Mature content. Do not read if you are under 18. Queen Marlena is a scientist, so she uses scientifically correct terms for anatomy.

My solar is full of ladies getting ready for my anniversary ball: three of my assistants plus my daughter Adora fresh from her nap, the newly promoted Major Teela, and our visiting dignitaries, Princess Janice of Arktos, who is trying on many different gowns, the Ice Lord's wife Lady Chione and her daughter Snowflake. As usual, Adora dressed quickly and is now entertaining our guests with tales of the victory over the Horde on Etheria, while I keep Teela's nerves calm by chatting about the feasibility study for a new electromagnetic pulse weapon.

Fumbling with my hairpins, I explain, "So it would simultaneously disable all of the enemy's machines by reversing polarity at an atomic level - without harming living organisms. The main problem is controlling the direction of the pulse so that it doesn't disable our machines as well…" I glance over at Teela to see how she's handling the make-up and hairstyling. My hair is in rollers on the right half of my head.

"I'm sure we can come up with some kind of dampener to narrow the pulse radius, Marlena," she answers thoughtfully. "Can you imagine? Being able to knock out an entire robot army in one shot? How long would it take to develop and test the technology?"

"Good question, darling. Hmmm, Sasha, I like the bronze around her eyes, very dramatic and youthful. But make sure Major Teela gets a clear gloss on her lips, no color, and I don't think the up-do is quite right for the occasion - try a half up, half down - "

There's a knock on the one of the doors, and we all turn to see my husband, King Randor of Eternia, entering from the bedroom. Adora immediately rises and embraces him. Randor kisses her and, smiling, he rubs Adora's very pregnant belly. He greets the other ladies cordially, then comes over to me and Teela.

Randor begins with a bow, and says, "Major Teela, I am happy to find you here with my wife. You do us a great honor by celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary with us." He knows quite well how much work I put into getting Teela here.

Teela looks up at him and only manages to say, "The honor is mine, sir."

Randor touches my shoulder. "Molly." He doesn't have to say anything else. We both feel it. He holds out his hand, and I take it.

Sasha knows that it's a booty call, and she protests, "But Milady, your hair!"

"I'll be back in twenty minutes. The party can't start without me anyway," I say. Two years ago there was no party.

I shut and lock the bedroom door behind me. Randor sweeps off his tunic and kicks off his boots. Familiar battle scars riddle the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, arms, chest, abdomen...nothing soft or feminine about him. I drop my bathrobe and say, "I'm still sore from this morning."

He grins lopsidedly. "I'll be gentle."

"No, you won't," I answer, and I'm on him. I never thought I'd be into big, hairy, macho guys, but here I am with the biggest, hairiest, most macho guy on this planet, and I can't get enough. No one is more surprised than I am.

Deep into my ear he murmurs, "I love you." And it is intoxicating. I kiss up his neck and into his beard until I find his mouth. He responds tentatively at first, as if he's seeking permission, then it becomes savage. I break off and start a trail of kisses down his chest. My strategy is to get him off quickly so that I can finish dressing for the party without a mess.

In an instant I'm on my knees slurping him up. He sighs and leans back against the wall. Pleasure is really a science: it consists of applying the right texture, temperature and pressure on the right nerve endings. I lick down his shaft and around his testicles, then I lick two of my fingers before returning up to his glans and applying my whole mouth with suction. I reach around, and finger his anus with the two wet fingers until I find my way inside. He gasps and groans while I probe and suck. I can tell my husband is holding back his climax. He doesn't want it quick and easy this time.

"Wait, Molly. On the bed. I want to look into your eyes." Oh, he's such a romantic.

"You've got 18 minutes left, darling."

So I stand and find myself crushed in his arms, pushed back to the bed. We roll around for a bit, and as soon as I get him on his back, I scoot up to straddle his face for a mustache ride. Randor grabs my hips with both hands and digs in like a kid who's just been presented with a triple scoop ice cream cone. Usually it only takes about four minutes for me to climax this way, since Randor is so skilled. It makes the rest of the interlude much smoother. I have to hold onto the headboard to steady myself. After about three minutes, I know I'm getting close, so I decide to say his name. He loves it when I do that.

"Oh, Randy, yes, yes, Randy…" Then I lose the ability to speak as waves of pleasure radiate out from my clitoris, spreading down my legs and up my body.

When I catch my breath, I move back down his body until we're face-to-face. I held his erection and rub it on my vulva until he slides inside. I rock slowly while we kiss deeply. I can't help remembering how it felt to be exploring all alone out in space month after month, too far from Earth for radio contact, so sure that I was about to die in that tin can. I thought I'd never see another living thing again. I was starved for human touch, or even just the feeling of being near someone, being able to look at someone's face, hear someone's voice. The memory makes me even more hungry for Randor. Ravenous.

