Queen's Service
Wes wiped his runny nose. It was freezing inside the secluded walkway, and he feared catching a cold if he didn't move to another post soon. The dreariness would kill him faster than the chilliness.
A deep voice startled the peaceful night. "Boy, over here."
Wes stood at attention, gripping his spear tightly as he scanned the dark corridor for the source of the summons.
"Easy, son, no need to thrust your weapon in me like that."
Wes stepped back, looking into an area illuminated by a flickering torch. It was none other than Gauwynn Tollere, the lord captain of the royal guard and a hero of many battles. Even at 70+, he could have beaten Wes to the ground with one move.
"Lord," Wes responded, saluting with his hand against his chest.
"Wesley, yes?"
Wes nodded, feeling stupid with his ill-fitting helmet bobbing back and forth on his head. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Come with me." Shielding his eyes from the torchlight, Gauwynn turned to walk away without waiting for a response from Wes. Wes glanced quickly around, worried about leaving his post—leaving was a capital offense. "Hurry up, son; I won't let them hang you. Not for this, at least." His booming laugh made Wes' feet move against his will.
Twisting alleys and endless stairs led Wesley and Gauwynn deep into the imperial palace, passing through corridors with nervous salutes from other palace guards.
"In here," Gauwynn mumbled, entering a hushed chamber deep within the palace cellar.
Only a single lamp burned on a table in this deserted storage room. Two chairs and a stack of rotting crates completed the interior.
"Close the door and sit down," Gauwynn ordered. Wes set his spear against the wall and placed his helmet on the table while taking a seat. On the other side of the table, the aging man groaned as he plopped into a chair struggling under his muscular bulk and scaled armor.
"Phaw," the old veteran chuckled, sweeping his gloves over the tabletop before pulling out a pair of bowls and a pitcher of smoky mead. "You'll need this, boy. Drink up." Wes grabbed the offered bowl and emptied it in a gulp, hoping his commander would think him a worthy companion. "Good lad.
Now, the truth, eh?"
Wesley nodded, wondering how he had offended someone like Lord Tollere. He'd be executed by now if he did anything worthy of punishment from the legendary Butcher of Borellia. "Yes, sir."
"Aye. So, when was your last bath?" Gauwynn asked, slurping his mead.
Wes remembered the days since their last bath. "Thursday last, sir. We washed in the creek that day."
"Fairly recently. Not bad, but not great."
There was a knock at the door.
"Yes!" called out someone from the other side.
"She's on her way, sire. Two minutes."
"Very well, you may leave, Pymm."
The guard bowed and left without looking back.
"And your teeth…you have all your teeth still, yes?" Gauwynn asked, flashing a yellow smile.
Wes opened his mouth wide, clenching teeth at Gauwynn's request. Gauwynn nodded in approval.
"Fine then, that's…that's fine," the old man mumbled.
Knock, knock.
"Aye!"
"You requested me, sire?" Jocelyn asked as she slithered into the dim, dirty room. Wes gave a nervous smile, recalling her presence.
"Yes, yes. …Now, son, do you…do you know how to- to make it with a woman?" Squeezing his eyes shut, Gauwynn stammered, glancing at Jocelyn, who stood calmly in the corner, half-asleep with a yawn.
"Yes, sir."
Jocelyn snorted, suppressing her laughter.
"Pardon me, my lord," Jocelyn chuckled, waving her hand as if to dismiss the fit of laughter.
"Alright," he replied slowly, not understanding the hidden joke Jocelyn was enjoying. "Well, I need to, you know, um..." He cleared his throat loudly. "I need to confirm it, so if you could, um-"
"Lord, I..." Wes started as Jocelyn yelled her own objection loudly beside him.
"What?!" He exclaimed.
"This will NOT happen!" Jocelyn yelled angrily.
"But he'll be cleaned on Thursday!" Gauwynn pleaded.
Wes raised a hand to calm the pair before they fought. "My lord, please! He's...he's my cousin."
"Oh," the older man replied sheepishly.
"Sick old man," Jocelyn mumbled, folding her arms defiantly. "Summoning me in the middle of the night to watch me sleep with my cousin. Tell Her Highness about this!"
