thefemdomenchantress

[thefemdomenchantress]

There is No Resisting the Usurper pt.1

My stories, despite ultimately centering around utter defeat at the hands of evil femdom, are often faily hopeful and even preachy at times. This one is slightly on the darker, hopeless side of erotica. However, I also hope this story is silly enough to balance out said themes.

I had meant to write it much earlier, before this year in fact, but the subject matter of war left me with a bitter taste. Plus there were other such stories that interested me (though not enough to finish many of them, in retrospect).

Ultimately I was unable to finish the story all in one go, so consider this a mere Part 1.

Enjoy!

Contains:

Erotic concept 1: resistance against submission that ultimately, and shockingly easily, fails

Erotic Concept 2: the utter defeat of Good against mind-breaking evil

Evil Concept 3: Loyalty to good woman domme being completely and thoroughly defeated and converted to erotic submission to evil domme

When he was swept up in the chivalry and valorous high of serving beneath the righteous Queen Valerie, righteous heir to the throne of great Inlandia, Sir Ferrous would bend a knee before said throne with neither refusal from his lips nor resistance in the mind. Inlandia, under the rulership of the benevolent family, had for centuries grew and prospered, its nobilities growing empathetic to their vassals and peasants were fed and more educated each day. For this Sir Ferrous of the Seer family served with his heart and admiration pinned to his sleeves and rifle at ready.

Now he stood upright, mind filled with rebellion and no dam to stop the flow from his lips. He stared upward at the one the throne now beared: the foreign, hedonistic, blasphemous Usurper Queen Yaedora from the neighbouring military empire. She watched him back, the lower end of her face half concealed by her generous chest which her gowns, taken from the previous regent Valerie's own wardrobe to Sir Ferrous's disgust, was failing to keep flat. She wore a crown upon her head of long hair and a smirk on her lips.

Ferrous Seer had been at the forefront of the war since the invasion. For two years, with Queen Valerie's image in his mind and a love for his home in his heart, Ferrous had fought with gun and cutlass in hand against the enemy military. He had lead men into calculated risk, fought bloody battles, and resisted death for many days.

But victory was not to be. Against her superior arms and incredible tactics, even with the valour of Ferrous Seer and the many other noble knights, Queen Valerie could not overcome nor escape her enemy, and was claimed along with the throne and the kingdom.

Now Ferrous stood in the conquered palace, captured and cuffed in body but fiery in soul, before the queen, and his tongue worked quick. He screamed boldly against the pretender queen who would being ruin and debauchery to the once pure and well governed masses, and undo all the good that the Good Queen had worked for. Catharsis filled him as anger left him, the strongest liquor numbing his care for his life as the curses he shouted risked execution at any moment.

Queen Yaedora said nothing, not raising a hand or any of the small movements that would have indicated death. Her smirk, no matter how loud and steadily more vulgar Ferrous's threats became, remained. Slowly catharsis had replaced rage and contempt completely, and Ferrous's feet now began to shudder under the weight of the exhausted ex-knight. He began to sway unbalanced as adrenaline left his body. His voice grew coarse, each threat bookended with wider and wider pauses.

In the center of one such pause between threats, the usurper queen finally gave the brave and honorable knight the most response he was deserving of. Smiling widely she began to lean forward as though facing him to respond. Sir Ferrous, for the first time, saw the pretender queen's face in full. The sheer confidence in her eyes, a brightness undeniable despite her heavy eyelids obscuring all but slender slits and pupil. Her face was as beautiful as Queen Valerie's though Ferrous had no intent on ever acknowledging the fact. Infuriating him further was the undeniable knowledge that behind that beauty, that smugness, was a mind that had bested and conquered his queen's.

And then, suddenly, the queen jerked backwards. Her generously endowed chest puffed upward, her victorious face disappearing behind them, an evil sun quickly setting behind two great hills. Her larger chest won against the royal garb once worn comfortably by the previous queen.

There was an audible tear as the front of the royal robe began to tear against its merciless opponent. Her under-robe was visible within the resulting holes. The defeated queen was once again proven inferior.

At this the rage grew all over again within Ferrous, who roared as his once shaking legs launched him up the steps. Uncaring that he had no weapon in his chained hands, or of the rally of guards clamoring just behind him, he ascended toward the pretender queen. She did not move to defend, merely smiling as he jumped at her.

His attack was cut short as hands grasped his body, pulling him by his own hands chained behind his back and his own cotton shirt. He was tossed backward, his descent down the stairs loud, rough, and bloody. Exhaustion returned, hitting him the same time as the floor, his body crumpled. He could only look up once again at the usurper, who was now speaking, having made her decision.

The guards seized the battered ex-knight and forced him upright. At her indication they grasped at his chains.

Ferrous heard a click, and felt them slide off his wrists. He was freed.

His shock and bewilderment was immediately heightened as the queen herself stood up from her throne, still looking down at him and matching his gaze. She descended toward him.

The angry and violent knight was awashed with apprehension as his loathed conqueror approached him, and his wobbling and battered body could barely hold him up. He tried to step forward, but stepped back instead. Not out of fear, surely.

Queen Yaedora now stood before him, eye to eye. For the first time she spoke to him directly.

"You're hard," she said.

Sir Ferrous's mind blanked at this. He could only respond with silent bewilderment. Helpfully, the queen pointed downward.

"I arouse you," she said.

As a demonstration the queen once again flaunted her heavy chest, slowly lifting her cleavage upward with one arm.

For the first time Sir Ferrous noticed the tug of his erection, tenting in his cloth trousers.

"Fuck you!" he managed to gutter out, still swaying. The queen shook her head.

"Sir Ferrous Seer, latest knight of the Seer family, descendant of the northern fang clans. You came to me filled with such anger, and a desire for revenge, and to let your loyalty to your precious queen be known before what would surely be your execution. And yet, as you stood there and yelled and boasted and whined your body could not deny its most basic, most undeniable instincts. And now, after you've spent up your anger and energy, what remains?"

The queen approached him, her arm raised, finger pointing. Ferrous, unable to even raise his battered and exhausted arms, stepped back.

"Stay away!"

The queen began to bend downwards, her finger approaching his crotch.

"What are you doing?"

"Sir Ferrous. All that remains in you is impotent bitterness. Growing fear. And the instinctual desire to do whatever it takes... to fuck me."

With that the queen stood right before the ex-knight, him unable to move to attack her. She gave his erection a single poke, and it suddenly grew further, slithering up the side of his pants, its head almost peaking out.

"Get away... g-get away-!"

The overwhelming arousal that came over him after his cock grew so large was not immediate. It was delayed, stumbling, but overpowering.

First came a disturbing plethora of dark thoughts in his head: the image of himself, by Usurper Queen Yaedora's side, as a loyal vassal. He was shocked at how right the image felt, a piece perfectly shaped to be inserted in the fault in his mind. The loathsome queen balancing the sword upon his shoulder, knighting him. Him bowing before her, she herself smirking down in victory.

In his denial of this dark array of thoughts he was immediately overtaken by a horrible excitement in his loins as his exhausted mind could not fight back the invasion of this new erotic buzz. His cock, the only unabused part of his body at this point, sprung to life. His balls quivering, and he could feel them hard at work producing... producing so much cum. Cum that was fated, should his willpower not return, to be squeezed out by his own hand, oh so pleasurably gushing out of him as he masturbated to...

To his future as Queen Yaedora's servant. Gush.

To his own humiliating defeat and breaking. Gush.

To Queen Yaedora's victory over kind Queen Valerie, who she had proven inferior to her in every which way, and in his masturbation he would ultimately betray. Gush Gush Gush.

And as Ferrous battled this barrage in his mind (battle being generous, it would be more accurate to say he was losing thoroughly), Queen Yaedora stood upwards and smiled at Ferrous. She crossed her arms and gently and subtly squeezed her ample chest. She chuckled.

"Kneel."

No more energy left to hold him up, Ferrous fell down on his knees, to his horror.

"No! No... this isn't what... I'm not..!" he struggled to stand up but his thoroughly defeated and battered body had no energy to move.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," the haughty Queen Yaedora smirked. "Surely it was not that you obeyed my order that you fell to you knees, I know."

She bent down, her loathsome, malicious, and undeniably beautiful face hypnotically capturing his hate and arousal filled gaze. She whispered: "Submitting to me already feels better than loyalty to your queen ever will!"

"N-no!" his coarse throat is unable to give his denial the solidity he wishes.

"Guards. I have no more use for him. Let him go free."

Queen Yaedora gave the fallen Ferrous one last appreciative glance before turning away. He is yanked upward and pulled out of the palace.

He stayed on the castle entrance grounds for hours, not moving but shuffling. There was energy in his loins that he did not want, motivation in his mind he wished would die out. Death would be preferable, but he couldn't fight the dark thoughts and desires creeping in him. His body wanted what his soul loathes: to lose and submit against his new queen...

At last, hours after sunset, he stood up and made his way out of the palace grounds.

He passed through the capital city, wrecked after the war, full of broken down buildings. All of the townsmen hiding in the remaining untouched towers. Only Yaedora's soldiers walked the streets. They payed him no mind, sensing no threat from the battered ex-knight.

Ferrous knew his friends and family were likely hiding in one of the towers. He did not seek them. He founda barn and lied in the hay with the chickens that night, desperately seeking sleep despite the stir of his desperate cock.

*** *** ***

He will assassinate the usurper. That is what Ferrous told himself the next few days after.

He planned it out as he was in the showers, and found that in doing so no more horrible thoughts cross his mind.

He sharpened a knife as he worked for food and shelter, keeping out all arousal with each slide against the grindstone.

At night the image of his beloved Queen Valerie was interrupted hourly by Queen Yaedora's smug victorious face and ample bosom, but thoughts of his assassination plans subdued them.

He hid a dagger in his belt as he sneaked his way around the palace employees and guards. He managed to make his way to the throne room, where the queen stood at a long table, speaking with her council. No guards.

No plan, his mind purposefully empty, Ferrous charged in with a mighty cry, his knife pointed forward. The cowardly council and employees darted out of his way as he charged toward Queen Yaedora.

She chuckled at his approach and held her arms out wide, chin raised upward, inviting him to stab, or perhaps embrace her. The crown rested on her head still, mocking him. Her clothes were looser now; he could see her bare shoulders, as well as the shape of her chest. But now they draped downwards and accentuated the roundness of her hips.

Every image of Yaedora that had been held back these few days entered his mind at once. Her beautiful face, not at all ruined by the malice and evil of her soul. The infuriating aura of victory that was all at once impassable yet inescapable.

But it was the smell that caused Ferrous to fumble the knife and stop his advance.

The smell of the perfume that Queen Valerie had always worn as she consulted her knights, that he could recognize any day and anywhere, now coating the horrible tyrant Queen Yaedora.

It was blashpheme, and insult against the good queen! And yet despite this Ferrous was once again hard. Harder than even before, days of holding back his arousal now catching up to him.

The good Queen Valerie had never elicited arousal from Ferrous. He never desired her carnally at all. Ferrous truly believed, insisted this was the case.

But now that smell of her perfume being worn on his hated nemesis had awakened a desperate need that betrayed every nerve in Ferrous's body! Valorous and loyal muscle and bone fought and failed against tightly packed and sensitive cock and balls, all the adrenaline in his body leaving him.

Usurper Queen Yaedora spoke first.

"Council. Leave me be."

Obediently, the others left the room, leaving the struggling and shuddering would-be-hero with the seemingly omnipotent tyrant. The smirk was on her face once again, now with greater confidence.

It was undeniable: he had proven her correct.

"Sir Ferrous Seer. I am now hiring you as my servant. You will live in the palace with all of the other ex-knights and soldiers who have bent the knee to me."

"Fuck you, I will never obey you!"

"Where was your previous quarters located?"

"The west wall," Ferrous said, without meaning to. He bit his lip. Queen Yaedora brushed the side of her gown, sliding it along the round of her hip.

"During the war, where were you situated?"

"Quillington Province, the eastern perimeter," he said again. He could not stop himself, the answers poured out of his mouth. His soul was defiant, but his mind and body already knew they were defeated, and desired their reward.

"Kneel."

Ferrous's knees quivered at the request. He could not resist, sinking down. Ferrous tried to stand back up, but the already he was feeling the dreadful, pleasurable sensation that submission brought. His body craved more...

"Have you masturbated, Ferrous?"

"Wh-What?"

"Since we last met. Have you finally let go and pleasured yourself to the thought of me?"

"..!" Ferrous could not respond.

"You, who served the land of Inlandia so fervently... have you finally admitted defeat and masturbated to the beautiful woman who has defeated and tamed your precious kingdom? You who revered your Queen Valerie so dearly... has the image of her bowing to me...tearful...defeated...totally in my mercy... invaded your mind at night? Have you, even as you hated me, clenched your thighs together in desperation and humped the mattress against your will, obeying your lustful cock and experienced momentary, shame filled pleasure at your imagination? Have you surrendered to me in reality as thoroughly as your body and mind surrendered to me inside you?"

"NO!" Ferrous managed to cry out. It was true. He had struggled, he had been aroused, but he had never cum. Despite the erotic breaths at night and sweat covered fevers of lust, despite his body working overtime at the thought of defeat, he had resisted that final step.

The queen shook her head.

"That is too bad for you. For now you never will for a long... long time."

"Wh-what?"

"Ferrous Seer. By my power and authority, as the delegated ruler of Inlandia in the name of the Empire, I revoke your title as knight, and instate you as one of my personal servants. You will now serve me wholly, utterly, and willingly. Do you reject?"

Fuck You! was what Ferrous wanted to shout, his mouth open wide, but he could not speak such words. In him the desperate need to remain loyal to Queen Valerie battled and lost to his need.

His baseline instinctual need for sex. His baseline desire for the safety of submission. His long neglected need for the perverse pleasure that his loyalty to Queen Valerie had diligently kept in check for generations, and only debauchery and malevolence could force onto him. To bow and to serve, and to experience desperation and lose to it. To hump the bed and cum despite his fight against the instinct. To masturbate to fucked up evil things...

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora.

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora to control him, to defeat him.

His need for Queen Yaedora to approve of him and stand above him victoriously over him.

"Ferrous Seer. Submit."

