She pushed back into him as he pushed into her, hoping to massage his perfect cock even more as it delivered his holy message inside of her.
“My little Teen Queen.”
“Your Teen Queen!” She cried back, instantly.
“Mine to own.”
“Yours to own!”
Her eyes were getting maniacal now in their ferventness—unblinking, ever widening.
“You're mine to breed,” he grunted.
“Yours to breed!”
His load shot inside her with all the intensity of a thunderstorm. She felt like she was going to explode from the pure electricity of it, from the overload of hot, sexual bliss that he delivered.
It was like the feeling from the drink that Camille delivered multiplied by thousands. Millions. Her head hung loosely off the couch, staring and giggling softly at nothing at all. Her mind felt totally gone. She felt him exit her cunt, and whined helplessly, one gloved hand raising up to beg for more. He had made her feel so good.
She turned to look at her Master's perfect body.
Oh god, he was still hard! Even after filling her full of his fuckdaddy superstrong breeding cum, he was still sooo hard. His cock was slick and wet with her juices still, with his juices. She licked her lips.
He sat down on the couch, at the other end from her.
“Camille,” he called out. “Attend me.”
Mariana put a dainty hand to her mouth, taken aback. She sat up on the couch, her heart pounding fast. Some of the fog clearing away.
“My darling Master,” she gasped, “Am I not allowed to clean your cock? Have I been . . . demoted?”
He smiled, clearly enjoying her shock at possible rejection..
“Of course not, my dearest. Come,” he said, guiding Mariana's hand. “Join Camille. Join your sister-in-servitude.”
“Yesss,” Camille purred, staring happily into Mariana's green gaze. “Join me, love, please!”
Mariana could not resist her Master's command. She did not know if she had the fortitude to resist anything Camille said now, either. She was sooooo stunning. A slave. Just like her.
They both began stroking and kissing Master's cock, happily obeying.
“I deserve lots of Slave Princesses, don't I, girls? And lots of Slave Queens, too. Lots and lots.”
“Lots and lots,” they echoed together, and then giggled at how they both said it at the same time, in the same adoring sing-songy voice.
“Good girls.”They both swooned. Stroking him even harder. Mariana's hand on top, Camille's below. Their gloves shining and sparkling, getting covered over with streams of precum.
“Now, because I do, so unquestionably, deserve a few Queens, it only makes sense that you two would be the first of so many, since you're both so unbelievably gorgeous. Mariana has just the slightest bit of superiority, since she was a real Princess in the old world, but Camille . . . Camille, you were the one first responded so positively to my concoctions. Before you, I had many failures. But you are the symbol of my triumph. The symbol of how I deserve so much. So much more than only Mariana as my Queen.”
They each nodded. Smiling at each other knowingly.
“And once I have enough Queens...well, that means it will be time to promote the two of you. The idea of the Seven Divinities ought to be somewhat updated, I think. ”
Their hearts both caught in their throats. Promotion! They were so excited. Of course they knew they deserved it.
“Now, I want you two to tell each other how much you care for each other.” He stroked Mariana's hair with one hand, and then Camille's with the other. “How much you adore each other, and want so desperately to make each other happy. For me.”
“Yes, Master!” they cooed.
Mariana went first. “Camille, I think you're incredible.” Her voice sugaring each word. “I love the way your cheekbones are so proud and amazing, how your jawline is so utterly smooth and perfect, your glorious face, your simply ravishing body, your sense of style, your hair...you are the complete package, and then some. You are just...” she moaned, watching Camille get turned on by the talk, watching her glorious brown eyes brim with need for more praise from her new sister-slave. “...just amazing. I love you, Camille. I adore you...and I hope you adore me.”
Camille nodded, bringing her face closer to Victor's cock. The two of their faces so close to the pulsing, throbbing meat, as they stared desperately into each other's eyes, looking for more angles of devotion.
