The Evil King

Queen Mother

It was a week after her son's 18th birthday that he was crowned King. And it was a week after that that she first heard the knock of his footman at her door. As Queen Mother, Elizabeth had the second largest suite of apartments but it was still diminutive compared to the Royal Chambers where she'd lived for almost twenty years. Still, the rooms were big enough for her needs as a single woman and her two maids were able to focus more on her and not the cleaning of her room.

Marian, the older maid, about the same age as the queen at thirty-three, scurried to the door and looked out before throwing it completely open and backing off to curtsy, head bowed. There, in all his splendor, was the King, Elizabeth's son, Charles. With a gesture the new monarch had his servants stay where they were as he entered the main sitting room of his mother's chamber. Small compared to the largest of the King's chambers, they were bigger than the smallest, with multiple couches and tables and a corner where musicians could play. Elizabeth had been surprised when no such entertainers had arrived for her afternoon pleasure. A gesture of the king and Marian closed the door, while Agatha, barely eighteen, brought him an ornate goblet of wine.

The Queen Mother was extremely confused. Maids present or not, it was not appropriate for a man to be in her chambers without more escorts, including courtiers of both sexes. But Charles was King now, his word was law, and he went where he wanted. A little new to the new order, Elizabeth was still able to save herself from being ill mannered. Curtsying less than the maids, her head bowed, the mother of the king asked, as she had asked his father so many times, "How can I serve you, my King?"

Striding languidly to his mother, the King took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up so their eyes could lock. His were gray like hers, as his chin was hers. Thankfully, his hair, curled while hers was straight, and cheeks, were her husband's so there were never any whispers of impropriety. They both shared the fair skin of a noble, showing that they did not toil in the sun. Unwillingly, she found herself drowning in those eyes, being pulled by them. His manly scent, unable to be fully masked by his perfume, his strong body so close to hers, and his beautiful face that she'd seen his entire life were somehow awakening feelings that a mother should not have for her son. A tingling in her chest and her pelvis, her breasts. She wanted to squeeze them, pinch her nipples - her breasts always gave her and her late husband such pleasure. Or, completely unacceptable, a temptation that could not be borne, put her hand between her legs. Her son's face had a look upon it that Elizabeth had seen many times before without knowing its meaning. Soon she would learn to know it well. Overcome by a torrid of unfamiliar and unacceptable feelings, the Queen Mother slipped up. "My lord?" she asked.

The strike was lightning quick. Even winding up, her son's hand flew in a flash and, covered in rings, slapped her face - hard. SMACK! Elizabeth's eyes immediately teared up as an explosion of pain left her cheek. "I AM YOUR KING!" Charles reminded his mother loudly. Elizabeth was astounded and the maids were shocked. If anybody heard outside the door, his sound was obviously not one of danger to himself. The door, which would have been thrown open by armed guards if any other had shouted at her like that, remained closed. "Unclothe yourself," her only son, youngest of four children, told his royal mother. She stared in shock and his hand flew the other way, SMACK! backhanding her so she almost fell over.

While the queen was stunned, her maids were not. Marian was already behind her, scissors out, cutting the expensive silk ties of the corset. By the time they and her dress ties were cut, Agatha was there to help pull off corset and dress both. Neither hesitated but practically tore off the underdess. Then they were both holding bundles of sumptuous silk and satin. Elizabeth felt exposed. Denied her finery, she was just a woman. She was beautiful, she'd often been told. Her hips pleased her husband and her breasts had only become larger with her pregnancies, as big as small melons. Her husband had often told her how he liked the large roundness of her ass.

The fell gaze of the King turned to look at Marian. Not bothering to strike her, he simply said, "You remain clothed while your queen is not?" Both women frantically tore at their own simple corsets and shirts, then pulled off their dresses until they were both standing naked except their head coverings, heads bowed, on either side of Elizabeth. Surreally, Elizabeth saw how their bodies matched her own. She'd never seen these maids naked, though she'd seen others when it pleased her. Marian had light brown hair escaping over her forehead, and brown hair between her legs. Her breasts were bigger than the Queen Mother's. Agatha, the younger one, had red hair, which looked like a fire between her legs, and smaller, yet more perky, breasts than the queen. Both women had finely shaped legs, kept full by hard labor, while the Queen's were less so.

