0 comments/  37594 views/  2 favorites

Power

By: Zimmy



Val couldn't imagine why Jean wanted to see her. And even more curiously, Val didn't know why she had agreed to meet her after work as Jean had asked. Val was the boss, damn it, and she ran the small business, she co-owned with her husband, with an iron fist. She treated employees like the disposable commodity they were, so it was very out of character for her to agree to anything an employee asked. But there was something about the way the way Jean had looked at her, something in her gut, that made Val agree.

Val stopped in the company restroom before leaving to freshen up. She splashed cold water on her face, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. "Not bad.", she thought to herself. 45 years old, but still trim, about 5'6" and 135 pounds. Val wore her hair rather short, and didn't use hardly any makeup. Her breasts were small, and her oversize glasses complimented her dark, Mediterranean complexion. Men found her attractive, or at least they used to. When she was younger, quite a bit younger, she'd been what her mother called "wild". Of course this was back in the 70's, and two marriages had tamed her considerably.

The first marriage started out the way she thought all marriages should be. He worked, she stayed home and raised their two kids and they had missionary style sex, twice a month. But after a few years she got involved in a couple of affairs with acquaintances. She found that she liked sex a lot more than her husband did, especially oral sex, which her husband, neither gave nor received. However her affairs lead to divorce, and to her losing custody of the kids. After a couple of years her current husband came along, a nice older man, who owned his own business. Val had, for the past few years, channeled her energy into the business. She was back to an even more boring sex life, but she was willing to accept the trade-off.

Now, as Val headed to the car, she felt the anxiety about the meeting with Jean return. Her husband was at the Country Club, probably half sloshed by now, as usual. He had pretty much allowed Val to take over the business, while he socialized with his poker buddies every night. Val knew she wouldn't even be required to make an excuse for the meeting, as her husband wouldn't be home until late, and then he usually slept in the den. He only came into their bed when he wanted sex, which had gotten less and less often as the years passed. Val could do whatever she wanted, as long as she didn't do anything which her husband considered disrespectful. That meant drinking, being with other men, or anything else her husband felt that a "proper" wife shouldn't do.

In a way Val felt imprisoned, but she'd come to feel that there was no other option for her. She ran the business, had her girlfriends, shopped, and watched the years pass by. She'd gotten drunk at a wedding party once, and danced with several of the men. The memory of that night, now over three years ago, still excited her. She had been very aroused by the attention she was getting from the men, and she let several of them feel her ass as they danced. She remembered especially the feel of one of the men's dick as it hardened against her as they danced. It had felt so big, and when the man had pressed it into her she responded in kind. But then her husband had dragged her from the dance floor, to the car, where he had struck her several times. He beat her everyday for a week, until Val was sufficiently submissive to his demands.

She would never do it again, but the memories of that night were her frequent vision as she masturbated herself to orgasm in her empty bed. She'd even purchased a dildo, through the mail of course, and she liked to lick it, pretending it was the penis of that man she danced with that night. Sometimes Val thought it was her frustration with her life that caused her to be such a hard ass at work. She'd feel bad about how she treated the employees, especially the females, but they needed to learn that life sucked, so they might as well learn it now.

Val thought about Jean. She was relatively new to the company and worked in the sales department. It was really a smallish company, with only about 40 employees, and Val remembered interviewing Jean before she hired her. She'd been the only female applicant for the position, and it didn't hurt things that she was black too. Val liked to give women the chance, but after hiring them, she found herself treating them worse than the men. Most of the employees were probably scared of her, Val thought. Scared, but they treated her with respect. Jean too, had always treated her with respect, especially after Val had really jumped her the second week she was there.

It had been a simple mistake, and a common one too. But Val had really let Jean have it, in front of other employees too. Val knew that Jean resented it, but there wasn't anything Jean could do. Val was the boss, period. And in the current economic situation neither Jean, nor anybody else at the company, could afford to lose their job.

But Val had seen a different look in Jean's eyes tonight. Not fear, not even respect, but maybe a little cocky confidence. Although Jean was near Val's age, she was quite different. In addition to being black, Jean had never been married, nor had any kids. She had a good education and had held some good jobs in the past. She was an intelligent, independent woman, and Val was a little jealous of her. Jean also had a great set of tits, something else Val was envious of. Jean was taller than Val, and somewhat heavier. Jean was, what used to be called, voluptuous. She was desired by nearly all the men at the company, and even Val's husband had made a comment to her about how he'd like to get at "a real set of tits". Val had suffered the insult silently.

It was about 7 pm, everyone else had long since gone home. Val walked to the car and headed off the meet Jean at this seedy little roadside diner that Jean had named. It only took about 15 minutes to get there, and Val parked the car and walked in. There were several people there, and Val was aware that the place was more of a little honky tonk bar than a diner. Several beers sign glowed in the window as she approached, and she could hear the jukebox playing, as the patrons nursed their beers. As she entered, she saw Jean in a back booth, and headed over.

Jean always dressed sharp at work, and she'd not changed her apparel. Val sat opposite her and, before they could speak, a waitress appeared at the table asking if Val needed to see a menu. She did, and one was produced, upon which Val looked at the selections. Jean eyed her from across the table.

"I've already ordered, so you just get whatever you desire, sugar." Jean continued to visually size up Val, looking at her from head to table. "I know you have desires, honey, so you hurry up and decide. Besides, you're going to need a full stomach for what I have to say."

Val looked up at Jean, "What do you mean by that?" But Jean didn't answer before the waitress returned and took Val's order. Then, they were alone. The aroma of beer hung around them and an old Jimmy Buffet tune wafted on the air.

"You've been awful mean to me at work. Not just me either, everybody, but especially the girls. You have something against women?"

"Of course not!" Val replied. "I wouldn't have hired you in the first place if I had something against women."

"Well, it's all going to stop right now! Do you like running that company?"

"Of course I do." Said Val.

"It's really your husband's company isn't it?"

"Yes, but I have complete control to do what I want." Val answered.

"Yea, I've seen him down there, gawking at my titties." Jean could see Val turn slightly red, and she knew she'd hit a direct blow. "He likes my big titties doesn't he?"

