The following was inspired by this image, posed as a writing inspiration at Ermilia’s Picture it and write.
Warning, this entry contains mature content
The King is dead, long live the King!
For Elsebeth it was a horror. Not only had she lost her King, she had lost her love, and soon would lose her life. Her death she could face, without her Andre she was lost anyway, but it was not just her death that drove he, it was the death of her children, the oldest at only nine was too young to assume the throne. The concept of a regency had never been imagined here, the throne would now go to the Kings brother, and he would be concerned with his own legacy. It wasn’t even personal. The new King would “clean house” as a matter of practicality. If there were no others with legitimate claims to the throne then one threat to the Kingdom was eliminated. It was the children who were important, killing her was considered a mercy.
There was only one chance. The new king did not yet have a queen, and with his preference in…consorts… he was not going to be looking for a woman to do more than bear him an heir. That was her chance, for once her slim, almost boyish figure would be an asset. She would go to the new king with a proposition; an alliance that would benefit them both. He would get a well loved queen who was already proven, who already knew of his preferences, and who would , and she would get safety for herself and her children.
Her servants bathed her carefully, their fate too hung in the balance, she was shaved smooth from the neck down, her hands and feet buffed smooth with stones, then rubbed in a soothing lotion scented to excite lust. As was the custom she wore a long black veil to show she was in mourning, but her nakedness beneath the veil was anything but customary. She had worn a veil with nothing beneath it once before, the last time she had done this had been her wedding day when her vows had been consummated before the gods and the people of the kingdom. If she was fortunate today would mark her second wedding, and she would be taken again. If she was unfortunate, then the result would be the executioner, but instead of a quick death she would first see her children drowned like rats, and then be stricken barren by plunging smoking hot irons into her sex, and turned out onto the street to live or die as the gods decided.
The discussion had been brief, the negotiation one sided, but still she counted herself favored. Her black veil had been exchanged for white, and she was kneeling on the low alter waiting for her king to claim what was now his. He was there behind her, his robes open and hard cock pushing insistently against her cleft. she had been prepared by the priests, as had he, with a draught that ensured she would be ready for his attention, and as he shoved into her hot, wet sex she felt the explosion of her orgasm burst through her. He thrust into her again, and then again, withdrawing completely before adjusting his aim and taking her last virginity. As his manhood buried itself deep in her bowel she screamed in a combination of pain and lust like she had never known, but even as she screamed she knew triumph; her children were safe, to be adopted by the king who had no use for women, but needed a queen.
The Holding at Joyous Reach 