TRIGGER WARNING for rape and "corrective" rape.
"I have heard tell of women like you, but I had always dismissed them as pure fairy tale."
King Leopold advanced closer to her, continuing to think aloud in his melodically slow cadence. "But you seem to offer living proof that these fairy tales simply must bear truth: you dress as a boy does; my men tell me that you ride horses bareback, not side saddle as ladies must, when you think that none observe your movements; and - most curious of all! - you lack any signs of arousal, beyond the studied words and motions you offer, whenever I call you to my bedchambers. Now tell me, my Queen: if I and all the finest riches of my kingdom are not enough to stoke your arousal, then what is?"
The Queen thought quickly, furious with herself for being unable to produce the open-legged wetness needed to convincingly sell the false screams of encouragements she always forced herself to utter, even more furious with the king for (finally, after weeks of doubling as his wife and courtesan) noticing.
She forced herself into a curtsy, knowing how the sight of her sweeping down to her knees stirred his passion, if not his love. "Forgive me, Sire," she murmured, nearly retching at the sensuality trained into her voice. "I have been distressed by the disappearance of my mother."
He stepped forward imperiously, placing his hands on her shoulders, keeping her on her knees. She felt vomit rising in her numbed throat. "Indeed, hers is a grave loss for us all. But surely you can allow yourself to find solace from your grief in our royal bedchamber? For though you may dress and ride as a man when you are alone, your body remains undeniably that of a woman." He drew his hips close to her mouth. "Let me help you forget your despair. Allow yourself to enjoy the cure that I am offering you, my Queen."
His pretentious assumption that he could comfort her - that she was a disease his cock could cure - by bringing himself to her mouth sickened her more than the actual sex would, she knew. She could close her eyes and skillfully work his body through as many climaxes as he deemed enough for the night, and if she concentrated, she could make herself wet enough to offer the comfort of some lubrication for his repeated bombardment into her body; but she could not abide his self-righteousness - so much like his daughter's - in his confident, slow-speaking, regal self-assurance that he was doing her a favor by laying her nightly. She could tolerate the onslaught of his dick into her sore throat and cunt as long as she did not have to listen to his pompous speeches about how great it all would be for her. So she swept his robe aside and resolutely unhinged the flap in his riding pants, taking his cock into her mouth and twirling her tongue around his hardened shaft. Her stomach churned violently, but at least he was quiet now. She wondered idly if her mother had ever done this to secure her position, advance her power, and somehow imagined she had the answer, understood that her mother knew exactly what her daughter was going to have to do when she married this man. She skillfully suppressed a gag as he quickly shot into the back of her throat, knowing her cunt would be her next orifice he would fill with his incessant pulsing. She despaired at the thought that this must be what all queens and servant girls must go through to achieve or maintain some semblance of stability, as she faked the moans for her husband that she used to make happily for Daniel, as the king forced his way into her dry, burning cunt...
"Regina," she heard, as though from a far-off land. But he never called her by er name while fucking her. And this voice was softer, sweeter, full of light, of love. Of hope. "Baby, wake up!"