"Kneel, mother," her son growled. Not wishing to further displease him, she dropped to her knees before her son the King, her maids almost beating her there. After all, as Monarch, he could do anything to her; the slap was just a warning. As Elizabeth knew well, kings had tortured and killed their mothers and siblings throughout history. Undoing his chauces, he pulled out his royal penis, rock hard, dripping pre-cum. Elizabeth had only seen her husband's, so she didn't know how similar it looked. But it did look bigger, a lot bigger, long and thick. "Pleasure me with your mouth, mother."

Elizabeth looked up into the eyes of her son, some would say impudently. Her sheltered life was going to sentence her to death or worse. She'd never heard of a woman pleasuring a man with her mouth much less how to do it. It was Agatha who saved her. Rumors of Agatha being with men had circled more than once, making Elizabeth consider dismissing the young lady in disgrace. Now she was so glad she hadn't, so glad that the rumors were at least partly true. "Wrap your lips around it behind the head, my Queen," the young redhead hissed into the Queen's ear. Elizabeth couldn't help but notice that the young maid's face was flushed, the area between her legs swollen with lust. Like the queen, she was excited by what was going on.

Elizabeth moved her head gingerly forward and did as she was told. Her son's cock tasted of skin and salt and his pre-cum of soap. And there was his musk, exploding with flavor in her mouth. With horror, Elizabeth realized she was wet, ready to receive a cock, and she wanted it to be this one. "Suck on it like a sweet," Agatha continued and Elizabeth did as she was told, sucking as hard as she could. "Swirl your tongue around the head." The head was soft and smooth and warm and bigger than a toffee. Elizabeth felt the maid's hand pushing on the back of her head, an impropriety punishable by death at any other time. Now Elizabeth went with it, moving her head forward, then back as the maid grabbed the queen's deep black hair and pulled it. It was only a few inches each way but the queen realized the maid was helping stimulate her son's cock like it was going in and out of a pussy.

The cock of her son erupted in the mouth of the Queen. She coughed and couldn't keep sucking much less keep cock or seed there. It spilled out onto the floor. She wondered if she would be punished for wasting the royal seed, in her mouth and on the floor. But her son just roared his orgasm and seemed to be happy, like a man after sex. "Bring me more wine, maid," And Marian scurried to grab the pitcher. When she would back away after filling his cup, the King grabbed one nipple and she froze. "Make me hard again, mother," and the queen reached for her son's cock like she had the King's many times. "With your mouth." The queen didn't know what to do.

Agnes saved her queen again. "Just do the same." So Elizabeth leaned forward and took her son's soft cock into her mouth once again.

"Aaaahhhhh..." the King sighed. Pinching Marian's nipple tight, he twisted it cruelly, around and around so it made the woman holding the pitcher screw up her mouth. Her head was bowed so the King wouldn't see the expression or the tears forming. The Queen saw that and her tears wanted to flow in sympathy but her breasts wanted those hands, hardened from weapons, to do the same to hers, to make her breasts agonize from his ministrations. She realized that, while Marian was hurting, she was also filling with lust, her pale skin flushing. The Queen could smell the woman's pussy. "You are all wet," the King said conversationally.

"Yes, my King," all three women answered practically in unison. They had all become so hot with lust that they could barely stand it.

"I did not allow you to stop," Charles said to his mother, looking down at her. She quickly went back to sucking, the magical hardness starting. "Not that I would stoop to fucking lowly servant cunts as yours."

"No, my King," the maids said while the Queen kept her mouth around the royal cock. "You," the King used his bejeweled hand to point at Agatha, "I will make a Countess for teaching my mother the Queen. To. Suck. Cock."

The redhead tried to disappear. She bowed deeper on her knees, forehead touching the marble floor and said, at what was apparently the perfect volume, "I'm not worthy my King."

