The Queen of Fury's Blessing

Queen Livia was, as expected, furious.

The reason? Not really the point. Her fury bubbled up from deep inside, steaming out to cling to whatever would make it real and solid. The 'reason' was only ever just an excuse. The real question, and what the whole court was watching nervously to find out, was how much damage she was going to do this time.

The two guards, Orlando and Ranulf, stood by and tried not to react. Ranulf tried even harder not to look. The Queen was wearing an especially... well... enhancing pale blue dress. And as she shouted and jumped to thrust home her point, her skin flushed and glowed, her deep blue eyes flared, her dark hair swung wildly, her breasts bounced and heaved as the low-cut neckline struggled to hold them in place, and her ass strained almost visibly through the thin material. She looked both terrifying and irresistible.

This was not a good place for any guard to be. But especially, as Ranulf was soon to find out, not for him.

The guards had been on edge since they woke in the early hours of the morning. The King had been gone five days already, and this was often a flashpoint. No. This was always a flash point. The first two days he was away, Livia would spend trying to be organised and making a few requests. Day three was usually upping the ante, a few weirder demands, and getting impatient. Day four was a mix of sulking, stamping feet, and snide or bitter comments; the orders would get ever stranger, and by evening a few dishes would often be hurled at a wall.

And by Day Five...

It was two years since King Harold had first set his lustful eyes on Livia's exquisite round face, marvelled at those high cheekbones and plump lips, got drunk on her heavy-lidded eyes and become besotted with her ridiculous curves. Within a fortnight he had plucked her from her noble family and made her his queen.

And since then, she had been nothing but faultless in his eyes. While being responsible -- when he was away -- for at least two kitchen hands and a gardener being dispatched from the court, and leaving countless others traumatised.

Two of the traumatised were the king's own guards. They had each emerged from her dungeon hours after being hauled down: gaunt-eyed, shaking the soreness from their wrists and ankles, and yet stubbornly silent about the 'blessings' she had bestowed on them. But as the king's trusted crew, they at least seemed physically unharmed. The same couldn't be said for the young stable hand who she had dragged down there two of the king's campaigns ago.

The guards begged Harold to keep the trips short. And the King tried to agree -- but it wasn't so easy. There were a lot of rumblings around the kingdom, and some things really hadn't been going well lately. The northern lords were jostling for power. And while a bit of tension helped keep them squabbling with each other, rather than challenging him, proper conflict was bad for trade. And morale. And made the kingdom as a whole look vulnerable. And if real conflict led to one faction winning out, their power could soon become a threat.

It was all very tiring, and he needed to work hard to keep a balance. That meant feasts and talks and drinking... all things he used to enjoy. And he still did. Mostly. But they also kept him away from his luscious young wife. Sure, the nobles were always providing skilled wenches to keep him onside, and he was always very happy and willing to partake with his favourites from around the kingdom. Even now, as he was instructing an aide to send a message back to the castle that he would be delayed another night, his cock was being hungrily -- and very skilfully -- swallowed by the honeyed lips of Eleanor, one of the north's very best. She was so good, he could barely get the instructions out before ordering the aide out the door. He needed full focus as he thrust into Eleanor's spectacular throat, her eyes wide and watering, her hands gripping harder with each wave of release. He was a great admirer of such talent and expertise. A connoisseur, in fact.

But Livia? She was something very special.

He missed her. Even as he emptied himself through Eleanor's pursed wet lips and felt her swallow without missing a beat, he missed Livia. He missed her voice. He missed those blue eyes looking up at him as she pressed her body against him, the way she would lift up onto her toes and curl a leg against his thigh, the feeling of those perfect round breasts against his chest, and that beautiful, delicate face.

And, yet again, politics were keeping him away.

As for Livia, she missed him, too. Desperately. She missed the way he commanded the court, and the easy respect that swept along in his wake. She missed his hands, the strength in his back and arms and chest, and the feel of her legs wrapped around the muscles of his thigh as he flexed against her. And, of course, she missed his cock. By day five, hell did it show.

To be fair to the queen, she wasn't wholly to blame for not keeping that frustration at bay. There had been a serious misunderstanding early on, and now no one seemed to know what to do about it. On the day after her wedding night, her old trusted maid had told her -- without any hint of ambiguity -- that she was married now and had her king to serve, and that a queen was not to look after her own pleasure. That had been it for advice, before the maid was whisked back to her home town.