No! NO! NO No No no no no

"I...I..," Ferrous's mouth and tongue felt like uncontrollable and unfamiliar things, tears of desperation, yet certain surrender poured down his cheeks from his eyes. He shook and swayed, the fight in him like an explosive contained in a bottle.

"I... I... I sub...mit...!" he felt every syllable bring his cock closer and closer to cumming, only willpower alone holding him back now. He had lost to Yaedora, and would soon cum. Cum from submission, his orgasm sealing his betrayal of everything he once held as sacred. The ultimate symbol of even the mightiest of loyalty's ultimate defeat against the most casual of evil. Queen Yaedora smiled.

"Ferrous Seer. As my newest servant, I give you your first order."

She leaned close to him, her whisper binding and law.

"Do Not Cum."

*** *** ***

Deep in the castle's walls, there is a bedchamber. It has large wide windows, sealed with strong unmovable bars. It has a luxurious bed, a mirror, and plenty of flowers and plants. It has a small room with a toilet, a tub, and even a functioning fountain of water to wash in. The only exit to the room is a locked and reinforced door that never opens, with a small slit through which a tray of food and drink is slid through three times a day. It is a room that is large, spacious, and of whom a woman would be perfectly capable of spending all of her days in. This is the prison of Valerie Wyn Inlandia, the previous queen of Inlandia.

Although the monarch had lost her throne and was soundly defeated, her pure and noble heart remains uncorrupted, hope for escape and justice unbroken. For now.

To Be Continued...

[thefemdomenchantress]

The hero tries to fight off the perverse grapple, but he is held still and firmly. He and the enchantress, his captor, are nude. They are both standing upright, the enchantress holding him still with the power of her superior strength, arcane power, will, and love.

She wears a special strap-on: along with the large enchanted erection invading the hero's squirming, struggling, welcoming entrance, there was also an opaque stretchy tube. The end of the tube is stretched all the way to the hero's cock, wrapping it up as the enchantress gently squeezes it in her soft grasp as she rapes him. He would try and fight off her squeezing as well as her humping, but his arms are bound tight in inescapable rubber.

Enchantress: Oh, poor hero... I almost feel sorry for the sadism I will be putting you through... in only a few moments from now... But it will feel sooo good, you will have no choice but to forgive me this... depravity...

The hero would like to ponder what the enchantress could mean, as she has raped him with a strapon more times than anyone can count. But his mind is too narrowly squeezed by her pleasure to fit any thoughts. His eyes rolling back and drool dripping down from his gag, the hero feels his orgasm approaching.

Try as he might he is unable to hold it in. He can and will never be able to hold it in.

The enchantress's humping and gentle squeezing finally brings the poor hero to a long, skillfully extended orgasm. Groans escape his throat and he hangs his head in shame and bliss as cum flows through the tube...

The voice of the enchantress herself becomes higher pitch as well, her own orgasm nearing. She smiles.

Enchantress: Oh... Eat up, hero!

The hero's eyes widen as he feels her false cock begin to gush real cum up his ass. She humps and humps in a fervor, the cum matching her own real orgasm. It doesn't feel like any supernatural cum that she has filled him with... it feels warm, sticky, and awfully real.

Realizing what is happening, the hero gives a muffled scream and shakes about, but can do nothing as the false strapon fills him: Gush Gush GUSH GUSH.

Enchantress: Ooooh~ That's right, hero... it's your OWN cum! Flowing straight from your spoiled and dominated cock and pumped right into your violated gates! Oh Yes, TAKE IT!

The hero hates this feeling, and this makes the enchantress smile. The hero wants to stop, is actively fighting this perverseness, and the futility makes her orgasm richer, more pleasing, and longer lasting. She gets off to his debasement, and just how thoroughly she controls him: even able to force him to enjoy this humiliation.

Finally, after thirty seconds of climactic bliss and pleasurable shuddering, the enchantress's humping slows and ceases.

She leans back and looks down at the strapon. Still stuck within the hero's ass, she can see that the hero's ass is thoroughly clean on the outer side, with only the thinnest evidence of orgasm. The thick plug design has kept all of the hero's precious and warm cum safely tucked in his guts, where they belong.

The hero is in tears borne from humiliation, defeat, and (shamefully) utter pleasure and bliss.

He can feel the warm sticky cum stuck in him, mingling with the false penis which he could not remove himself, easing the roughness of it like a lubricant. It feels horrifically relieving and pleasurable.

The enchantress pulls his head back by the hair and removes his gag. She pours water into his mouth from a wooden bowl, keeping her toy and lover healthy and hydrated, but also providing him the ingredients to create MORE.

Then, to the hero's shock, she fixes the gag back on him again and gives him a bright, wide, evil smile.

Enchantress: No mercy, and no end.

Hero: Pr-preash!

Enchantress: We don't stop until my strapon pops out of you like a Gods-Damned-Champagne cork, my hero!

She is not exaggerating and has no plans to mercifully let him go, and he can do nothing but stand there, to be fucked, filled, and humiliated over and over again, anguishing and loving every second.

The End.

#The Enchantress #Rough #F3mdom #magical f3mdom #Magical femdom

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: Gowns and Humiliation

The hero struggled against the noblewoman, her iron grip locking his wrists behind him as her slightly taller and plumper body forcing him against the wall. How could he have lost against her?

They had met in a lonely way east of the town she ruled. She introduced herself as the Most Noble Lady as well as the true power behind the town council, and challenged the hero to a duel.

She then easily disarmed him and, despite his skills, overpowered him without a sweat. She dragged him into this alleyway, and now she was holding him still, and happily molesting him.

As the hero felt his belt loosen and her hands slither down his pants he began to panic.

Hero: Urgh! L-let me go… Don’t…

Most Noble Lady: Hush…

Hero: H-how can you be so strong?

The hero had not been relieved of his magical shirt, and gauntlets, all throughout the battle. Combined, they gave him the power to lift, push, and resist pressure up to ten tons.

In this world even the largest creatures could not reach such strength without magic. Ogres and trolls could overpower any man, but the strongest of them could lift barely past one hundred and twenty stone.

Giants and Amazons could be as strong as the largest of elephants, but without magic even they could not reach the power needed to outclass the hero.

But this “Most Noble Lady,” of whom was wearing no conventional magical items as far as the hero could see, had defeated and was now dominating him thoroughly all the same.

Most Noble Lady: Are you surprised that a woman can be so strong? Enough to handle a man however she wishes? *Giggle* I’ll show you the error of your thinking…

Hero: What? Wh-what do you mean-?

Instead of answering, the most noble woman chuckled and grasped his cock. He squealed and struggled, but could do nothing as she fondled him, obviously enjoying having his warm organ in her hands. He squirmed and squirmed, but couldn’t escape.

*** *** ***

Most Noble Lady: Welcome to your new home, little one…

The hero couldn’t believe it. After being fondled, and gripped tight until brought to exhaustion by her talented teasing, and his own wasteful, futile fighting, she had dragged him all the way back to her home. 

She threw him onto the bed. The hero tried to stand, but found himself too tired to get up all of a sudden.

Hero: What’s wrong with me… What do you want with me?

Most Noble Lady: We noblewomen are a very greedy and vain lot, hero… You are like a prized jewel I wish to keep… And you will not be able to resist me…

Hero: I… I won’t stay…

Most Noble Lady: Oh hush. I’ve already caught you fair and square. Now settle down… I must choose the fabric I’ll be dressing, and trapping you in…

Hero: Fabric?

Unable to stand he watched helplessly as she rummaged through her closet. He saw many dresses… gowns… styles of women’s wear from all over the continent, overseas… and surprisingly, “modern” looking clothes that wouldn’t seem out of place in the “other” universe… Did she have access to a portal?

She came out, showing off the dress she had chosen. A white, shapely dress with no sleeves, meant to accentuate the wearer’s round hips…

Most Noble Lady: Do you think you would enjoy this one?

Hero: What are you planning?

She chuckled and approached him. He struggled, but she lay upon him… She propped him up and stripped him down…

He felt his hot, sweaty body shudder as she pealed away his clothing. She must have been having a fun time, watching his admittedly attractive body shake about and be bared…

Then, when he was bare, she bathed him with a towel and pail of water… Some herbal soap… and when he was dried she bound him. Or rather, she dressed him…

Hero: No… No, stop… Let me go…

Most Noble Lady: Fret not… your commoner body will learn to love its embrace… Its fine material… Sapping you of will… Though if your will is strong and unbending…

She smirked as she forced the dress onto him. His arms trapped within the dress, bound helplessly against his sides…

Most Noble Lady: …You’ll still squirm and squirm…

And he did… the hero loathed and loved how soft the material felt against his bare body… he couldn’t escape the seductive embrace…

And as he squirmed, the most noble lady laughed, and lay atop him. He resisted, struggling in vain as her weight pressed him down…

And she began to hump him… His desperate squirming only turning her on more and more…

*** *** ***

Most Noble Lady: A new day means a new outfit, right?

She stroked the hero’s sensitive sides fondly, and her finger lingered over the dirtied spot of the dress, filthy from all the times he had orgasmed last night… Though she had only cared about her own pleasure, it seemed he had cum all his own, presumably unwillingly.

She held up the next gown she obviously intended to bind him in. A white cotton shirt… and a lustrous purple knee-length skirt of thick, soft material…

Hero: Please… you’ve had your fun…

Most Noble Lady: And so have you, apparently. But worry not… I won’t be the only one of us two who will enjoy seeing their partners in fancy, adorable and enticing clothes…

She winked, and then took the dirtied gown off of the hero, who felt his limbs become as heavy as stones before he could take advantage of the release… She had him in the soft, cozy, inescapable shirt and embarrassing, heavy, lustrous skirt in no time.

The hero groaned in such humiliation as the Noblewoman left him there, bound and cozy, for the entire day.

And when she came home…

Most Noble Lady: Like what you see, hero?

In spite of himself the answer was ostensibly “yes,” judging by how he gaped at her. A bright red and gold qipao that showed off her form, gleaming in the candle light…

Most Noble Lady: I can see my ensemble has your approval, no?

His erection was visible through the skirt… 

Without a word, the noble lady lay upon him. The last thing the hero saw of her face was a frustrating look of satisfaction and superiority before she placed her silk-covered breasts onto him…

And she wrapped a hand around his skirt-covered cock, squeezing… milking… drawing all resistance, and dignity, out of him… all of it almost out of his cock… 

But she did not allow him to cum…

And she did so again, slower, stronger, firmer… But never allowing him to go all the way. 

Though he tried to remain strong his will was breaking… Soon all thoughts of escaping capture… of heroism… of dignity… of the battle of wills against this smug, invincible woman… were being replaced with slow, agonizing, fantastic desperation for release…

Then she sat up off of him… And smirked…

She sat atop him and grasped the skirt he had been unable to remove, and lowered it. His cock stuck out, bare and erect, having been pumped and teased for more than an hour. She smiled…

She sat down on his cock, and he felt himself enter her. And, slowly at first, she bounced…

Most Noble Lady: Forgive me hero… that was punishment for ruining my dress last night. But fret not… I’ll make the ache go away…

*** *** ***

The hero couldn’t understand just how she was keeping him so tired, so heavy, and unable to leave… What power did this woman apply?

Every day was a new gown, a new outfit, a new humiliation. 

Sometimes it was silk that wrapped around his body, especially his cock, in cool smoothness uncompromising.

Sometimes it was soft cotton.

Always he was humiliated… Such wonderful humiliation, eating away at his will…

*** *** ***

Most Noble Lady: Oh? What is this here?

Hero: Damn!

It had been days, and the hero was never able to escape. Bound he remained, being humped and teased… Sometimes raped, sometimes broken, sometimes teased, always humiliated…

He had decided to use one of his more dangerous escapes… he had bit down on one of his fake molars, activating a dark spell that would eat away at the dress holding him back, a green winter outfit with a tight belt…

The flames began to spread…

Most Noble Lady: Trying to escape, hero? That’s very naughty…

She held out her hand… Amazingly, the flames were absorbed into her palm, and were no more. 

She crawled atop the captive hero, who struggled in vain. She pried his mouth open effortlessly. 

Most Noble Lady: Oh, how clever. Several capsules in false teeth…

He couldn’t see what she was doing, sticking her fingers in his mouth, but he felt and heard a few plopping noises…

She had painlessly removed his back teeth… And then… there was a tingling in his jaws…

And he felt the teeth grow back… And he could swear they were real…

She exited his mouth, and he stared in fear and awe…

Hero: Just what are you?

Most Noble Lady: Never you mind, hero… Now Lay down… 

Hero: No…

Most Noble Lady: Your resistance is half hearted now… You’ll find yourself able to draw out less and less resistance the longer I keep you… lie down. Be a good boy. Learn to obey, silly little hero…

The hero felt his body grow so heavy… he couldn’t fight… he let her do as she wished, knowing just how awful, agonizing, and brilliant it was going to be… All he could think of, as she stroked his crotch for an hour, teasing and teasing, was of how amazing, and how brilliant, and how powerful this lady was… how lucky he was to be hers… to be dressed by her…

Oh, how he was beginning to love her… love her caress, her teasing… love how inescapable she was… love how binding she was… love how tight her bindings were…

She let go before he could cum… She stood up…

Most Noble Lady: Hmm, I’ve foiled your last hope of ever leaving me today… Now you know there’s no escape from my dresses… from my rape… from me… You will stay here, my toy forever…

Hero: Urh… I… I will stay…

Most Noble Lady: *Giggling* Perhaps, commoner… Instead of stealing your dignity once again… Making you cream yourself for the thousandth time… I’ll let you keep your wits, your dignity… Just enough so you are aware enough to dread and despair. Despair being kept by me… Despair being defeated by me… Put in your place as a peasant and a slave by the lovely noble lady… Such lovely, erotic despair…

With a wink and a goodbye kiss blown to him, she turned around, waving her hips seductively as she did so… She exited the room…

And the hero did despair… over everything she said… He felt the urge to hump the bed… such heavenly urge… to surrender to the all encompassing eroticism around him created by the noblewoman, and hump and hump and hump…

But before he could even do that the noble lady was back, having changed her mind.

She held him down mischievously. And, in an act that was both merciful and merciless, kindness and cruelty, placed her hand around the bulge in the dress that was his cock.

She did not stroke. She SQUEEZED.

