arms and marched him to the throne. They turned him around so that he faced the crowd with his back to the Queen, and pushed him down, first to his knees and then back. He found himself lying on the dais with his feet towards the crowd, his head just in front of the throne with the Queen's feet on either side of him. The warrior maidens stepped to the side, reached under the throne and grabbed him under his arm pits, sliding him under.

He found his head resting on the concave cushion, forcing it closer to the hole in the throne. He was an inch from the Queen's exposed pussy and asshole. Her pussy was shaved bare, the brown flesh surrounding her lips smooth and soft. Her position opened her labia like flower petals, and he could see her glistening moist folds, pink and wet with excitement. He took a sharp intake of breath and his nostrils were filled with her aroma, an intoxicating smell that spoke to his primal core, despite himself.

"Now," he heard her call out, her voice carrying over the audience, "Eat me!"

The crowd cheered and applauded, and the Queen shifted her position slightly, pushing herself further down into the hole. The Slave found his nose suddenly buried between her ass cheeks, probing her anus which puckered at the contact. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, his mouth pushed against her hot mound. With the cushion holding his head in place, the Queen ground herself against his face and moaned.

Her juice coated his beard and flooded his mouth, the taste thick and salty, and he found his tongue lapping at her folds, as if instinctively seeking more of the nectar.

"Yessss," she hissed through gritted teeth, "That's it, lick me."

He ran his tongue in long steady strokes over and over again from the base of her pussy to her clit, barely touching it, just teasing it with a light flick before returning to her depths. She gasped each time and he smirked inwardly as he sensed her frustration, her yearning. She was very wet now, her grool thick and stringy and mixed with his saliva. He couldn't see it from his position, but he knew his cock was standing rock hard now, twitching and bobbing, plain for all the audience to see.

The Queen pushed down further and gasped. "Oh fuck, yes!"

The Slave pushed up as far as he could to meet her, rasped his tongue across her shaved flesh, gathering her juices to swallow. Then he drove his tongue as deep into her canal as he could. She shuddered and moaned, "Ai, ai, ai, ai" in short ragged moans over and over again.

The Slave savoured her musk, the gasping sounds of her excitement enflaming his own desires. He bucked his hips as he feasted on her pussy, instinctively thrusting his cock in the air seeking release. He lapped again with a furious hunger, his tongue lashing up and down her pussy. Then he shifted slightly and attacked her clit, flicking his tongue across it and sucking it tightly between his hot lips.

As he sucked the engorged nub, she cried out and mashed her pussy down, grinding quickly back and forth.

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On the throne, the Queen threw her head back, her eyes closed, as the delicious sensations built and built within her. She reached a hand to one of her breasts, and her fingers pinched and pulled her hard coffee coloured nipple, electricity shooting through her chest, traveling down her body and adding to the pressure in her core. She felt like every nerve was singing as the Slave's tongue lashed at her.

She opened her eyes and looked down before her. She was dimly aware of the crowded hall. As was tradition, the audience took their cue from her to indulge in their own pleasures in earnest, and had waited until the Slave began eating her out. Now the throne room was filled with moans and groans, the slapping sounds of hard flesh driving into soft. But she ignored it all, filtered it out, focusing only on the Slaves cock bobbing before her. It was long and thick, the head swollen and purple. A glistening string of precum leaked from the eye, and she watched with hunger as it dripped and connected with the Slave's stomach, forming a thin strand.

Suddenly, she wanted more, and was overcome with an immense frustration at the barrier the throne created between her and her play thing. She surged to her feet, and looked down at the Slave's face. He blinked in the sudden light, his entire face dripping with her honey. She was determined that his rest would be short-lived.

She took three steps, her legs on either side of his prone body. Then she bent over, grabbed his legs and pulled him forward so that his head slipped from under the throne. Barely giving him time to catch his breath, she smashed her pussy back onto his face, her knees on the floor. She felt his tongue eagerly lapping at her silky depths again and she cried out in rapture.

She sat up with her back arched, her breasts thrust forward and gripped tightly in her hands, and whipped her hips back and forth. He probably couldn't breathe, but she didn't care. She sat on his face and pushed down, his thick wet ginger beard tickling her dark sensitive flesh. His nose was buried in her ass, his mouth in her pussy, and the hard bone of his chin pressed deliciously against her clit as she rubbed it frantically over him. He was not a partner, he was not a lover. He was a tool to be used for her pleasure and she ground herself on him, fucking his face.

"Ai, ai, ai, aaaaiiiiiii!"

The dam burst and she felt the waves of release wash over her. She cried out in orgasm and shook. Images flashed before her mind's eye -- a green field, an open door, a rolling ocean. Her hips stopped their frantic grinding and she sat still, lost and shuddering as the pleasure pulsed in her veins in time with her heartbeat.

Dimly, as though through a fog, she became aware of her surroundings again. She felt, more than heard, the muffled calls of the Slave beneath her, his voice transferring to tremors through her over-sensitive pussy. His legs flopped and kicked at the ground in frustration. She sighed and knelt up and heard a great gulping intake of breath.

"You almost killed me," he gasped.

She looked down at him over her shoulder. His face was red and slimy, his beard matted and his blue eyes angry. She reached down, pinched one of his nipples and twisted.

"Fuck!" he cried.

"You almost killed me.....Mistress," she corrected him.

He glared at her and said nothing, so she twisted both his nipples painfully.

"You....you almost killed me Mistress!" he cried.

"Good boy," she said and released her grip. "Don't worry, you will live a while longer. I'm not done with you yet."