Her Royal Pet, Ch. 3

 

Chapter 3: Fed By Her

 

The Witch Queen sits me on a cushioned stool in the lounge area of her palatial quarters.

She proceeds to groom me, a mother with an unruly child. Her nails become slicing talons with which to cut short my now-clean hair, reducing it to mere shoulder-length. I half-expect her to rid me of my beard entirely, but she settles for merely trimming it, after which she applies oil and perfumes.

I am then dressed in silks, purple with golden weave, and yet she continues to walk around in the nude. The Queen steps back and studies me, eyes tracing out every contour of my form and the clothes attached to it. After a brief interlude, she nods.

‘You are handsome, beneath the filth.’

I sigh. ‘Are we done?’

The Empress of Eternity lifts her breasts, cupping the great sagging shapes with each hand. Such excessive size they possess that perfect pale fullness spills over fingertips, beyond the sides of palms, and through gaps between her fingers. Such full, matronly breasts, but they unfortunately belong to her.

‘Which would you like to feed from first?’

My eyes twitch, the question catching me wholly off-guard. ‘What?’

‘Your presence here is, to a degree, secretive,’ she says, letting her heavy mammaries fall and jiggle against her slight motherly overhang of belly. The Queen steps forwards, halting a foot ahead of me. ‘I cannot risk my advisors and sycophants hearing of your living situation, and so I cannot alert my cooks. But I can nurse you. My milk is quite delicious, I promise.’

‘No.’ I avert my gaze, but my cheeks are red. ‘No way.’

‘Really? You would rather starve?’

‘It’s…it’s wrong. I’m a grown man.’

‘Oh, please. I’m almost ten thousand years old, boy. Don’t play the age card, not with me.’

‘I’ll happily eat scraps.’

‘Perhaps I always clean my plates,’ she says, humour in her voice. ‘Are my breasts too saggy? Too large? Too small, on the other extreme? I would think any man happy to be fed by such a beauty as myself.’

‘No…it’s all just…’

I hate it, but her body is perfect. That mature edge, the matronly curvaceous older woman’s form, with its lovely details and peculiarities. And the notion of nursing on her breasts, tasting the cream of her royal udders, has me instantly hard. I’ve got a tent in my robe, and my hand does an awful – and far too slow – job of covering it.

‘Ah, you like the idea, at least.’ The Witch Queen giggles, and strokes my cheek. ‘It’s okay, pet. They’re quite something, aren’t they?’

She gently urges me to face her. To face her heavy, plump chest. ‘I can’t.’

‘Another excuse? Pray tell me it?’

‘Trickery. Corruption.’

‘Daniel, if I wanted a mindless pet, I’d simply make you into one.’ She shakes her head. ‘No tricks, boy. It’s just breastmilk – albeit, a touch more nutritionally complete, to fit the needs of an adult man’s body – but is still, honestly, just my milk.’

I snort, and grimace. ‘And how long until you’re feeding me sperm, then? Is that the ultimate aim? Some mindless cocksucker, the ultimate humiliation?’

The Queen grips my chin forcefully, but not aggressively. She forces me to look into her eyes. ‘If a day dawns where I fill your belly with my seed, it will be a day you chose. And on such a day, and the days that follow, your faculties will not diminish. Quite the contrary, in fact. My semen is power, and if anything would only enhance your capabilities.

‘What occurred in the bath, I hope, is an example of that. My seed was not for you to taste, and I left not a drop on your person. It is, to some extent, an extension of my body’s “mana”, the raw energy that powers my magicks. Inside a womb, it makes divine children. Inside a belly, it gives power.’ The Queen smirks at her own lewd majesty. ‘I do not spread my seed onto just anyone’s tongue, boy. To date, only the carriers of my children have received it, and among those, only while they are pregnant.’

I shake my head. ‘Can’t believe a word you say.’

‘Oh, come off it. What do I gain from lying?’ She clicks her fingers, eyes darkening with light, and suddenly my body feels weird. ‘What a lovely mare you’d make, Danielle.’

I look down and find myself nude, feminine, sexy. Big breasts, wide hips, long curvaceous legs. My cock is gone, my beard vanished, all that was me re-written by the power of the Queen of Queens. And then she clicks her fingers and I am back as before, a man in my twenties, bearded, masculine. My cock, in fact, remains hard.

