Warrior and the Queen

The vanquished warrior gazes the length of the vast throne room, to see the figure of his Captor, the one who has defeated him and turned his army to ruinous rout. Had they come face to face on the battlefield, then he would surely have triumphed, but now he is in chains and his physical strength is useless.

With pride he walks the length of the hall, the vast columns of stone supporting the vaulted roof pass by on either side. Shackled as his is, he cannot maintain a strong gait but must shuffle his way, yet he holds his head high and his gaze unwavering. He has petitioned for the audience to acknowledge his better, yet still holds himself equal to the Ruler before him.

As he draws near, the Ruler's hands lift up and the head shakes and hair cascades loose, for this Ruler is no man, but a powerful Queen. Awe fills the heart of this beaten soldier, for she is beauty and she is power, as no King could ever have been. It was the warrior's intention to stand proudly before his Captor and to acknowledge a better man by offering him his sword, but now he is taken over by a different instinct.

He drops to his knees before her, and he bows his head to the vision of splendour before him. Diminutive compared to his great frame, yet she seemed to tower over him even before his act.

"My Queen, my Ruler, my Mistress," he says, "You are beyond compare in battle and in spirit. I beg you to command me as you will!"

In the silence that follows, he can feel her eyes travelling over his body, and seeming to peer into his soul. He can sense wisdom and gentleness as well as power and strength in that gaze, though he never once lifts his eyes from the floor before him. She is considering in quiet confidence how to take this offer.

With cool, deliberate movements, she unlocks the chains but commands that he not move a muscle once she has done so. The chains slide to the floor, but the warrior does not move. Now, were he still of that mind, he could destroy her power forever, but he has begged her to command him, and she has. His honour alone would be enough to keep him there, but she has stirred some deeper power over him.

She slips her feet from her delicate black slippers.

"Kiss my feet," she whispers, and the warrior bends his head to the floor and does as she commands, his hands placed softly and powerlessly to either side. The warrior's lips brush gently over the roof of her foot, stroking her tender skin. He feels her hands placed on the back of his head as he kisses her, claiming him as hers. From strong equal to obedient slave, he has travelled in such a short space of time...

The Queen lifts his head. She unbinds the sash from her robe, and wraps it tightly around the warrior's wrists, tying them together in front of him, and then she rises, gesturing that he do likewise. He towers over her but it is she who dominates the scene. She leads him away to her private chamber behind the throne.

Here, with careful fingers she unwraps the warrior's wrists and peels away his clothes. She commands him to stand still as she does so, and she removes each item piece by piece. The warrior is nervous, for this is beyond his experience, he has never permitted anyone save the nurses who tended his wounds, to treat him thus. Now this Queen has brought him to her chamber is discarding their clothes to the floor. She sheds her dress, and has only a dark robe to cover her body, but she leaves it open.

Perhaps it is this vision that finally stirs the warrior, for he has taken many women on his campaigns, but none of them were like this. She is deft and prepared for his move, and she sidesteps him. She places herself behind him and rests her hands upon his shoulders, allowing their dead weight to rest upon his frame. There is such power in the gesture that he sinks to his knees without a word.

"In this chamber, it is I who does the taking," she tells him, never lifting her voice above a murmur, and he nods his understanding.

She discards even her robe, and then stands naked before him.

"Use your mouth to pleasure me, warrior-slave," she orders, and so he does, his lips and his tongue placed over her cunny and he uses them as she directs, being guided to bring her to arousal. He can taste the unfamiliar flavouring of her juices as his efforts start to achieve success. The scent stirs his manhood, and as he has never felt before, he is ashamed of it. The Queen's arousal is intense now and she is breathing deeply and passionately. Suddenly, she puts her hands on his chest and pushes him onto his back. His erect cock is suddenly all on display and he wants to move to hide it, but he cannot for the Queen descends upon him and slides him deep within her. Her hands coil around his wrists and, though he could pull free, he cannot bring himself to try. She is in control, riding up and down on him as she brings herself to wonderful climax.

She lifts herself off the still erect shaft of her new slave, and stands over him. She looks at the unfulfilled arousal and takes pity on him. Softly, gently, she strokes her hand around and over the manhood, with delicate skill she stimulates him until his body rewards her. She catches the seed in her hand and proffers it to the warrior's mouth, and commands that he lick her hands clean.

The warrior does so, tasting his own semen and her triumph over him all in that moment.

"Mistress," he breathes, "I am yours."

She rests her hand, slick with his saliva, on his hair, and says with a smile in her voice, "I know."

Part 2

The warrior is given a sword and permitted to do battle in the Queen's wars, but on his breast and his helmet he wears an emblem of servitude, and always he is called back to the side of his mistress for that is his true place. She gives him a name, "Lan".