Val looked back at Jean, and felt that something was going on here. Jean was looking at her like a animal in a trap. Thoughts of how her husband treated her flashed through her head, and she was suddenly quite afraid. If her husband set this up Val was in trouble. If he even found out she was at this place he'd likely beat her. And if he took the business control from her she'd die. Jean looked at her the way her husband looked at her. Val felt very small.

"Did you hear me? I asked you if your husband likes my titties. You don't really have to answer, we both know he does. He told you, didn't he?"

"Yes." Val answered meekly. Now she was certain that her husband was behind this, how else could have known what her husband told her.

"I thought so." Said Jean. "I know because the old bastard put his hands on them once and told me he wanted to taste them."

Val was shocked! Her husband had never shown her any kind of animal lust like that, it seemed so out of character. But looking at Jean, and her tits, she was certain her husband had done exactly as Jean said.

"You haven't got much for tits, do you?" Jean asked harshly.

Val was in a trance, and answered without thinking, "No".

"You like my tits too, don't you?" Jean pushed.

"Yes." Val was broken. She just wanted to get away, for this to be over. But she knew that Jean wanted something. And answering her questions would speed this up, so she could go hide in her disgrace.

"You wish you had tits like mine? Instead of those pathetic little bumps of yours!"

Val nodded her head, and reddened from the embarrassment of making such an admission. At work she was the boss. But now, Jean was in control.

"I want you to look at something. An old friend of mine gave these to me. Pretty interesting, wouldn't you agree?" Jean spread out 5 Polaroids on the table in front of Val. They were pictures of Val, engaging in oral sex with a man whose face didn't show. One showed Val on her knees, naked from the waist up. The second showed her pulling a hardening penis from a pair of boxers. Two of the pictures showed her sucking on the penis, her hand wrapped around the shaft, her eyes closed and a look of pleasure on her face. The last was worst. It showed her licking the end of the penis as it erupted semen, which had already splashed against her cheek, and run down over her chest. One of her hands still gripped the penis as it squirted, and the other was rubbing some of the come onto her hard little nipple.

Val looked at the pictures in disbelief. Of course she remembered the night they were taken, many years before, just after her first marriage ended. It had been a brief affair, with a married man. But God the sex had been great. They had taken several pictures that night, some using his tripod. Maybe a couple of boxes...twenty total? But she'd seen him destroy them when they ended the affair. At the time he'd had much more to lose by the pictures existing than she did, so she'd believed he'd destroyed them all. But now she could see that he'd kept some where his face wasn't shown.

Val began to panic. Her husband wouldn't care if the pictures were taken before she even met him. Her husband would never approve of his wife giving head to anybody. Oral sex, again, was not a part of their sex life, and she'd come to accept that. He'd beat her! He'd beat her for a long time. He'd beat her, and divorce her, and take away everything she had. No more home, no more company. No friends, no shopping, nothing! It would all be gone.

Val looked at Jean, thinking if there was anything she could do to prevent her from giving the pictures to her husband. And just like that, she heard herself mouth, very softly, those very words.

"What did you ask?" Jean was smiling very happily. She had this skinny bitch right where she wanted her. She wanted Val to feel the humiliation of being ordered around by another person, and being powerless to do anything about it. She wanted to get back at her for disrespecting her in front of her co-workers. She had an idea.

"I said, Is there anything I can do, so that you won't show those pictures to my husband?"

"Yes." Jean looked at Val. She wasn't unattractive, but she sure seemed to go out of her way to not attract men. And from the pictures, it sure looked like Val, at least at one time, had certainly liked men. Maybe she should again, thought Jean. "Take off your glasses." Jean ordered.

"What?" Asked the startled Val.

"I'm not going to repeat it. You heard me. I'm not going to repeat any order I give you, do you understand? I'm going to tell you once. Only once. If you don't do what I say, there will be punishment. If after punishment you still don't obey, I go straight to your husband with these pictures. Do you understand?" Jean spoke slowly, and forcefully to Val. She could see Val was confused. She might agree to what Jean wanted, or she might run out of there and do God knows what. Jean knew it was a crucial moment.

Val was scared to death. She was scared of what Jean might do, but she was even more afraid of what she knew her husband would do. She could run away. She could go to her husband and try to explain. She could grab the pictures and destroy them, them deny everything. She looked at Jean, then down again at the pictures.

Reasoning with her husband was useless, that option was out. She might be able to grab the pictures, but she doubted she could get away from Jean with them. Jean was bigger, and stronger. Besides, there might be more pictures, or copies. And her husband wouldn't believe her if Jean told him she'd seen pictures of his dutiful little wife servicing another man with her mouth. No, her husband would look at those big tits, and that round, black ass of Jeans, and believe every word of it. On top of it all, Val was a lousy liar anyway, her husband would know it was true.

Looking at the pictures brought back memories to Val of her period of sexual activity. It had been fun, she thought. Maybe even worth it. Val looked up at Jean, into her big brown eyes. Val didn't think Jean would really hurt her, not like her husband definitely would. She really only had one choice.

"I understand." Val finally said. Then she took off her glasses, folded them and set them on the table. Val's vision wasn't that bad. She couldn't read the signs over the bar, but she sure saw the look of triumph in Jean's eyes.

"Don't look in my eyes." Jean ordered, and Val's gaze dropped to Jean's chest. "I thought so, you flat chested little bitch. You want my tits. Take off your bra!"

Val's eyes went wide at the order. Her face turned red, and she hesitated, trying to glance around the bar to see who might be watching. Jean reached across the table with both hands, grabbed the two sides of Val's blouse and pulled them apart until a button popped off. "That's your punishment. Perhaps another button?"

Val saw that her blouse was now unfastened to about breast high. She knew the fabric would stay in place enough to cover her, as long as no more buttons were removed. She quickly untucked her blouse, and reached up inside it to unfasten the bra. She then slid the straps off of her shoulders, one arm at a time, and slid them out over her hands, freeing the bra. Val placed the bra on the seat beside her, now conscious of the air caressing her naked nipples. Val thought I don't really need a bra anyway, I just wear the damn thing because my husband feels that only tramps go without.