“I...I chose this dress for you, Mariana.” She flattened out the green sheer fabric that was barely still on her body. “Because I know it's your favorite color, because it's just like your eyes. I wanted you to know that all the things that are your favorites are my favorite too. And I want you to know I think you're so fucking precious and gorgeous and amazing and I just so utterly, completely adore you so fucking much and—”
Mariana cut her off with a sizzingly perfect kiss, melding their wet, thick lips together with ferocious passion. Their mouths, so close to Master's cock, quickly latched onto it, making out with each other as they ran their lips up and down his magnificent meat. They each adored his massive length, their perfect lips overrunning.
Mariana loved her fellow slave Camille, loved how completely in love they both were with Victor, loved how they both worshiped him with everything they had. It was so utterly perfect.
Their tongues molded down on Victor's cock, adoring it, loving it, loving him, loving each other. There was enough of it for Mariana to suck and deepthroat the head while Camille went on to suckle on his shaft, and vice versa.
Master's body tensed up. They each moaned in their kisses, knowing he would gift them with his cum so soon.
And, just when it seemed like he wouldn't, when it seemed like they couldn't live any longer without one more second of his seed, he came. The hot, thick, brilliant white strands sprayed deep into Mariana's throat, Master shoving her down first on his orgasming member. Then he pulled her off and shoved the meat deep into Camille's perfect, waiting mouth. The slaves moaned and shook with orgasm, their tits all mashed together, their legs intertwined with their Master's, his cum soaking the mass of their perfect, silky soft strands.
They swallowed it down eagerly, loving the warm, perfect feeling of it oozing into their bodies, of each perfectly crafted atom decorating their utterly beautiful beings. They giggled and laughed richly, almost crying in joy.
"Thank you, Master," they cooed together. "Thank you, King Victor."
Mariana loved the feel of his warm goo all over her, the blanket of wet hotness it provided.
Inside her belly, Mariana could already feel her Master's seed going to work, filling her up with life. Her belly swelling just slightly, her tits growing. His power grew within her, just as it grew in the realm. For as Mariana went, so went the kingdom of Elysia.
# # #
Owned By Bare Lust: The Renaissance Fair
The two of them, Derek and Estelle, sat alone in her tent on Saturday morning. It was early in the day, about an hour before the second weekend of the Breaker County Fall Renaissance Fair began. Warmth spread out from a small space heater ran underneath a rock which attempted to hide the anachronism. The weather outside was cold and drizzly, and yet both of the young players seemed to have a glow to their complexion. After the vigorous, thoroughly hot night they had shared the night before, this was probably to be expected.
In her tiny medieval witch outfit, Estelle looked even more preposterously busty than she normally did. The red lacy corset just barely wrapped around her oversized breasts—which had grown in the past year since she had bought it at the age of eighteen, though none of the rest of her body had, staying short and otherwise slender—and the skimpy black-and-red dress on top of the corset displayed more than it hid. Across from Derek, her long, tanned legs were no mystery—and neither was expanse of beautiful black hair, or her ruby red lips, or her smoldering dark eyes. All of this was entirely focused on Derek—arranged, she hoped
he could see, just for him.
“Thank you for coming in here,” she leaned forward. It had the desired effect—he looked straight into her exposed cleavage. “I know you have a lot to prepare.”
Derek shrugged. His armor clinked. Most of it was plastic, but there was enough metal to make it appear and feel largely realistic. As a knight, Derek had one of the most physically demanding jobs in the fair, always preparing and recovering from the latest joust. The jousts were choreographed and arranged, of course, but that didn't mean people weren't really falling from moving horses.
“No problem.” He had a nice smile. “What’s this about?”
Estelle smiled. He was being coy. That was fine. She could work with that.
“I just want you to know...” she took a breath. She had practiced this, dang it! It was supposed to be easy. “I just want you to know that all the feelings you have, I have too.”
“Oh, really?” He grinned suddenly, incredibly relieved. “That’s great.”
Her heart soared.