"That's not the purpose of this!" he yelled back. "And there's no need to involve Her with this; she...she already knows. Well, she already knows enough."
Jocelyn was humbled. "Oh, of course. Apologies, my lord. I didn't realize that was the reason."
"It's fine," he mumbled. Wes was certain now that he was missing out on some shared secret between them. "All of us serve the royal family faithfully, each in our own way."
"I'll vouch for him, sir; he had Lillen in his bed just two moons ago. She told us all that he was...very diligent."
Gauwynn cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Excellent," he said to his boots. "That'll...that'll be enough. Pymm will escort you back to your quarters then. Sorry for the disturbance."
Without saying another word, Wes' cousin straightened and performed a suitable curtsy, considering the confusion of the previous moments, before leaving the room. When Wes turned back to face the man, he'd set his cup aside to focus solely on drinking from the jug of mead.
"A nice girl," he commented as he banged the jug back onto the table.
"The temper comes from my mother's side," Wes murmured, earning a chuckle from the veteran.
"Aye, well, that was my fault. Most of the palace is related to each other somehow," Gauwynn said. "But let's end this performance, shall we?"
Wes nodded, still unsure what performance he'd be a part of.
*******
As Gauwynn had promised while ascending to the West wing's highest tower, the spacious entryway contained a rack for his armor. With unsteady hands, Wes began unfastening the straps and buckles that secured his armor: plates, greaves, pauldrons, and gauntlets. It wasn't until he removed his boots that he realized he'd probably walked inside with muddy feet, ruining the fine carpeting on the floor.
"Shit," he swore, ignoring the closed door at the other end of the room.
"Your shirt as well," came a voice from behind a draped curtain to his right.
Wes whirled around, tired of being sneaked up on that night. "What?"
"Your shirt," the voice repeated. A section of the curtain peeled back to show three maids dense enough to lean over one another. Wes realized that there would likely be secret rooms and escape routes hidden throughout this part of the castle. With a start, he recognized two of the faces.
"Lillen?"
"What?! I wanted to see for myself," she distractedly threw a block of scented soap at him, pointing to the standing basin in the corner of the dimly lit drawing room. "Scrub your member, and she might like it!"
"Don't do it while she watches," he suggested.
Jocelyn and the unfamiliar face disappeared into the hidden passage, leaving Lillen alone.
"You ought to do that thing; she might appreciate it," the girl suggested.
"Yeah, maybe," Wes replied, feeling a growing knot of nerves combined with recent events in his stomach.
Giving his penis a swift scrub in the tepid water, Wes dried himself off on his tunic. He could hear Gauwynn's final order echoing in his eardrums.
"Don't keep her waiting, lad. She's not known to be patient."
He pushed through into the next room.
Queen Farrah's suite was like an apartment rather than a simple bedroom. It was uncomfortably warm after the chilling temperatures of the rest of the palace. Countless sources of light flickered and bounced off the plentiful furniture: shelves, chairs, sofas, dividers, and tables, transforming the room into several separate sections - confusing Wesley. Lord Tollere told him to go towards the bed, but it took some time before he noticed the massive wooden structure covered in silk.
Walking around the scattered items, Wesley was amazed by the size of the mattress; his own tiny bed could barely fit him. Considering he was in the presence of the queen, he thought about whether he had ever seen such a large bed used before.
"I'll be out soon," a voice called, which certainly belonged to the only woman he'd seen there. "There's some water or wine on the bedside table, feel free to have some."
To pass up on a chance to taste queen's wine was impossible. It was sweet for his taste, but the warmth he felt was a welcome sensation.
"Good choice," the same voice echoed from behind. Wesley turned slowly.
He'd seen her once at the time his family had sent him to serve in her court - she'd been attending the royal balcony in a parade. He couldn't help experiencing a mix of awe and fear under her scrutiny. The queen was a large, powerful woman. While Wesley was sturdily built due to soldier's diets and training in the yard, the queen was soft and comfortable, her thick hair reflecting light from countless candles. She'd probably lived a life of luxury for almost twice the number of years Wesley had seen. Her dark skin revealed barely any of her figure through the thin, silky robe she wore. He quickly fell to one knee.