Val started to tuck her blouse back into her skirt when Jean said, "No, leave it out." Val obeyed at once this time. "Put your hands on the seat beside you." Jean ordered, and Val complied. Jean reached forward, and slipped her hand inside of Val's blouse. She found Val's nipples and began tweaking them, bringing them to arousal. "Pathetic, but your little nipples sure get hard, don't they?" Val nodded yes.

"Do men like them? Little boy titties like these?" Jean was humiliating Val.

"Some men do." Answered Val. Neither of her husbands had liked them much, but Val had been with men who seemed to really like her flat chest.

"Do you see one in here who does?" Jean asked. There were only about a dozen men in the bar, most of them with women. "How about that one?" Jean indicated with a nod of her head an man seated at the bar by himself. He was 50 ish, over weight, and had on a wedding ring. "Let's just see." Said Jean as she got up and approached the man.

Val started shaking with fear. What was Jean going to do? Ask the man if he liked her tits? Or was she going to want more? Proof that the man liked them. What would she do, allow the man to touch her? Her husband would kill her for that. But what choice did she have? And why the hell was her pussy getting wet when she thought about a strange man putting his hands on her?

Jean returned to the booth rather quickly, and she was not in a good mood. "Son of a bitch thinks I'm a whore! Can you believe that?" Jean turned and looked into Val's eyes. "He wanted to know how much for a hand job. I told him $20, but that I wouldn't be the one doing it."

Val felt her stomach do flip flops. "When he goes into the bathroom, you follow. I'll make sure nobody else goes in while you're in there. When you come back to the table, I want to be able to see his come on your tits. How you get it there is up to you, he expects a hand job. You can jack him off, blow him, whatever you want. Just make sure he comes on those bumps of yours. Do you understand?"

Val nodded slowly. She could feel the wetness between her legs again. She watched as someone came out of the restroom, and the man went in. She steeled herself, then rose from the booth and followed. Her cunt was liquid, and her breath was quick. Damn her she thought. Damn her, but thank God for her. I need this in my life, I've just been too afraid to do it for myself.

Val entered the restroom, and saw the man leaning against the sink. He was looking at Val like she was a prime cut of steak, and she liked it. Val undid the rest of her blouses buttons, and let it slip from her shoulders. The man smiled at her even more, and she saw his eyes drop to her tits. He did like them! Val lowered her eyes to the very obvious bulge in the mans jeans. Her tongue snuck its way out of the corner of her mouth, and Val knew she had to wrap her mouth around the mans cock.

Val dropped to her knees in front of the man, and unzipped his pants. The man stood up, and shifted his weight, spreading his legs and giving her more access. Val reached inside the zipper, and felt the stiff cock trapped inside the briefs. She rubbed it quickly, and gave it a squeeze. Val knew she needed more, so she reached up and undid the mans belt and snap, opening the pants and pulling them down to his knees. The big cock was straining against the white briefs, begging for release.

Val reached inside the briefs and stroked the cock. She then pulled the underwear down to the jeans and smiled as the fat prick bobbed right in front of her face. She stroked it lovingly with both hands, and she felt the pre-come oozing from the opening in the head. The man was circumcised, and the head felt velvety soft. She smeared the pre-come over the head, and heard the man moan with pleasure. Val began a rhythmic pumping of the cock with her hands. She looked up at the man, and his eyes were closed. Her eyes then focused on the wonderful organ in her hands.

More pre-come had oozed out, and Val used it to lubricate the dick as it slid through her hands. After a couple of minutes she could stand it no longer and leaned forward to take the cock head in her mouth. She loved the feel of a smooth prick sliding in her mouth, and she loved the salty taste of the man's secretion. She sucked on the cock, and moved her mouth up and down over the ridge of the head as she continued to pump the cock with her hand. She raised her other hand up and began caressing the mans balls, fondling them like precious jewels.

The man began to pump her mouth with great urgency, and Val knew he would come soon. She leaned into the man, rubbing her titties against his balls and shaft as she bobbed her mouth up and down on the cock, desperately wanting to taste the man's come. She felt his balls contract first, then the spasms of semen shooting up the shaft. The first squirt she took in the mouth, but remembering Jean's orders she quickly pulled her mouth away. She stroked the squirting cock, and rubbed it with her tits. The following streams of come splashed against her chest, and the rich musky smell filled her nose.


Power



He grabbed me by the back of the neck and shoved me into the wall. He was strong; stronger than he looked. I was stunned.

I felt his body press against mine from behind, his hand still tight on my neck. I felt waves of heat run from his fingers into my head and my back. He leaned till his mouth was by my ear and whispered, "you're mine now."

I squirmed. I was pinned tightly and my hands couldn't reach him at this angle. But he didn't seem to like my wiggling and he spun me around, his hand moving to the front of my throat, the other pinning my shoulder to the wall behind me. His grip tightened just slightly-he was completely controlled-and he smirked as my eyes popped in surprise. I couldn't breathe. He let me struggle for breath for 15 or 20 seconds, finally letting me gasp for air as my head spun and my body felt weak. That was all he needed-that moment of weakness.

He moved quickly, expertly. Faster than I could recover, he had me on the floor and my hands bound behind my back with his belt. It was the boy scout kind of belt, with the teeth clasped into a woven band, and it held tight. He dug out a bandana to tie over my mouth, muffling my cries enough to keep a neighbor from hearing, and then dragged me into his bedroom.

"No one tells me no," he stated matter-of-factly as he pushed me to the floor. I nearly fell on my face without my hands to catch me, and I felt the impact on the hard wood heavily on my shoulder where I landed-I was sure I'd incur bruises. I saw his shoes step down in front of me, and suddenly I felt his foot land square on my stomach. He was kicking me while I was helpless on the ground, like a gangster in a movie. I couldn't breathe again, except this time it was in sheer pain. It felt like something had exploded inside of me. Before I could recover from that impact, another landed on my back, and then another on my legs, and then another, and then another. He wasn't kicking me as hard as he could; that was obvious, but it was hard enough to make me feel like I was caught in a whirlwind of anguish.