‘You underestimate me, boy,’ the Queen says. ‘I can redesign the world, should I choose to.’ She sighs, and gesticulates while turning away. ‘A hundred million sycophants would take your place in a heartbeat, would kill to sit where you sit. Go hungry, then. See if I care.’

She storms off, leaving me alone in her chambers.

My stomach, unfortunately, rumbles.

 

Night is strange in her palace.

The endless fractal network of mismatched civilisations that makes up the bedrock of her strange transdimensional domain is a place of interacting seasons and cycles also. In her palace, the highest of all places, night is a thing that creeps long and slow from all angles and congeals overhead, creating a carpet of glittering lights in a sea of black that cannot really represent anything beyond perhaps her imagination.

She sleeps on her great bed and I linger on a balcony overlooking a pastiche of different timelines, worlds, and universes smashed together. Down there is a kind of chaos and yet from here all seems peaceful. I could leap, and fall, but to what end? My friends are gone, elsewhere. My world doesn’t exist, not really.

I wander the halls, finding an endless span of rooms, chambers for every purpose. Great walk-in wardrobes and libraries and galleries and symphony halls. Light comes and goes as necessary, reacting to me, knowing my passage. Her dining hall is barren, and the smells of superb cooked food remain. My stomach bothers me again.

Anger strikes, a feeling of being trapped, and I seize a sword from its mount in the main hall. The Queen doesn’t stir as I rush to her, weapon held overhead with both hands. Only at the last minute, when the blade would cut her through, do her eyes open and the weapon disintegrates in my hands. She smiles at me, amused but not threatened. There never was a threat. All is an extension of her power.

Pathetically I shudder, burst into tears, and collapse on the floor beside her bed. Trapped, broken, scared, hopeless. The prisoner of a web-weaver, a spider-woman, a liar and a pretender and a torturer par excellence.

I expect laughter, mockery, and instead find a gentle hand on my back. She strokes me softly. ‘Don’t cry. What’s bothering you?’

‘You have to ask?’

She might shrug, but I’m not looking. There’s a pause. ‘Honestly, yes. Yes, I do have to ask. You have everything, and act as though you have nothing.’

‘I have nothing, yes. No friends, no family, no world. Just your prisoner. A gilded prison, but a prison all the same.’

Images flash before my eyes, an overlay. There I see my friend Robert, sleeping soundly with a beautiful lamia around him. My family, all of them, in a spacious new home. Charlotte, smilingly pregnant, stroking her belly…with Derrick beside her?

‘You said he died.’ I turn to her. ‘Didn’t you?’

The Queen nods. ‘Oh, he did. He struggled and a guard slew him. But death is hardly an obstacle in a dimension of my own creation.’

‘Lies.’

‘Would you like to go and see? Would you trust your own senses?’

‘You invaded the world.’

‘Because that is what I do, boy. I am…without occupation, otherwise.’

‘I don’t understand. All was chaos when you arrived. I saw death.’

‘Yes, and I undid it. Believe or don’t.’ She shrugs, and leans up against the headboard. Nude, her heavy breasts sag down upon the faint protrusion of her pale belly. ‘Nature is chaotic, while I bring order. Order, initially, takes getting used to.’

‘But you’re a tyrant.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve not walked the cities. How would you know?’ The Queen sighs. ‘Daniel, where I was born, the men of power did awful things. When I completed my spell of apotheosis, I promised myself that I would give a mother’s touch to the multiverse. Obviously you disagree, but I like to think I have done so. In the world below, all is at peace. Life and love go on, untouched by petty lords and rulers.’

‘Some mother, locking me up here with you.’

‘To maintain order, the slain go to different realms. I cannot change the ideal of justice present in the minds of the many peoples. Tell me, do you humans let criminals, or perceived criminals, go freely about their business?’

After a moment, I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘And if I released you, a killer of brothers and a sister, would I appear a monarch of order?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘No. You wouldn’t.’

She smiles faintly. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll set things in order. You can take on a new shape, of your own design, and go elsewhere. Or you can remain yourself, and go to the underworlds. Pleasant enough places in parts, where “criminals” as yourself live.’