Not erotically. She did not pull or tug or milk. She only squeezed, and squealed in joy, as though playing with a toy.

Fast paced, joyfully, the hero screamed in lust, pain, and euphoria. 

He wasn’t even afforded the autonomy to choose his own humiliation. To hump himself to cum. No, she took that away too. Not a dignified orgasm at all. Not sex, not masturbation, just being squeezed like a toy.

And when he came it was rapturous, brilliant, probably the best he had ever felt. His most wondrous orgasm, simply the result of this woman’s playing around… Oh… not a drop of dignity and pride left in him…

*** *** ***

A month or so later, he awoke to a most familiar voice that he had not heard in a long while…

Enchantress: Wakey wakey, hero… 

Hero: En…enchantress?

Enchantress: It is I, indeed. My, you’ve been very bold. I didn’t think you of all people would be foolish enough to get in trouble with such a foe…

Hero: Wh-what do you mean…?

Enchantress: Your captor, silly. The mighty demi-goddess of gowns and fabrics…

The hero’s foggy eyes opened, sobering up. 

A GODDESS. That explained everything…

Hero: E-enchy… H-how did you-?

Enchantress: It was difficult to search for you. I knew you must have been in deep trouble when I of all people had trouble. I was relieved when I found out who your captor was… and elated…

Then the enchantress frowned… she stroked the hero’s gown, as though she longed to feel his bare skin again, but must hold back..

Enchantress: Sadly, hero, even I might not be able to steal you back from such a opponent… I hope you soon learn to enjoy gowns and bondage…

Hero: No… enchy, please…

Enchantress: Oh, it will be alright, dear. She is a kind and merciful goddess. She’s agreed to let me have you back soon, hero… Just… Let her have you for a bit longer… 

And then she smiled, her fingers poking right where the tip of his cock was under the dress…

Enchantress: Until then…

And then the hero felt another presence right behind him that he hadn’t before… He was surrounded on both sides by lecherous, dangerous women who lusted for his subjugation…

Most Noble Lady: We can still have our fun together… can’t we, enchantress?

Enchantress: Oh yes… I too enjoy dressing up precious little dolls…

And the last coherent thought in his mind before they attacked was utter, fantastic despair…

[thefemdomenchantress]

Please forgive all of the grammar errors, i wrote this all in one sitting at 2am

There is No Resisting the Usurper pt.1

My stories, despite ultimately centering around utter defeat at the hands of evil femdom, are often faily hopeful and even preachy at times. This one is slightly on the darker, hopeless side of erotica. However, I also hope this story is silly enough to balance out said themes.

I had meant to write it much earlier, before this year in fact, but the subject matter of war left me with a bitter taste. Plus there were other such stories that interested me (though not enough to finish many of them, in retrospect).

Ultimately I was unable to finish the story all in one go, so consider this a mere Part 1.

Enjoy!

Contains:

Erotic concept 1: resistance against submission that ultimately, and shockingly easily, fails

Erotic Concept 2: the utter defeat of Good against mind-breaking evil

Evil Concept 3: Loyalty to good woman domme being completely and thoroughly defeated and converted to erotic submission to evil domme

When he was swept up in the chivalry and valorous high of serving beneath the righteous Queen Valerie, righteous heir to the throne of great Inlandia, Sir Ferrous would bend a knee before said throne with neither refusal from his lips nor resistance in the mind. Inlandia, under the rulership of the benevolent family, had for centuries grew and prospered, its nobilities growing empathetic to their vassals and peasants were fed and more educated each day. For this Sir Ferrous of the Seer family served with his heart and admiration pinned to his sleeves and rifle at ready.

Now he stood upright, mind filled with rebellion and no dam to stop the flow from his lips. He stared upward at the one the throne now beared: the foreign, hedonistic, blasphemous Usurper Queen Yaedora from the neighbouring military empire. She watched him back, the lower end of her face half concealed by her generous chest which her gowns, taken from the previous regent Valerie's own wardrobe to Sir Ferrous's disgust, was failing to keep flat. She wore a crown upon her head of long hair and a smirk on her lips.

Ferrous Seer had been at the forefront of the war since the invasion. For two years, with Queen Valerie's image in his mind and a love for his home in his heart, Ferrous had fought with gun and cutlass in hand against the enemy military. He had lead men into calculated risk, fought bloody battles, and resisted death for many days.

But victory was not to be. Against her superior arms and incredible tactics, even with the valour of Ferrous Seer and the many other noble knights, Queen Valerie could not overcome nor escape her enemy, and was claimed along with the throne and the kingdom.

Now Ferrous stood in the conquered palace, captured and cuffed in body but fiery in soul, before the queen, and his tongue worked quick. He screamed boldly against the pretender queen who would being ruin and debauchery to the once pure and well governed masses, and undo all the good that the Good Queen had worked for. Catharsis filled him as anger left him, the strongest liquor numbing his care for his life as the curses he shouted risked execution at any moment.

Queen Yaedora said nothing, not raising a hand or any of the small movements that would have indicated death. Her smirk, no matter how loud and steadily more vulgar Ferrous's threats became, remained. Slowly catharsis had replaced rage and contempt completely, and Ferrous's feet now began to shudder under the weight of the exhausted ex-knight. He began to sway unbalanced as adrenaline left his body. His voice grew coarse, each threat bookended with wider and wider pauses.

In the center of one such pause between threats, the usurper queen finally gave the brave and honorable knight the most response he was deserving of. Smiling widely she began to lean forward as though facing him to respond. Sir Ferrous, for the first time, saw the pretender queen's face in full. The sheer confidence in her eyes, a brightness undeniable despite her heavy eyelids obscuring all but slender slits and pupil. Her face was as beautiful as Queen Valerie's though Ferrous had no intent on ever acknowledging the fact. Infuriating him further was the undeniable knowledge that behind that beauty, that smugness, was a mind that had bested and conquered his queen's.

And then, suddenly, the queen jerked backwards. Her generously endowed chest puffed upward, her victorious face disappearing behind them, an evil sun quickly setting behind two great hills. Her larger chest won against the royal garb once worn comfortably by the previous queen.

There was an audible tear as the front of the royal robe began to tear against its merciless opponent. Her under-robe was visible within the resulting holes. The defeated queen was once again proven inferior.

At this the rage grew all over again within Ferrous, who roared as his once shaking legs launched him up the steps. Uncaring that he had no weapon in his chained hands, or of the rally of guards clamoring just behind him, he ascended toward the pretender queen. She did not move to defend, merely smiling as he jumped at her.

His attack was cut short as hands grasped his body, pulling him by his own hands chained behind his back and his own cotton shirt. He was tossed backward, his descent down the stairs loud, rough, and bloody. Exhaustion returned, hitting him the same time as the floor, his body crumpled. He could only look up once again at the usurper, who was now speaking, having made her decision.

The guards seized the battered ex-knight and forced him upright. At her indication they grasped at his chains.

Ferrous heard a click, and felt them slide off his wrists. He was freed.

His shock and bewilderment was immediately heightened as the queen herself stood up from her throne, still looking down at him and matching his gaze. She descended toward him.

The angry and violent knight was awashed with apprehension as his loathed conqueror approached him, and his wobbling and battered body could barely hold him up. He tried to step forward, but stepped back instead. Not out of fear, surely.

Queen Yaedora now stood before him, eye to eye. For the first time she spoke to him directly.

"You're hard," she said.

Sir Ferrous's mind blanked at this. He could only respond with silent bewilderment. Helpfully, the queen pointed downward.

"I arouse you," she said.

As a demonstration the queen once again flaunted her heavy chest, slowly lifting her cleavage upward with one arm.

For the first time Sir Ferrous noticed the tug of his erection, tenting in his cloth trousers.

"Fuck you!" he managed to gutter out, still swaying. The queen shook her head.

"Sir Ferrous Seer, latest knight of the Seer family, descendant of the northern fang clans. You came to me filled with such anger, and a desire for revenge, and to let your loyalty to your precious queen be known before what would surely be your execution. And yet, as you stood there and yelled and boasted and whined your body could not deny its most basic, most undeniable instincts. And now, after you've spent up your anger and energy, what remains?"

The queen apprached her, her arm raised, finger pointing. Ferrous, unable to even raise his battered and exhausted arms, stepped back.

"Stay away!"

The queen began to bend downwards, her finger approaching his crotch.

"What are you doing?"

"Sir Ferrous. All that remains in you is impotent bitterness. Growing fear. And the instinctual desire to do whatever it takes... to fuck me."

With that the queen stood right before the ex-knight, him unable to move to attack her. She gave his erection a single poke, and it suddenly grew further, slithering up the side of his pants, its head almost peaking out.

"Get away... g-get away-!"

The overwhelming arousal that came over him after his cock grew so large was not immediate. It was delayed, stumbling, but overpowering.

First came a disturbing plethora of dark thoughts in his head: the image of himself, by Usurper Queen Yaedora's side, as a loyal vassal. He was shocked at how right the image felt, a piece perfectly shaped to be inserted in the fault in his mind. The loathsome queen balancing the sword upon his shoulder, knighting him. Him bowing before her, she herself smirking down in victory.

In his denial of this dark array of thoughts was immediately overtaken by a horrible excitement in his loins as his exhausted mind could not fight back the invasion of this new erotic buzz. His cock, the only unabused part of his body at this point, sprung to life. His balls quivering, and he could feel them hard at work producing... producing so much cum. Cum that was fated, should his willpower not return, to be squeezed out by his own hand, oh so pleasurably gushing out of him as he masturbated to...

To his future as Queen Yaedora's servant. Gush.

To his own humiliating defeat and breaking. Gush.

To Queen Yaedora's victory over kind Queen Valerie, who she had proven inferior to her in every which way, and in his masturbation he would ultimately betray. Gush Gush Gush.

And as Ferrous battled this barrage in his mind (battle being generous, it would be more accurate to say he was losing thoroughly), Queen Yaedora stood upwards and smiled at Ferrous. She crossed her arms and gently and subtly squeezed her ample chest. She chuckled.

"Kneel."

No more energy left to hold him up, Ferrous fell down on his knees, to his horror.

"No! No... this isn't what... I'm not..!" he struggled to stand up but his thoroughly defeated and battered body had no energy to move.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," the haughty Queen Yaedora smirked. "Surely it was not that you obeyed my order that you fell to you knees, I know."

She bent down, her loathsome, malicious, and undeniably beautiful face hypnotically capturing his hate and arousal filled gaze. She whispered: "Submitting to me already feels better than loyalty to your queen ever will!"

"N-no!" his coarse throat is unable to give his denial the solidity he wishes.

"Guards. I have no more use for him. Let him go free."

Queen Yaedora gives the fallen Ferrous one last appreciative glance before turning away. He is yanked upward and pulled out of the palace.

He stays on the castle entrance grounds for hours, not moving but shuffling. There is energy in his loins that he does not want, motivation in his mind he wishes would die out. Death would be preferable, but he can't fight the dark thoughts and desires creeping in him. His body wants what his soul loathes: to lose and submit against his new queen...

At last, hours after sunset, he stands up and makes his way out of the palace grounds.

He passes through the capital city, hardly wrecked after the war, full of broken down buildings. All of the townsmen hiding in the remaining untouched towers. Only Yaedora's soldiers walk the streets. They pay him no mind, sensing no threat from the battered ex-knight.

Ferrous knows his friends and family are probably hiding in one of the towers. He does not seek them. He finds a barn and lies in hay with the chickens that night, desperately seeking sleep despite the stir of his desperate cock.

*** *** ***

He will assassinate the usurper. That is what Ferrous tells himself the next few days.

He plans it out as he's in the showers, and finds that in doing so no more horrible thoughts cross his mind.

He sharpens a knife as he works for food, keeping out all arousal.

At night the image of his beloved Queen Valerie is interrupted hourly by Queen Yaedora's smug victorious face and ample bosom, but thoughts of his assassination plans override them.

He hides a dagger in his belt as he sneaks his way around the palace employees and guards. He manages to make his way to the throne room, where he sees the queen standing at a long table, speaking with her council. No guards.

No plan, his mind purposefully empty, Ferrous charges in with a mighty cry, his knife pointed forward. The cowardly council and employees dart out of his way as he charges toward Queen Yaedora.

She giggles at his approach and holds her arms out wide, inviting him to stab, or perhaps embrace. The crown rests on her head still, mocking him. Her clothes are looser now, he can see her bare shoulders, as well as the shape of her chest. But now they drape downwards and accentuate the roundness of her hips.

Every image of Yaedora that he has been holding back these few days enters his mind at once. Her beautiful face, not at all ruined by the malice and evil of her soul. The infuriating aura of victory that was all at once impassable yet inescapable.

But it was the smell that caused Ferrous to fumble the knife and stop his advance.

The smell of the perfume that Queen Valerie had always worn as she consulted her knights, that he could recognize any day and anywhere, now coating the horrible tyrant Queen Yaedora.

It was blashpheme, and insult against the good queen! And yet despite this Ferrous was once again hard. Harder than even before, days of holding back his arousal now catching up to him.

The good Queen Valerie had never elicited arousal from Ferrous. He never desired her carnally at all. But now that smell of her perfume being worn on his hated nemesis had awakened a desperate need that betrayed every nerve in Ferrous's body! Valorous and loyal muscle and bone fought and failed against tightly packed and sensitive cock and balls, all the adrenaline in his body leaving him.

Usurper Queen Yaedora spoke first.

"Council. Leave me be."

Obediently, the others left the room, leaving the struggling and shuddering would-be-hero with the seemingly omnipotent tyrant. The smirk was on her face once again, now with greater confidence.

It was undeniable: he had proven her correct.

"Sir Ferrous Seer. I am now hiring you as my servant. You will live in the palace with all of the other ex-knights and soldiers who have bent the knee to me."

"Fuck you, I will never obey you!"

"Where was your previous quarters located?"

"The west wall," Ferrous said, without meaning to. He bit his lip. Queen Yaedora brushed the side of her gown, sliding it along the round of her hip.

"During the war, where were you situated?"

"Quillington Province, the eastern perimeter," he said again. He could not stop himself, the answers poured out of his mouth. His soul was defiant, but his mind and body already knew they were defeated, and desired their reward.

"Kneel."

Ferrous's knees quivered at the request. He could not resist, sinking down. Ferrous tried to stand back up, but the already he was feeling the dreadful, pleasurable sensation that submission brought. His body craved more...