I couldn't understand why he was doing this to me. Certainly, I'd denied him a date, but I had never expected him to respond with violence. I'd known him for almost a year, and I knew he was a sort of aggressive personality, but I didn't expect something like this out of him. He was brutal and cold-not like an animal who has been hurt and becomes furious, but like a calculating, vengeful madman.

I laid curled in a ball, crying, trying to make myself as small a target as possible. He tired of kicking me and dragged me to the foot of the bed. He pulled out a box with some gardening tools, a hammer and nails, and a length of rope that looked like it was once used as a clothesline. He used the rope to bind me to the foot of the bed by the waist, my hands still bound by the belt. He took the bandana off to stuff a washcloth in my mouth and then replaced the bandana over it. I was completely silenced. All I could do was let out muffled moans. I was terrified of what else he would do to me.

He lifted my chin to look into my eyes, which were filled with tears. His face looked meaner than I'd ever seen it-he stared at me like he hated me. Finally he said, "You think you've got all the power in the world, don't you? You think you can pull me around by the dick, making me fall for you and then crushing me. Well I don't get crushed. I do the crushing. You see how easy it is for me to take the power back? You're nothing. You're just a miserable little bitch who at the end of the day can't even defend herself. This is what real power looks like-me taking you and doing whatever the fuck I want to you."

That was when he ripped my shirt down the front to expose my breasts. He grabbed a nipple and pinched it hard, making me scream through my makeshift gag. "See?" he said. "Whatever I want."

I was sure then that he was going to rape me, just to prove he could. But he didn't. I don't think it was about sex-it was about power. He tightened the rope around my waist and the belt around my wrists, just to be sure I wouldn't squirm free of them, and then he left me there.

"I'll be back for you in a few hours. Maybe. Maybe longer. We'll see what I feel like." And he turned out the lights and left.



Power



"Bring the woman in." The praetor sat back, smiling slightly.

The woman came in, the top of her jeans unbuttoned, the very top of her underwear showing; he wondered if she was wearing a thong and decided he would find out. The praetor could see the lieutenant had either asked her to remove her bra or removed it for her; in all likelihood, the lieutenant had gotten his rocks off before announcing her arrival, had probably made it a requirement before she could see the praetor. She was barefoot. The praetor liked the lieutenant's acumen.

"My aide tells me you wish to petition for the release of your brother."

The woman nodded. "I do."

"And what was your brother arrested for?"

"Sympathizing with the rebels."

"I see." The praetor tapped his fingers on the desk. "I might be amenable to his release, if we can reach an agreement between ourselves."

"What sort of agreement?"

"You enter my service."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever I tell you to do." The praetor looked her up and down, slowly. "It's obvious to me that you were willing to meet the lieutenant's demands to see me. Tell me, did he make you swallow or did he give you a pearl necklace?"

The color rose in the woman's face. "He had me swallow, praetor."

The praetor smiled. "Very good. Do you want your brother released?"

"Yes, praetor."

"Will you enter my service, for five years, to see him released?"

The woman swallowed and stared at the floor. "That's not fair."

"Mm-hmm. Well, you are in an untenable position right now. I want to see you stripped, sucking, and fucking. I want to enjoy you and I want to watch other men enjoying you. But I also want to see your family punished for entreating with the rebels. Either he will serve out his incarceration or you can and your brother will be released. I can also have you raped right here and you can join him in the men's ward, simply for the sake of amusing me. If we strike a bargain, I will honor it. Now, what is your choice?"

The woman's eyes widened. The praetor licked his lips. They remained motionless. She was pale, trembling. He stared at her, mouth moistening at the thought of giving this stranger an impossible-to-beat scenario. He really hadn't given her any choice, only the perception of a choice.

Finally, she nodded.

"Okay. I'll serve you. Please let my brother go."

The praetor smiled.

"Excellent," he said. "I was hoping you would choose the best path. I'll have your brother released immediately. However, we have a little business to take care of."

The woman swallowed and nodded. 

"Let's start small. Take off your shirt," the praetor said.

The woman blushed even more and slowly drew her t-shirt over her head. Her breasts were large, easily double D's, with large, defined, and very pronounced nipples. The praetor motioned her toward him. Reluctantly, the woman walked around the desk. The praetor never took his eyes off her breasts, watching them move with her. As his hand cupped her breasts, the woman closed her eyes and turned her head away. The praetor didn't care; within this building, a woman did not own her own body. It was always potentially the object of physical gratification for the men. That was how the general had designed things after taking back areas from the rebellion. It was about pure domination of the society.

The praetor ran his thumbs gently over her nipples, across the aureoles, and over her skin toward her neck and shoulders. He opened his hands and slid them down and under her breasts, squeezing them and pushing them together.

"I want you to say it while I do this to you. Do you still want your brother released? Is he worth it?"

The woman nodded, tears rolling down her face. The praetor lifted his phone to his ear.

"Send in Marco." Setting the phone down, the praetor resumed fondling the woman's breasts. "Do you enter my service freely, giving your body and your choice to me?"

The woman sobbed once, then bit her lip. Eyes still closed, she nodded.

The praetor pinched her nipples hard.

"Say it. Say it out loud."

"I give my body and my choice to you, my lord, in service for my brother's freedom." She cried openly.

"Splendid." The praetor opened his top drawer and removed a length of fabric. "Cover your eyes with this. When I am finished with you for the day, I will let you know, but until then, do not uncover your eyes."

The woman wrapped the blindfold over her eyes, breathing heavy. The praetor turned the woman around in front of him until he could tell she was disoriented. The door to the office opened and Marco came in. The praetor faced the woman away from him and began running his hands over her back and hips. As he rubbed her ass, Marco came up to the woman and began to play with her breasts.

"What is your name, woman?"

"Jessica." Her voice was small.

"And where are you from, Jessica?"

"Mendocino, my lord."

"Ah, Mendocino. I have heard stories of some of the settlement camps in that area. Well, Jessica. It's a pleasure to include you in my service." 

The praetor slipped his hands down the front of her jeans, messaging her mound through her underwear. Marco dropped his trousers and placed Jessica's hand on his erection. The praetor pulled Jessica's jeans to the ground, reveling in her exposed ass. She wore a thong. The praetor unfastened his own trousers and pushed them down around his ankles. He was very hard.

