The Queens Revenge 1

A cruel little tale with an evil twist...

*

Talla cowered before the king. She waited for the blow that would end her life. Her husband's fists trembled with rage as he glowered down at her from the throne. 'Your betrayal is a crime punishable by death!' he snarled. 'I should summon the axeman, but death would be too kind.'

'Mercy, husband!' she whimpered hopelessly.

'No. If this were merely the treason of adultery, I would have given you a swift death with my own blade, but your crime is far worse. With herbs and witchcraft you have made yourself infertile, as if you were a slum-dwelling whore. You were my wife, my queen, mother of my future son and heir, but now you are nothing. You have shown utter contempt for me, and now you will be treated likewise.

'Guards! Strip this filthy whore of those garments. She is not worthy of fine lace and silk. Take her into the banquet hall and chain her to the wall by the fire. See that she is treated well, but according to her new status.'

He waved his hands in command, and Talla screamed as the guards cut and ripped at her corset and her silk gown, taking even her undergarments, until she stood naked, exposed before all the nobles of the court.

She pleaded with them for help, but their eyes reflected rage and horror and lustful delight. They stood silent and watched as she was dragged wailing from the throne room.

Talla was not the first person to be chained by the fire, but she was the first to be naked. As soon as they fastened her collar and released her, she curled up in a corner, as close as she could get to the heat, and covered her breasts and her intimate place. The floor was hard, cool but not cold, and the edges of the fireplace were a little too rough, a little too sharp.

The guards struggled not to look at her more than necessary, but Talla caught them trying to see her nipples and look between her legs. She hugged herself tightly. One of them kicked a bucket over to her. ''Ere. You may need that.' She looked at it in horror, realising that there would be no privacy at all.

She burst into tears, and they left her there.

It was her own fault. Talla knew that. Her hatred of the king had grown to the point that she no longer cared about her own safety, she had only wanted to hurt him and humiliate him. Not that he had ever been violent towards her in person, but his jealousy was such that he had killed or banished every man who had shown her kindness, even if it was only a smile. But even he didn't dare kill the Fraskan king's son, who was besides long gone, and another war with the French was out of question.

The herbs and witchcraft had done their work months ago. Sex with the king had become so much more exciting for her, knowing that his hungry possession of her would be fruitless. Even knowing that his suspicions would be aroused eventually. Adultery with the effeminate Fraskaman had just been one more revenge while she could.

Now the king had his revenge too, giving her a fate worse than death. She thought of trying to kill herself, thought of how to do it, but suicide was a sin. Her fate in death would be an eternity of damnation. Perhaps that would be her fate anyway, but she couldn't bring herself to end her own life.

Instead she sat, depressed and humiliated, refusing to look at the people who walked by, ignoring their laughter and lewd remarks, shrinking away from the hands that touched her. She denied them the parts of her they most wanted to see and feel. Even when they offered her coins. She had no use for coins now.

What she couldn't ignore was the smell of food. No one brought her food or water from the kitchen, but once a day the banquet hall filled with nobles, even the king her husband, and the hall was flooded with the aromas of food and drink.

By the third day, her hunger was such that the food and drink waved in front of her nose had an almost hypnotic quality. Her mouth opened by itself, her fingers twitched, but somehow she held herself back from its cruel seduction.

By the fourth day her pride was crushed and she begged. So great was her need, so desperate was she in her weakness, that when they placed a bowl of ale in front of her, one of the bowls the dogs drank from, she reached for it immediately, uncaring that her breasts were at last revealed to them.

But they denied her. They whipped at her hands and she recoiled with a scream. They laughed and jeered. 'The king says you may drink like a dog, or not at all!'

Talla glared at them, baffled by their hostility and their cruelty, and in her hatred of them she denied herself the pleasure of the ale - but as the minutes passed her will crumbled and she unfolded herself and crawled to the bowl. Her life had been full of delicacies, wonderful dishes made from the best ingredients, exotic sweets brought by foreign ambassadors, but nothing had tasted as good as the ale did. She licked at it, kissed it, sucked it, was frustrated that there was so little.

Her thirst eased a little, but she ached for more. Someone reached down with a jug and filled the bowl, and she dived down. Hands caressed her skin, some gently, some squeezing her harshly. She didn't care, at least not until the fingers sought out her nipples and delved between her legs, and then she fought her way back into her corner.

She hated herself for giving in to them, for letting them turn her into an animal. She hated herself for letting them touch her like that, and hated herself for wanting to feel their hands again. Between her hunger, her thirst and the ale, she felt dizzy. The smell of food was intoxicating.

On the fifth day they filled her bowl and she leapt to it, lapping up the ale as hands explored and caressed her. She moaned with pleasure as fingers brushed her nipples and more teased between her thighs. She cried out as harsher hands mauled her breasts and smacked her raised bum. She licked her bowl dry and looked up at the men encircling her. She knew many by name, but they seemed like strangers to her, gone was their cultured politeness.

One held out a hand with a morsel of chicken, and she ate it from his palm, even as another hand found her other lips and slid along and between them to tease her nubbin. 'No,' she said. 'Don't.' But the finger continued its teasing and she thrust back against it gently, even as another hand fed her a piece of carrot. Talla was so grateful for the food that she allowed the hands to abuse her however they wished.

She winced as a finger penetrated her vagina, forcing its way in too deep too quickly, but the pain soon gave way to pleasure. A hand grabbed her hair and twisted her around until she found herself presented with a hard cock. It was one of the lesser dukes, one whose name she had never learned.

Talla knew what he wanted - the Fraskaman had desired similar and taught her well. She closed her lips about the shaft and licked it as it pushed deeper. Around her the men laughed and encouraged the duke to go deeper and faster. Behind her, the finger slipped out of her only to be replaced by a cock thicker than the duke's, thicker even than the Fraskaman's, and certainly longer than her husband's.

Giving up all pretence at decency, and burning with a sudden, renewed lust for life and vengeance, she let the men use her like the animal they wanted her to be. She let them treat her like a slum-dwelling whore. She let them fill her with their fluids, and with those copious and vital fluids her fingers traced invisible words of magic on her own skin, words that robbed her of her voice the same way they had robbed her of her fertility. Words that sank deep into her flesh and burned her soul black.

Caught between the violence of suicidal bliss and orgiastic ecstasy, Talla slammed her gold wedding ring down against the stone floor and it shattered like glass about her bloody finger.

*

The king fell to the floor, and his mind fell further, spinning through stone and air. He landed on his knees, his mouth full of - cock, his breasts tortured and exciting beyond anything he had ever experienced, more cock pounding into his - vagina from behind. He struggled to get free, but there were too many hands holding him. He bit viciously at the cock in his mouth, until it wrenched itself free of him. 'The bitch bit me,' the elderly marquis, Artun of Kadara, shouted, and he slapped the king's cheeks so hard he tasted blood.

The king yelled back at him - or tried to. No sound came from his mouth. He squirmed in sudden horror as he heard a distinctive cry from behind him, and felt the cock inside him pulsing. 'Stop!' he screamed voicelessly, but they ignored him.

They didn't ignore the sudden laughter that broke across them, however. The king looked up to see - himself, grinning down at him. 'Keep up the good work, boys. Watch out for those teeth!'