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“Well, that was rather... satisfying.”
Emma stares straight ahead, as is expected. She keeps silent, knowing not to speak unless spoken to, and even then; only if she is asked a question or given a command. Her heart doesn’t quite race, but it does beat somewhat out of rhythm due to the circumstances in which she finds herself spending her afternoon.
Earlier this morning, she had received a summons. She didn’t know why or what to expect. Although disappointed by the thought, she had assumed the Queen was done with her after their night together and was prepared for a time of avoidance or, at the very least, to have her existence ignored for a few more weeks.
She isn’t sure how she feels at the moment. Her hopes after receiving the summons had been dashed, but she’d expected them to be. What she did not expect was to be introduced to someone, who she’d then been ordered to march down to the dungeons where she was made to listen to them be tortured and, eventually, killed.
It isn’t the first time she’s witnessed her Queen’s cruelty, nor will it be the last. Angering her Queen is never a smart move, nor is aligning oneself with the Queen’s mother which, Emma had learned during a rage fuelled rant delivered hours earlier, had been this particular man’s crime.
A traitor, to be sure, and a crime worthy of death, but the bloodshed beforehand seemed, to Emma, a little unnecessary. The servants in charge of cleaning up the mess later will not be having a good time of it.
“Swan.”
Swallowing, she shifts and turns her head just enough for the Queen to know she has her attention, but not enough to have to look at the macabre display laid out before them. “Yes, my Queen?”
“Look at me.”
Entirely incapable of disobeying, she looks, her breath catching at the sight. Despite the many, many hours they’ve been down here, the only evidence upon the Queen, of her rage, exists in the small splattering of blood along her jaw, and the vaguely maniacal looking grin adorning her mouth.
“Come here.”
Emma moves, ignoring the large, crimson puddle beneath her feet as she comes to stand before her Queen. Fingers dance across her jaw before cupping her cheek, drawing her in and bringing their bodies together.
“I find myself in need of your services once more, my knight.”
“They are yours,” she replies without hesitation.
“Are they, truly?” Teeth sink sharply into her lower lip, producing a hiss, rousing her down below. “Would you join me in depravity? Take me, here and now, in the aftermath of the horror I have wrought?”
“It would not be my first choice,” Emma admits truthfully. Likely, it would not be in her top one hundred choices. She would, in fact, prefer somewhere clean with a bed. She likes beds and cleanliness, but- “But I would never deny you.”
“Such loyalty.” The hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck while its twin trails down her front and over the growing bulge in her trousers, palming, squeezing. “So eager to please, to fill me with your delectable cock.”
Lids fluttering, Emma twitches into the hand as Regina rubs her hardness. Her cock strains against her trousers, as eager as her Queen had claimed, to be buried deep within the velvety walls of her warm, wet cunt once again.
“Do you want me?” Regina questions, brushing her lips against Emma’s cheek, the words warm against her skin. “Do you need me- do you ache , my Swan, for me?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Always, my Queen.”
A pleased rumble fills her ears before the hand tightens around her neck and she’s guided into a hot, hungry kiss.
Desire spreads across every inch of Regina’s body. The day had started so very poorly with her mother’s most recent attempt to contact her. Her sending for Emma had been a whim, a vain attempt of her own to instill something within her knight that would, if she were lucky, serve to turn her away from any desire that lingered for the woman.
Emma’s stoic silence throughout the torture had brought with it a familiar sort of comfort. When Regina realized that neither her words nor her actions had swayed Emma’s silent support, she’d quietly ceded to herself that she would take what was freely given and she would have Emma again.
Perhaps for the last time.
Perhaps not.
For now, she makes quick work of Emma’s trousers, freeing the impressive cock she hasn’t quite figured out how to stop thinking about. She has dreamed about it, about Emma and their time together, both when asleep and while awake. It has helped get her through many of her meetings with royals and peasants alike over the last few weeks- she had even taken a moment this morning before her mother’s messenger appeared, to take care of herself and these thoughts she is unable to stop.
Were she inclined to share, she would tell Emma that her memories do not compare to the real thing.
Emma is hot and hard in her hand, the desire for her Queen evident not just in the stiffness of the shaft, but in the way that it throbs against her palm. Regina strokes her slowly, committing every inch of this beautiful, veiny cock to her memory for later when she inevitably tries to resist her body’s continued want for the woman.
With a too tight squeeze that has Emma gasping and bucking, Regina releases her. She glances around for somewhere suitable for Emma to fuck her the way she wants, and sniffs at the lack of options. She could just wave her hand and have them in her chambers in an instant, but no, she’d questioned Emma’s commitment to fulfilling her need, and now she would go through with making her prove it.
Gesturing to one of the few cells available for the dungeon’s, sometimes brief though always temporary, visitors, she says, “Undress and go and sit on the cot.”
Emma complies dutifully. Regina stares at her derriere, quietly sighing at her body’s response and the thoughts that continue to run rampant through her mind. She is already well aware of how good it feels to be fucked by Emma, but now she can’t help but wonder how it might feel to be the one buried to the hilt inside her, to be the one filling her knight’s firm backside, or even to have that delicious mouth wrapped around a conjured cock of her own.
Would Emma be so willing, then?
She knows very few men who would be.
Perhaps she would find out.