"Come, Jessica. Sit down while you use your mouth on Marco." The praetor guided the woman onto his lap, maneuvering his cock to emerge from between her thighs. "Use one hand on me, Jessica, and the other on Marco."

Jessica reached with her free hand between her legs as Marco stepped forward and guided his own manhood toward her mouth. The praetor smiled as he listened to the wet sounds of Marco thrusting his cock into Jessica's mouth. The praetor rocked his hips slowly, rubbing his dick against the woman's pantied crotch; he felt her hesitant hand stroke him with his motion.

"Marco, fuck her tits."

The large man pulled his cock from the woman's mouth and slid it down her face and neck toward her breasts. The praetor pressed her breasts together over the other man's cock.

"Keep stroking, my sweet."

As the man in front began to thrust his erection between Jessica's tits, the praetor felt her reach with her second hand to her underwear and pull them to one side. With the hand that was already stroking the praetor, she pressed his hardness into her moist slit. She inhaled as the praetor's penis entered her. The praetor laughed.

"She's a quick learner!" He grabbed her hips and pushed upward into the woman, thrusting himself as far inside her vagina as he could. Then he stopped and kept himself there, deep in her, making small movements with his hips to maintain the sensation of fucking. A sob escaped from the woman.

"Ahh. Misery. So much the better. Just wait until dinner." The praetor laughed. "Then, your brother will be the guest of honor and he will watch as you are mounted by a dozen men."

Jessica said nothing, but began to rock her hips, hard. She licked the tip of Marco's dick when she felt it come close to her face, even as tears rolled from her eyes.

"I think she wants this to be quick, Marco. But it will be as quick as I desire." The praetor also began thrusting hard into Jessica, fucking with as much motion as his position would allow. He felt the tip of his erection brush the woman's cervix and Jessica gasped, either from pain or pleasure, but the praetor didn't care.

When he had taken this position, he had thought that the women of the northern counties of the rebellious California would be more pliant and liberal. It turned out that was not true and he had been forced to waste countless lives of women in combat rather than restoring peace and order. It was a shame, really. Such a waste.

The he slapped Jessica's thigh hard.

"Switch!"

This time, Jessica was completely stripped and laid upon the praetor's desk. Marco was between her legs and sliding his thick pole into her before she was even flat on her back. The praetor grabbed her head and slipped his cock into her mouth.

"I am going to fuck your mouth as hard as Marco is going to fuck your pussy." He rammed his dick into her mouth, smiling as she gagged. Indeed, she began to vomit, but the praetor never stopped, though he wanted to stop. This woman was going to be brutalized for her arrogance and to teach her what her life could be like for the next five years. Then the praetor thought of something. He pulled back and used the woman's pants to wipe himself. 

Marco continued to pound her.

The praetor picked up his phone. "Yes. Could you send in the next supplicant?"

The door opened and a middle-aged woman, gray streaking her red hair, entered. She stopped at the door, shocked at what she was witnessing, but the praetor motioned at the lieutenant behind her. The lieutenant grinned and pushed the matron into the office, then closed the door.

The matron wore a simple dress, but it was tailored well enough to express the woman's curves and statuesque figure.

"Why are you here?"

The older woman stared at the scene before her, color rising in her face. The praetor looked back at Marco and Jessica, then at the newcomer.

"Do you like this? Does this make you wet?"

The matron's eyes widened as she turned her gaze toward the praetor. "Outrageous! Do you think I'll submit to this?"

"Yes, I do. Either you submit to me in exchange for whomever you are trying to bargain or I will force you to submit to whom I please. I want this to be an object lesson to the rest your neighbors what I demand if you come to me looking for deals. And just as importantly, you will obey and keep order."

Jessica turned her face, streaked with tears and ravaged by crying, though it was blindfolded, toward the sound of their voices. "Just do as he asks. Give him what he wants."

"But my husband..."

"Ah, your husband. What of him?"

"He was arrested on a false charge. He was taken to Folsom. Please, he doesn't belong there. He's done nothing wrong."

"Folsom, eh? Well, then he has been part of several rape gangs I organized there when I was commandant. All married men are part of them, in the prisons. Are you sure you want him back? He may only want you if you're doing six other guys with him."

The praetor laughed. He felt manic, drunk on the power he held over millions of individual lives. The general had given him an exquisite gift.

The matron paled. She lunged at the praetor, but the praetor was faster. He dropped her with a strike to the chin, then climbed on top of her. The woman tried to look around, dazed, but the praetor pulled her dress over her head. He snapped the bands holding her bra in place and ripped her panties off, leaving angry red marks where the fabric had burned her skin. He bit her nipples savagely as he spread her legs apart. Using her dress as a wrap, he bound her hands against her head. He thrust his hard cock against the dry labia of the woman's vagina. The woman cried out.

"Please, no!"

Freeing one hand, the praetor spit on his fingers and slid them between the lips of her vulva. He rubbed the head of his cock and felt the slow beginnings of moisture seeping from the matron's body. He entered her slowly, thrusting in small movements until he felt the walls of her pussy fully accept him.

"I am going to fuck you and I am going to cum inside you. And then, you are going to ride the face of that woman over there while she is fucked. She is going to eat my cum from your pussy. Maybe I'll have Marco fuck you, too. Maybe I'll have my aide fuck you. Maybe I'll have Marco stick his dick in your ass. But the point is, you are going to fuck, but you'll get nothing in return. That woman there, she will get her brother back. You? You will see your husband, but only as he watches you get gang raped in the prison. I might even make him fuck you, too, when the other men are done. Never raise a hand to me. I rule here!"

The praetor thrust into her and the woman cried. He heard Marco's balls slapping against the ass of Jessica and the excitement of being in the room with so much lust and power aroused the praetor even more. He felt himself growing longer and thicker inside his victim. She struggled against his weight,but that felt all so much better to him. He pulled out, nearly, then powered back inside her. Again, he rammed his cock the full depth of her vagina. Each time, he felt himself build toward climax, his ball tingling and beginning to feel full.

