Queen

Defender of the realm, Watcher of the Aireon, Seeker of the Sea, the Summoner of the Sunken Mountain, Queen Marian, sat silently in her elaborate throne. Silently, but it was not silent. Around her, attendants and dignitaries made noise as if to make up for her lack of it. Even though there was hardly a cause for their nervousness, thrones and titles made most men nervous.

Of course, Queen Marian had noticed a trend between the size of a nation, and the number of titles its people heaped upon their ruler: The smaller the nation, the more titles; and Marian had dozens more that she could not bear to think of: Bringer of Land, Singer to the Earth, Savior of the People, Guardian of all of Aireania. She particularly hated that last one. She did not feel like the guardian of the dirt beneath her own feet, much less her country.

Her people, her countrymen, were more loyal, more fanatic about the royal line, and the thimble of land she held than she would ever be. In fact, she would likely have long ago surrendered what land she did to the Northern invaders, if it were not for the always-high morale and the loyalty of her soldiers, and even the common citizen showed her on even the darkest day. It would have been the worst kind of betrayal to such dedication.

Her nation sat on a crooked, thumb-shaped peninsula overlooking the ever-expansive Aireon Ocean, and the chain of islands hanging off the "nail" of the mainland. In truth, the mainland was an unlivable wasteland, including the former capital, which to this day had men battling over its crumbling ruins, little more than a grand-looking fortress; they, and it, were all there was between her pitiful island chain, and the pitiless invaders from the North.

Terria. The vicious nation bordering her own. It was written, in what remained in the annals of Aireania History, that Aireania was once a grand country; it spread from the long, White Sand Desert to the North East, to the Endless Shore to the NorthWest. Much of the Histories were still in the Great Library of Maria, or destroyed, but what she still had claimed that her mother, and /her/ mother, and even her mother, had been in the same long, bloody, and losing struggle against their rival.

The only reason they had lasted to this day was because, it is said, that when the Terrestians had pushed her people, then under the rule of her great grandmother, to the very edge of the peninsula, Queen Marian XXIC gave plea to the ocean to save them; in response, the Aireon burst with a huge cloud of smoke and steam which then rained down on their attackers, and then with drops of fire in liquid form. Retreating in fear, the Terrestians left them alone for years to come. In the days after the explosion, new lands formed off the shore that her people flocked to and built new cities, new walls.

Philosophers of her grandmother's time discovered that before such cries from the ocean, great bubbles churned the surface of the sea. Those of her mother's time found that up to weeks before, dozens of fish seemed to die in an area around where the new islands formed. And every time, their people were on the verge of destruction when the ocean leaped to protect them. Queen Marian Herself (the ninety-first) had experienced three such events in her own reign, unprecedented in known history.

In that time, her own philosophers had discovered, at great risk to their own lives, that it was a great underwater mountain belching up forth the flames and the new Earth. And so, that was how she defended her realm. At least, in public it was.

A sudden voice at her ear disturbed her thoughts: "Mistress, the ambassador from Terria is here. Shall I clear the palace?" her handmaiden said, in the quietest of whispers. She had to stifle a bitter laugh. Palace. She had lived in a palace once. Each time the enemy soldiers came, they razed everything. Very few dared to or had the resources to build more than wooden shacks. They had tried, many times, to build her one against her wishes. This last time, she had expressly forbid it with a Matriarchal Edict. She still had more than a one or two room shack, but her "palace" was little more than a large Foyer, a kitchen, a dining area, a library, and a few bedrooms; her own being the largest with its own bathing room.

Her throne, sitting at one end of the Foyer, was the grandest thing in the whole country, and the only solid proof of her nation's ancient origins. Inlaid with gold, molded to look like the waves crashing on the navy, velvet cushions beneath her bottom and behind her back, attached to the darkly-stained oak that made the base by buttons that dimpled the fabric in a way that seemed elegant.