Stripping herself down and laying herself bare for the devouring gaze pinned to her flesh, she saunters across to where Emma sits and makes herself comfortable in the woman’s lap. “I want it hard,” she purrs, “fuck me like you know this is the last chance you will ever have to do so.”
Emma’s brow furrows before she shakes her head and replies, “I… apologies, my Queen, but those are conflicting orders.”
Regina stares, understanding immediately and aghast at the warmth that suddenly invades her chest. To know that Emma would not take her roughly, that she would not mistreat her, leave her bruised and convinced in her belief that putting an end to them was the smart choice; how dare she.
“Did you not claim mere moments ago that you would never deny me?”
“I may be the most obedient person you know, Regina, but even I cannot obey two opposing directives,” she counters, her tone apologetic despite the amusement in her gaze. “You’ll have to pick one, I’m afraid.”
Regina growls. “Fuck me,” she commands, “before I decide to leave you down here and find someone else.”
When those gorgeous green eyes harden, she assumes she has won. Emma will fuck her and make her regret wanting it, perhaps while verbally degrading her- turning her off. Regina hopes she doesn’t go too far; while not especially fond of her continued desire for the knight, killing her would be an absolute waste of the woman’s other talents.
Decent, loyal knights with the desire to obey her every command weren’t as easy to come by as one might think, nor did they all possess the kind of skill with warfare that Emma has displayed throughout her years here.
Yes, losing this particular knight would be a shame.
“Who?”
Blinking, having lost herself within her thoughts, Regina shakes her head. “Pardon?”
“Who,” Emma repeats, palming her hips and pinning her against the thick shaft between her thighs. “Who would you replace me with?”
Eyes narrowing, fluttering, Regina stifles a groan and questions, “Did you think you were special?” Emma lifts her up, lining her up before drawing her back down. Regina, unable to stifle another as she’s split open, groans her next words. “Do you not… think that there are others who would… who would beg for the chance to warm my bed?”
“I do not think that,” Emma denies, guiding her, up and down. Full, then almost empty, over and over, and oh so slowly. Regina whimpers. “I think there are many,” Emma continues. “And I am curious who you would choose as my substitute. Who, Regina, do you think can fuck you as well as I do?”
The shameless level of arrogance in the question would, ordinarily, infuriate Regina. Arrogance often leads to delusion of grandeur, to superiority complexes that have people believing they matter , that they might be equal . She would, ordinarily, kill someone for such assumptions; no one is equal to her, no one matters beyond what they can provide for her.
Emma, though, may have a point.
Perhaps she could find someone equal in skill, but how long would that take? How many mediocre cocks would she have to sift through before finding one that could please her just as well?
The thought alone is undesirable enough.
Still, she’ll hardly reward the arrogance by ceding. “I hear the Captain is- ah!”
Sought after by many, she would have said, were she still capable of words.
Emma pounds into her cunt, not quite sharing the struggle of finding her voice. “Do I disappoint, my Queen? I must, if you think to compare me to him.”
More arrogance, but no, Emma is correct; there is no comparison. In truth, Regina has already had the displeasure of bedding her Captain. He was, as Emma implied, disappointing. Not only is his cock not nearly as impressive, but his personality leaves a lot to be desired; Emma is exciting, bold and, most important of all, obedient when it matters.
The Captain was an unimaginative bore who thought her favour had somehow elevated him above the rank and file. She had swiftly disabused him of such fanciful notions, but this is all beside the point; the point hadn’t been how much pleasure she derived from others, it is about how to make Emma give her what she wants.
Jealousy, she realizes now, was the wrong tactic. Emma knows her capabilities, her worth; she is not threatened by potential competition.
It, in all honesty, makes her even more attractive in Regina’s opinion.
Threading her hands through the knight's blonde tresses, she brings their heads together, breathing hard as Emma continues pounding away at her, working her up. She’s already on the verge of release, cunt clenching around that beautiful, thick cock.
Panting, trying to stifle her groans, Regina quietly admits, “I don’t want to want you.”
Emma tilts her chin and kisses the corner of her mouth. “But you do.”
“Yes.”
“You like the way I fuck you,” she adds confidently.
In her right mind, Regina would never. She would slap Emma, climb from her lap and leave her here in this cell to think about what she’s done. Regina hasn’t been in her right mind for weeks. “I do.”
Emma kisses her again, pressing her mouth to the exact same spot. “So let me fuck you.”
Regina stills, refusing the next pull as she wraps herself around her knight. She draws back from her, meeting the emerald stare that haunts her every moment. “You don’t care that I’m using you?”
Strong arms slip around her waist as lips caress her jaw, words warming her skin. “I don’t feel used.”
Regina loosens her grip and rough hands return to her hips. “You don’t want more?”
“Maybe, but I don’t need it.” Emma begins to bounce her, resuming their previous rhythm and taking Regina straight back to the edge. “There is no greater purpose in life than faithfully serving my Queen, however she desires.”
It’s insane; the level of devotion necessary for her words to be true, but Regina can find no reason to doubt the claim. Emma has proven herself, time and time again, and it would be petty to pretend otherwise.
Tightening her grip within Emma’s hair, Regina growls, “Make me come.”
Emma smiles beautifully. “Yes, my Queen.”