There was a discreet knock on the door and an officer entered. She was blond and lithe with small breasts. The praetor remembered her hips were well defined for holding onto while he was mounted at her backside. He waved at her briefly.

"Come in. Close the door."

The officer closed the door and stood next to the door, watching. She did not react to the sight of two woman being fucked in the praetor's office. She knew it was rather mundane, if arousing. Marco, in particular, was well-hung as were his friends, but that was why they were used as they were. The praetor had restored sex to a weapon, a tool to be used by the military, business executives, and politicians. Even husbands were ennobled with the power of sex over their households; wives, nannies, and females who lived with them were subject to the lusts of the master of the house. While on the surface the system under the praetor seemed patriarchal, women were as acceptable brokers of sexual power as men. They were granted full access to their employees, subordinates, and male in-laws who lived with their husbands. Indeed, the female officer ensured that the enlisted men in her command were kept fit and their pubic hair neatly trimmed; inspections, at times, took a while. The distribution of sexual power was very interesting under the praetor.

The officer saw that the women could not see her with their blindfolds. She wandered silently over to the busty woman Marco was pounding. The officer knew that Marco could go for long periods of time before orgasming. He was trained to do so. The officer slid her hands over the belly and breasts of Jessica. She loved to feel the jolting, rocking movement of such supple flesh. Jessica lay limp, hands hanging off the edges of the desk; she slid back and forth with Marco's motion. The officer leaned close to her ear.

"It's better if you hang on, dear. Let's him get deeper into you. If you comply, he'll nut faster."

Jessica jolted at the sound of a woman's voice in her ear.

The praetor called out, "I have plans...ugh...here we go...oh, shit, yes."

The praetor continued his motion, keeping a steady rhythm to his thrusts. He was still growing; he felt as if he was flush with the limits of the matron's vagina. Then, the tip of his erection touched the deepest portion of her pussy, again and again, her cervix seeming to connect with the hole of his dick. The walls of her vagina began to throb and pulsate, drawing him further inside her. The woman sobbed, fighting her orgasm, but that was the skill of the praetor, some said the power; he could make the body orgasm while the mind resisted.

And then, he ejaculated. He didn't orgasm, quite, but he released long streams of semen into the matron's body, her cervix dipping and pulsing to bring his seed into her womb. The praetor continued to thrust with the rhythm of the woman's orgasm, touching each time her innermost walls with his spurting cock. He continued to fuck, even as his ejaculations subsided, just to feel the matron's ongoing orgasm throb against his cock. He loved that feeling and he knew that the matron was as shamed as he was sated. He looked down at her.

"Now, with any luck, you are ovulating. And you shall conceive more wonderful girls with orgasms like yours." The praetor withdrew and knelt beside her. "Get up and get on that woman's face. She'll clean you up with her tongue."

The female officer moved toward her and grabbed the dress above the matron's head like a bag of onions. She led the matron to the desk and, with Marco's assistance, dragged the woman on top of Jessica. The officer leaned back down to Jessica.

"Lick. Suck. Enjoy."

The praetor gestured at the two women. "The old woman goes to the men's ward. The young lady will join us at dinner. See that her brother is released upon the condition that he dine with us. See that Jessica is properly attired."

The female officer nodded. She turned to leave and paused near Marco, gently stroking the clitoris of Jessica. She let her thumb graze Marco's cock as he powered into Jessica. She stood there for a moment, meeting Marco's eyes, then she slipped out of the office. Marco glanced at the praetor.

"Marco, don't cum inside Jessica just now. I want whatever-her-name-is to feel you cum. Jessica, while Marco fucks our new friend, I want you to give them both head."

Both women sobbed as Marco moved behind the matron. His rod was slick from Jessica's moisture and he slipped easily inside the older woman. Jessica began licking his balls. The matron moaned loudly as Marco penetrated her, her voice getting louder and rising in pitch as he sank inside her. Marco wrapped his arms around her, gripping her breasts and squeezing as he began to rut. The praetor could think of no other word to describe what Marco began to do with the matron; he used small, powerful thrusts, hips quickly moving. The praetor was reminded of a silver-back mating with a female gorilla. With vicious power, Marco stopped deep inside the matron, his body clenched, and released his orgasm inside her. He kept attempting to push deeper inside her as the older woman sobbed and Jessica licked the fluids that began to leak out around Marco's cock.

The praetor pulled his trousers on and opened his office door. Outside in the waiting area, a crowd of women ringed the room, sitting or standing nervously; the lieutenant was busy finger-fucking an old woman by his desk. He stopped and stood when he saw the praetor.

"Lieutenant, it's time for an object lesson. These women need to fully understand the stakes of the bargain they seek for their men." The praetor motioned for Marco to lead the two women out of his office. "Ladies! You have two options: you may enter my service and fuck who I say and your men will go free. Or you may be raped by myself or whom I decide and then sent to the men's ward to continue being raped. Of course, you may leave now, if these choices do not agree with you. But for now, you will watch these two women, one of whom has entered my service and one who has refused, fucked by the lieutenant here. You may not leave until he is finished or you make a choice."

The praetor smiled.

"And when you do leave, please do me the favor of spreading the word."

Jessica, still blindfolded, was leaning over the lieutenant's desk next to the matron. The lieutenant was dry humping her, getting himself erect again, sliding his cock between her ass cheeks. As he hardened, he moved over to the matron and pushed inside her.

"This is for not sucking me when you had the chance."

The women stared, shocked. They eyed Marco nervously as he prowled the room, thick cock hardening again as he surveyed the crowd. The praetor nodded in approval. Marco was one of the best. He waved at the ladies.

"Marco will do as he pleases, ladies. He has until the lieutenant orgasms to do whatever he wants and then you may all go. I have to change clothes." The praetor slipped back into his office, closing the door so he didn't have to listen to more crying women.

Such a waste.



Power



Standing at the kitchen sink..looking out my window..alone..bored..wishing you where here with me ..I can feel you approaching me..wanting you to place your arms around me..loving me..kissing me..

You have plans of your own ..pinning me up against the next wall..I can feel your chest against my back..forcefully holding me against the wall..your hands moving down my sides...grabbing at my wrist..pulling them above my head and holding them there as your lips gently brush up against my neck and shoulders..making me moan..