"Queen," hesitantly, fighting the tremble in his voice, "Your Majesty."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't kneel," she commanded impatiently, setting her golden goblet on a small table. "I told my girls not to send virgins any more."
Wesley hurried to stand up, still not quite ready to face her fully nude form.
"No, Your Majesty, not a virgin."
"Hmm," she murmured, picking at a cluster of grapes. Queen's strawberry hair made the light dance back at them as she nibbled on a few of them.
"What do you think?" she suddenly inquired, spreading her legs suggestively.
Unable to believe the question, Wesley focused on her unshaved crotch. "Your Majesty's hair... it's like it's not there."
"A silly trend, spread by the east," she scoffed. "Still takes a long time to change it." She patted herself as if talking about her own pet.
"Your Majesty, may I - "
"You may," Queen Farrah said, settling on the bed.
Wesley stood from the end of the bed, 12 feet away from her comfortably on her pillows. He wondered about his role, but fortunately, she wasn't annoyed with him.
"What do you think?" Again, her legs parted, clearly inviting comment. He gazed down and saw her trimmed but mostly naked body.
"It's quite remarkable, Your Majesty," he said, finally daring to look her fully. "Your nature's so enchanting."
"What? You think so? Ahh, close enough," she purred. "Too tired for questions, though." And she spread her legs even wider, as if preparing for him. He froze for a moment but then stepped closer to her as instructed.
You look good enough to devour, Wes said.
He feared he'd overstepped.
She scrutinized him doubtfully while remaining unaffected by her surroundings. "What do you imply?" she queried.
"Your pardon, Mistress, it's simply an idiom."
"What sort of profane expression is it to declare you want to consume another person?! Jesus, you absolutely are a virgin, aren't you?"
"No!" Wes countered. "Begging your mercy, it means to, erm, kiss. To kiss another person. A lady."
She pursed her nose in a way that Wes found adorably playful as she regarded him. "And this kissing, you enjoy it? You must; witness your standing, dripping wet on my carpet!"
Wesley comprehended that his erection left no secret of his appreciation for her body. "Well, I do, yes," he responded, "but it's primarily for the lady it's done with."
She shook her head in disbelief, chuckling. "The things you serfs partake in."
Farrah spread her legs for him as he climbed onto the bed, observing the younger man pin her thighs back and actually, genuinely nibble on her sensitive regions. He had been talking literally earlier.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, uncertain what she had expected his lips to feel like, and as yet undecided if she appreciated the sensation. Still, she decided to afford him the benefit of the doubt. Being sent most boys who were servile fucks, she frequently reassigned them to provincial provinces just to keep them at a safe distance. The youth between her thighs showed promise, and she hummed appreciatively over the way he diligently presented himself.
Wes realized he was authorized to continue his services.
Farrah raised one leg while under the man, allowing him to climb atop the bed. Appreciating her feminine veil of pleasure, she urged him toward her satisfaction. She planted her hand on his back. With her shapely legs still trapped, the lady's passion grew more raw.
Wes valued his status and continued.
"Oh!" she exclaimed once more, unaware of the different caresses her body was supervising, and remaining undecided if she cared for the stimulation. However, she fervently decided to grant him the benefit of the doubt. Relentlessly sent inferior men, she frequently commuted them across the realm just to avoid their inept sex. The man between her thighs was undoubtedly well-versed and she hummed approvingly over the way he sated her needs.
Wes satisfied his wishful thoughts.
Farrah deviated submissively, inviting the demure nobleman to join her in her web of desire. Sitting with her legs apart, she created the most convenient lane for his tongue. Excitedly anticipating her satisfaction, Wes happily snuggled himself up to the royal sexpot.
She shuttered with artificial politeness.
Her hand then pressed his head to her. She'd noticed some jerking movements. "Do it again!" she commanded, passionately urging his head against her hips. This time, she'd be wholly disappointed if he couldn't bring her honor back.
Fascinated by the zest of her highness, Wes obeyed. He pursued her mound with conviction, both her pleasure and prestige present in his every movement. Nearly losing his adoration, he grabbed her hips and could now fulfill her uncertainty of fulfillment.