Even her royal gown, lovely as it was, was only a well-preserved gift from her mother, who said her own mother had bequeathed it to her. Originally a simple, red shift made from silk; accessories and small embellishments had been added over time to make it less a nightwear garment and more a dress; A silk sash was tied around the waist to give it shape, thin and sinuous lines of gold-pale imitations of the watery waves on the throne-were embroidered on the hemmed sleeves. A neckline had been cut out of it, not so much as displaying her ample cleavage as just to remind people she /did/ have it. Perhaps it was a greater symbol of her sovereignty than her throne. Much closer to the truth than she would have liked.

"Do it." She said, shortly. Within minutes of the command, the house was empty. All except for herself and a single other she would have killed herself, would that it not doom her nation.

A member of Terrestian nobility, this man himself was likely a high seat, and leading the current bunch of soldiers besieging Maria, the former capital. They had the luxury of rotating the leaders and the soldiers. She had never met this man before, but he had the emblem of his house upon his blue robes: a red rose on a black background. And he had the same, sneering grin the rest of them came to her with.

He was young-thank the Sea-and not wholly unattractive. Dark hair was oiled and combed back, and he looked like he had some muscle under those flowing robes. His eyes were foggy with drink- no doubt he had spent the afternoon bolstering his courage for this moment-and that likely meant his breath was thick with it, too.

Despite his obvious drunkenness, he managed to approach the throne gracefully; this man had no fear of titles, or fancy chairs. "Ter'Loran of House Melidran, come to negotiate for the terms of your nation's continuance." Familiar words, words she heard a thousand times, it seemed. "ter" named him a high lord, and no one would dare use it deceptively - to do so was punishable by death in his homeland.

She sighed, softly. Three times in her rule, she had cut off negotiations with the ambassador's head. Each time, all had almost been lost before the Mountain cried out in protest to save them all. Now, though, her Scholars told her the Mountain was silent. None of the signs of its coming showed themselves. it was too much to hope that it would preserve them a fourth time in her lifetime, nevermind that she was still so young. She prayed to it, nevertheless, before replying coolly, "I will hear what you have to say."

The words seemed to give the man confidence, and he stepped up onto the dais where her throne rested. It was little more than a single stair that simply raised her throne above everything else in the room. "Splendid. Will you escort me to the meeting room? Then you can... Freshen yourself."

Even as her face burned with anger, she already felt as if she'd won a small victory. Very few of the nobles who came had the will to deal with her on her throne; though she knew all wanted to, just to prove they could. And so, she stood, politely offering her arm. He took it, and pulled her much closer than she would have liked. As she predicted, his breath smelled heavily of bittersweet wine. Not a drinker herself, it made her want to gag.

She lead them out of the Foyer into a long hallway with several doors on each side. The walls were all bare, looking dark and dismal. It seemed to please the man beside her, who rest an arm around her waist, touching intimately. Abruptly, she turned to a door, no different than the rest. Inside, the room was lit by dim candles, sitting on every surface, and reflected by both hanging mirrors and standing ones like those in her vanity. other than a plain dresser, it was the only piece of furniture besides the bed.

Her bed. Perhaps as good a symbol of her nobility and royalty as her nightgown-turned dress. It was large, with posters and obscuring veils currently drawn back, hanging around the four posts elegantly. She brushed past it, after pulling away from the man to visit her bathing chamber, telling him to "wait for my return".

As much as it burned her, she did not dare give a less than satisfactory performance. Her handmaiden waited for her inside, taking her gently by the hand, leading her to a metal tub already filled with steamy water. She set about undressing, or rather letting Siril undress her. It took only a few moments and she stood naked, looking at herself in a single, full-bodied mirror. She wasn't a tall woman by any standard, but the way she held herself, with shoulders back, arms straight, and head high, she did not strain for a few extra inches so much as demand it. Her presence gained even a few more, with eyes red like fire, and shining with it too. Most people in her nation had fair hair the color of gold, but the Queen had never met or even heard of another person with hair the color of platinum, excepting the oldest women, and of course her mother. She had a fair amount of bust, enough that it was a strain to hold her posture. Her waist was small from the tightness of her sash, but her hips were padded, and wide anyway. Her people never let her go hungry, even if it took food out of their own bellies. Many days that sat with her to watch over her like parents over an unruly child trying to avoid eating. Most of her was in her legs, making her appear almost like a fey who was tall, rather than a human who was short.

