The Prince stared around impassively at his new home, a dark, dank cell lit by one solitary floating orb. He had been aware of the existence of dungeons in his ancestral castle, but had never experienced one first hand. He hadn't known how the damp seemed to seep into his very bones, or how the stones seem to leech the warmth from his skin, but still radiated the same amount of cold back. The glowing green manacles had faded to black and were secured to the walls, with his hands held above his head. It was deathly quiet all around, there were no wails of despair echoing from the outside corridor to indicate any other prisoners. Innumerable plans had been devised, contemplated and discarded to while away the hours, none with any sound strategy against magic. But there was one thing he had to hold on to, he was still alive. And that gave him another chance to succeed and correct his failure. Surely the harlot would be down soon to check on her newest plaything, and he could wait for the opportune moment.
Just as he was thinking this the cell door swung open, and the Queen entered, waving the door shut with an ominous creak. Instead of sitting back and calmly assessing the situation, he took one look at that insufferable smug grin on her face and saw red.
"You evil witch!" he yelled, tugging at his restraints in a futile effort to wrap his hands around her throat, "My time here has only increased my desire to eliminate you!"
The Queen waited patiently for his rants and anger to abate, and when he slumped back against the wall panting she continued as if there had been no interruption, "Now I have some free time in my schedule, its time I devoted my full attention to your torment."
"Do your worst, pretender to the throne," he scoffed, but once again, with a subtle gesture she drew his attention towards her attire. This time the Queen was only wearing a loose fitting black cloak, which was open at the front leaving a long line of exposed flesh, framing the round swell of her breasts, dipping down to her navel, and revealing a small wisp of fabric that barely covered her sex.
The Prince swallowed audibly before replying in a strained voice, "No torment can be greater then the knowledge that I have yet to destroy you."
"I would conclude your imagination is sadly lacking," she jested, "Fortunately mine isn't."
With that enigmatic statement she boldly removed her panties with a sudden snap of the gossamer fabric, bringing it up to her face and inhaled its scent. The unexpected display wiped the Princes mind blank, and his gaze immediately looked down as he stared at the fine red hair not quite disguising the shape of two lips pressed together.
"Shameful harlot," he growled, but there was no bite to his words, as his twitching cock was an obvious reminder that his body held no objection.
The Queen sauntered over and wafted the panties under his aristocratic nose, "Tell me what you smell. You see, all my pets smell something unique, something personal that they love."
"It's..." The Princes asinine comment faltered as the scent hit his senses with the subtlety of a two handed broadsword. Not only was it more alluring then the most floral of perfumes, it conjured up scraps of his memories. There were swift dalliances in pantries and back corridors with the more attractive serving wenches and chambermaids, who were in awe of his status and handsome features.
"It smells..." he tried again, expecting to say sinful, or decadent, but then another older memory surfaced and he forgot everything beforehand. That first time, in his chambers, with a skinful of ale in his blood and the noblewoman riding him like he was her prized stallion. And he, an inexperienced boy on the cusp of manhood, completely in her power.
"...like surrender," he groaned, his eyes going wide as he realised exactly what he had let slip. The Queens expression turned predatory, like a cat discovering a much more fascinating prey.
"Interesting," she purred, her emerald eyes gleaming, "I think you need to smell a little more...surrender."
With that ominous proclamation, she backed away to the rooms very centre, with a brief finger snap and a flash of light a comfy red velvet chair was conjured for her to sink into. With no preamble, the Queen spread her shapely legs and with one hand began to stroke her pussy.
"Gods!" the Prince exclaimed, the sudden turn of events sending a surge of blood shooting to his groin, which quickly transformed his half hard member to full erection.