"Have you masturbated, Ferrous?"

"Wh-What?"

"Since we last met. Have you finally let go and pleasured yourself to the thought of me?"

"..!" Ferrous could not respond.

"You, who served the land of Inlandia so fervently... have you finally admitted defeat and masturbated to the beautiful woman who has defeated and tamed your precious kingdom? You who revered your Queen Valerie so dearly... has the image of her bowing to me...tearful...defeated...totally in my mercy... invaded your mind at night? Have you, even as you hated me, clenched your thighs together in desperation and humped the mattress against your will, obeying your lustful cock and experienced momentary, shame filled pleasure at your imagination? Have you surrendered to me in reality as thoroughly as your body and mind surrendered to me inside you?"

"NO!" Ferrous managed to cry out. It was true. He had struggled, he had been aroused, but he had never cum. Despite the erotic breaths at night and sweat covered fevers of lust, despite his body working overtime at the thought of defeat, he had resisted that final step.

The queen shook her head.

"That is too bad for you. For now you never will for a long... long time."

"Wh-what?"

"Ferrous Seer. By my power and authority, as the delegated ruler of Inlandia in the name of the Empire, I revoke your title as knight, and instate you as one of my personal servants. You will now serve me wholly, utterly, and willingly. Do you reject?"

Fuck You! was what Ferrous wanted to shout, his mouth open wide, but he could not speak such words. In him the desperate need to remain loyal to Queen Valerie battled and lost to his need.

His baseline instinctual need for sex. His baseline desire for the safety of submission. His long neglected need for the perverse pleasure that Queen Valerie had dilligently kept in check for generations, and only debauchery and malevolence could force onto him. To bow and to serve, and to experience desperation and lose to it. To hump the bed and cum despite his fight against the instinct. To masturbate to fucked up evil things...

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora.

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora to control him, to defeat him.

His need for Queen Yaedora to approve of him and stand above him victoriously over him.

"Ferrous Seer. Submit."

No! NO! NO No No no no no

"I...I..," Ferrous's mouth and tongue felt like uncontrollable and unfamiliar things, tears of desperation, yet certain surrender poured down his cheeks from his eyes. He shook and swayed, the fight in him like an explosive contained in a bottle.

"I... I... I sub...mit...!" he felt every syllable bring his cock closer and closer to cumming, only willpower alone holding him back now. He had lost to Yaedora, and would soon cum. Cum from submission, his orgasm sealing his betrayal of everything he once held as sacred. The ultimate symbol of even the mightiest of loyalty's ultimate defeat against the most casual of evil. Queen Yaedora smiled.

"Ferrous Seer. As my newest servant, I give you your first order."

She leaned close to him, her whisper binding and law.

"Do Not Cum."

*** *** ***

Deep in the castle's walls, there is a bedchamber. It has large wide windows, sealed with strong unmovable bars. It has a luxurious bed, a mirror, and plenty of flowers and plants. It has a small room with a toilet, a tub, and even a functioning fountain of water to wash in. The only exit to the room is a locked and reinforced door that never opens, with a small slit through which a tray of food and drink is slid through three times a day. It is a room that is large, spacious, and of whom a woman would be perfectly capable of spending all of her days in. This is the prison of Valerie Wyn Inlandia, the previous queen of Inlandia.

Although the monarch had lost her throne and was soundly defeated, her pure and noble heart remains uncorrupted, hope for escape and justice unbroken. For now.

To Be Continued...

[thefemdomenchantress]

There is No Resisting the Usurper pt.1

My stories, despite ultimately centering around utter defeat at the hands of evil femdom, are often faily hopeful and even preachy at times. This one is slightly on the darker, hopeless side of erotica. However, I also hope this story is silly enough to balance out said themes.

I had meant to write it much earlier, before this year in fact, but the subject matter of war left me with a bitter taste. Plus there were other such stories that interested me (though not enough to finish many of them, in retrospect).

Ultimately I was unable to finish the story all in one go, so consider this a mere Part 1.

Enjoy!

Contains:

Erotic concept 1: resistance against submission that ultimately, and shockingly easily, fails

Erotic Concept 2: the utter defeat of Good against mind-breaking evil

Evil Concept 3: Loyalty to good woman domme being completely and thoroughly defeated and converted to erotic submission to evil domme

When he was swept up in the chivalry and valorous high of serving beneath the righteous Queen Valerie, righteous heir to the throne of great Inlandia, Sir Ferrous would bend a knee before said throne with neither refusal from his lips nor resistance in the mind. Inlandia, under the rulership of the benevolent family, had for centuries grew and prospered, its nobilities growing empathetic to their vassals and peasants were fed and more educated each day. For this Sir Ferrous of the Seer family served with his heart and admiration pinned to his sleeves and rifle at ready.

Now he stood upright, mind filled with rebellion and no dam to stop the flow from his lips. He stared upward at the one the throne now beared: the foreign, hedonistic, blasphemous Usurper Queen Yaedora from the neighbouring military empire. She watched him back, the lower end of her face half concealed by her generous chest which her gowns, taken from the previous regent Valerie's own wardrobe to Sir Ferrous's disgust, was failing to keep flat. She wore a crown upon her head of long hair and a smirk on her lips.

Ferrous Seer had been at the forefront of the war since the invasion. For two years, with Queen Valerie's image in his mind and a love for his home in his heart, Ferrous had fought with gun and cutlass in hand against the enemy military. He had lead men into calculated risk, fought bloody battles, and resisted death for many days.

But victory was not to be. Against her superior arms and incredible tactics, even with the valour of Ferrous Seer and the many other noble knights, Queen Valerie could not overcome nor escape her enemy, and was claimed along with the throne and the kingdom.

Now Ferrous stood in the conquered palace, captured and cuffed in body but fiery in soul, before the queen, and his tongue worked quick. He screamed boldly against the pretender queen who would being ruin and debauchery to the once pure and well governed masses, and undo all the good that the Good Queen had worked for. Catharsis filled him as anger left him, the strongest liquor numbing his care for his life as the curses he shouted risked execution at any moment.

Queen Yaedora said nothing, not raising a hand or any of the small movements that would have indicated death. Her smirk, no matter how loud and steadily more vulgar Ferrous's threats became, remained. Slowly catharsis had replaced rage and contempt completely, and Ferrous's feet now began to shudder under the weight of the exhausted ex-knight. He began to sway unbalanced as adrenaline left his body. His voice grew coarse, each threat bookended with wider and wider pauses.

In the center of one such pause between threats, the usurper queen finally gave the brave and honorable knight the most response he was deserving of. Smiling widely she began to lean forward as though facing him to respond. Sir Ferrous, for the first time, saw the pretender queen's face in full. The sheer confidence in her eyes, a brightness undeniable despite her heavy eyelids obscuring all but slender slits and pupil. Her face was as beautiful as Queen Valerie's though Ferrous had no intent on ever acknowledging the fact. Infuriating him further was the undeniable knowledge that behind that beauty, that smugness, was a mind that had bested and conquered his queen's.

And then, suddenly, the queen jerked backwards. Her generously endowed chest puffed upward, her victorious face disappearing behind them, an evil sun quickly setting behind two great hills. Her larger chest won against the royal garb once worn comfortably by the previous queen.

There was an audible tear as the front of the royal robe began to tear against its merciless opponent. Her under-robe was visible within the resulting holes. The defeated queen was once again proven inferior.

At this the rage grew all over again within Ferrous, who roared as his once shaking legs launched him up the steps. Uncaring that he had no weapon in his chained hands, or of the rally of guards clamoring just behind him, he ascended toward the pretender queen. She did not move to defend, merely smiling as he jumped at her.

His attack was cut short as hands grasped his body, pulling him by his own hands chained behind his back and his own cotton shirt. He was tossed backward, his descent down the stairs loud, rough, and bloody. Exhaustion returned, hitting him the same time as the floor, his body crumpled. He could only look up once again at the usurper, who was now speaking, having made her decision.

The guards seized the battered ex-knight and forced him upright. At her indication they grasped at his chains.

Ferrous heard a click, and felt them slide off his wrists. He was freed.

His shock and bewilderment was immediately heightened as the queen herself stood up from her throne, still looking down at him and matching his gaze. She descended toward him.

The angry and violent knight was awashed with apprehension as his loathed conqueror approached him, and his wobbling and battered body could barely hold him up. He tried to step forward, but stepped back instead. Not out of fear, surely.

Queen Yaedora now stood before him, eye to eye. For the first time she spoke to him directly.

"You're hard," she said.

Sir Ferrous's mind blanked at this. He could only respond with silent bewilderment. Helpfully, the queen pointed downward.

"I arouse you," she said.

As a demonstration the queen once again flaunted her heavy chest, slowly lifting her cleavage upward with one arm.

For the first time Sir Ferrous noticed the tug of his erection, tenting in his cloth trousers.

"Fuck you!" he managed to gutter out, still swaying. The queen shook her head.

"Sir Ferrous Seer, latest knight of the Seer family, descendant of the northern fang clans. You came to me filled with such anger, and a desire for revenge, and to let your loyalty to your precious queen be known before what would surely be your execution. And yet, as you stood there and yelled and boasted and whined your body could not deny its most basic, most undeniable instincts. And now, after you've spent up your anger and energy, what remains?"

The queen apprached her, her arm raised, finger pointing. Ferrous, unable to even raise his battered and exhausted arms, stepped back.

"Stay away!"

The queen began to bend downwards, her finger approaching his crotch.

"What are you doing?"

"Sir Ferrous. All that remains in you is impotent bitterness. Growing fear. And the instinctual desire to do whatever it takes... to fuck me."

With that the queen stood right before the ex-knight, him unable to move to attack her. She gave his erection a single poke, and it suddenly grew further, slithering up the side of his pants, its head almost peaking out.

"Get away... g-get away-!"

The overwhelming arousal that came over him after his cock grew so large was not immediate. It was delayed, stumbling, but overpowering.

First came a disturbing plethora of dark thoughts in his head: the image of himself, by Usurper Queen Yaedora's side, as a loyal vassal. He was shocked at how right the image felt, a piece perfectly shaped to be inserted in the fault in his mind. The loathsome queen balancing the sword upon his shoulder, knighting him. Him bowing before her, she herself smirking down in victory.

In his denial of this dark array of thoughts was immediately overtaken by a horrible excitement in his loins as his exhausted mind could not fight back the invasion of this new erotic buzz. His cock, the only unabused part of his body at this point, sprung to life. His balls quivering, and he could feel them hard at work producing... producing so much cum. Cum that was fated, should his willpower not return, to be squeezed out by his own hand, oh so pleasurably gushing out of him as he masturbated to...

To his future as Queen Yaedora's servant. Gush.

To his own humiliating defeat and breaking. Gush.

To Queen Yaedora's victory over kind Queen Valerie, who she had proven inferior to her in every which way, and in his masturbation he would ultimately betray. Gush Gush Gush.

And as Ferrous battled this barrage in his mind (battle being generous, it would be more accurate to say he was losing thoroughly), Queen Yaedora stood upwards and smiled at Ferrous. She crossed her arms and gently and subtly squeezed her ample chest. She chuckled.

"Kneel."

No more energy left to hold him up, Ferrous fell down on his knees, to his horror.

"No! No... this isn't what... I'm not..!" he struggled to stand up but his thoroughly defeated and battered body had no energy to move.

"I'm sure, I'm sure," the haughty Queen Yaedora smirked. "Surely it was not that you obeyed my order that you fell to you knees, I know."

She bent down, her loathsome, malicious, and undeniably beautiful face hypnotically capturing his hate and arousal filled gaze. She whispered: "Submitting to me already feels better than loyalty to your queen ever will!"

"N-no!" his coarse throat is unable to give his denial the solidity he wishes.

"Guards. I have no more use for him. Let him go free."

Queen Yaedora gives the fallen Ferrous one last appreciative glance before turning away. He is yanked upward and pulled out of the palace.

He stays on the castle entrance grounds for hours, not moving but shuffling. There is energy in his loins that he does not want, motivation in his mind he wishes would die out. Death would be preferable, but he can't fight the dark thoughts and desires creeping in him. His body wants what his soul loathes: to lose and submit against his new queen...

At last, hours after sunset, he stands up and makes his way out of the palace grounds.

He passes through the capital city, hardly wrecked after the war, full of broken down buildings. All of the townsmen hiding in the remaining untouched towers. Only Yaedora's soldiers walk the streets. They pay him no mind, sensing no threat from the battered ex-knight.

Ferrous knows his friends and family are probably hiding in one of the towers. He does not seek them. He finds a barn and lies in hay with the chickens that night, desperately seeking sleep despite the stir of his desperate cock.

*** *** ***

He will assassinate the usurper. That is what Ferrous tells himself the next few days.

He plans it out as he's in the showers, and finds that in doing so no more horrible thoughts cross his mind.

He sharpens a knife as he works for food, keeping out all arousal.

At night the image of his beloved Queen Valerie is interrupted hourly by Queen Yaedora's smug victorious face and ample bosom, but thoughts of his assassination plans override them.

He hides a dagger in his belt as he sneaks his way around the palace employees and guards. He manages to make his way to the throne room, where he sees the queen standing at a long table, speaking with her council. No guards.

No plan, his mind purposefully empty, Ferrous charges in with a mighty cry, his knife pointed forward. The cowardly council and employees dart out of his way as he charges toward Queen Yaedora.

She giggles at his approach and holds her arms out wide, inviting him to stab, or perhaps embrace. The crown rests on her head still, mocking him. Her clothes are looser now, he can see her bare shoulders, as well as the shape of her chest. But now they drape downwards and accentuate the roundness of her hips.

Every image of Yaedora that he has been holding back these few days enters his mind at once. Her beautiful face, not at all ruined by the malice and evil of her soul. The infuriating aura of victory that was all at once impassable yet inescapable.

But it was the smell that caused Ferrous to fumble the knife and stop his advance.

The smell of the perfume that Queen Valerie had always worn as she consulted her knights, that he could recognize any day and anywhere, now coating the horrible tyrant Queen Yaedora.

It was blashpheme, and insult against the good queen! And yet despite this Ferrous was once again hard. Harder than even before, days of holding back his arousal now catching up to him.