Livia took that advice to heart. And so, suddenly, that was the end of the self-pleasure she had been so good at. No more biting down on her pillow as she squeezed her fists between her thighs and rode the balls of her wrists to the sweet and luscious release she had been perfecting since she first discovered what she could do for herself. She took her new role very seriously and stopped immediately, fearing some divine punishment was waiting for her. But what she hadn't realised -- and the old maid had completely failed to explain -- was why she wasn't to look after her own pleasure. She was, instead, supposed to make full use of her two highly-trained chamber maidens whenever the king was away. Or he was sick. Or he wasn't in the mood. Or, well, pretty much whenever she wanted.

That was the idea. And it had worked perfectly well for queens of the kingdom for generations. And, very probably, was true for so many other kingdoms too. But it just wasn't the sort of thing that anyone documented... and so, without being told, how was Livia to know?

The maidens themselves couldn't bring it up. And as she never demanded any of their services, they had simply, awkwardly, just set about keeping her chamber tidy and ready for her. In other words, the job they were supposedly -- but not really -- there to do. But their training wasn't wasted, and they'd had a very pleasurable two years perfecting their skills on each other.

With the King away five days, they were at risk of the Queen's fury just as much as anyone -- but between them they had always been able to use their velvet voices to talk her down in her chamber. The rest of the court knew that if they were doing their job properly, no one would have had to worry about that fury in the first place... but what was to be done? Hints and phalluses only seemed to make Livia madder. So, as much as the court was terrified of her erratic behaviour, they couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for her too.

Where the King commanded love and respect, all the poor queen could manage was fear and pity. Oh, and lust. Obviously. There was no shortage of that.

But, as effective as desire can be, Livia did not have the finesse to use it. At least not yet. She had done a magnificent job in snaring the king, but her lack of experience had actually helped with that. To him she was a precious, untouched, otherworldly treasure. The porcelain moons of her face, breasts, belly and ass packaged together so perfectly that she could only ever be gently loved and sweetly made love to.

The king never had a shortage of strong and willing wenches elsewhere in the kingdom for those times he needed a no-holds-barred, vigorous fuck. But Livia was delicate and special. His sweet, fragile treasure.

So the queen's frustrations clearly couldn't be raised with him, either. Any suggestion that his innocent rose had deep, lustful needs would have met swift and nasty punishment. He always assumed that when his guards implored him not to leave her too long, it was to spare her emotional suffering... it never occurred to him that she was actually tormented by unmet desire.

Livia had gone from being an overly-indulged girl, a princess in her parents' eyes, straight to being the worshipped porcelain queen. And she had never been properly treated as the one thing she really wanted to be: a woman.

It wasn't surprising then how badly things at the castle were going. A serving wench, a smiling and plump beauty barely a year younger than Livia herself, was dodging a wine goblet, which then hit a pillar, and bounced back at Livia's feet. The hem of the royal silk dress was now splattered with red wine. And to make it worse, as Livia stepped forward, her hand raised to slap, she had slipped. Not much, but just enough that her hand wafted through the air and the momentum sent Livia herself onto her ass.

Her angry shriek had, luckily, drowned out the stifled snorts from both Orlando and Ranulf. But the young servant (Ranulf thought her name was something like Elfine) had been too shocked to react. And far too slow to duck away from the queen's grasp when Livia scrambled back to her feet and hurled herself forward. She wrenched Elfine's head backwards, slapped her face, ripped at her bodice and sneered as she curled her fingers into a claw.

Ranulf dashed forward, ignoring the gasps of 'no' from Orlando and the guard at the door. There was no way he could let the queen subject the wench to whatever humiliation she had in mind.

He skidded onto a knee, bowing his head into the queen's way. "Your Highness. In all your goodness and grace, please pity this poor wretch of a girl. Instead, let me throw her to the kitchen to be punished."

The queen, to put it mildly, was taken aback. She dropped the girl's hair and snatched Ranulf's helmet roughly off his head, forcing his face back to look up at her. Ranulf stared up into those angry, sex-filled eyes, the thunder making them an even darker, swirling blue than normal. He should have been consumed with terror. And, partly, he was.

