Before the king stood his ward. With pink and blonde braids, a frilly pink dress, pearls upon her neck and ears and a delighted smile, his ward presented her ass sticking out of her skirt.
Except not too long ago, he wasn't the king. He was a lowly advisor. And she wasn't his ward. She was the queen.
Queen Fillia, to be exact. At 41 years old, she had ruled upon her throne with a bitchiness of legend for over a decade before Fenton arrived with promises of a bountiful harvest after years of drought so long as she followed his guidance.
And it worked! It really had. Just like he said it would.
To her unbridled disgust. In all her pride and vanity, she had made it a point to expose the charlatan by spreading petals around her throne like he had suggested before sending him to the dungeon. When his word became truth not a day later, she had no choice but to pardon him and beg for his help.
Not if she wanted to avoid a riot. Even if she knew that he must have noticed signs in the air, her simple-minded, superstitious people thought they knew a man wiser than his young years let on when they saw and heard him.
Which was why, as the man became Aldabast's newly crowned king, Fillia shook her ass in the village square. And fought a scowl and backhand when King Fenton gave that untarnished rear a good hard slap.
"People of Aldabast! You asked how I ended the drought and what caused it, and this is your answer. Every day, your pampered, spoiled, selfish bitch of a queen showed her ass to the gods and they punished you for it. But now that she's shown herself for what she is, the gods have seen fit to bless you with new rains. As long as she maintains this truth, Aldabast will continue to thrive."
Their cheers. Her pride. She bent over, spread her cheeks with her rakish pink nails. Awareness of his plans didn't make the ruler's scepter slipping into her arsehole any easier. Didn't make being ordered to wave it back and forth any less humiliating. She eyed the guards, formerly meant to protect her, now watching like jailers meant to carry out her sentence.
It was this or her head in a basket. That much any ruler as wise as she could tell.
Then she felt... a ring? It took a few smacks to the butt before she felt one land properly, and swirl around the rod, vibrating up its length and into her tender hole before it came to a rest. Another hit like a hammer, jabbing the tip deeper. She almost yelled with the ferocity of her old station, but silenced herself quickly when King Fenton patted her on the small of her back.
"Lesson number one for the deposed whore: entertaining the people. True kings and queens see to it their people have fun, and she's going to offer herself for exactly that. Feel free to play with her however you wish. I'll return in the morn to see the results."
The... the morn? That meant a whole day! Her legs quivered at the horrid thought of enduring this, unsure if the new king would return to find her royal derriere sticking upward from a passed out bitch of a fallen monarch. And however many rings she managed to keep in the state.
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"Daddy, look!"
Before the king stood his ward. With pink and blonde braids, a frilly pink dress, pearls upon her neck and ears and a delighted smile, his ward presented her ass sticking out of her skirt.
Except not too long ago, he wasn't the king. He was a lowly advisor. And she wasn't his ward. She was the queen.
Queen Fillia, to be exact. At 41 years old, she had ruled upon her throne with a bitchiness of legend for over a decade before Fenton arrived with promises of a bountiful harvest after years of drought so long as she followed his guidance.
And it worked! It really had. Just like he said it would.
To her unbridled disgust. In all her pride and vanity, she had made it a point to expose the charlatan by spreading petals around her throne like he had suggested before sending him to the dungeon. When his word became truth not a day later, she had no choice but to pardon him and beg for his help.
Not if she wanted to avoid a riot. Even if she knew that he must have noticed signs in the air, her simple-minded, superstitious people thought they knew a man wiser than his young years let on when they saw and heard him.
Which was why, as the man became Aldabast's newly crowned king, Fillia shook her ass in the village square. And fought a scowl and backhand when King Fenton gave that untarnished rear a good hard slap.
"People of Aldabast! You asked how I ended the drought and what caused it, and this is your answer. Every day, your pampered, spoiled, selfish bitch of a queen showed her ass to the gods and they punished you for it. But now that she's shown herself for what she is, the gods have seen fit to bless you with new rains. As long as she maintains this truth, Aldabast will continue to thrive."
Their cheers. Her pride. She bent over, spread her cheeks with her rakish pink nails. Awareness of his plans didn't make the ruler's scepter slipping into her arsehole any easier. Didn't make being ordered to wave it back and forth any less humiliating. She eyed the guards, formerly meant to protect her, now watching like jailers meant to carry out her sentence.
It was this or her head in a basket. That much any ruler as wise as she could tell.
Then she felt... a ring? It took a few smacks to the butt before she felt one land properly, and swirl around the rod, vibrating up its length and into her tender hole before it came to a rest. Another hit like a hammer, jabbing the tip deeper. She almost yelled with the ferocity of her old station, but silenced herself quickly when King Fenton patted her on the small of her back.
"Lesson number one for the deposed whore: entertaining the people. True kings and queens see to it their people have fun, and she's going to offer herself for exactly that. Feel free to play with her however you wish. I'll return in the morn to see the results."
The... the morn? That meant a whole day! Her legs quivered at the horrid thought of enduring this, unsure if the new king would return to find her royal derriere sticking upward from a passed out bitch of a fallen monarch. And however many rings she managed to keep in the state.