The Queen sat back from her easel. She put a finger to her lips and considered the angle of the final line she was about to ink into being. Her subject lay nervously on the fainting couch. He was staring away into the distance. The view of the castle grounds was spread out below him but he desperately hoped that he could not be seen through the window. His young cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and nervousness. His black hair was cut short to his head and his intelligent brown eyes, those of a puppy dog, twinkled nervously in the light. The pose that the Queen had chosen for him was nonchalant, positive, almost lewd. He held up in his hand a ripe succulent apple as though he was about to take a bite from it. The curve of his arm showed muscles hardened by his work on the stable yard. His chest was hairy with brown nipples and suntanned skin. His hips were thin and strong from the many hours he spent in the saddle each day, his thighs muscular enough to almost ripple in his pose. One of his legs was pulled up and bent at hip and knee. The other hung casually to the floor. His cock, warmed by the sun to be large and full between his legs, lay against his inner thigh. Not erect it was still sizeable and was very pleasant to look at beneath his scraggly patch of black pubic hair. There was further hair between his legs around his lush young scrotum with its balls the size of robins eggs, and back around the tight coming together of his firm young buttocks.
The Queen licked her lips absently as she drew in the loose folds of his foreskin, her eyes moving with not-quite-professional interest from paper to young man and back. She sat back and sighed happily. "There!" She said, setting down the charcoal stick upon the table next to her. "The outline is finished. In a couple of days we will have your young form recorded for all time."
She grinned and winked at the young man. Queen Beatrice had always been quite a dab hand with the paints and easel. She had found that when she married King John the opportunities for her to paint her favourite subject - nudes - had opened up immensely. At first the young men and women of the court had been shy to accept her offers of a portrait. There had been a few minor scandals. Now it was widely accepted to be painted by the Queen. In fact it was considered an honour. The fact was, dear reader, that the Queen was a highly accomplished painter. Her name signed upon the base of a portrait could turn it from a minor masterpiece to a priceless object of art. Twice a year she held viewings of her private
gallery,
where every portrait was framed sympathetically and differently. It took her two weeks to produce each portrait and she never seemed to tire of the pursuit, spending at least four hours each day upon it. If she was asked she would answer "What else is there for a Queen to do? Certainly one could spin. There are many women of the Kingdom who do nothing but this. Spinning and darning and tapestry are for those who wish to copy greatness. I choose to indulge my own inner muse by creating something new and different."
This she accomplished with abandonment. Ask any viewer of her fine portraits of their quality and they could not deny they were the finest that one could ever lay eyes upon. In four months time this young stable lad's parents would be brought in from the countryside and would marvel at the work: the sensitivity of the brush strokes, the eye for proportion, the sheer attention to detail, the depth of color used. It would be impossible for them not to. If she had not been the Queen, Beatrice would have been making a very fine living by selling her skills to the highest bidder.
The streams of stable lads and warriors and blacksmiths and seamstresses and dress makers and brewers that petitioned each year to be painted by the Queen was endless. If any member of the Kingdom was called upon to the Queen's private studio they would drop everything and rush immediately to appear upon the walls of her studio.
Of course the Queen, being a powerful woman who had just hit upon her fortieth year, chose only the best subjects. She waved her hand royally to the eighteen year old lad upon the couch to beckon him over. "Come here and look!" She said. Her eyes were bright and excited as they always were when she painted. As he came to stand next to her he could not help but admire her work. Jim the stable boy had never before seen himself in the flesh but he knew that she had the proportions entirely right.
"W-wow!" He stammered, looking down at the Queen. She was dressed this day in her painting clothes. A black tunic, cut to show the top of her breastbone and the softness of her shoulders, fell to her knees. Her legs were bare underneath this; her feet encased in black court shoes. The swell of her breasts was visible through the thin silken fabric as they rose and fell with her excited breaths. Jim gulped as he realised that she was wearing no hosiery beneath the sheer material, her nipples erect in her obvious excitement.