But he had never been this close to the queen before when she was angry. Her perfect plump lips were sneering at him. Those thick, black locks wild and tousled, her incredible round breasts heaving in her top (he tried desperately not to notice them, but they were just inches from his eyeline as he looked upwards). And then there was the smell. On the one hand heavily and deliciously perfumed, but at the same time, a sweat-fuelled wave of... well. He tried desperately to put it into words. It was a glowing heat, pulsing at him at a deep, primitive level. Ah, yes. Sexual hunger. Pure and irresistible. That was it.

As he looked up, his breath grew heavier and his grey eyes locked onto hers. A smile of desire started to form on his lips and muddy his brain. There was a brief flash of something -- a little magic between them -- and he felt the blood begin to pulse within him...

Then there was the searing pain as she swung his helmet hard against his temple. His thoughts blurred and all went black.

_______________________________________________________________

Blinking his eyes open, who knows how much later, he realised where he was.

Oh. Shit.

Elfine, by the way, was fine. With the queen's fury centred wholly on Ranulf, the girl had slipped backwards behind Orlando, clinging her torn dress to her chest, then scrambled out the door and back down to the safety of the kitchen. That a guard had come to her rescue was quite something to tell the pack of workers as they flocked around her. But the fact it had been the delicious and rugged Ranulf himself, was really quite extraordinary. They babbled with both delight and concern. But he would surely be ok. The guards knew how to handle her highness, and Ranulf was too well loved by King Harold for anything truly bad to happen to him. Surely. Surely?

But in the dungeon, Ranulf wasn't so certain. As he lay there, stripped to the waist and only in his undergarments, a serious problem was starting to emerge.

The guards all knew the drill if they ever ended up down here: be quiet, be meek, be patient. But his body was betraying him. Put simply: for some mad, mad reason, while this wild-eyed monster was spitting threats and abuse at him, screaming with her cheeks twisted in rage... he was beginning to get hard. What the hell was going on? This was not the reaction he needed. His mind raced as he tried to work out what was happening to him and how to make it stop. Did he like this - was fear and abuse a turn on for him?

When his wife, Charlotte, was riding him, she did like to dig her nails into his chest and shoulders as she was getting close to coming, and that would usually set him off too. But there was no fear in that, just a bit of pain. He enjoyed it. A lot.

But it wasn't this.

And, dammit, that thought was not helping. He felt himself growing harder still. Livia was leaning right over him, beads of spittle flying at him as she cursed repeatedly. With every yell, her eyes flared with menace... and yet he was spiralling into them. And those breasts, barely contained in her top, were pushing against his bare chest with every shriek. And what made it worse, he could feel her nipples hardening against him too. What sick madness was this?

When she finally paused to lean back, she saw the effect this was having on him tented firmly before her. Her lips curled back in a mix of silent shock and -- somehow -- even greater rage.

"How DARE you!" she screamed and slapped him hard on the chest, her nails out and scraping down his skin. She spun on her heels to the dungeon wall, paused to consider the range of weaponry, then grabbed a small and particularly nasty-looking little whip: a short, thick leather handle, with a dozen or so leather strips. "I'm going to flay that, that thing, to SHREDS!"

Now to this point, Ranulf had been sticking firmly with Plan A: placate the queen, let her madness flow and eventually subside, and then re-emerge an hour or two later and say nothing about his 'blessing' to anyone. Whatever torture the other guards had had to endure down here, neither of them had said a word. At least, not to anyone but each other. But Ranulf was very confident neither of them had had their cocks flayed to shreds. Or anything remotely like it. They'd clearly had the good sense and judgement not to get turned on.

So getting out of here peacefully was no longer an option. It was either act now or end up disfigured, and quite possibly bleeding to death. Even if he survived, he wasn't sure that Charlotte would stay with him. It wouldn't just be the loss of his cock, but losing his job at the court would cost her feasts, festivals, friendships and, above all, prestige.

It was going to have to be Plan B.

The guards all had an understanding that if the queen ever ordered any of them to be carried down and tied here, they would always leave one of the bindings loose enough to quickly get free. Best to pretend that wasn't the case... but it was there if needed. And, right now, Ranulf needed it.

Livia was focusing on letting the whip's tendrils drag up from his foot, to his muscular calf, over his knee, and as she reached his thick, sculpted thigh, she reached up with her other hand and tore the undergarments open. The sneer turned to a choked gasp as Ranulf's cock sprang free from where it had been straining at the fabric. She carried on, almost mesmerised. As the leather straps ran their way over his balls and up to his shaft, it was Ranulf's turn to gasp. The sound seemed to shake Livia out of her stupor and her eyes flared angrily round to him. "That's it!" she shrieked, and lifted her arm to strike.