Before last night, Derek had always struck her as something of a dullard, if a cute one. After every rehearsal on Friday night, the renaissance fair players celebrated with a night out, partying and drinking at the house of their boss, Hazel. Usually, Derek hung out with his lovely girlfriend, Britney. But, Britney had been called away early in the night to take care of something family-related, and Derek and Estelle ended up having several drinks together. Enough for Estelle to really get to know Derek, and to discover the poetic heart he had underneath all that brash exterior.
The things he said to her...the way he told her he felt about her, the way he had felt about her for ages! It was the stuff of beautiful, beautiful romances. For months and months now—since their senior year, he said—he had held a steadfast crush on Estelle. And last night, finally aware of all that passion (and rather influenced by the shots and beers she had taken in over the night), Estelle quickly allowed him to capitalize on his love.
“Yes,” she gushed to him, holding his hands tight. “I just...I feel now that I could sense how you’ve felt for a long time. It makes sense, now.”
Derek slipped his hands out of hers, leaning back and letting out a big sigh.
“Oh god, that’s a relief. This tiny tent...us sitting this close. Man.” He shook his head. “For a minute there, I thought you were crushing on me or something. I’m glad you know this was all just casual.”
Like a turbine suddenly without steam floating through it, Estelle’s thoughts powered down.
“What?”
“You said we had the same feelings. Those are my feelings.”
“What are your feelings?”
“That it was all casual?” He smiled, as if she was joking. “I just said that. I don’t want anything serious with you. I’ve got Britney.” He adjusted his sleeves, armor clinking. “She won’t have sex until we’re married, so I’m probably gonna marry her. You really helped me get some release from all this blue balls I've had lately. I’m glad you’re not gonna talk about this or anything.”
Estelle was speechless. He must have taken her silence as acquiescence, because he stood up to leave.
Voice strangled, Estelle said, “You t-told me...you said you loved me, Derek.”
“Oh, right.” He laughed. “You know, that’s just something people say, isn’t it? I mean, when you bang? Doesn’t it just sort of...” he waved his hands. “Make it all hotter? Adds to the magic of it, right? You’re a 'witch.' You should appreciate that.”
Clearly, he thought he was being funny.
“You can’t do this to me.” Her words had taken a manic edge now. She stood up, pointing at him. “I won’t let you just do this to me.”
He frowned, realizing only now how serious she had been. “Look, I don’t want anything more to do with you, okay?” In a clatter of plastic and metal, he stood up. “Don’t contact me anymore. If you try and tell somebody, I’ll just put out the word that you’re a slut and a liar. Do you want that?”
This...this bastard, though Estelle. This utter and complete bastard. He had let her feel—he had told her—he had promised—he had said—
“I curse you, Derek! I curse you!”
He laughed at her, a reaction probably more damaging than anything else could have been.
“You are getting way too much into character, honey. I’m out.”
And he left, leaving Estelle alone, dejected, and miserable. She wanted to sob and breakdown, but the fair would be opening soon and she could not be seen like that. A witch had to have composure, or else she would ruin everyone’s experience.
Estelle would break down later. Yes—at home, over some chocolates and ice cream, maybe. But she wouldn’t let Derek ruin the day of those who had come to enjoy her little show.
She sat down at her little “spell table,” completely overwhelmed. In front of her was a rather-realistic looking skull, some formaldehyde jars of fake body parts, and a few oddly-shaped flasks filled with menacingly-colored liquids. All of it would glow faintly when she turned the lantern light down.
As if of their own accord, her hands found the little fetish she had picked up in a market yesterday morning on her way to rehearsal. It sat next to the skull, and was the most recent addition to her table.
Her boss, the athletic and far-too-sullen Hazel, was always encouraging them to get into character and to bring in bits that could “layer” the experience for any guests. Knights with cross necklaces under their armor where no one could see them, using shoddy, small period-accurate mirrors to adjust make-up, or tapestries hidden under their feet. With all the excitement from Derek, she had practically forgotten about the new fetish.