‘Aren’t I meant to be a pet?’

The Queen sighs. ‘You do not trust me for a moment, boy. How could you possibly come to love me, to accept me as your queen?’

‘If…if all you say is true, I’ve been confused.’

‘Yes, it seems fair to say so.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She chuckles. ‘Sorry? Pah, boy, as if I care. I am ageless and I am infinite.’ The Queen crosses her arms, concealing her breasts but pushing them up, squishing their bulk against itself. ‘Perhaps I thought you might appreciate this life better than a false new one, or an alien one. Perhaps I am getting lonely in my old age, and wanted some hybrid of a pet, a son, and a plaything.’

‘Hard to feel things are genuine, when you make the world.’

‘Precisely that. If you are a rich man, and a beautiful woman adores you, what is the reason? It may be fully honest, and yet, you cannot trust it.’ She sighs, and shakes her head. Her black braids twists and writhe. ‘This cannot leave this room, and I will wipe such a remark from your memory, but I am lonely. I am also contrary, haughty, perverted, and dominant. And so we play this game.’

‘Thank you for being honest.’

‘Yes, well, it matters not.’

She eyes me, and I her, for a silent minute. ‘Why are you old? Or older, I should say. You know, motherly, mature, that style?’

‘I was older when I achieved my powers,’ the Witch Queen says. A look of pain, faint and fleeting, passes her sublime features. ‘For all that I had suffered, it seemed fitting to maintain my look. A few touch-ups here and there, of course, but I always rather fancied my beauty. Perhaps I would be less lonely, do you think, were I to pursue a younger look?’

I shake my head. ‘I think you’re perfect, actually. Queenly, motherly, regal.’

She smiles, broad and bright in the gloom. ‘That may be the first genuine compliment you’ve paid me. Progress, at the least.’

‘Why me?’

The Queen of Queens chuckles. ‘For all that I said, fool. You are not slavish. I feel, on some level, that to earn your loyalty would prove to some silly part of me that I am fully capable of inspiring awe in the awe-less.’

‘And should I stay?’

She smirks. ‘Stay with me, you mean?’

I nod.

‘There is no trap, boy. I will honestly set you free, if that is what you wish.’

‘I don’t know anything right now.’ I sigh, and let my head fall back against the side of her bed. Silken sheets cushion me, somehow emitting an ideal amount of warmth and comfort. ‘I like being me. But I can’t go home.’

The Queen shifts, and she runs delicate fingers softly through my hair. ‘You will have to decide, then, but there is no rush.’

I look up at her, side-on, and blush. The Witch Queen is sat upright, cross-legged beneath her sheets, with her body nude above her waist. She continues to tussle my hair, smiling warmly at me. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, without a doubt.

Some past self would be screaming at me, thinking me an utter idiot. This woman, this perfect mother-I’d-like-to-fuck, will feed me from her ridiculous breasts, will have sex with me, will make my life dreamy. But what’s the cost of this?

If I stay, am I really betraying my friends, if she’s showing me the truth? Will I even be able to discover the truth, given this mismatch in power, her infinity and my absolute finiteness?

My stomach, writhing, protests.

‘Do you really leave no scraps to eat?’

The Queen smirks at me. ‘Do you really think I couldn’t conjure up a feast for you if I so needed to?’

I feel my cheeks grow hot. ‘You just want to feed me yourself.’

She scoops up her left breast with the same-sided hand, the fat pale bosom spilling beautifully over her elegant fingers. ‘I do,’ she says. ‘I very much want to breastfeed you.’ The Queen pats her lap with her other hand. ‘Would it be so wrong, boy? To rest your head and nurse on a goddess, for just a little while? Just until your belly is full, that hunger sated?’

‘You promise you’ve told me the truth?’ I say. Even hearing my words, even thinking them, feels like a betrayal. But a seed has been planted. What if I’m wrong about her?

‘I promise,’ the Queen says. She pats her lap again. ‘Come rest your head, boy. Let the Mother of Worlds be, tonight at least, your own personal mother.’

 

I want to believe her. My head screams “betrayer” at me, but I want to believe.

