Who Dares to Disappoint {3/3}afterandalasiaApril 19 2011, 11:35:32 UTC
She slides into him, and he cries out at the sudden stretching of his flesh, trying to pull away from her. A dark laugh sounds behind him, and strong fingers wrap around his hips. He bites down on the fabric beneath him as she thrusts into him over and over again, so hard that her hips against his bruised ass send fresh throbs of pain through him, so rough that he lingers constantly on the edge of pain. Her nails dig into his flesh and she scours lines down his sides, then he feels scratching on his back and shoulders and his back is afire. But still his body betrays him, and with each thrust his erect cock is pushed against the fabric of the coverlet, engorged and aching, the fabric rough against the sensitive flesh.
"Oh, yesssss..." the Queen hisses, and he groans through his clenched jaw as something changes, her thrusts becoming firm and distinct, and before he knows it he is crying out like a whore as he is fucked, and coming in hot streaks across the coverlet and smeared across his own belly where he is tied. And even after she keeps pounding into him, until pleasure becomes pain, and as the pain joins humiliation he starts to sob afresh.
Finally she withdraws from him, and he wishes that he could hide from her, but still his nakedness is displayed to her keen eyes, her prying fingers, as she feels his now-flaccid member.
The wood of the bed creaks, and he looks up to see her kneeling before him again, the phallus removed now to reveal her woman's body again. His jaw trembles, and he tries to look away, but again her hand slides beneath his chin to hold him there. "Ah ah," the Queen chides. "Now you need to return the favour. It's no use to me if only you spend yourself, after all."
She slides closer, one hand between her thighs, parting the black hair there to reveal her glistening cunt beneath. He can smell her skin, her perfume, and as her hand moves to the back of his head and pulls him down onto her he bows to her desire. She is already wet as he puts his tongue to work, following the orders as they leave her lips for faster, harder, lower. The sweet-musk taste of her sends shivers down his spine as he flicks his tongue over her clitoris and her hips buck, her fingers twining painfully tight in his hair.
"Yes," she says. "There. There."
The nails on the back of his neck, his jaw beginning to ache from the awkward angle of his neck and the movement of his tongue, tasting his own tears as well as her juices, but then she cries out and he feels her shuddering to climax, and prays that this is his salvation, that he will be spared.
Her nails scrape across his neck as she draws away, tossing back her head and licking those ripe red lips. He looks up from beneath his hair, tasting her still on his tongue, desperation in his eyes.
"Please, Your Majesty," he begs, "let me live."
For a moment she ignores him, kneeling on the bed, one hand running down between her thighs and coming away slickly gleaming. She holds her hand up to the light for a moment, watching it shine, then wipes it on the bedclothes and looks down at him once again, that cruel smile back on her lips. From beneath the pillow she draws a strip of cloth, and before he can understand she has moved and is straddling his back, her thighs either side of him, and the cloth is around his throat.
He gags, cries out, but then the fabric tightens painfully and he can cry out no more as the air leaves his lungs and his head begins to pound. And the last thing that he hears, before blackness fills his vision, is his Queen's reply:
Re: Who Dares to Disappoint {3/3}guiltyhousewifeApril 20 2011, 15:03:14 UTC
Why is she so evil????? And why are you so evil to depict her as so evil??? Here's how good your narrative voice is: upon reading about the wooden phallus, I got a little scared, and it wasn't even for me. Poor huntsman-guy. It's pretty complex, being attracted to the person who is about to kill you. Yikes.
"Oh, yesssss..." the Queen hisses, and he groans through his clenched jaw as something changes, her thrusts becoming firm and distinct, and before he knows it he is crying out like a whore as he is fucked, and coming in hot streaks across the coverlet and smeared across his own belly where he is tied. And even after she keeps pounding into him, until pleasure becomes pain, and as the pain joins humiliation he starts to sob afresh.
Finally she withdraws from him, and he wishes that he could hide from her, but still his nakedness is displayed to her keen eyes, her prying fingers, as she feels his now-flaccid member.
The wood of the bed creaks, and he looks up to see her kneeling before him again, the phallus removed now to reveal her woman's body again. His jaw trembles, and he tries to look away, but again her hand slides beneath his chin to hold him there. "Ah ah," the Queen chides. "Now you need to return the favour. It's no use to me if only you spend yourself, after all."
She slides closer, one hand between her thighs, parting the black hair there to reveal her glistening cunt beneath. He can smell her skin, her perfume, and as her hand moves to the back of his head and pulls him down onto her he bows to her desire. She is already wet as he puts his tongue to work, following the orders as they leave her lips for faster, harder, lower. The sweet-musk taste of her sends shivers down his spine as he flicks his tongue over her clitoris and her hips buck, her fingers twining painfully tight in his hair.
"Yes," she says. "There. There."
The nails on the back of his neck, his jaw beginning to ache from the awkward angle of his neck and the movement of his tongue, tasting his own tears as well as her juices, but then she cries out and he feels her shuddering to climax, and prays that this is his salvation, that he will be spared.
Her nails scrape across his neck as she draws away, tossing back her head and licking those ripe red lips. He looks up from beneath his hair, tasting her still on his tongue, desperation in his eyes.
"Please, Your Majesty," he begs, "let me live."
For a moment she ignores him, kneeling on the bed, one hand running down between her thighs and coming away slickly gleaming. She holds her hand up to the light for a moment, watching it shine, then wipes it on the bedclothes and looks down at him once again, that cruel smile back on her lips. From beneath the pillow she draws a strip of cloth, and before he can understand she has moved and is straddling his back, her thighs either side of him, and the cloth is around his throat.
He gags, cries out, but then the fabric tightens painfully and he can cry out no more as the air leaves his lungs and his head begins to pound. And the last thing that he hears, before blackness fills his vision, is his Queen's reply:
"None live who disappoint me."
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Here's how good your narrative voice is: upon reading about the wooden phallus, I got a little scared, and it wasn't even for me. Poor huntsman-guy. It's pretty complex, being attracted to the person who is about to kill you. Yikes.
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