The good Queen Valerie had never elicited arousal from Ferrous. He never desired her carnally at all. But now that smell of her perfume being worn on his hated nemesis had awakened a desperate need that betrayed every nerve in Ferrous's body! Valorous and loyal muscle and bone fought and failed against tightly packed and sensitive cock and balls, all the adrenaline in his body leaving him.

Usurper Queen Yaedora spoke first.

"Council. Leave me be."

Obediently, the others left the room, leaving the struggling and shuddering would-be-hero with the seemingly omnipotent tyrant. The smirk was on her face once again, now with greater confidence.

It was undeniable: he had proven her correct.

"Sir Ferrous Seer. I am now hiring you as my servant. You will live in the palace with all of the other ex-knights and soldiers who have bent the knee to me."

"Fuck you, I will never obey you!"

"Where was your previous quarters located?"

"The west wall," Ferrous said, without meaning to. He bit his lip. Queen Yaedora brushed the side of her gown, sliding it along the round of her hip.

"During the war, where were you situated?"

"Quillington Province, the eastern perimeter," he said again. He could not stop himself, the answers poured out of his mouth. His soul was defiant, but his mind and body already knew they were defeated, and desired their reward.

"Kneel."

Ferrous's knees quivered at the request. He could not resist, sinking down. Ferrous tried to stand back up, but the already he was feeling the dreadful, pleasurable sensation that submission brought. His body craved more...

"Have you masturbated, Ferrous?"

"Wh-What?"

"Since we last met. Have you finally let go and pleasured yourself to the thought of me?"

"..!" Ferrous could not respond.

"You, who served the land of Inlandia so fervently... have you finally admitted defeat and masturbated to the beautiful woman who has defeated and tamed your precious kingdom? You who revered your Queen Valerie so dearly... has the image of her bowing to me...tearful...defeated...totally in my mercy... invaded your mind at night? Have you, even as you hated me, clenched your thighs together in desperation and humped the mattress against your will, obeying your lustful cock and experienced momentary, shame filled pleasure at your imagination? Have you surrendered to me in reality as thoroughly as your body and mind surrendered to me inside you?"

"NO!" Ferrous managed to cry out. It was true. He had struggled, he had been aroused, but he had never cum. Despite the erotic breaths at night and sweat covered fevers of lust, despite his body working overtime at the thought of defeat, he had resisted that final step.

The queen shook her head.

"That is too bad for you. For now you never will for a long... long time."

"Wh-what?"

"Ferrous Seer. By my power and authority, as the delegated ruler of Inlandia in the name of the Empire, I revoke your title as knight, and instate you as one of my personal servants. You will now serve me wholly, utterly, and willingly. Do you reject?"

Fuck You! was what Ferrous wanted to shout, his mouth open wide, but he could not speak such words. In him the desperate need to remain loyal to Queen Valerie battled and lost to his need.

His baseline instinctual need for sex. His baseline desire for the safety of submission. His long neglected need for the perverse pleasure that Queen Valerie had dilligently kept in check for generations, and only debauchery and malevolence could force onto him. To bow and to serve, and to experience desperation and lose to it. To hump the bed and cum despite his fight against the instinct. To masturbate to fucked up evil things...

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora.

His need for Usurper Queen Yaedora to control him, to defeat him.

His need for Queen Yaedora to approve of him and stand above him victoriously over him.

"Ferrous Seer. Submit."

No! NO! NO No No no no no

"I...I..," Ferrous's mouth and tongue felt like uncontrollable and unfamiliar things, tears of desperation, yet certain surrender poured down his cheeks from his eyes. He shook and swayed, the fight in him like an explosive contained in a bottle.

"I... I... I sub...mit...!" he felt every syllable bring his cock closer and closer to cumming, only willpower alone holding him back now. He had lost to Yaedora, and would soon cum. Cum from submission, his orgasm sealing his betrayal of everything he once held as sacred. The ultimate symbol of even the mightiest of loyalty's ultimate defeat against the most casual of evil. Queen Yaedora smiled.

"Ferrous Seer. As my newest servant, I give you your first order."

She leaned close to him, her whisper binding and law.

"Do Not Cum."

*** *** ***

Deep in the castle's walls, there is a bedchamber. It has large wide windows, sealed with strong unmovable bars. It has a luxurious bed, a mirror, and plenty of flowers and plants. It has a small room with a toilet, a tub, and even a functioning fountain of water to wash in. The only exit to the room is a locked and reinforced door that never opens, with a small slit through which a tray of food and drink is slid through three times a day. It is a room that is large, spacious, and of whom a woman would be perfectly capable of spending all of her days in. This is the prison of Valerie Wyn Inlandia, the previous queen of Inlandia.

Although the monarch had lost her throne and was soundly defeated, her pure and noble heart remains uncorrupted, hope for escape and justice unbroken. For now.

To Be Continued...

[thefemdomenchantress]

Man, i would love to give this one a second draft. Too quick, too many repeat words, alas

But then again, it's one if my favorite self indulgent little stories and i love it the way i love nostalgic candy (like boxes of nerds)

The Tyrant Above the Pit (A Non-Erotic Enchantress Story)

[Not an erotic story. Just thought I’d keep a promise I made a few weeks back.

It’s funny, really. This setting was created solely to make parody swords and sorcery erotica, then it became just genuine erotica.

Sometimes you come up with stories with these characters that sound cool to tell, but don’t really match the tone you’ve set up so far. A bunch of stories between the hero, the princess, and the enchantress never make it to the first draft because I couldn’t find a way to make them erotic or funny. This is one such tale.

A reminder that there is no set canon for these enchantress stories. Pick and choose whatever you want to believe happened and ignore whatever you don’t.]

The stone faced soldiers, each garbed in thick red cloth and brandishing halberds, flanked the village. A cloaked elder, her eyes veiled by the seemingly abyssal shadow of her pointed hood, raised her finger toward the conglomerated villagers, her finger glowing blood red. The magic emanated around her like strands of barbed wire around a pole. Mothers and fathers covered their children, husbands stood in front of their wives, for all the good it would do.

Greater Crone: Last chance, paltry village. Be it through surrender or through genocide the prince hiding among you shall be found…

Among the villagers, no one spoke. Some cried, some stared defiant, but no one gave up their prince.

One of them, kept in the center of the pack, froze in shock, in awe, and tearful love for his people.

The ichor-veined prince of this land, hidden among the villagers for decades, couldn’t make himself move like he wanted. All around him stood the men and women who raised him since infancy, and were more family to him than his real royal blood. None of them would reveal him.

Greater Crone: My spell will slay all peasants, and cripple any royals. There’s no hope of saving him.

The prince urged himself to shout. To surrender himself. The villagers said nothing. Those around the prince held his hand tight. Even if it was, in the end, a pointless effort, their love for him would not let them betray him. Even if they could not stop him from being found in the end, what they could do was give them this last message: he was loved.

The prince opened his mouth, gasping, ready to shout…

???: You’ve found me.

The villagers, and the ichor veined prince, stared at the one among them who spoke. A cloaked man, holding a dagger against his own throat. It was not one of the villagers, but a strange homeless traveler who had came to the town a few days ago. The prince stared shock as the man walked toward the crone, not a lick of fear in his face.

The crone aimed his finger toward the man, but did not cast a spell.

Greater Crone: You are the prince we seek?

The beggar removed his hood. His face was clear. He had no dirt in his hair, and his eyes seemed to glow with strength and confidence. He wore a golden necklace with an emerald larger than even the prince had ever seen in his life. The man himself wore an air of regalia that surpassed the real thing. Just who was this man?

???: I am the prince that you seek! Ichor runs through my veins! I am the one who lived hidden among lowly peasants all my life for my own safety, for what good it’s done!

Greater Crone: Put down the knife!

???: No, crone. You need me alive. And as long as this cold steel is pressed against my throat you can not kill them. If you slay even one among them I will slit myself and all of your work hunting me down will be for nothing. Or do you think your magic is faster than my hand?

A small amount of blood dripped down the knife as it shallowly cut near the man’s throat. To the ichor-veined prince’s shock it glowed silvery white.

There was silence. Who was this man? No one outside of the villagers would have known about the prince, and yet this man had not only known but seemed to have planned for this confrontation. And what were the chances that there would be another man in the entire country who had the same mutation as he?

All watched in silent and tense awe as the crone moved her finger away from the man and the villagers, and toward the open space. She cast her arcane power and brought forth a ruby gate.

Greater Crone: So the nobility of a prince is no mere tall tale. My men and I will step through the magic gate to my master’s realm first, and you will follow.

???: Your master, the Crone King who needs my blood?

Greater Crone: The very same.

The stone faced soldiers passed through the red gate. The crone walked through, though her hand stayed out pointing to the pretend-prince, who turned to the villagers.

???: You have all proven your loyalty, and above all, your love for your crown prince. As I leave you now please know that I, the prince, will be forever grateful.

He looked at the true ichor-veined prince and winked. Then he walked into the portal. It closed, and was gone.

There was a great cry of relief, tension, and fear. Many scrambled to their homes, ready to flee. The prince was hugged all around by his grateful loved ones.

The prince’s eyes never left where the gate once was. A miracle had happened. When he was still struggling to give his life for the ones most dearest to him an utter stranger had taken his place. What would happen now? What will the dreaded Crone King, and his army of cultists, crones and demons, do when they found out there was a fake? And just who was this man?

As he struggled to make sense of what had happened a voice whispered into his mind… A feminine voice, muffled and soft.

Ichor-Veined Prince: Wh-what?

???-???: …won’t work… His plan… he’ll die… please… I can’t reach… I can’t

Ichor-Veined Prince: Who are you?

???-???: You… you must let me… summon me… A prince… can break the….

*** *** *** *** ***

The realm of the Crone King was a ring of stone villages around a round pit larger than a major city. Below the pit was white flames. Levitating above the middle of the pit, watching each village from above, was the ten headed, five hundred year old being.

Large enough to be visible from five thousand meters away. His humanoid body reddened with white veins, the ichor from within him so potent a subtle glow was visible through his skin. A thick, veiny neck more akin to an ancient tree trunk, supporting ten different weights. Ten heads with ten different faces, all ancient men with brown and white beards that reached his knees, almost covering his entire body in a curtain of hair. Each face morphing grotesquely between wizard and crone as he wished.

Once a mere warlock who cheated death and contracts again and again until he grew too strong, and slew the devas and demons who were his debtors. By drinking the precious ichor, the blood of the gods, he remained alive. Through his crones, he could gather more ichor. Reaching Godhood was his dream, and in this impossible pursuit he did not mind dragging thousands to their deaths if stepping over the pile inched him closer and closer…

As the Greater Crone stepped through the gate, and so did the pretend prince, the head that faced them raised an eyebrow. The gate closed, and the pretender prince’s knife dropped to the ground…

Greater Crone: I have spared the village… But you shall face a suffering worthy of all of them.

The crone lifted the knife from the ground, admiring the dried white stain. The false prince smiled to himself and felt his own throat. Not a single cut to be found, he removed the hidden, slit bag of fluid beneath the make-up and discarded it…

*** *** *** *** ***

Ichor-Veined Prince: ANGEL SEMEN???

??? - ???: Indistinguishable from Ichor… He stole it from my labs… That’s how I figured out his plan…

Ichor-Veined Prince: Who was that man???

??? - ???: Please… He thinks he can slay your foe… but it will fail… Your village… is protected… against my magic…

Ichor-Veined Prince: What is going on!

??? - ???: If he fails, he will die… if he dies your loved ones will die… If i can get… to where that gate was last cast… I might be able… to win… I will fight for you all…

Ichor-Veined Prince: None of this makes sense…

??? - ???: I know, but you have to trust me… I can save you all… Just let me in… You are the prince… You can allow me entry…

Ichor-Veined Prince: … The magic around this village… Only keeps out dark magic. So if it’s keeping you out, then…

??? - ???: … You’re right. So I beg of you to choose to let me in anyways… This is the first… time I’ve ever begged… I’m not like the crone king…

The prince looked around at the concerned villagers who could not hear who he was speaking to. Today he had almost failed them… He almost let them die…

Ichor-Veined Prince: …Ever since I was born with this rare blood my father had me hidden from the crone king. I have been protected… These men and women. Even their children… My family has always protected me… If I let you in and you harm them, I can never be forgiven… But if you can slay the Crone King, and I don’t let you in… that will also be unforgivable…

??? - ???: …

Ichor-Veined Prince: Just one question, and I’ll make up my mind. That man. That man who knew who I was and, for no reason at all, took my place. That man who you seem to want to save so badly… Who is he to you?

And the voice answered without hesitation, the veracity loud and clear.

??? - ???: My love… and my hero.

*** *** *** *** ***

The hero stared up at the ancient being he was lead toward. Framed against a pitch black, starless void, his red heads above a brown curtain of beard, one of them following his every movement. A being whose might was near that of a demi-God, and far more likely to smite and lash out. Even the enchantress herself would be dwarfed against the being.

His captor was chatty as she guided him down the stone stairs toward the pit…

Greater Crone: Gods can create almost anything… whole islands, and even continents if they all agree to it… even a whole planet perhaps… but they cannot create Ichor. Unlike mortals, a God’s body does not create more blood. When they bleed the damage is irreversible. So they guard it with such a fervor.

She held up the knife stained with Angelic Semen as she walked, admiring it unaware of the con.

Greater Crone: But your kind… a rare mutant whose ancestor was touched by Gods some thousand or so years ago… has the blood of Gods, and the ability to create more… You are more a more valuable treasure than the treasuries of five empires.

They approached the pit. The soldiers held the hero firm. Demonic winged humanoids ascended from the white flames below. From above, the great ten headed being lowered.

Greater Crone: The almighty king shall devour you alive… You will be kept alive in his gut for eternity, your body mutilated and deformed into an organ that will produce Ichor forever, like so many before you!. Rejoice, for you are a stepping stone on his way to achieving Godhood!

The hero’s eyes narrowed at the descending being. No matter how much ichor he kept in his body he would never become a God. But the hero ready and willing to help send him on his way to meet them in the afterlife. In his stomach the pendant with the sacred carving he had swallowed earlier began vibrating. The demonic powers all around him was triggering its power, and he was just barely keeping it suppressed.