With skin as fair as her hair, Queen Marian could see the intricate network of veins carrying her life through her body. She had been described by her subjects as being both porcelain and lace combined, as if her unblemished white skin had been embroidered like any silk dress. Even in her face, delicate blue lace scrawled in a symmetrical pattern.

She turned, disgusted by the beauty she saw in herself, and quickly dipped one foot and, finding it to her liking, slipped into the bath and sunk up to her neck in the almost-too-hot water. Almost, except no amount of scalding water could help her feel clean for what she was about to do. She wondered if her subjects would love her just the same if they found out what went on here.

As if hearing her thoughts, Siril spoke up as she began to lather up soap in her own, work-rough hands, "I would take your place, if any woman would do. Any woman would." Siril was pretty enough, if with the rough wearing of a commoners life. Her hair only had a few white strands among the gold. Her skin was dark, as was normal for their sea-bound people. Much taller than the Queen herself, she had no trouble bending her lithe figure over Marian, rubbing soap gently into her shoulders. Pointless as her softly spoken words were, they still brought her great comfort. Even still, her people deserved to think they had an honorable woman for a queen, not an over-glorified prostitute.

"Thank you, Siril. You are kind to give a whore courage again for the disgrace of her country," came her own voice, soft but with the casual confidence of one whose words were always listened to. People paid her silence more attention than the words of others. It was enough to keep her-and her nation-alive another day.

Siril squeezed her shoulders firmly, but no more firmly than if giving her a massage. "Quit that, now." She said, her voice no less soft than before. Still, no one else had the gall to order her around. "You've more honor in you than anyone in all of the North. Or the South, East, or West." She returned to carefully running her hands over the surfaced skin. Occasionally, the Queen would shift, raising another piece of herself above the water to be cleaned.

"Do you really believe so?" She hated how much she sounded like a child, but if Siril shared the thought, she did not let on. "Would I still be here if I did not? It's a big world up there." She sounded amused by her own words. Aireanians hated Terria and its people almost as much as they loved her and her country. Her incredulity at the idea gave Marian more heart than her words. Almost enough, even.

Soon her body was clean from head to toe, and liquid was lathered into her hair, and she sunk back into the water, relaxing as Siril massaged her scalp. Her eyes slipped closed, and she tried to forget her life. Tried to remember her Mother's rule, and how infinitely better things had been back then. All too soon, though, water was being dumped on her head, and her handmaiden spoke to her through the shower.

"Would the queen like for me to prepare her for the evening?" Marian only nodded. It was the only comfort she could afford, and her handmaiden graciously provided. The lords of the north were never gentle, and always took what they wanted. "But first, I need the razor's touch." She murmured, when the water finished dripping.

She had never before heard of anyone doing such things before, and Siril verified that common women did not. Once, however, a lord of Terria had instructed her to shear off her womanly hairs, and every one since then. She could only assume it was a new fashion in the North. It made her feel like a little girl again, but she did what she had to.

Standing out of the water, she waited for Siril to rinse her off, then dry her before taking a seat on a hard, wooden bench, with her milky thighs spread. Her handmaiden knelt betwixt, and lathered her nether reigon with yet something else before carefully beginning to raze the snow-white hair away. The sensation was peculiar even now, feeling cold steel brushing so close to her skin, and Siril did not miss a single hair. By the time she was finished, Marian was on the edge of her chair, and let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.