"I shall paint a shadow across here to accentuate your chest and hips... and here I shall use an ochre brown... and here I shall dab chocolate brown for your eyes... and here I shall place a vase of roses to signify love... and I shall reflect them in your skin right here..." She was talking so happily that Jim was entranced by her beauty. His nervousness at being naked around the Queen died and he felt at ease. As he listened he breathed in her subtle scent of rose. It was not powdery like some cheap tavern wenches but alive and warm; as though someone had dripped dewdrops from a flower straight onto her skin.
What a wonder her skin was. It was soft and smooth. There were small creases at the corners of her eyes but the rest of her face was flawless. She had a small button nose and lips that, unpainted, were a soft curve of welcoming pink. As he looked down Jim realised that he could see somewhat down her tunic. Her breasts were not overly large but widely spaced. As she looked up at him with those sapphire eyes Jim coughed and turned his attention back to the portrait.
"Iiiit... is very f-fine your l-ladyship." Jim had always had a stammer to his voice. In truth he was a bright lad but it took him a long time to come to a conclusion. The stammer allowed him to form his thoughts and lent him a shy charm that had so many chambermaids seeing his company.
"Do you really think so?" Asked the Queen.
"Y-yes." Replied the lad. He then halted. He coughed once more. A soft touch ran along the shaft of his cock and he bit his lip to stifle a groan. The Queen took up talking again as she absent-mindedly ran her cool hand and fingers over his rapidly hardening manhood. Her touch was so brief and light that she almost appeared to not know she was doing it, as though she was fondling the hilt of a table knife while discussing affairs of State with a diplomat. She talked in length about how the composition of this painting was meant to echo that of a painting of some long-dead saint; about how she would be mixing ancient colors using almost forgotten techniques that she had unearthed in a book only last week; about how this may take longer than her other paintings but it would be worth it.
When Jim was fully erect the Queen wrapped her hand around the girth of his penis and pulled back the skin. His foreskin moved back to reveal his giant purple cockhead. She stopped talking about the piece and turned her head to look up at him. Her eyes met with his and she winked girlishly. Her gaze roved over him as though truly seeing him for the first time. Jim gulped. There was an astonishing hunger in those eyes that he had never seen before. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and heard his pulse in his ears. Her eyes stopped upon his dick and her look become one of pure hunger.
What does one say when the Queen of the Realm is standing there looking at your cock like the most experienced whore in the house? What would YOU say dear reader? Jim the stable boy decided to cover his confused excitement with a deep throated groan.
"Most interesting," Commented the Queen. "You are a lot bigger hard than you were soft. Maybe I should paint you with an erect penis. That could certainly be a challenge. I would have to make very close observations." With this she leant in and placed a warm lipped kiss upon the very head of his dick, just where the hole was beginning to leak pre-cum. She licked her lips as though savouring the taste of the finest caviare.
"Mrs... Lady... Q-queen... errr... are you sure this is e-entirely... errr?" Asked poor confused Jim.
"Entirely... what?" Asked the Queen in her regal accent as she gently moved her hand up and down his shaft as though feeling the ripeness of bananas.
"Correct? Y-your husband the K-king?" Jim flushed as red as the roses she was offering to put in his picture.
The Queen still had her eyes crossed on his pole. The corner of her mouth tweaked upwards. "My husband the King is probably screwing one of the maids right now. What do you think we Royals do all day? We do not have to work for our money and after a few years affairs of State become a little dull. We can indulge ourselves especially on a beautiful summers day such as this. If I want a little cock... or a BIG one... well, you ARE one of my SUBJECTS." She said with a commanding tone in her voice.
Jim did not know what to say to that. Instead he moaned as she leaned in and sucked at the head of his cock with her perfect pink lips. "Or are you complaining?" Beatrice said as she leaned back, removing her hand and leaving him lurching in the air.
