Bound to his Majesty

5 min read

Image by Ruth Archer from Pixabay

No matter what commoners think, it is not easy to be a crowned Prince. I have been groomed to be a powerful man, a man that takes what he wants. To encourage this ambition and open my kingly appetites, my tutors have taught me more than the classics. I have been provided with books on pleasure and have devoured them eagerly. I find myself mainly drawn to books that depict women tied up and exposed, ready to be tasted and fucked. Soon the time will come for me to take my place as King, and my mother, who has been regent since the death of my father, has announced that the ideal political bride would be the Duchess of Edinburgh.

But the Queen Mother thinks the young Duchess is too rebellious; she won’t make a tame wife. Married and widowed within a week at a young age, she inherited the rule of her lands from the old Duke. She is used to having her will obeyed. I keep my thoughts to myself. I want to break in the fiery Duchess, make her into a willing, submissive consort.

I fantasize that she has been brought to my chambers, naked and vulnerable, presented to me for my pleasure. I imagine her lying on this bed, tied in binding ropes, exposed and frightened. I would lie next to her and tell her not to be scared. I would run my fingers through her locks and whisper in her ear that she will be safe if she agrees to be mine. I would breathe in her intoxicating scent and tenderly kiss her face and tell her how beautiful she is. How I have longed for this moment since she walked into the Great Hall wearing that gorgeous red dress for the Christmastide.

I would modify her bindings to hold her only by her wrists and ankles so I could feel all her body’s reactions. I would slowly reach for her mouth to brush it with my lips as she parts hers to allow me entrance. I would kiss her passionately before trailing my mouth down her chin, her neck, all the way to her supple chest. I would inhale her scent once more and let her beautiful breasts caress my face. I would lick and suck and nibble, and she would arch her back and moan beautifully.

Her sinuous movements against the restraining ties paired with her scent and sounds would make me ravenous. I would slither down her body to find her core and devour her, make her desperately fight her bindings and angle herself against my mouth so she can feel more, have more. I would latch onto her glorious pussy, sucking every last drop of her delicious libations, and she would reward me with waves of orgasmic heat on my face.

That image makes my dick pulse in my hand, and I come hard, desperately. I’m alone in my bed because the chambermaids my advisors keep sending to my rooms do not cut it for me, with their fake moans and their eagerness to be fucked so that they can tell the others they rode the royal prick. Rubbish. I want the Duchess, with her cold beauty that I’m sure hides a warm, wet cunt that would be beautifully stretched by my engorged cock.

In the next few days, word comes of a rebellion against my ruling in the region of Edinburgh. The Lords of the Land are causing havoc in a quest for power, thinking a young king newly crowned will be easy to manipulate. It is a golden opportunity to establish my reign. All I need to do is take a prisoner from their turf. Have a hostage to guarantee the will of the Lords during the peace negotiations. I order the Duchess to move from her private estate in the countryside to the royal chambers in the palace. She will remain in custody under my protection until she orders the surrender of her subjects. I arrange for my mother to receive her and do not grant an audience yet. It is still a political play, so I want to have the upper hand.

I call on my two closest commanders, the Earl of Hartford and the Duke of Cambridge, to come with me and we storm her chambers after dinner. The ladies are taken aback by the intrusion. They are preparing for the night, and it is a violation of propriety for us to be here, but I am the King, and this is an assertion of my authority. All subjects are my subjects, and all they are and possess is my birthright. The ladies in waiting fall to their knees, and the Duchess gives an appropriately low curtsy. The Earl of Hartford, my most trusted commander, speaks for me.

“Madam, apologies but we must search the rooms for signs of treason or proof of a planned attempt on the King’s life.”

The Duchess gives a small eye-roll, impertinent as she is.

“The King himself is joining the search, what an honor,” her voice drips with sarcasm. From her low curtsy, she leans her chest forward more, those plump breasts pushing to jump out of her nightgown, and I think I see the hint of pink that are her nipples begging to be let out, to be rubbed and sucked. My cock moves inside my breeches and shamelessly points to her, yearning to spill seed over those succulent tits.

I ignore her remark, and while her ladies open trunks of clothes and jewel boxes, I go for the books. There are more than expected, and I pick them up and read the covers, then open to see the interior of each one to check if they are what they seem. I notice that this makes her nervous, her gaze glued to me and her calm facade finally showing a crack. I dare to lift her pillow, and I strike gold. A book cover reads Paradise Lost, by John Milton, but when I open it, the inside page shows a drawing that I know well and a title I have read many times. Justine, by the Marquis the Sade. I look at her, and she blushes but holds my eyes, chin up. I saunter towards her and lift the book between us. When she pulls it, I wrap my hand on her wrist. I speak in her ear.

“Is this what you meant when you said in your letters that you were my most submissive and bound subject?”

I feel her shiver and watch her lips tremble. She exhales the word.


“Leave us,” I command.

My men and her ladies all look at me, horrified by the possibility that I may have found proof of treason. But mostly because of the impropriety of leaving the Duchess alone with a man. Even if he is the King. When we are alone, I say, “Show me how bound you feel to your King, milady.”

She walks to one of the clothes chests and pulls a long silky ribbon, then comes back to stand in front of me and hands it over. When I take it, she offers her wrists. I move to tie them together behind her back, my heart pounding, my cock pulsing painfully. I walk back around to the front and unsheath my dagger, and she gasps as I cut the ties at her cleavage, glorious tits spilling out.

I let the knife fall to the floor and rub my fingertips on the pebbled nipples, and she whimpers in delight. I pinch them between my fingers and pull her close, her face showing pleasure with hints of pain. I kiss her deeply, and she responds in kind, taking my tongue and sucking it as if to prove what she will be willing to do to me. I growl and walk her back to the bed.

I turn her around, then help her to climb on the bed. She leans her face on the quilt, leaving her ass up in the air. I lift the gown, and there it is, in all its pink, wet glory, the cunt I’ve been dreaming about. I don’t hesitate to take a long lick, then spread it open even more so I can bury my tongue in that tangy soft cave, and she lets out an obscene sound of joy, wriggling her ass, so I have to hold her to keep up my feasting and spank her twice — hard — for good measure.

I release my cock and place it on her entrance, then ask, “Is Edinburgh going to submit to their King?”

“What?” she manages weakly.

“Is the region of Edinburgh going to submit to their King and be his obedient subjects?” I repeat, poking the entrance with the head of my cock while rubbing some of her wetness over her asshole with my thumb.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

I push the thumb in down to the first knuckle, and she moans loudly.

“Will you submit to me?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she answers, wriggling again, begging for more. I oblige and push cock and thumb all in, pounding into the heated passages while she screams her pleasure like a well-paid whore, tightening up more and more until the convulsing force of her orgasm is squeezing my finger and prick. My whole body stiffens, and I pulse inside of her. In the haze of my pleasure, I wish that I’m making an heir to my throne.

I let myself fall on the bed, undo her ties and pull her close to me.

“Submit to me. Agree to be my Queen, and this is what every night will be like.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

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