Ranulf moved quickly. He had already slipped his right hand out of the rope while she was distracted and had subtly loosened the left. As her arm raised, he swung his body forward and caught her by the wrist, the whip clattering to the ground. Yanking at his left hand, it came free and he was able to scoop her up from around the waist and bring her down between his legs, pinning her with his knees. Shifting his ass forward, and scrambling one-handed at the rope, he quickly untied his feet.

She was pressed hard up against him, too shocked and angry to react until it was too late. But there was still plenty of fire in her, and she swung her elbow round, catching him in the stomach. The pain made him shriek this time, a mix of surprise and anger.

And -- yes -- overwhelming desire.

He shifted free and sprang nimbly off the table, spinning her and bending her over the middle of it. Using his weight to pin her down, he then tied each of her wrists to the ropes on the opposite side, so her arms were stretched out wide. The back of his cock was firmly wedged between the cheeks of her ass and instinctively, before he'd had a chance to engage his brain, he pushed down hard with it.

The Queen screamed and spat a jumble of obscenities at him: worthless, disgusting, pig, pathetic. She also pushed her ass back hard against him, squeezing her muscles together against his shaft. Her mouth saying he was the Kingdom's most vile piece of vermin, and her body saying how much she desperately wanted him inside her. And the combination was just making him hungrier and more desire-fogged than ever. He was giving up trying to work out why her abuse was so delicious to him, and began thinking he should maybe just let himself enjoy it.

When she started shouting that she was going to have him skimmed alive, though, he figured he better weigh his options. Untie her now, and she would undoubtedly have him killed. Either straight away or as soon as the King returned. If he begged for forgiveness first? At best he'd be left mutilated and banished from the castle. Keep her tied there and the King would have his whole family strung up from the ramparts. None of these were promising.

Her screams and threats intensified... as did the muscles in her ass.

Maybe... maybe there was another way. His cock was aching and as she pressed back, he could feel her heat through her dress against his balls. The hunger was overwhelming, both his and what he could feel from her. Well... if it all went wrong, there would be worse ways to die.

Reaching down he hoisted up her skirt, lifting it over her ass and tucking it under her body. Easier said than done as her legs thrashed and kicked at him. Then, dropping to his knees, he yanked her breeches down. With an almost audible pop, her perfect round little ass sprang free.

It was... magnificent. And to have those two cheeks now inches from his nose was almost more than he could bear.

"Do it, you disgusting pathetic piece of shit," she screamed at him. "I dare you!"

He didn't need to be asked twice. Using his elbows to push her knees apart as her legs thrashed at him, he half-bit her thigh with his lips. And again. Hungrily, each side and back again, scraping his teeth against her skin and steadily moving upwards, breathing her in and brushing the bridge of his eyebrows and nose against the hairs of her cunt. He would need to be very careful here. Any mark of any kind and the king would ask questions that could end with him being flayed alive. With his elbows busy, he slapped his hands down on her ass as hard as the awkward angle would let him. She half shouted and half moaned with pleasure. Then he lifted his chin, ran his lips hungrily through her bush and against her, sucking at her lips and clit, thrusting at her again and again, then he pushed up and buried his tongue deep inside her.

He knew she would be wet... he just didn't realise she would be so close to orgasm already.

Livia was furious. She hadn't stopped being furious since dawn broke only a few hours earlier. But right now, she was also in absolute heaven. As Ranulf's huge hands gripped, squeezed and slapped at her ass, and his tongue pushed into her, and his lips sucked at her lips and engulfed and sucked at her clitoris, the days of frustration exploded out of her and pulsed out over his mouth. She screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to kick him, to hurt him and to bury him with her juices. Wave after wave after wave.

She thought she was about to collapse from the pleasure. And then, her head spinning, she twisted her right foot free and swung her heel back straight into his groin.

He yelled, rolling back. Whatever weird thing was going on in his head only seemed to make him want her even more. Staggering to his feet, he leaned over her, and pushing her knees apart with his legs this time, he steadied himself, pressing the back of his cock against those drenched lips. She commanded "DO IT NOW!" with a deep guttural fury that was only matched by its hunger. He drew back and dipped the head of his cock gently between her lips, toyed around the edges, till it was dripping... then braced and plunged himself deep into her.