The strange old woman who had sold it to her had asked for almost nothing. Two dollars? Four, maybe? Estelle couldn't even remember. It was exactly however much cash she had on her at the time, she remembered that much. The fetish itself was a small dark cloud, various lightning bolts carved into the surface. Now that she looked at it, Estelle considered that it looked rather phallic, with its long heady protrusion and significantly thick, cylindrical shape.
It was the only thing nearby that had enough substance to throw in a rage—and so Estelle picked it up, fully intending on doing so.
And yet...
Yet. As she held it in her hands, the thought of throwing it somewhere began to strike her as terribly wrong. Instead, she fell to her knees, staring at its exquisitely carved surface. She stroked it. Licked it, even. All her hatred of Derek, all her humiliation and embarrassment, all her desire for him to have those very emotions instead of her, poured out of her.
All her desire, as well—all her need to be taken and rescued from this horrible situation, to have a strong, powerful male to fuck her brains out and make everything right. Someone to make Derek sorry. She wanted Derek to lose his girlfriend—for Britney to fall in love with someone else and reject Derek as completely as Derek had rejected Estelle. More so. She wanted her revenge in dividends. The next man she touched! The next man Britney touches who wasn’t Derek, she falls feverishly and slavishly in love with for the rest of her life—that was what Estelle wanted more than anything.
All of this vitriolic emotion poured into the little fetish—and Estelle knew, somehow, feeling it in the air itself, that all her desires and needs were being channeled into something tangible in the world. She knew without a doubt that her every last wish would soon be fulfilled.
And then the fetish crumbled in her hands, becoming nothing but dust.
* * * * *
Jake was a stranger to Renaissance Fairs. His friend, Nathan, had pulled him into this one, but Nathan was now off watching jousts all day long.
As a rule, Jake was not a fan of much in the medieval realm. He didn’t quite understand the whole appeal. In today’s world, he had television, computers, cars, refrigeration, medicine, and nobody was trying to kill him based on his profession or his background (or at least, not in any specified way). Going back five hundred
years or so meant literally all of those things were undone. Craziness.
So, he walked through the crowded, muddy camp of the Renaissance Fair with a kind aghast amusement at the fervor with which all the players went about working their roles, and the glee so many of the patrons had in participating in the fiction with them.
Strong men proudly brandished their muscles, paying no attention to the low wind chill permeating through the crowd. Fire-breathers very appropriately shot fire up into the air, casting a bit of warmth into the cold of the day. Middle-aged men and women made-up to look older or grosser than they actually were sat behind stalls and carts, calling out the availability and prices of their wares.
Most of the players, it seemed, knew better than to approach Jake. Probably his aloofness was a tell-tale sign that he wasn’t worth their time and effort—and probably he was not the first such person to be dragged to a Renaissance Fair.
Even so, Jake didn’t actively try to dump all over everyone else’s fun. Even if he didn’t understand it in the slightest, he had no wish to ruin someone else’s good day just because he was being a stick in the mud. If he had his way, he'd be at home somewhere in front of a computer screen, maybe shifting between jerking off and playing a videogame, or both at the same time. That was the best way to relax, he had found. But—oh well. Nothing for it now but to make the best of what was in front of him.
And that was how he found himself in front the old-style tavern. If he had spent one more minute with Nathan gushing about jousting statistics and techniques, how the green knight was actually better than the red knight even though the red knight had the longest lance, Jake probably would have gone off on some sort of rant.
A drink or two—he double-checked that the tavern did, in fact, serve alcohol—would calm him down and make the whole affair more enjoyable, besides. Nathan was Jake's ride, and he, unfortunately, had every intention of staying at the affair until dark. It wasn’t even noon yet.
A little early for alcohol, but what the hell. People drank all day in Renaissance times, if Jake's memory served him.
The Owned By Studs Bundle Page 5