"Your service to the crown surpasses that of most Countesses," he continued.

"If you say so, my King, it must be true beyond all doubt." Elizabeth found her level of passion rising at this. Her son the King's cock was growing in her mouth. One maid was having her breast tortured while the other groveled. The queen was so full of lust, she found the maids' bodies pleasing, the curves, Agatha's pale curved bare back. Elizabeth thought that, if she retained her life and noble position after this, she would command the women to become naked and do what sexually pleased her.

There was now, however. Languidly, he said, "Even a Countess's cunt is not worthy of a King, only a Queen's." The King's cock was stiff as an iron bar as the queen chanced a look up at her son. A minimal gesture and Elizabeth obeyed, jumping to her feet to stand, feet together, head bowed, before her son, the taste of his manliness still on her tongue causing excitement.

"Have your maids bring that table so you may lay on it, mother." The King wouldn't speak to a maid but they could hear. Both women, naked as the Queen but not bejeweled, jumped into action, quickly moving expensive dishes so they wouldn't be harmed, then working together to carry the heavy marble table until it was behind their Queen.

"What would you have me do, my King?" Though she was almost completely certain she knew what her son wanted her to do, she knew better than to move without a command. Her son provided it.

"On your back," her son said absently and the Queen lay on her back, legs up, thighs out, royal vagina open and ready. The maids used all their strength so the table that held the Queen's pussy moved to her son the King's cock. It was only what should be expected. A King did not move if he wanted something. It was brought to him and now his mother was served up to him like a turkey on a silver tray.

Strongly pulling his mother's thighs so her butt hung off the edge, he put his finger in her then pulled out a glob of her liquid, smelled it and then tasted it. "I always knew you were a whore, mother."

"Of course, my King."

Fury on his face the King slammed his cock into his mother's vagina. Maybe he wanted to punish her with its size, stretching her out, slamming her cervix with each stroke. But she was so wet, it slid smoothly. The stretching, the bashing, the feel of it stroking her inside, his fury and passion, his manliness, the fact he was her son - they all sent her over the edge. Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out. "Let it out, Mother," he huffed. "Scream like a two bit tavern whore." And she obeyed. She screamed, her back arching, chest thrust up, head back. While he held her hip with one hand, a cruel pair of fingers grabbed her nipple and turned it like he had her maid's. Waves of pleasure were erupting from the Queen's pelvis into the rest of her body, burning in her legs. Shocks went from vagina to breast to meet where his fingers tormented her.

The Queen almost started to cry when it stopped. Her son obviously appreciated that. "Don't worry, mother, I'm not done with you." He slapped her thigh and instructed. "Turn over." The former King had taken her this way, either legs straight at the hip in the bed or bent over a table like this. That had been years ago and a different man. She waited to be instructed, but her son just grabbed her hips and pulled so her legs were down and she could find purchase to stand, waiting for re-entry of the royal cock. She licked her lips in anticipation.

The Queen Mother felt her son's huge cock press against her asshole. This wasn't right, she thought, it was impossible to sew one's seed into a rectum. If it was, it was likely a sin. She didn't say anything, of course, just grit her teeth as she felt him push there. It was a terrible pressure, then her dirty hole stretched open painfully, allowing her son's cock to enter. He slammed his hips against her ass again and she felt his balls hit her cunt. That was but a mere spark compared to the fireworks show coming from her asshole. A wave of pleasure, different yet just as intense as any other she'd felt being fucked, exploded. Her pussy was wet again and it beckoned for another cock.

Afraid he would see and disapprove, still the Queen Mother reached her hand down the front of her body and slid it through her black bush. A Thwack! and burning pain from her buttcheek made her think her son was punishing her but then she realized it was the same as her husband. His hand spanked her ass while he fucked her from behind. Her hand made it to the most sensitive part on her body, the keystone above her pussy. Rubbing vigorously, she immediately started having pleasure through her body. "Aaaaaaahhhh!" she screamed, head going up. Her son caught her hair and pulled it, pulled her head back. That made it more intense. She couldn't stop screaming. "Oh, yes, son!" She couldn't stop herself. "Fuck Mommy!" Charles smacked her ass harder after that yell, hard enough to bruise. "Oh, my King," she said next. "Fuck your Queen! Fuck her like the whore she is!" The blows became less, still enough to arouse her but not too much.