The hero bit down his fear and kept the grim consequences of failure out from his head. He didn’t think about his beloved princess, his dear apprentice, or the mighty enchantress. He would survive. He would slay the crone king, and come back to them.

Greater Crone: Mightiest King! I have brought another human with ichor in his veins!

The winged demons took the hero by his hands and flew him toward one of the king’s ten faces. The hero hung by his shoulders before a great, red, bearded face leering at him.

The demons took a knife and cut the hero’s forehead.

The king’s eyes widened at the sight of his very red, very mortal blood.

The hero shouted the holy word and unleashed the power of the pendant. Emanating throughout his body until he was a ball of purest white was the borrowed power of angels, a demon or demi-god’s bane. The demons holding him, as well as all of the demons flying around him, shrieked as their flesh and bodies turned to dust. The hero remained floating in the air, great wings formed from his back. The crone king winced and covered his eyes.

The hero focused the angelic blast at the king, crying out with effort. All around the cultists, crones and demons from the villages surrounding the pit cried out at the sight of their mighty king being pushed back by the power.

But he did not fall, did not succumb to the power, and pushed back without much effort. To the hero’s horror the mighty crone king reached out, barely being singed by the light. His great palm came toward the hero, who had no other way to slay this man.

The fingers wrapped around the orb of white light, pressing down against its repelling power. Barely holding back his despair and reminding himself that at least the villagers probably escaped by now, hero drew his sword and prepared for the worst.

And then a shriek like a hundred giant harpies echoed throughout the entire realm.

Enchantress: CRONE KING!

The hero turned and saw in the distance the portal he had been lead into this realm through had been wrenched open, glowing bright green instead of red, and the enormous bundle of wings, tentacles, and fangs that was the enchantress’s true body, clad in green and bronze armor, burst through the gate. It crawled down the stairs, crushing hundreds of stone houses and slashing at demons that dared stand in its path, before soaring in the air and tackling the body of the crone king, like a wolf latching onto the throat of a bear.

The heads of the king wailed in fury as the enchantress gripped his beards with her many appendages and limbs and tore at him.

The pitch black sky was slowly turning a hue of green and blue as the enchantress’s magic battled the crone king’s for control of the realm.

There was a blast of arcane and demonic magic as the enchantress was blasted up away from the king, her body reverting to that of an enormous humanoid woman. And, in a sight as rare as it was horrible, she was bleeding. Not the magical goop that spilled whenever the hero cut one of her life-like magical puppet bodies, but real red blood.

The enchantress glanced at the hero, worry in her eyes, and gave a small sad grin. The hero’s stomach tightened, as he recognized that guilty, apologetic look.

“This might be it for me. Good bye. I love you.”

With one finger she pushed against the glowing orb that was the hero, sending him back toward the edge of the pit, before turning her back to him. The Crone King was surrounded by his infinite army of demons. The enchantress was alone, but great.

The battle ensued in a flurry of arcana and a whirlwind of demons attacking and falling like flies. The hero reached out in vain as his angelic wings disappeared and he fell to the ground.

*** *** ***

The last few minutes had been more than the Ichor-veined prince could have been prepared for if he had been given three years in advance. First he, for the first time in his life, used his prince’s powers to open the seal against dark magic that surrounded the little village that had managed to keep the king’s crones out for decades (before they found a way to sneak in).

All just because the enchantress’s voice sounded so very sentimental.

Then, with no warning, the enchantress grabbed him and opened the gate to the realm of the crone king and explained her terrifying plan before transforming into what she called her “battle form,” which was a horrific and nearly unfathomable sight. And she scooped him up and hid him inside the armor (Yes, the unfathomable form had a cleavage).

After squeezing through the gate and crashing down toward the pit the enchantress roughly but discreetly placed him down…

And now the false prince landed right at his feet. The prince supported the hero.

Hero: You… you’re the real prince…

Ichor-veined Prince: No time to explain. The enchantress gave me these wands that can kill demons and cultists and told me I have to help blast our way through these demons so we can return through the gate!

Hero: G-Gate?

Most of the demons were not focused on the two of them, but a few cultists were headed toward them, wielding halberds and weapons. The prince, in a panic, pointed the wands, which blasted them all apart.

Ichor-veined Prince: Oh good! They work! Come on now!

Hero: En…Enchy! I have to help her!

Ichor-veined Prince: You can help your lover by staying out of her way!

Hero: She wasn’t supposed to be here… the seal around your village… it was supposed to keep her away… keep her out of this… keep her safe from this… no no no no, why-!

Ichor-veined Prince: What the hell are you going on about?

Hero: No no no… It was just supposed to be me… No one else… Not your villagers… not you… not the enchantress… No one else was supposed to get hurt…

The prince wrenched the hero up by the cuff of his shirt.

Ichor-veined Prince: Just how do you think she felt! She said she loved you, damn it! You think she would always be okay with you dying for her? That it doesn’t hurt to be protected?

The hero looked at the moist eyes of the prince…

Hero: … I won’t leave her…

Ichor-veined Prince: … You won’t, will you? Damn it all.

More cultists leapt upon them. The prince blasted at them while the hero drew his sword.

Ichor-veined Prince: Then what do we do?

*** *** *** *** ***

The enchantress’s magic was too advanced, too ethereal to be described as casting. She weaved, warped, corrupted the reality around her, bending the realm’s space to dodge, deflect, and avoid the fires and demonic attacks of the crone king.

But this was his realm, and she was losing her grip on the fight. The blows she landed on him were equal to those he landed on her, but he could heal. He could afford to take her magical hits. As long as he controlled this realm, and the skies were slowly turning back to black…

The enchantress, believing this to be her final fight, decided to cast a new kind of magic… In her hands she conjured not a magical beam of energy, but a sword.

She stabbed the crone king’s tree trunk of a neck, who had not predicted such an analog approach. But the wound was shallow. The king reciprocated with a flurry of flaming arcane blows. The enchantress bled and bruised, but she bit her lip and did not let go of the sword, only pressing further into the neck…

The king grasped the sword with his hands… Half of his effort focused on maintaining dominance of his realm… Half of his effort fighting the enchantress’s real body…

Neither budged… a true stalemate…

Ichor-veined Prince: HELP! PLEASE, HELP ME!

The two super beings stared up. A winged demon held onto the ichor-veined prince and brought him to one of the king’s heads.

Enchantress: Fool! I told you to get my hero to safety!

Ichor-veined Prince: P-PLEASE SAVE ME!

The enchantress watched with horror as the king opened his eager jaws, unable to do a thing to save the poor man and defend herself at the same time… If only her energy hadn’t been spent…

Neither the enchantress nor the king could see the hero, hiding himself on the demon’s back, jabbing the demon-slaying wand threatening against its back to get it to comply…

Ichor-veined Prince: NOOOOO!

The prince was dropped, and the hero jumped. The half a second in which the both of them fell into the jaws of the ichor-crazed king, to the horrified enchantress, felt like an eternity.

The king’s mouth closed.

Something inside the enchantress broke. What came leaking out was not anger. It was not fear. It was not any emotion. It was only a single sentence, a sentence that poured into her muscles, her magic, and out her mouth in a cold rasp.

Enchantress: You give him back.

The tip of her sword plunged deeper into the neck, as though she were trying to stop their descent down his throat the manual way. Adrenaline poured through her blood as the blackness of the sky began to recede against the green.

The king struggled. He had all of the power he needed to kill the enchantress in this realm, even with the sword damaging his physical body… But he wass still human… And something beside the sword was causing him a very human amount of pain inside…

*** *** *** ***

The hero grasped the prince in one arm and jammed his sword into the inside of the throat… The prince himself fired his wands all around… Outside forces seemed to have stopped the peristalsis that would have forced them both down…

Ichor-veined Prince: I hope you haven’t just tricked me into committing mutual suicide! I have loved one I want to get back to!

Hero: We won’t die! She’ll save us. I know it.

They fought from within as the enchantress fought from without…

*** *** *** ***

Choking, in great pain, the crone king could not weave his magic… The enchantress’s sword cut him all throughout. His chest, his arms, it severed his many beards and even severed his left hand from his wrist…

The villagers and crones watched in horror as their mighty lord began succumbing to the attacks of the enchantress…

All of these blows against his physical body could be fixed… The enchantress would become exhausted and he would heal indefinitely… This was a battle he could not lose…

But as ichor poured from his wounds and into the white fire of the pit below and the many beings he had eaten in his life sensed hope… His own body began to betray him… The ichor that was the source of his power was denying him…

*** *** ***

Ichor-Veined Prince: HEAR ME, VICTIMS OF THE CRONE KING! I KNOW YOU CAN STILL THINK, STILL UNDERSTAND… I AM ONE OF YOU.

The hero’s grip would not last long… The prince called out to his fellow kind within the belly of the king…

Ichor-Veined Prince: THE END OF YOUR TORMENT IS NEARBY! SEIZE IT! HELP US FIGHT THE CRONE KING AND END THIS HELL YOU’VE BEEN TRAPPED IN!

His voice echoed down… and as if in response, the ichor within the king bubbled…

*** *** ***

The bleeding would not stop… his body was refusing to heal… the king’s body began to fall to the pit below…

With one vertical swing the enchantress’s sword slit the ten headed man’s throat. She jabbed her two arms deep into it, each one closing around two bodies. She pulled out the hero and the prince.

And with one violent kick, sent the dying man plummeting. All ten heads, morphing back and forth between wizard and crone, wailed its androgynous death throes as the king of crones burned away in a white hot flash, and the black of the sky was consumed completely and utterly by the enchantress’s green arcane.

Not waiting to watch the death of the fallen king, the enchantress flew toward the gate, squeezing through it and shutting it behind her…

The prince and hero fell to the village ground. The villagers helped the prince to his feet and stared in awe as the enchantress, panting and groaning from the mortal pain, began receding into her human sized body. She stood unsteady on her feet before falling forward, caught by her hero.

Enchantress: … You’re a dumbass.

Hero: …Yeah. I know.

*** *** ***

The enchantress had no more magic in her, and would not for a while. She would need her cuts and bruises tended to the normal way. The two saviors of the village were gifted one of the cleaner houses for as long as they needed. All alone, the hero took the enchantress into the house.

From outside they could hear the prince give the news of the evil king’s defeat. There was applause.

Enchantress: … If it weren’t for all of them, you would be dead.

Hero: If it weren’t for you I would be dead.

Enchantress: Pshh. That goes without saying.

He sat her down on the bed. The enchantress raised an eyebrow.

Enchantress: Well? I’m injured. I can’t strip down on my own.

Hero: O-oh! Um… I’m sorry.

He helped pull the robe off of the enchantress, laying bare all of her new scars. He cleaned her cuts and applied the stinging herbs and gauges…

Hero: I… I’m not used to being on this side of things… I’m not usually the one who gets saved…

Enchantress: Yes you are. I just don’t always tell you.

Hero: Um… do you need anything else?

She held his hand and he squeezed it.

Enchantress: Some water. Some food. And for you to stay. Will you?

Hero: … When you fought the Crone king, and I thought you were going to die… That might have been the worst I had ever felt in my life…

Enchantress: …

Hero: I’m sorry…

Enchantress: … It’s what I signed up for. When I decided I wanted to love you, a stupid little hero… So, that water and food?

The hero made his way to the well outside as the enchantress laid down. He came back with heated water and porridge. He fed his savior, and stayed by her side as she rested.

Enchantress: Just a tip for the future… An angelic pendant is great against demons and demi-gods. But the crone king was, despite how he looked, a human.

Hero: … I’m sorry.

Enchantress: Don’t be sorry. Just be better.

Hero: I will.

Enchantress: … I won’t ask you to stop doing things like this… But take better care of your own self while you’re out saving others… Promise me?

He took the enchantress’s hand and kissed her ring finger.

Hero: I promise… Now please get better… So you can get back to being my nemesis…

Enchantress: Yes. And we’ll go back to having stupid little fights, my love.

Hero: It’s a deal.

THE END

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

[This one began with a simple premise. The hero gets into a situation he thinks he can handle. There’s something he doesn’t know that would ruin his plan and end with him getting killed, so the enchantress has to come and save him in an epic manner. It ends with the hero treating the enchantress’s wounds instead of the reverse

It really ballooned as I wrote all of this in one night. You can imagine my horror when I realized it was 4:50 AM and I was still writing, being led along by the rush of watching a fantasy story expand unforeseen.

I can’t tell if this is bloated and unnecessary, but it felt great to write.

Please forgive me for this indulgent bit of work]

#not erotica #The enchantress #story

[thefemdomenchantress]

"Men who are So erect and shivering with such need will do whatever i damn well demand..."

With a long, slow rub of her finger beneath one such drow's bulge, the matriarch Lady Myriea snapped her fingers. Despite their desperate shivering, tears of shame and joy blinding them, dozens of dark elf soldiers released their arrows, all of them hitting the wooden targets.

"Good boys," she said, turning to leave them all cold and alone in their camp for another night.

With that simple compliment the once heroic drow who in the past harbored funny little thoughts of revolution and escape dropped to their knees in lustful despair. The eternal hardness of their cocks and tightness of their balls more binding than any chain.

Enchantress: Here, hero. A free Advanced Potion Making book full of secret potion recipes the guilds don’t want you to know about!

Hero: Why is “Freshly Extracted Hero Cum” an ingredient in every recipe?

Enchantress: Trade secret.

Hero: The ingredient “Drool from the mouth of a freshly mind-broken hero” is similarly constant throughout.

Enchantress: It’s a mystery for sure.

Hero: … I notice that these potions all have “constant horniness, a sexual itch of the soul, satiable only via submission to a magical woman” as possible side effects.

Enchantress: All medicine cums with minor risks.

#The only time they may be relieved is when she calls for two of them to have sex with one another for herself and an audience #And even then the relief and sobriety only plays lasts 1 dreadful minute #Drows #Silly little drizzt wannabea

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: Caught Thief

It was a simple job that the hero has done plenty of times before: steal the jewels from royalty and return them to a conquered family. But as the hero, hefting a bag filled with the valuable jewellery and adorned with soft boots temporarily charmed to produce no sound, was tip toe-ing toward the window of which he was escaping, the door opened.

He had no place to hide, but he managed to at least slip the bag out of sight.

There was no mistaking the identity of the lady who had caught him: the famous regent of this small queendom. The queen with no king. The stern but ultimately fair and competent queen of whom the hero's clients loathed so much.