And so he presents himself at her chamber, closing the door and removing all clothing from his body before standing straight and tall before her, proud yet utterly at her command, his bowed head signifying that she is the strong one and he only her toy.

"I am here, Mistress," he says, softly, to the back of the firey-haired woman. He dark gown conceals from him her form, and she does not turn to face him but gestures to her bed. Lan goes to the bed and lies upon it, expecting to be ridden as he has been before. His manhood begins to swell at the thought. The Queen can see him in her mirror, however, and tells him to roll over. He does not know what will happen now, but he knows that his Mistress enjoys his uncertainty, and that it is not his place to know in advance what is in her mind.

His hardness is now trapped between his body and the soft sheets. His Mistress's soft hands he feels upon his ankle, and the silk of her scarf is tied securely around it. He is to be bound, helpless despite his strength, sensuously restrained by the will of this woman. His breathing intensifies, panic mixing with desire, alarm with submission, for a warrior does not allow himself to be tied and yet here he is. Enjoying the touch of her subtle finger as she binds him with more silk, always silk, smooth and delicate on his masculine skin. As each limb is secured, he flexes his muscles there and finds himself held. It is as she wishes. It is good.

The Queen straddles his prone body as she ties her Lan's wrists into place. He has still not seen her naked tonight, though she shed her gown before she began her work to tie him down. This she has intended, for she has something that she does not wish her Lan to see, that she believes he would reject if given the opportunity.

It is therefore with deep surprise that he feels her against his rear entrance, the shaft that she has strapped to her pelvis in preparation of this moment. He moans, for this is a far deeper possession than he had ever imagined she might take.

The Queen senses his tension increasing.

"Would you deny me this?" She asks, gently but brooking no argument, "Or will you accept it gratefully, willing and relaxed?" She requires no verbal answer, and Lan knows from what she has said, how he must signal his acquiescence to her wishes.

It takes strength of will to ease the tightness in his arse, but he feels the pressure as his Mistress' hips push forwards and downwards, and as he opens the way so she enters, slowly, stretching his dark passage wide with her artificial weapon. Lan's breath catches, a thin groan escapes his lips, but he does not protest. He accepts her will, her invasion, her possession of his most secret places. He is filled with her tool, and she reaches her body along his, he feels her breasts upon his back, his breath upon his neck, his hands in his hair and upon his shoulders. His groans no longer communicate the pain of being stretched within, but the pleasure of feeling owned by her inside and out. She knows the sound for what it is, his thanks to her for winning him this way.

Now the Queen's hips move as a man's might move, as the warrior's hips might have moved when he took a woman in the times before his capture. He knows that he is being taken, used in a way that he had once thought only a woman could be used. He does not mind, for it is at last his place to be thus used, to be the underling and she his user.

So she slides her implement out and in, alternately pulling and pushing on his behind. His hands clench and unclench in time to it, and his breath catches, drawing in and out in time to her thrusts and withdrawals. It is intense, the extent to which she has taken over his body, and he revels in it.

At last she withdraws completely, his hole feeling suddenly exposed and bereft of her column passing through it.

"M...M...Mistress," he stammers, overcome by so many feelings.

"Shhh," she hushes him, and she unties his wrists and draws them together behind his back, but not fastening them there. She puts her strap-on manhood to one side and she rolls herself so that she is on her back by his side.

"Lift yourself," she says, and Lan does as he is told, moving his hands onto the bed. As his body rises above the bed, his Mistress slides herself beneath him. She takes a hold of his penis and guides it into her tunnel as she places herself where she wishes to be.

"As I have taken you, now take me," she instructs, "But make sure I have my pleasure before you lose your seed, and your hardness!"

And so from prone, immobile receptacle he is become a man again, but one who must maintain himself, deny himself until he satisfies. So it is that he slowly and carefully rides his Mistress, fearful of breaking her command and disappointing her. But her arms around his waist will not accept such slowness and timid tenderness. She communicates her desire to feel his strength driving into her, and he must obey. Oh, but how fearful he is, that he should fail – that he should climax before her, or that his fear should cause him to wilt before then!

But she has taken great joy already from having him at her mercy, and impaled upon her rigid pole. She is urgent in her desire and forces him to ever-greater exertions. The poor Lan does not think he can hold on much longer, but he can feel as she becomes more desperate as well, and just as he can hold on no longer she cries out as her body is overwhelmed. With such pleasure and relief, Lan gives vent to his own passion and they ride out their joy together.

He wants to collapse after his exhaustion but he cannot until his Mistress works herself free. As he lies there, she stands beside him and unfastens his feet. She declares that she will share his bed this night, and he knows that she will expect him to be erect again when she wishes it. She is his insatiable Queen, and he knows only deep love for her though she torments and commands him always.