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.