She watches as I regain my feet, those brilliant violet eyes studying my every movement as I crawl onto the bed, as I move towards her, as the distance between us closes to the point of nervous intimacy.

Still the Queen holds her left breast, but her right hand beckons to me, delicate fingers curling and uncurling. Her smell, that arcane force paired with sweet femininity and perfumed fruitiness, is welcoming and encouraging. I can barely meet her eyes, awkwardness peaking as I crawl near enough to put a hand – wholly accidentally – on her covered thigh.

‘Come to mummy,’ she says, winking, smirking. Her free hand slips behind my head and guides me forwards until my face is on the cusp of her lap. ‘Face up. Head down.’

I say nothing, and twist about onto my back, laying across the bed horizontal to her vertical. My head comes to rest upon her lap, where I half-expect to feel some bulging shape, but find only the soft embrace of the sheets and the warmth of her divine body. The Queen looks down at me, excitement aglow in her eyes. Between my face and hers hovers that shapely heavy breast, so large and full, creamy pale, laced in faint bluish veins.

‘Are you hungry?’ she says.

I shift my head, an attempt at a nod. ‘Very.’

‘Good. I like being needed.’

She lowers her breast, letting its soft weight sink upon my mouth, but the sheer volume of the motherly bosom causes it to spill over and threaten to smother me. The Queen laughs as I strugglingly readjust, but she cups the back of my head and strokes my hair, something about her touch easing me, making everything a bit dreamy and relaxing.

‘Suckle,’ she says. ‘You won’t ever be hungry with me around.’

It’s so wrong, to want this. To at once debase myself and to enthrone her, to give her some power over me and the satisfaction that comes with it. But those violet eyes are enchanting, this body of hers is no mere temple but a cathedral to womanly excellence, a mature body out of my filthiest fantasies.

Her nipple breaches my lips the moment I let it. A pointed thing, its surroundings are pleasantly bumpy. The breast is plump against my face and fragrant with the sweetness of her skin and a faint creaminess that suggests the motherly purpose of her great heaving bosoms. For the first time since I was a baby I’m nursing on a woman’s chest, suckling again out of desperate need for sustenance.

‘Mhm. Such a lucky boy, Daniel. Oh, how the sycophants would envy you.’

I expected deliciousness, but not like this. Thick sweet milk results, coming out in a continuous dribble, glazing my tongue with a stickiness. The Queen of Queens tastes sublime, a Mother of Mothers, producing the finest dairy cream imaginable. I find myself innately suckling harder, more fiercely, but such only produces a biting of her lower lip and a low breathy moan that makes my dick ache.

This is, beyond any mere feeding, deeply sexual. I keep looking at her face, keep meeting her eyes, all the while nursing on her plump immense breast. Such pleasure she gets, from so simple an act. Not a mere mother but a pervert, a game-player, one who revels in the dirtiest kind of victory.

‘I always wanted a child of my own,’ she says, stroking my hair. ‘Though, I suppose, were you my actual son I’d be far less inclined to do this.’

I almost choke on a warm mouthful of breastmilk when her fingers clench around my cock, finding it up and alert, ready for her attentions. Our game of staring takes on another note, a cat-and-mouse, a realisation that beyond anything else here, I am prey to this woman.

It…it feels weirdly good, to realise that.

‘Ugh. Mhm.’

I groan around her nipple as the Queen slowly strokes me, tugging up and down on my shaft. Her fingers are the softest silks, her grip a vice of lace and splendour. She teases my cock with the sensation of nail-edges, as if a low warning, as if to further establish who is in charge here. I’ve given her something, today. Given her a piece of me that I worry I cannot take back.

‘Such a war in that handsome head of yours,’ the Empress of Eternity says. ‘No, don’t stop. Don’t panic. I’m just watching your eyes.’ She smiles, makes a sound like a humanised purr. The Queen glances at my cock and licks her lips, then reasserts her powerful violet gaze upon my own. ‘All this worrying. All this fighting. Is it so awful, to taste such sweetness from such a full and lovely breast?’