He flips me roughly and pins me on my back. "Time to speed things up," he says. His mouth is all over my face, while I nip at his ears, cheeks and neck - just enough to excite without hurting. Randor grabs my left leg, slings it over his right shoulder, and gets to work. He pushes gently, and gradually increases his speed. The warm pressure inside thrills me. Now I'm sort of sideways, and all the stretching makes me tingle in all the best places.

I manage to squeeze out the words, "Randy, I'm coming." I try to keep my eyes open. This time the orgasm is sharper but shorter, and I arch my head back involuntarily as I cry out. Randor feels more virile when he gives me multiples, so he's still holding out, but just barely. How I love this husband of mine! He slows down his thrusts, and finally pauses. Beads of sweat glisten and slide down his neck. He leans toward my face, and I lick his sweat before sinking my teeth into his collarbone. No blood, but my mark is there. My darling husband smiles.

"Ready?" he asks. Without a word, I pull back my knees almost up to my shoulders. He leans forward, pressing my back into the bed, until our faces are about six inches apart. Then he drills me hard. I feel sky high, and it's even more intense because of the way he looks into my eyes. I see it clearly now: my husband is afraid of dying. He thinks we're going to get killed tonight. He wants to feel alive. Alive with me.

I hold onto his gaze even while the bed is shaking like crazy. I scratch and claw at his back and arms. When my climax starts, I clamp down on him with my vaginal muscles as forcefully as possible. That finishes the job. I can hear us making noises, but it sounds far away. I just feel totally connected to Randor, and nothing else exists. It's beyond pleasure.

Then reality hits. Forty-seven year old hip joints aren't supposed to be quite so flexible, even if the owner stays fit. I lower my legs. Nothing's broken. Again, it's worth the aches and pains.

Randor pulls out and starts paying a lot of attention to my breasts. But the twenty minutes are up, and he knows it.

"It's customary to engage in foreplay before intercourse, darling, not after," I tell him. He doesn't appear to be in a rush to get ready for our party.

"That was all foreplay, my dear." He knows that my skin is hypersensitive after a triple-play like that, and he'll do whatever it takes to keep me in bed. Randor kisses down my arm to my hand, and bites my wrist slowly and deliberately. He wants to start another round. I roll on top to kiss and caress my lover some more, then I pull back.

"What is this all about?" I ask. "What happened in the military advisory council this afternoon?" By the look on his face, I know I'm on the right track. The sexy mood is dead. Randor sits up.

He sighs. "I gave the order today. Skeletor and his supporters are to be executed on sight. The atrocities they've been committing...I won't allow that to continue…" My husband is downtrodden, but I'm thinking, It's about fucking time.

Instead, I stroke his cheek softly and say, "Darling, it must have been very difficult…"

Randor sees through me - he knows I'd love to see that asshole's cold, dead body chopped into mincemeat and fed to dogs. He says firmly, "Marlena, he was my brother. I was planning to rule the kingdom jointly with him before…"

"Key word, darling: was. He was your brother, but he lost that honor. You made the right decision today." I don't have to remind him that this brother kidnapped our infant daughter years ago, and when he kidnapped me last year, Skeletor took credit for the mysterious deaths of Randor's mother and sister. The only reason I haven't pressured my husband to assassinate his brother is the problematic process of killing of a dark wizard - and making sure he stays dead.

"There's nothing right about it. The order was necessary."

I have nothing to add, so I stand up and reach out for my husband's hand. "We need to clean up before the party. Come here, loverboy."

Sometimes I try to calculate the percentage of time in my marriage spent together in the bathroom on basic grooming. One of us sits on the toilet musing about life while the other brushes teeth. Or we wash each other's backs in the shower or trim each other's toenails by the sink. In the context of a whole day it doesn't seem like much, but as a function of our time alone together during waking hours, it seems disproportionate. Maybe 10%.

Randor's attitude brightens in the shower thanks to my handiwork, but I take evasive action before things get out of control. In the mirror I see the curlers barely clinging to my wet hair, so I hustle back toward my ladies in the solar to get my hairdo fixed. Randor grabs me for one last embrace. He tastes minty fresh.

As I reach for the doorknob, I say, "Darling, you should have told me about the execution order sooner. I might have let you tie me up and spank me." His lightning-quick response is to lift my bathrobe and whack me on my bottom. I yelp and stumble into my solar with my naked husband hiding behind the door and laughing.