She settled back, and Siril moved closer, placing a hand on the freshly scoured skin. Siril had no interest in women; her husband and five children were proof of that. Even so, she had never shown any hesitation in providing this service for her Queen. Unfortunately, an impatient knock came to the door, accompanied by an impetuous voice;

"Not attempting to flee, are we, little dove?" The Queen scrambled to her feet, hastily donning her gown. Siril was already there, tying the sash around her waist. The men, she found, often liked to undress her themselves.

"I will be there very soon, " She cooed, even though she watched her face, contorted with rage, while the handmaiden decorated her features with blush, dark lines around her eyes, and a pinkish color to give her lips a little something to distinguish them from the rest of her skin.

Only moments from her speaking she was leaving the room, hair still dripping slightly from the silver tips. Entering the bedroom, she approached... Loran, wasn't it?, sitting on the edge of her bed, his robes already loose. "Yes, now that is much better," he said leeringly, his dark eyes looking over her still-glistening skin, catching and reflecting the candle light exquisitely.

He took hold of her hands, pulling her to her knees in front of him. She wanted to sigh, but it really was for the best, she thought as she pulled his robes apart. He shrugged them off, but she didn't look up at him. Instead, she worked spit into her mouth-likely the only thing she'd get to smooth the passage. Parting her artificially colored lips, she lowered her mouth over her enemy's length, grimacing inwardly at just how much length there was. It would just be all the more unpleasant for her.

The high lord placed a hand on her white hair, tangling a grip into it and holding her down, pushing more of his hardening manhood past her soft lips, into her hot, wet mouth. Her expert tongue worked around the shaft and behind the head, flickering back-and-forth in a teasing manner that brought grunts to his lips.

Really, her goal was to work as much liquid as she could in the short time she would be down here. As such, when she started to bob her head, chains and ropes of her saliva began to form around her noisily -slurping lips, linking her to the hardness with multiple lines of fluid. Suddenly, the hand gripping her hair tightened, and pushed her down, forcing the length roughly into her tight throat, holding her there as she struggled to get even the smallest bit of air around it.

She barely felt the saliva staining her face, her hands pressing against his legs fruitlessly. It seemed effortless for him to hold her struggling form, and it was already getting difficult for her to keep it up. The only sound in the room was her choking and gagging around the shaft; she wondered in some small part of her mind if this was her assassination.

Then, just as suddenly, she was on the floor, gasping, with a hand to her throat. "You look so much prettier with color in your face." He said with a sneer. She thanked the sea for the fact she was still recovering, unable to say something stupid, that really would get her killed. The Queen knew her carefully applied blush and lip-color was smeared so carelessly across her features, and tears likely left dark streaks along her skin.

Climbing slowly to her feet, her fingertips were barely leaving the floor when her still-sore scalp felt another sharp prickle as she was thrown face-first on the soft sheets. Another pull had her rolling onto her back, forced to look up at the hard, handsome features of her assailant, who merely shoved her skirt up before shoving himself inside her unready ladyhood.

Though made easier by her efforts, it was still distinctly painful, causing her to utter soft, feminine cries that only encouraged the man to begin thrusting himself inside of her. She bore through it, waiting for him to finish with her. Starting slowly, he did not wait long before he picked his pace up. Her breathing became short, irregular gasps in an attempt to keep from making her pain audible.

Even so, her efforts seemed to be for naught: every breath, every writhing motion only serving to invigorate him further. Thankfully, her womanhood began slickening with its own secretions, easing the pain from his rough actions. In the beginning, such things had felt a betrayal of her own body, subjecting itself to the tortures as if she enjoyed it. And the goading. They always goaded her about it. "Is the queen of whores actually enjoying this? It's too perfect." He laughed at her, and she had the decency to flush with anger. But, she had come to accept it as a natural thing, and even appreciate it.