She was a plump, and well endowed woman at forty years, though there was little in the way of wrinkles on her rounded face. Her lips were coloured and seemed constantly pursed, her eyes shadowed. She wore a plain evening gown that modestly covered her body up to her neck-line and revealed no cleavage, along with a loose cloak, and yet her abundant and shapely chest could not be hidden. On her head was a simple and unadorned cap.

Many details entered the hero's trained analytical eyes. The gown was modest not only in how chaste it was, but its material and dyes. A humble cotton dress, a commoner's orange hue created locally by crushing inexpensive fruit peels. No earrings or jewellery of any sort, although she probably would have removed them at this hour.

The queen's walk was unmistakabley regal in how she held her head up, even as she looked the hero down (she was taller than him by a noticeable height.) She was calm for someone who had just walked in on a robbery, hardly raising her angled, seemingly sculpted eye brows. Her hair was auburn, almost orange when illuminated by her candle.

A detail the hero noticed not in the queen herself, but in himself, was a stirring in his body, but particularly his loins. Worrying, but not too unexpected. He had been caught on the job and his senses of danger was heightened: his body responding in confusion was not abnormal. Still... he wished he was not growing erect while in such danger...

The queen spoke first.

Queen: Ah, there you are. I had thought you had gotten yourself lost on the way here. I take it that no one saw you come in?

The hero kept his expression neutral, not letting his perplexion show. He improvised.

Hero: Um, no. Not at all, your majesty.

Queen: "My Lady" will do tonight, boy. I assure you that there will be little "majestic" in what I'm having you do with me. Come now.

She motioned for him to join her as she opened the door to the bedchamber for him. With no choice he entered, with the queen locking the door behind him.

The room was modest in size and adornment, but the size of the bed was not. Large enough for two, perhaps three large adults, with drapes and many pillows and blankets. The hero stood still, unsure what to do.

The queen placed her candle and cap on night stand. She took the hero's wrist and guided him toward a corner, where a glass door drawer with bottles of what appeared to be spirits and liquors awaited. She opened one bottle of imported rye whisky and poured into two prepared glasses, offering him one.

Queen: You're not one of the usual men the guild sends my way, so please drink. It will help you be at ease.

The hero took the glass, thinking if there was a way to escape still. She had seemed to mistake him as some sort of service worker, but he knew nothing else. Was he a masseusse? A prostitute?

The queen herself took the of whisky with impressive gusto, and obviously expected the hero to do the same. Not much of a drinker usually, the hero had no choice but to drink the while shot in one gulp. The shot burned his throat on the way down, flaring up his nostrils. The queen smirked at his reaction, the first reaction she had shown that night.

Then the queen made her way to the bed. She let the cloak fall from her shoulders, smoothly letting it settle onto the bed post, revealing her large, soft shoulders and arms. She motioned for the hero to do the same.

Queen: Stay clothed for now, boy. But lose the shoes, belt, and gloves. They'll make undoing you beneath these sheets a hassle. Just leave them on the cabinet.

The hero, still feeling supremely on edge in this situation and now just a bit wobbly (as well as erect), took off his boots.

He hesitated as he fiddled the buckle on his belt: it had all of his tools and weapons, and he still needed to escape. But as he looked at the queen's sharp and expectant gaze he could think of nothing to say to convince her to let him wear it. He unbuckled his belt and lay it on the liquor cabinet. It loosely wrapped around the whiskey bottle like a scarf adorning a neck.

His instincts screamed at him not to remove his gloves either: keeping them on as protection from the domineering and obviously lecherous queen before him. The brave hero was beginning to suspect that the feeling in his loins was not borne merely from nervousness or panic, after all... But he could do nothing under the gaze of the queen. He conceded and removed them.

The queen went under the bed sheets, laying down. Her plump body did not create as deep a divet in the bed as the hero had expected: it must have been a firm material. Still, seeing her lie in that bed that she was inviting him into put into his mind a star with an inescapable orbit. A cruel thought to think of someone plump... yet worryingly alluring all the same.

The queen held up the sheets for him to join... Even now, before he even took a step toward her, he could imagine the warmth beneath that sheet, the scent of harsh firey whisky, and the gravity of the bed pulling his body closer to the well-endowed queen's embrace...

The hero struggled to center his thoughts on escape, and it was clear that escape was NOT in the direction of that bed, and by the side of this softly domineering queen! Even now, if he made a run for it, he could easily escape. For some reason, he could not picture doing the same in that bed, lying by the queen's side.

But another voice spoke to the hero in his mind: "don't be silly... the queen suspects nothing... you can still cleanly get away... just lie down with her..."

The queen held up the sheet, inviting him in. The hero slowly walked to the bed, his mind conflicted.

Queen: There's nothing to fear, young peasant. I will not hurt you, and in the morning you will have your pay. Come, just lie with me.

The hero touched the bed softly, swallowing back some of his fears. The queen was older than him. If she fell asleep before he did then he could escape without making any commotion. Surely his alertness and youth could outlast her.

He crawled onto the soft bed and under the sheets. Just as he suspected, the queen's larger and heavier body shifted the bed so that his body naturally slid toward her, but he resisted it. The queen smiled, and let the covers fall onto them both. They captured the hero in the warmth of the queen's body.

She gently pulled the hero close to her, the hero suddenly panicking as her larger body pressed down. She wrapped one of her thick legs over his own, her gown wrapping up his legs. The hero miscalculated: the queen was not only soft and heavy, but slightly stronger than he had realized. She pressed his head against her large chest.

The resulting erection was inescapable, he knew she could feel it agianst the thigh she had wrapped around him. The hero looked up from within her cleavage. The queen was looking down at him, keeping eye contact. He felt he could not match her at all.

Queen: There you go... This is nice... Let's not rush this, since this is your first night... Comfort me with your presence for now...

The hero squirmed softly, but there was no position he could shift his body into that could escape the queen's presence engulfing her. The bed's sliding him into her body. Her arm around his back, her leg wrapped around his waist and legs. The feel of her soft cotton gown and large chest.

The hero, once confident in his ability to outlast her, was feeling comfort drag him into danger. The shot of whisky, which the queen had taken so casually and easily, was burning away at his reasoning and ability to think on the fly. The smell of the queen's body pressed so close to him, the comfortable warmth... The look of domination as the queen hugged him close...

The hero realized that he was fast approaching being seduced by this queen... being slept with... and then, inescapably, falling sound asleep with her, which meant sure capture.

He suddenly noticed that his pants were being slid down his now bare buttocks.. Impossible! When did she begin stripping him and how had he not noticed? His erection was now free, unprotected, and pressed against her gown and thigh.

He managed to garner enough thoughts to struggle. He now did not care about being found out, he needed to escape! But... but his body's strength was failing in the queen's grasp.

Queen: Oh, where are you trying to go? Let's keep it in here, under the covers, shall we?

The hero tried in earnest to push the queen away, but he couldn't even lift his arms up from his sides as she held him down. She pulled his pants down further, now utilizing her feet and toes to yank them off his person altogether. Now her hand was tugging up his shirt. The hero struggled, but as she held him down, his stripping went uninterrupted.

Hero: Wait... No...!

Queen: Yes, young man.

Away went his shirt. His whole bare body pressed against the queen's soft, cotton wrapped body. His quivering erection pathetically pressed against her waist and thighs, his shaking arms and legs no more effective in resistance.

Queen: Good boy... You're doing just fine... Now, as I undo you, why don't you keep trying to escape? I quite like that.

She dragged him under her, laying atop him with her full body. The hero felt sucked under, trapped beneath her larger, plump, and soft body, sandwiched on top of the firm bed.

He tried so, so hard, but could not break free. Nor could he stop her as she began to explore his body.

The lecherous queen, now keeping her heroic captive at bay simply with her weight alone, had her hands and legs free to explore him intrusively and with hardly any mercy.

Her fingers slid into his ass, tickling and teasing his sensitive spots.

Her feet stroked against his own in unhidden relish.

She pried open his mouth and admired his helplessness as she slowly, letting him watch unable to stop her, opened her own mouth and pressed her tongue into his own, forcing him into the most intimate kiss he had ever experienced. Then she kept his mouth open as she pressed her still clothed left breast into it.

Her thick cotton gown acted as a layer of protection as her soft breast filled up the hero's mouth. He felt it impede his breath, he could hardly even give a muffled scream in protest, and felt the warmth (No, the Heat!) in his loins grow and grow.

When she released his mouth and let him take a breath he began to beg for mercy before she placed her other breast inside.

This relentless attack of the hero's psyche and body wore him down to a helpless state... He could do nothing as she played with his body in this way, dominating every aspect of him.

Until the "play" ended, and the rape began.

She took off her clothes. Perhaps it was the lack of light (the candle had long ago melted away) but her plump body seemed spotless. She fondled the hero's erect cock, letting it slide along her body.. before bringing it close to her pussy. Still holding the struggling (though barely at this point) hero's arms, she looked down at this thoroughly defeated intruder.

Queen: Little man... you will tell me who hired you now.

Hero: N-never...

Queen: The time to resist is long past, little boy. I own you fully. I have explored you despite your best fight. You cannot convince your body or mind that they are not mine.

The hero groaned and squirmed as her grip on his wrists tightened. What she said was undoubtedly true.

Queen: Now tell me who they are, and only then will I give you what you know you want.

She let the tip of his cock brush against the lips of her vagina. They were both incredibly moist. The confirmation that the queen had thoroughly, primally enjoyed herself as she destroyed him, the moist and wet evidence that she had orgasmed to his defeat, was like a soft and gentle hand mercifully snuffing out the last embers of his resistance.

He told her everything, about the remaining members of the noble family who rejected her rulership hiding out in the countryside. He felt himself releasing pre-cum all over her fingers as the information and confession slipped from his lips, and felt horribly pleasing shame.

As soon as the information left his lips, the queen let go of his cock. She stood up from the bed, leaving him cold, as she took her clothes with her and walked to her toilet chamber to wash up. There was a distant sound of soldiers approaching the room.

The hero was arrested, left unclaimed, and unsatisfied.

***

How long did he spend in that dungeon? It could have been days, it could have been hours. He did not know.

He was not starved or left naked. A young, pretty girl would enter his cell to feed him. She seemed afraid of him, but he held no lust for her. His mind was still affected, still reeling, from his domination at the queen's side.

Then, the mighty queen graced his cell. She was wearing a far less modest gown, this one embroidered in silver. And was not nearly as chaste either: her cleavage was bare and visible. She once again wore a jacket, though this one was sequinned and seemed made of silk. The hero's cock stiffened instantly. He says nothing, simply staring up at the queen's noble and brilliant gaze.

Queen: I have good news. My spies and scholars have managed to find out your identity, noble traveler. Or perhaps you prefer to be called... hero?

The hero was surprised, not just because she had found out who he was, but because the title "traveler" or "hero" didn't seem to fit him at all after his destruction and mind (and physical) rape.

Queen: I am not so thoughtless a politician that I would ignore your noble actions through the years, and the number of very powerful allies who respect you. You will be freed. However, I can't let you go immediately. You must be punished still for daring to rob me...

The queen sighed, once again shrugging off her jacket and baring her arms. The hero felt blessed to see that sight more than once in his life, and immediately embarrassed and humiliated at how happy he felt.

Queen: At the same time... consider this an apology for how coldly I've treated you. I had not known you were so noble a man when I left you to be arrested by my men.

The queen bent down and tugged the hero's pants down, letting his erection spring forth. The hero was shocked, trying once again to escape, but moreso out of surprise than a lack of desire for what was to happen.

Queen: Seven weeks you must spend in this dungeon. And for seven weeks each night, you will be raped in this dungeon. If this seems barbaric, know that rape is the gruesome weapon of royals, even us women. Remember that next time you wish to fight us. Fight me.

The queen then took the hero's cock into her cleavage, with her two hands, she pressed her chest together, massaging his cock at such an agonizing slow but steady pace.

They spent over an hour together this way, the hero being kept pressed in her chest... every time he seemed close to release she would slow down further, keeping her eyes locked on him. Only after an hour and a half did she finally, slowly, and without speeding up even once, allow him to reach orgasm. It had only been a day at most since his defeat, and yet it felt as though the hero was unleashing months' worth of cum.

The queen stood up, her face covered in cum. She pat the hero's cheek. She gave him a loving, tender kiss.

Hero: You... you are unlike any queen I've ever fought...

Queen: Forty eight more nights, hero.

***

The following nights the hero was punished, and rewarded, by the queen.

The next night he was strapped to a post. Only his wrists were bound together to the pole, the rest of his nude body free to resist and squirm. The queen allowed him to see and feel the tool that she would be using to penetrate his naked, exposed ass, encouraging him to try and fight back, to escape. He could not escape at all.

The next night his wrists were tied back. He was fully clothed, and the queen was not. She clamped down hard on his head, stuffing his face against her pussy, and ordered him to smell... if he could resist tasting her, she would let him free from the dungeon immediately. He resisted the temptation for less than four minutes, the drool on his tongue adding to her pleasure.

The next night he was naked once again, tied up tight like a helpless flailing snake. Ropes bound his legs together, his arms strapped tight to his sides. He was utterly trapped, unable to break or even loosen the ropes. The dungeon door was left open, totally unguarded, if he could just squirm his way out without orgasming. As a bonus, the queen promised not to touch or hold back the hero with her arms or legs. It was hard to focus on squirming his way out the door, however, with the queen's skilled tongue exploring every part of his body, finally licking his cock and balls toward an explosive, irresistable orgasm as he was inches to the door. It slammed shut.

It was in this playful way the queen enjoyed her temporary ownership of the legendary hero, making him more and more her own each day. The knowledge that he should have been out in the world, slaying evil or overthrowing tyrants similar to herself made the fact that he lay squirming pathetically as her toy more gratifying. She was going to enjoy breaking him more and more, thoroughly.

And break the hero did, more and more each night. And though he fought the breaking, the sensation, every day, and although he tried to remind himself of who he really was, each day he felt more and more comfortable being treated like the lecherous toy of a queen. A queen whose evil lay not in how she ruled her queendom (for a competent and even caring ruler she was) but solely in how she treated HIM.

*** *** ***

A year later.