Livia gasped. She may have been soaking wet, but this was -- literally and figuratively -- a hell of a lot to take in.

"You pathetic wormcock! You're not half the man the King is," she spat over her shoulder.

This was not true.

The King's cock was glorious, as many in the kingdom would agree, but Ranulf's was very probably its equal. As it happened, these were the only two cocks Livia had ever had inside her, so she assumed this was normal. She had no idea how lucky she was.

The abuse that poured from her, along with grunts of utter desire and pleasure at the same time, only made Ranulf more desperate to fuck her harder. And with each thrust, she became more frenzied until she screamed at him "More! I want more you pathetic shit! Is that all you've got?"

Livia didn't quite know why she said it, or what she thought he might do. She was barely thinking. But doing as he was told, Ranulf pulled his cock out, shoved his thumb deep into her till it soaked with her juices, then ramming his cock into her cunt once again, he pushed his thumb deep into her ass. Holy shit. Now this was a new one for her, and the pleasure was off the scale. She pushed her hips back against him as hard as she could.

From delicate angel to porcelain queen: never even treated like a red-blooded woman before. Yet here she was being fucked like a dirty little cock-hungry slut. And she loved it.

She loved the way the King made gentle love to her. The caresses, the worship, the way he made her body glow. And she felt like an ethereal goddess when she came on him, her breasts cupped between his mouth or hands, sweet tingling sparks shooting through her. She needed that pure, gentle love.

But here, her breasts were thumping roughly against her dungeon table, her ass squeezed and violated with his fat thumb and she was being rammed, rough and hard, like a field goat. And sweet heaven, she needed this too.

Sneering again at him over her shoulder, she shouted, "You're a fucking little joke. More!"

The abuse alone nearly finished Ranulf off, but there was at least one functioning part of his brain still left that was telling him if he came inside her, the risk of his seed finding a home was a dance with the executioner. And with that, he pulled his cock out of that perfect little cunt and, slowly, because he was straining with the veins pumping harder inside him than he'd ever had before, he eased his juice-soaked cock, bit by bit, into her ass.

Livia nearly passed out with shock and pleasure. And when Ranulf reached down to grab the whip and pushed the head of it inside her cunt at the same time... Well. That was it.

If she thought she'd come hard before, this time it was like a geyser of pleasure. As she convulsed, it was the last straw for Ranulf too and he emptied himself deep up into her bowels. The sensation caused even more waves for the queen, and by the end she was heaving great, heavy sobs of utter relief.

Ranulf half collapsed on her, managing to catch most of his weight on his elbow. He couldn't bear to pull out. As long as he was inside her, he didn't have to face whatever was going to happen next.

He panted. She panted. And for a minute that seemed like hours, the only sound was their breathing getting slowly steadier.

He allowed himself one more heavy breath and then gently, and carefully, eased himself out.

And he waited. There was no point in apology. What would he be apologising for? She had wanted and loved every damn minute of it. She had demanded it of him, and he had done as told.

He stood behind her, silent.

Livia let out one more sigh.

"Untie me," she demanded. But quietly, with almost a hint of softness in her voice. He scurried to the other side of the table and did so, quickly and silently.

She stood and slowly toured his body with her eyes. The strong features, that chiselled chest, those powerful thighs. And the cock, now spent and hanging a lot more passively between his legs.

What to do?

That was so unlike anything the king had given her before. And she was never going to get it from the King in future. But sweet heavens, she was not going to live her life without having that again. She felt utterly at peace throughout her body. She knew she should have this man chopped and fed to the yard pigs, but what good would that do?

She hoisted her breeches back up and smoothed her skirt back down.

"Kneel, worm," she said. Again, a hint of softness in her voice.

He did. His mind raced. He thought of Charlotte and said goodbye to her in his head, just hoping that whatever lay ahead could spare her any shame.

"When the King's absence requires it, you will do my bidding," she said simply. "Any word of this to anyone, will be the last word to leave your lips." She stared down at him, a mix of disgust, lust and pure satisfaction. She paused, and her grimace softened to a touch of a smile. "Now put your uniform back on and return to your post."

Then she swivelled round, and began walking, with a little difficulty, up the stairs. Ranulf watched that perfect round ass, the pale dress clinging to it, and spotted a slowly darkening stain as his cum leaked out against it.

Getting away with this might not be quite as easy as he hoped.

With thanks to xtigress for suggestions and support