There was also a heat that built up in her nether reigons, and as the man adjusted his tempo to catch up to her ever-more accommodating passage. Now able, she let herself lay back and take it without complaint. It was for her people that she subjected herself to such indignancy. She grew used to the dull /thwack-thwack/ caused by his hips smacking into her thighs. It caused her to ache, but it was much more bearable than the initial pain, whose sting was still felt even in her deepest reaches.

She lay there, her only motion the repetitive jolting, her only sound being occasional, breathy moaning. Marian felt her snowy legs lifting until her view was dominated by the sight of her relatively long limbs. She also felt her gown slipped up and pulled over her head, baring her bouncing, colorless breasts. Even her aureoles were the same pale white.

Somehow her adjusted position allowed him even deeper, causing sudden and frequent sparks of pain as if he were striking something inside of her. Soft groans left her lips at this new, unfamiliar pain. She also felt as if the heat within her was growing, becoming uncomfortable. Queen Marian did not give up, however, her fingers seizing the bedsheets in order to brace herself.

It did not stop her ample bust from bouncing at the bottom of her vision, and her legs from shaking in the rest of it. She had nothing to do but watch both ripple with each forceful thrust. She wondered at his endurance. Usually, they would be on their way home by now. She sore he'd been going on long enough, she could see her arousal trickling on her upper thighs, glistening as she had earlier in the candlelight.

The sound of his hips smacking her plush bottom was soon accompanied by a soft squelching that made her flush with embarrassment. The aches and pains from his rough attentions grew and spread. Her thighs began to hurt, and the heat and pain within her intimacy were as one, waxing and waning with one another. Altogether it was not completely unpleasant.

Hands began squeezing at her breasts, the added weight forcing her legs to fold up to the point that her thighs were touching her stomach; which in turn allowed his manhood to more easily beat on her insides, freshening the aching in her ladyhood. The quickening of his breath came as a relief to her; she was not sure how much longer she would endure.

His weight left her suddenly, and her legs fell to the bed with a pain like she had been running all day. It was matched in many places inside, but she had little time to think of it, as his weight returned; him sitting on her stomach with his first words since taunting her: "Push your chest together." He was not asking. She knew better than to disobey him, vile as his request was. Marian wondered what the women were like in Terria, as she hugged her arms around her breasts, pushing the milky-white gloves together for him.

He wasted no time in placing his still-wet length between the soft orbs, and thrusting as he had before. Brutalizing her tender fleseh in new ways, it was only a little worse that the smell of their activities was thrust up under her nose, and would likely stick to her chest until she was again able to bathe. Quickly feeling bruised flesh, it wasn't much longer before he let out a quiet sigh.

The Queen barely had time to close her eyes before warm, sticky liquid shot against one of them. More found its way across her lips, along one side of her nose. One burst managed to lose itself in her white hair. The rest she felt pooling in her cleavage as he removed himself. Vile.

She had often found some sense of pleasure from having a man's seed inside of her, as distasteful as it was. This felt much less satisfying, and humiliating besides. She opened one eye to look up at him, climbing off and putting his robes around his shoulders, tying them closed.

She sat up, causing pain to flare all over and within, and the rapidly cooling liquid began dripping down her porcelain features. "Shall we discuss the terms of your withdrawal?" she asked, a pleading tone in her voice. It was hard to ignore the hot, wet mess between her thighs.

He turned and gave one of his sneering grins. "Ah, well, about that." Already a cold sense of dread filled her. "I'm not really the high seat of Melidran. I'm simply a noble member of the house. NO control over the situation at all, I'm afraid." His condescending drone made it all the worse.

"But.. That's against your laws. You'll be killed!" Her voice was shaking, but no more than her hands.

"Yes. That would be so if I were back in Terria. No one will care that I've done so here." His reply was calm, and he added: "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back home to claim a bet." And then he was leaving, and she was alone.

Her head soon hit a pillow. It had been a long time since she'd last shed tears, but even a Queen needed to, sometimes.