Months after he had been released. The hero, after some recovery, went back to being a hero. Traveling the world, saving the day...

And yet, he could not fully forget the feeling... the feeling of first being outwitted, seduced, overwhelmed...

...And how wonderfully humiliating the following weeks of rape were...

Even as he overcame powerful opponents and defeated bandit leaders, tyrants, and even demons and monsters, he felt as though a defeat hung over his head...

It was with that feeling that he found himself, despite his best efforts to move on, climbing up the palace towers one night, toward a familiar window of a familiar bedchamber.

The queen was sitting at her desk, reading by the candlelight when he entered. Neither fearful nor surprised at his presence the queen did not even take her eyes off her book.

Queen: Are you here for revenge, hero? Or perhaps another job? I have made many more enemies, no doubt. And I have lots of jewels and gowns to be stolen.

The hero did not respond. He simply took off his belt, gloves, and shoes, and got on all fours. He crawled toward where the queen was sitting and lay his head on her lap like a dog, whimpering. She absentmindedly pat his head, a small gesture that made the hero feel all of the comfort of a full summer's sun.

Now and then, some months as often as three times a week, the hero secretly enters the room of his lecherous, domineering queen, and endures with gratitude her unbeatable domination. He is slept with, raped even, as that is the weapon of powerful royals. And she is THE royal.

This is how the land's valiant hero was made into the queen's mere lover and slave.

The End.

*** *** ***

[This story took SOOO LONG to finish. As I write out this afterward, I still feel the presence of this story in my drafts, following me around, like the presence of the queen's domination follows the hero after his release. This story was inspired by a certain image, but I will never actually tell you what it was on this blog. If for some reason you want to know, if you're someone I interact with a lot on this site maaaaybe I'll send you a DM if you're curious, but it is really embarassing.

I think this story takes place in an alternate reality for the hero; one where he was never accosted by The Enchantress, or at least one where he never formed a permanent relationship with her. The Princess would probably not exist in this alternate timeline either, as the hero seems content to submit solely to the queen fully.

Overall, I like this story, even though it took so much out of me.

Thank you for waiting so long without me putting out a proper erotic piece. My new job schedule has been a killer on my writing ability, and i thank you for your patience. I have many other drafts still in my folders (some as old as 2021 in fact) that I WILL get thorough. I am determined to finally free my mind of these degenerate erotic stories and, perhaps, finally have a totally clean blank DRAFTS folder.]

#Regal #queen #the enchantress #even though she doesn't show up #Seduction #Older women #older lady #nobility

[thefemdomenchantress]

Seduction Student: Mistress, I've been trying to seduce the hero as you have instructed me. I have used every mind breaking technique you have taught to "slip through" the thick layers of resistance and justice to find the desire for submission and bowing to evil women that exists in all heroic men, but it's been futile! So I used this all-seeing-eye artifact to peer into his mind, and I found that underneath the initial layer of resistance and justice is not submission but rather MORE resistance and justice!

The enchantress looks at the all seeing eye.

Enchantress: Oh, no no no. You'll never get past the hero's extra thick layers of justice with just a medium setting.

She calibrates the machine's intensity, increasing the power to an agonizingly strong mind-and-soul opening 500x Zoom.

Deep beneath the years and years of resistance, justice, righteousness, willpower, and dedication to the cause of bettering the world and defeating the dastardly matriarchial FemDoms of his fantasy universe, lies just the most well hidden and safe guarded lust for defeat in the hero's mind. The student looks at the magical artifact in disbelief.

Seduction Student: Holy Gods... you put that much work into dominating your boyfriend every time?

Enchantress: If the heroic spirit isn't strong and genuine then there is no worth in its breaking and humiliation.

#The Enchantress #F3mdom #Short #student

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: Old Sex Because Why Not

Do I have older fans? I have never written older-mature moments before (To be clear, I mean I've never written Specifically About older people sex. The characters' ages in this series is Undetermined and Ambiguous at best).

***

The Enchantress sits at her single person pedestal, despondently staring into her hand held mirror. Her eyes are analytical, shrewd, as she goes over her features. No detail escapes her worried vision.

Behind her, two of her students watch her, whispering.

Student 1: For how long has she been doing this?

Student 2: She has been sitting there for a little over half an hour, but she's been in a mood since yesterday. Ever since she found out that the traveling warrior she is keen on, and of whom is definitely attracted to her in turn... has an elderly lady fetish.

Enchantress: Students.

The two hush up and turn to attention as the enchantress puts down the mirror.

Enchantress: Do the two of you think that I seem... old?

Student: Er... Not at all...

Student 2: To be fair, Lady Enchantress, your appearance is otherworldly, ethereal, and almost impossible to pin down in any specific way...

Enchantress: Oh, I am not merely referring to my physical appearance. That I can change at the drop of a hat if I ever wished. I mean... do I give off the aura of an old, magical crone?

The two young students could say nothing. The answer, in their minds, had always been a definite "yes," and they would have never believed i to be an issue until this moment. The enchantress sighed.

*** *** ***

The hero's hero-ing was interrupted on his way from Point A village to Point B township as he was scooped off of the beaten path into the air by a towering and lightning fast roc, and carried in a great bag to the Enchantress's palace.

There he fought back against his captor with all of his might, but was put soundly to sleep in a magic infused, gentle hug.

That is what he remembers now, as he awakens in the enchantress's dungeon, lying on a bed of crocodile scales (The enchantress's over-the-top gaudiness was almost admirable). He knows there is something different about his body as he stands up and feels unbalanced.

He looks into a mirror she has left for him.

For one thing, it is clear that he had been changed as he slept. His garb is similar to that worn by the nomads in the far western continent, with shoulder pauldrons of black and white furs, as well as a fur cape, a leather and steel chest guard, black leather gloves, and a kilt. He looks particularly barbaric, the very picture of a feral warrior, yet respectable. It is not the skimpy garb the enchantress is sometimes kind enough to allow him to wear in her care. Does the enchantress have cosplay in mind today?

But the most obvious change is his face. The face in the mirror that looks back at him is obviously his own, but the hair on his head, brows, and beard (did he have that before he slept? he does not remember...) has turned a salt-and-pepper black and white. His skin shows signs of age and experience, with wrinkles and some more calloused features. He has lost a bit of his fat, and his sharper edges and corners are now more pronounced.

He has aged. Fairly well, in fact.

The hero flexed his arms and shifted his hip. He has kept his youthful dexterity, though the balance is off and unfamiliar. In the mirror he sees his arms are still muscular, though not as in his youthful form. His skin is rougher and there are scars that he is sure are new. Whatever magic the enchantress used, it seems to have given him the aesthetic gifts of battles and adventures he has yet to see.

The hero wondered to himself if it is actually magic that the enchantress used. Perhaps he really is an old man, and has simply forgotten.

The dungeon door opens, and the enchantress saunters in. The hero turns to face his captor.

Hero: Enchantress! Wha-?

His voice is cut off as he stares in shock at the enchantress. Her hair a fine, wavy gray. Her facial features sharper, seasoned. She is now more wrinkled. And her expression is mischievous, and brighter than ever.

The enchantress's appearance has always been ephemeral, her age impossible to describe with human terms. But now she is unmistakably older.

She wears a gown of a high sorceress. Dark red silks, shaped by golden string and laces, and gem studded silver pauldrons. It trails behind her against the dungeon floor as she makes her way toward him. He is petrified by awe as she brings a hand to his face, gently holding his cheek.

Enchantress: I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my noble hero.

Hero: Enchantress... You... I...

Enchantress: You may have your answers.

She takes a step back, letting her hand fall, the sleeve of the robe stroking his body. She turns away from him slowly.

Enchantress: But I know that's not your most immediate desire...

The hero takes her dangling hand into his own calloused grasp, gently pulling her back.

He knows he should ask her many questions, that he should resist the pull... But the enchantress's majestic presence, the evidence of her experience and power on full display, leaves him with no will to fight.

She smiles as the hero gently grasps her left shoulder and right of her hip, taking her slender body to his own burly and armored self. His voice is low, full of barely repressed need.

Hero: I... I need not answers, my enchantress...

Enchantress: How forward. Has the years whittled down your sense of restraint, hero?

The enchantress drapes her arms around the hero's body as he leans in close. He smells the perfume she's massaged into her silver hair, grasps her sorceress's cloak, the proof of her magical triumphs over the years. She, in turns squeezes and almost painfully claws at his older limbs, looking for a foothold, a place to grasp and maintain leverage.

He kisses her neck down to her cleavage. The soft skin he had grown to know was now rougher, more angled, and not as bountiful in fat. Age has taken away the smoothness of the skin, and some of the fat in her chest. The hero's kiss as he relishes all of the evidence of age is as passionate all the same, and maybe more so than ever.

His passion is, perhaps, too great. The enchantress resists surrendering to his enthusiasm, and must take control. He tries to lift her by the thighs and into the air, where he will no doubt press her against the dungeon wall, where he will marvel her beauty and body like a painting, before ruining her. Before he can, she grasps his black and white hair, pulling his head back, stunning him momentarily.

Enchantress: Lie down, my love.

Not bothering to wait for his obedience, she grasps his upper thigh from beneath his kilt and, with a strength that her older appearance had made the hero forget about, lifted yanks and pushes his body onto the bed.

As he lies on the gaudy, crocodilian bed, up at the majestic old woman, the enchantress disrobes. Her body has aged as well.

In many ways she is impressive for her apparent age. Slender, lithe, and not a scar on her body. But even the prideful enchantress is nervous as age has inevitably left its mark. Her perky chest is looser than before. Her hips, once a bountiful place to grasp in bed and make her lover swoon against his own will, were now bonier and slightly rigid. Her belly fat, once subtle and even attractive in her hero's eyes, now seemed out of place in her otherwise skinnier form.

She hides her misgivings of her body and crawls atop the hero, straddling his kilt covered hips, waiting to see if his apparent awe at her older, powerful self will remain when he sees her from this less flattering point of view.

His response exceeds even her most optimistic dreams as his hands shoot up, stroking her sides and appreciating her every bump and crook, and finally rest softly against her smaller breasts. His squeeze is not painful, but not gentle either. The old man has lost his control, to the enchantress's pleasure and relish.

She, in turn, begins to undo the barbaric outfit she had draped him in, letting fur and leather pieces drop to the floor, until he is only wearing the kilt. She is almost envious of the hero's well built body, musculature relatively maintained in his mature years, and his bits of looser fat and skin not detracting from his tantalizing body at all. If anything, she admired him further. Many of her past lovers across the eons of her life have been ripe old men and women, after all.

As the hero continues to paw at her chest and body with the passion of a twenty year old youth, the enchantress (with some regret) undoes his kilt, baring him completely beneath her. His cock is already hard, primed. She is moist, ready to receive him

Enchantress: I am ready, hero.

She takes him in slowly. She bounces slowly, at first nervous of her elderly body's hardness. This hesitation is the opening the hero needs to take some control, as he thrusts enthusiastically, bouncing her body up and down.

The enchantress leans forward and grasps the hero's shoulders, putting her weight on him to try and force him down. The hero responds by putting more force of his own into his rhythmic thrusts. Neither party wishes to hold back despite their ages.

His chiseled features. Her wisened and yet playful gaze. His strong arms that have weathered the years. Her aura of power which has only grown with time.

The two begin to lose control, dignity, and thoughts as they grasp and grind into one another, closing in on their first orgasms.

The two old, weathered bodies fuck unashamed into passion, and both surrender to becoming screaming, laughing, undignified vessels of passion in orgasmic bliss.

*** *** ***

Hours later, the enchantress and hero remain in the dungeon. Any thoughts of escape have left the hero's mind and exhausted body. The enchantress lies atop him.

Hero: What... what exactly is this, enchy?

Enchantress: Oh, just a spell I've been cooking up. You should be back to your normal age by sunrise, hero.

Hero: Will... you be back to "normal" too?

Enchantress: *Chuckling* Patience is a virtue, hero.

She leans in close.

Enchantress: I just wanted to make sure you understood... I am no old lonesome witch, hero. I am an elderly mistress of vast arcane might... Don't you forget.

#The enchantress #Elderly #elderly couple #Less femdom and more just straight up fukkin

[thefemdomenchantress]

New story, I'm using the word "angled" inappropriately to describe the features of a human body. Sorry.

[thefemdomenchantress]

Enchantress: Here, hero. A free Advanced Potion Making book full of secret potion recipes the guilds don’t want you to know about!

Hero: Why is “Freshly Extracted Hero Cum” an ingredient in every recipe?

Enchantress: Trade secret.

Hero: The ingredient “Drool from the mouth of a freshly mind-broken hero” is similarly constant throughout.

Enchantress: It’s a mystery for sure.

Hero: … I notice that these potions all have “constant horniness, a sexual itch of the soul, satiable only via submission to a magical woman” as possible side effects.

Enchantress: All medicine cums with minor risks.

#One problem at a time

[thefemdomenchantress]

me, a disappointed femdom blogger: Is THAT what serving cunt means?

[thefemdomenchantress]

A strap on is simultaneously a paralysis weapon and an injectment of energy. When impaled, you simultaneously cannot move (without her permission) and cannot lie still. Devastating, anxious helplessness.

[thefemdomenchantress]

Custom made

[thefemdomenchantress]

*click.* *buckle*

“Ah, that was amazing. And as you can see, we are done here! But don’t you move from that spot! You’ve done me and I’ll do you too! Just not now.

When? Whenever I’m feeling up to it! Probably later on in the day. Oh no, it’s not because you’ve upset me or anything! In fact your tongue work was to die for! No, baby, I’m doing this to teach you the joy of being denied. The joy of waiting…

Of course, nothing’s stopping little ol’ you from finishing yourself off while I’m gone…except you won’t. 

Because I said you won’t, so you won’t. Don’t deny it. And you WILL thank me for this later. Don’t deny that, either. You will.

I’ll be seeing you later, so don’t move a muscle and Don’t let your hands travel lower than your navel… I’ll know if it does…I’ve taught you to moan veeeery loud…”

[thefemdomenchantress]

It's because he fucks good, next question.

Enchantress: I want you so close to me. A hug isn’t enough. I want to embrace you so tight, with no clothing, not even a necklace between us. I want to engorged you into me like quicksand, never to be free again.

Hero: C-can’t we just hang out, play some poker?