Your breath feels so hot against my skin..and your hands are making sure my arms stay above my head..making me feel vulnerable..but desired...craved..wanted ..Your left hand takes both my wrists into it..holding them up while your right hand traces it's way down my body..making sure to turn my head when I try and look at you..

I can feel my wetness dripping onto my leg..my lungs expanding as my breathing gets heavier..my chest rising causing my nipples to rub up agaisnt the wall..I moan..wanting to taste you so bad...

I feel your hand sliding in between my legs..reaching for my wetness..teasing my lips ...fingertips at the edge of my craving pussy...My body thrust back..trying to feel the pressures of your fingers against me..but you resist..you are going to torture me..make me beg..and the very idea is exciting me even more..

Your fingers now wet with my honey find their way to my lips..letting me taste myself..mmmmm taste so good...makes me whimper..begging for more..

Ordering me to stay in this position..hands above my head..I feel your body move down my back..your tongue licking me gently..tasting every inch of my skin..stopping to nibble at my lower back before you kneel down and lap at me from behind..

I can feel your hands spreading my legs apart..your tongue dancing on my skin..making me squirm..but you keep reminding me not to move..the control you have over me is overwhelming..making me start to shake..making me weaken..as I cum for you...soaking your tongue and fingers..hands and fingernails leaving marks on the wall above my head..

I can feel you pulling away..and I want you so badly..my moans are getting to you as you grab my wrist once again..turning me around and placing them above my head as you kiss me..so deep..so hard and passionate..letting me taste my honey on your lips as I suck on your tongue...

You are enjoying this game with me..and I can tell it will last longer..as you take my wrist in one hand again..letting the other hand come up to my lips..making me suck on your fingers before you take them and circle my nipples..leaving a trace of saliva on them..making me want more..

Your teeth finding their way to them..biting them..nibbling..hard..yet sensual..oh baby I want to have you so badly...I have to place my hands on your head..strocking your cheeks and letting my moans get louder..trying to pull your head up to kiss you again...

I can feel myself shaking again..wanting to cum all over again..and wanting you to join me so badly..my body language must be telling you this because at that exact moment..you stare me in the eyes..desire so evident..and you place your mouth beside my ear..whispering how your going to fuck me when your ready..and until then I have to wait..enjoy..crave..

Oh how I want to have you inside of me...you are standing ..still staring at me..when I feel your fingers finding their way inside of me again...teasing..then plunging deep..hard..making me cum while you stare into my eyes...holding me still..making me scream out your name over and over again..begging for you mercy...

Your fingers moving until I am done..weak..hardly able to stand..and then you place your hands on my hips..lifting me up onto the counter top beside us..my ass  on the cold counter..my pussy on the edge..my hands grabbing at your head so hard..wanting you so badly..

I want to have a taste of you..but I have figured out that tonight..your focus is completly on me..making me cum over and over again on your fingers..your tongue..making me crazy with lust..

My pussy dripping honey onto the countertop..it's so obvious I want more..need more..pushing your head down..wanting you to drink me up once again as I watch your head go down on me..watching your tongue disappear into my pussy..your fingers teasting my ass ...making me scream over and over again until you can't stand it anymore...

Your body moving up..your lips kissing mine...sticky sweet with honey..so good..Our fingers locked together for a moment as I beg you to make love to me..I want to feel you inside of me so badly baby..

Making me gasps for air when you finally enter me..such force...so deep and soooooooo good...banging up against the counter..my pussy pulling you in..my fingernails digging into your back...talking dirty..screaming at you to fuck me harder..deeper..wanting to feel you cum deep inside of me..with me...

Our bodies convulsing at the same time..staying locked in that position after we both cum..kissing ..holding..touching..making me want you again and again..as we finally break away..well aware that a shower is needed for the both of us..

Kissing you in the shower..thanking you..loving you some more ..kneeling before you and making you harden in my mouth this time..against my lips and tongue..making you at my mercy now as my tongue dances circles around your veins..my fingers teasing your balls as the water slides across our bodies..and taking you in as you cum once again..this time letting me have every drop..mmmmmm..love making love to you..

Chantal   

thing but you and I..making you happy..satisfying you over and over again...

I want you t



Power



They say that gold is power, but "they" are mostly male, and thus idiots.

On the day she decided to stop living on goodwill and bland virtue, instead using her power for its hell-intended purpose, the witch did not begin dabbling in alchemy. After all, what do men pay gold for? Surely that's more powerful.

So, she planted a garden. An innocent, beautiful garden of Eden, with every delicious fruit and herb that was good and fair, all that was delightful to the scent, touch and taste. She laced each fruit with just a drop of magic, nestled deep inside, and when her garden was heavy with fruit she loaded a cart and took it to the market. She wore a crone's habit, her hair tucked away and her voice a sweet seduction over the market crowds, her eyes as trustworthy as ponds.

Apples, peaches, cherries sweet

All the fruit you'd like to eat,

Rampion, for long, lovely hair,

Free tastes for the ladies fair,

Come, come, taste my wares!

Fruit after fruit, pouch by pouch, she served her fruits and herbs. Every woman that tasted wanted, then craved, then demanded. They came. Then they came back. They offered gold if they had it, chickens, grains, cows, or cabins if they did not. Finally, all the couples where the woman had eaten the witch's fruit were destitute. The witch had more than enough of everything she could want. She was renting the peasants farms to them and living on their bread and their beasts, while they worked as slaves on their own land.

Yet still, they wanted more. The women were frantic, eye-hollowed, and... pregnant. What else could they offer? But what were children without that fruit, that wonderful, wonderful fruit...

The witch selected only the most beautiful girl-children. She took them to a tower recently vacated by a lighthouseman and his frantic, pregnant, and regrettably plain wife. The witch planted one child on each floor, cultivating them as she had cultivated her garden.

The eldest had a room at the top of the stairs with a trapdoor up to the lighthouse's firepit. She was a rampion child, with hair the color of sunlight, and it would not stop growing. She delighted in sitting at the edge of the firepit and combing those twinkling locks in the cool evening breeze, watching the road that ran not too far from the tower and sighing for a man to come and rescue her from a life of boredom.