"Fuck, your highness!" she screamed wildly, bending over to cover her face with her trembling shoulder. "More, goddammit, keep doing that!"
Hoping to cater to her exquisite desire, Wes tended to her clitoris. He, much like the royals he served, knew a woman's delight stemmed from consistent click-clacks. Wanting her entirely, he feared any sudden change would undo her intense climax.
Her legs shook.
Her hand restrained his head, her call to continue pressing harder.
Her sobbing condition could only be categorized as undignified.
Her body writhed without warning, causing him to vigorously silence her highness's protest.
"Aaah!" she screeched at the edge of her quivering quagmire, her sexually-induced agony impressed him.
He adored the wine stains adorning her inner thighs.
"More," she clamored while he received her shock. Surprised, he continued his respectful obedience to his ruler's desires.
"Give me that once more," she demanded, rearing back on all fours and shamelessly presenting her soaked self. Wes loved the authority bestowed on him. Obeying her, he resigned himself to serve.
"Do it again and again," she begged.
He proceeded by hunching lower.
He then bestowed his tongue's power upon her upper thigh.
Once last time, he lavished her lower thigh, feeling her tremble in delight. Feeling his forehead against her perilously wet pubic mound, she eventually relaxed and held out her hand to soothe his face.
She was content, but equally aware of what she had just done. This most graceful act of submission would never be recorded in her history books, as no one else was to learn of it. The King had destroyed his locus of control and she desired him to be her accomplish.
She sat upright. "Now fucking feast!
Cover my volume in your saliva! Worship your Queen as such!"
He devoured her.
Once more, he held her legs as if they were earmuffs, while she leaned over his face with intent. He got the taste of her numerous times, when she decided to stop pretending she could balance without falling onto his face that was drenched in her juices.
Wes ate, drank, and worshipped with equal fervor like he'd never realized was within his grasp. His lips were numb, and his tongue tingled, and his neglected dick made pleasure trails with the remainings of her moisture on Queen Farrah's royal linens. She called him names in every language she could remember, and her body glistened with sweat so Wes' hands slipped.
Eventually, Wes lost track of the time, with Farrah collapsing onto the overly large mattress from complete satisfaction.
"Holy sh*t, child," she sighed, fingernails trailing over her own body, "my ladies will be so jealous."
Wesley refrained from grinning. He knew it was better if the ladies were unaware that several of them had already experience his abilities.
"You're definitely a good one," she chuckled, resting on her elbows to brush sweaty hair away from her face. "I'll make sure to keep you around."
"I'm here to please," Wes said smartly.
She laughed loudly. "And serve you will. How's that cock of yours feeling? Should I let you ease a little; you've certainly given me plenty?"
"Your Majesty is more than generous," he gasped.
Chuckling again, she rolled onto her back, increasing the distance between her breasts for Wes' amusement. Wes, determined not to pass up such a gift, ran to straddle her without delaying, his gasping shaft found purchase between her mounds of fleshy cleavage. His own excitement made for more than enough lubrication to ease past her. He knew that his orgasm was just moments away.
"That's a good boy," she encouraged, watching Wes' head poke from between the soft hills. "Do they feel nice?"
"Majesty, I am..." Wes started, unsure how overjoyed he was.
She laughed at the unnecessary comment, and it took some time for Wes' face to appear as his dick dribbled her neck. She allowed him to stay a few more minutes, then rolled to the bed's edge, stretching her arms over her head.
"Please go when you're ready," Farrah elevated her voice above his inner struggles. "I'm going to take a bath."
"Yes, your Majesty," he mumbled."
"Good boy," she called as she wrapped her robe around her. "Oh, and Wesley?"
He realized she knew his name. "Majesty?"
"If you f**k one of my ladies again, you'll have your dick mounted and stuffed on my mantle," she threatened.
There was a faint giggle from behind a decorative wall hanging as he reached for his pants. Ah, so that's why.
"As you command," he mumbled.
Read also:
- Chapter 3: The Submission Seat
- The X Files X encompasses the mysterious world of paranormal investigations.
- Tainted [headline or description redacted]
- Chapter 3 of La Mera Mera
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