"Ugh!" the King said, holding his hips against her ass, his huge cock inside. She knew he was spraying his seed.

When the King pulled out, his mother dropped to her knees and grabbed his hand. "But, son, your seed can't find purchase there!"

The King easily freed his hand and slapped her an almost careless blow before refastening his hose and walking to the door. "Like I want a brother or another sister," he said quite convincingly.

The door opened at his approach and closed after him. She saw no one outside and certainly no one looked in. Filled with an afterglow, she shared with her maids, "That was the best sex I've ever had."

"Of course, my Queen."

"He is the King."

She looked at the maids. "Draw me a bath."

"Of course, my Queen."

"Let me help you up, my Queen."

Now that she was again Queen and not just Queen Mother, perhaps she should do like her son and use and abuse her lessers for sex. No men, of course, such would be out of the question. But she knew a cute Countess she could bring up here and... but she'd have to think about how that would work.

Princesses Three

The King's Court. Judith had stood there since she could stand on her own. As a Princess, she was always at the front of the court on the right. On her left, closer to the throne was her older sister Anne and, on her right, her younger sister Mary. All three were unmarried, uncommon in a royal family, given their ages: 21, 20, and 19. Their father had determined that only a King of a realm as large as his or larger, or an Emperor over many realms, could have one of their hands in marriage. No lesser kings, no princes. So they were single.

On the throne sat the King, Charles, her "little" brother. Like the three girls, he had curly black hair and fair skin, though his showed some color from practicing arms in the courtyard. Judith had known the king since he was a baby though she didn't remember those times. Anne might, being three years older than the King, and the eldest. Mother had had four children, each a year apart, before her womb dried up and refused further issue. Of all the children, Judith knew she was the smartest, so smart that she would never tell any of her siblings that she was superior in that way. Her younger sister Mary didn't outrank her but her older sister did, by age, and her brother, heir and now King, had reached the pinnacle. His word and whims were law by God's decree. To suggest that he was not the greatest in all things was to invite the harshest of penalties.

A month ago, shortly after his 18th birthday, her brother had moved his mother's throne, traditionally a step lower when her son ascended, fully onto the dais. Her throne was still lower and smaller, of course, but it was there, right next to her son's. And she had taken, with his apparent approval, to wearing the tiara she had when her husband had been King. Judith knew her mother and saw, behind the aristocratic aloofness, that the middle-aged woman was very very afraid. And the only person a Queen Mother could fear is the King. There was also something else there, something that Judith had never seen in her mother's eyes, but in other women's, a kind of mischievousness matched with delight. Her title had not changed - she was still the Queen Mother - but she had definitely in some way ascended by her son's wish. All of the court knew it and offered her even more deference than they had before her son's coronation.

The announcements, ever boring, were almost at an end when she heard it. "The King has decreed that his sisters," all three girls automatically curtsied. One curtsied when one's name was spoken in the presence of the King. There was one curtsy and head bow the girls' used for most of the world, a bare hint of one, and one they used for the King and Queen, modest by any other standards, insulting if any other made such small obeisance to the royal heads of state. The Herald continued, "shall become his concubines and live in his chambers." Judith was shocked and she could feel her sisters share her surprise. Still, no matter what happened, Judith knew to keep her head bowed as was required when a Princess was under the Royal gaze. A flood could slowly rise to drown her and she wouldn't change position or speak. Mary followed her lead. Judith, unfortunately, was the oldest of the children and, until a few weeks ago, the highest in standing. She was also, Judith had to admit, the stupidest of them. Because of these things, she apparently forgot her place.