No. Not for a moment. I withdraw my gaze from her, as if that will hide me from those all-piercing amethysts. The warmth of her body, of that motherly bosom that smothers my face and feeds my hungry mouth, is inescapable. The way she strokes and tugs on me, the gentlest of skilful extractions, makes my heart flutter, my spine shudder, my mind spin.

‘Mhm.’

I moan softly. How can I not? She’s delicious. The smell, that creamy breastmilk smell and the sweet arcane glory of her body, is a thing for the ages. I look back to the Queen, who watches me with such sultry intent, and find myself more than a little enraptured. I could so readily lose myself in those eyes. Could debase myself, become utterly hers, through the labyrinthine seductions of that full-lipped smile.

‘You can sleep in here with me, if you’d like,’ she says. One set of fingers teases my manhood, the other traces lines through my hair across my scalp. ‘I don’t mind. Honest. I’d quite like to wake up to my handsome boy, so bold a warrior, having a nice midnight snack on my motherly tits.’ She chuckles, darkly sexy, all confidence and not the least bit worry. ‘Or perhaps I’ll wake to you stroking your cock at my face, thinking to defile my good looks with your healthy seed. Wouldn’t that be a sweet thing? Perhaps you might even try to mount me…’

My cock is starting to ache, so masterful are her strokes. The pressure is building, and of course, nothing gets past her. The Queen releases me, edges me with just the slightest running-down of my length with a finger.

‘I’ll swallow every drop, every time,’ the Queen says. ‘A mother’s job, to take care of her boy, wouldn’t you say?’ The grin is dark, enveloping. I must blush, must make some face beneath the smothering engulfment that is her breast, because the Witch Queen laughs again. ‘Oh, come on. Lighten up. Tell me you don’t enjoy the dirtiness of it. The pretending.’

Bravely, stupidly, I pull back from her nipple. God, her breasts are so heavy, and sag in such an aesthetically divine manner, that I have to shift my head quite a bit to the side or else remain smothered. ‘I do. I like it.’

‘Call me Mother,’ the Queen says. ‘I want to be your mother. Especially when I feed you.’

‘I can’t. You’re not.’

‘Do it. You know it’s exciting.’

‘I…’ I’m at an impasse. Frozen, far from home, lost in lust. ‘I’m hungry. Still hungry.’ I turn my head, her milky nipple brushing my face. ‘Feed me…Mother.’

She lets out quite the gasp as I begin nursing again. I can’t help myself this time. I need to touch her, to feel her perfect breasts. With my left hand I make the breast that feeds me less of a weight on my face, and with my right I fondle and massage the other.

‘Good boy. My good, good boy.’

‘Mhm.’

My mouth fills again with the sweetest milk, and the Queen takes her hand to my cock, stroking it towards the righteous end that I so long to reach. Her touch on my manhood is electric. The way her breasts sink against my skin, so full and soft and heavy, surpasses the peak of every boob-obsessed fantasy I’ve ever had.

This terrible, divine, perfect creature feeds me from her bosom and milks my cock by hand. An orgasm surges through me before long, a wildfire cataclysm that rocks my body, and the seed that spills out never lands upon the sheets. Her magics contort and congeal it, making the stuff swirl up into a little bubble of white seed that floats towards her face.

The Queen smirks at me before making quite the sensual shape with her mouth, full lips spread and tongue extended. She catches my load on her pretty tongue, wiggling the captured bubble from side to side as if to show me, as if to make absolutely clear what’s happening.

Only when I flutter my eyes does she curl back her tongue, sultry as can be, and roll my ejaculate about her mouth. The Queen stays silent for a while, tasting me for quite some time, much as I continue to taste her filling breastmilk. At length she licks her lips, making a smacking noise of appreciation.

‘You are a sweet thing, aren’t you?’ The Witch Queen pats my head. ‘Keep nursing, boy. You must be ever so hungry.’

So it goes that I stay latched until quite full, until sleepy with satiety. The Queen, my lusty would-be-mother, strokes my stomach and kisses my forehead. She goes to such easy lengths, but goes to them all the same, to tuck me in beside herself, to play with my hair, to even sing a soft lullaby as I drift into a much-needed and ever-so-welcome sleep.

The comforts of this place, at least, make my betrayal easier to accept.

If indeed I am a betrayer.