"What?!" Ann shouted. Judith dropped lower in her curtsy, such as a duchess might make to the King. Mary continued to wisely follow her lead. "No sister should be her brother's concu-," the eldest sister continued. Judith dropped to the level of a maid before the King, her heels barely on the ground.

"HOW DARE YOU!" the princess's brother roared. Ann, suddenly aware of her error, didn't know how to correct it. "I AM KING!" Judith was in a curtsy most women could not hold. Years of dance training gave her muscles the strength to have her knees a mere foot above the floor, her skirts a puddle of riotous color around her. Such beautiful fabrics, she thought, perhaps the last things she would see on this earth. The middle princess didn't know long she could hold it. Perhaps what was left of her life. Mary continued to follow her middle sister. She couldn't get her bottom as low as Judith but she was shorter and her head was below her sister's. Both women had their chins at their neck, bent as far as they could go before the king. "GUARDS!" Damn, Judith cursed silently to herself, he has such a loud voice. "CLAP HER IN CHAINS! THROW HER IN THE DUNGEON! Assign a woman," he said less loudly, "to guard her virtue. Perhaps my sister will be of use to us in the future. Let the jailors have her finery." He was in a normal voice as he sat back down. "It is tainted."

The guards were there instantly. Judith didn't dare move when one of them brushed her as he grabbed their sister. Another guard on the other side of Anne, the two men twisted the girl's arms cruelly, bent her over. They smiled. It wasn't every day they got to hurt a princess. The King joined them with a cruel smile. Anne's sense of self preservation kicked in and she stayed silent as she was hauled off.

Whether her life might be measured in the minutes she could hold her curtsy or not, Judith's arms and legs were burning from holding the impossibly low position. She didn't spare a look for Mary; it would help neither of them and Judith didn't want to lose another sister or herself to her cruel brother. Her brother the King didn't need a reason to kill her. He could kill anyone. Many a new monarch had any possible aspirer to the throne, especially siblings, killed when they mounted it. The same happened to potential creators of aspirants, such as his sister princesses.

Judith's strength had almost run out when her brother spoke again. "What do you say to my decree, Princess Judith?" Her title and name, no mention of her being his sister in either title or manner.

Judith was not only smart but, regardless of its use, she'd studied everything hard. Dance had allowed her deep curtsy and it was poetry that might now save her and Mary. With a firmness she didn't feel, Judith spoke. "My King's gaze is like the sun, the light of God's face. As a mere shoot in the ground, I can only shield my eyes. Perhaps with time, I could one day aspire to be a flower in My King's garden."

"Amen, Sister," Mary chimed in. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Seconds ticked by. "You may rise," Charles said, languidly, almost carelessly. With her last strength, Judith was able to slowly rise to the level of her normal curtsy and stay there. Mary was still with her, for now. "Install the princesses in my chambers," he said, repeating the sentiments of his decree. The herald who had pronounced it, like the rest of the court, was stone faced. "You may share mother's old chambers."

"The King is too kind in his Mercy," Judith said. Perhaps they wouldn't die today. Whatever happened in the King's chambers, they would live to see them at least.

"And his largesse," her sister said. Judith held her breath but it seemed to have worked.

"Princesses," Charles said conversationally in the great silent room, "why do you think your sister committed treason just now?" The King's word was law. To disobey or even question it was treachery, punishable by death.

Judith swallowed. This was a trick question, like her tutors had used they wanted an excuse to beat her. Beating a Princess was a tricky affair, a flirt with death. So they had been masterful in their deviousness and, in turn, she had become masterful in her answers. "My King," she started, "I fear my sister," she did not say 'our,' when speaking of a woman treasonous to the King, "may have had her heart possessed by the Devil." That should hopefully keep Judith safe; now to help her sister out. "Or she may have a fever of the brain." That was all the middle sister could do. Hopefully her words would sway the king in some manner.

"I see," her idiot brother said, wanting to appear learned. "Well, let the jailors know that, if she develops a fever, she should not be harmed until I give the word. If she doesn't then she must be burned at the stake."

"Of course, my King," one of the pages said and then left.