The witch listened day after day, and soon sap after sap of useless pansy-boys came mincing to cry their love to that barely grown slip of flesh and magic, and she sighed her heart to each of them.

The witch became steadily more annoyed. Although fatuous men were all part of the plan, the young girl was and would always be hers. It was coming time for that baby girl to grow up.

The witch stood watching the young woman sleep. She had a petulant pout on that pretty little mouth. The witch just wanted to slap it off. The girl's near-white hair was curled across the pillows, entangled with the blanket. The witch brushed the soft curls from her forehead. The curls arched into her hand like a cat seeking its master.

When the rampion child awoke, her hair was creeping across her throat. She gasped and tried to sit up, but her hair had tied her wrists to the bedposts, her neck bound to the headboard. She screamed, but the witch standing over her was the only one who heard, and she just smiled, hovering, her hand splayed in the center of the girl's chest.

"You've been wanting something, little rampion child?"

The girl screamed again, as the witch ran her hand from her chest over the mounds of her breasts and the softness of her stomach to the damp patch in her cotton nightgown. Her scream dissolved into a sharp intake of breath.

"You don't need a man, Rapunzel, to fulfill your deepest, darkest.... Dampest dreams..." The witch whispered.

The young woman's hips rose, pressing against the witch's fingers as if she could not help herself. The witch began to stroked in lingering circles, slow and steady. Then, her arm followed her hand, then her shoulders, then her body as she slithered on top of the girl. Rapunzel tried to close her legs, but her own silky hair bound her ankles spread. She was helpless, here in the darkness of the tower, as she had always been helpless though she did not know it.

The girl let out a small, breathless gasp as the witch's body pressed against her sex. The witch's eyes seemed to glow in the dark, inches from her face.

"No, no, no. Please..." She begged, but her tingling sex dripped yes, yes, yes.

The witch slapped her across the face, leaving a stinging handprint on her tear-streaked cheek. "Your mouth is not for speaking," the witch said, thrusting her tongue between the girl's lips. She ground her knee into the wet patch between Rapunzel's legs and rode the swell as that body surged in response. She steadied herself with her hands, locking the girl between her arms and ground again and again, enjoying the roil of the body beneath her.

Rapunzel bucked one last time and screamed an orgasm to the night, feeling the hot rush of it prickling every inch of skin. Below, the other girls listened, breath held, wondering what was going n above.

The witch licked her finger and ran it over the girl's open lips. She sat back, straddling her charge, trailing her fingernails from the young woman's lips, down her neck to the scalloped lace bodice of her nightgown. There, she gripped the cloth, relishing the tearing noise as she ripped it, slowly and deliberately, exposing those soft breasts, quivering like frightened rabbits, their pink peaks erect and swaying, then exposing the taut, expectant stomach.

The witch laid a hand on the pearly breasts, smiling in anticipation of the red and black bruises that would soon paint those snowy peaks. She grasped the coral nipples, rolling them between her fingers. The breasts shuddered as Rapunzel gasped in equal parts pleasure and pain. Then, the witch kissed her between the breasts, again and again, then her kisses became bites, and her bites began to move down, across the expanse of her smooth stomach, until Rapunzel felt the witch's breath, hot on the petals of her lower flower, which bloomed and dripped nectar in response.

"Please, please no," she begged, but those feral eyes glowed up at her through the soft curls of her sex, as the witch's long tongue slid between her lower lips, curling and flicking as if it had a life of its own.

Then she was curling, bucking and screaming her throat sore as she came and came and came, so much that the tingling turned to burning and she felt as if her skin were barely containing that wild flame of passion, lashing her time and again as she shuddered and quaked, squirting time after time down the witch's face, nearly drowning her in sweet juices.

Finally, the witch slowed her tongue, and the young woman fell panting to the bed. "Please, please, please..."She begged, though she didn't know what she was begging for. Her mind felt as if it were floating somewhere far away, held to her body by tingling jolts from her soaking, slippery cunt.

The witch kissed her throbbing secret, laid so bare that it jumped and jolted in response, then stood. "Later, my dear." She said, and vanished into the dark, leaving only a lingering musky scent to tell that she had been there.

Rapunzel's hair lipped silkily across her skin, as if innocent of all betrayal, and her mind slowly came untied from her throbbing cherry and drifted off to sleep.

The next day, a horseman rode up, a prince of noble birth, to tempt the tired maiden with his clumsy tongue, dripping with stories of palaces and balls and love. That night, Rapunzel braided her hair tightly before bed.

It seemed that her candle had scarcely been snuffed, and she had not yet laid in the bed when she was the glint of the witch's eyes in the dark, and heard her mocking words. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair." The witch spat the last word, and in response the girl's hair leapt from its braid, lashing out like a whip. "Climb, climb, climb on heaven's stairs." The hair slipped around her body like a charmed snake, not yet confining, but threatening. She did not try to stop it.

"What a wicked child, trying to defy me," the witch whispered, holding Rapunzel upright by a handful of that treacherous hair. "Bend, and hold your ankles."

Rapunzel shook her head, but her hair seemed to pull her forward, warm golden strands lashing her wrists to her ankles and pulling tight.

The hem of her nightgown seemed to drift up, revealing the moon of her ass, round and expectant in the dim slivers of moonlight. "No, no, no..." She began to beg, even before she felt the sharp sting of the witch's relentless hand on her bare backside, low enough that she could feel the motion of the air as it brushed the quickly swelling hair of her sex. She felt her blood rushing to her rump, ruddying her pale, pale skin until her "no's" faded into pants.

The witch pulled the girl's bare ass against her, sliding her hands around the smooth sides to find her velveteen breasts. She squeezed them gently and the girl gasped. Then, she slid her fingers down and over the girl's swollen cherry, feeling the rivers that wet her thighs, sticky and silky.

"It feels like 'yes' to me," the witch sneered. Rapunzel tensed as the woman stroked her, slowly, carefully, as if playing a stately soliloquy for which the girl's body was her only instrument. Rapunzel felt her body coming to peak, and she took a breath to scream, but the witch spread her fingers into a vee, just at the last stroke, and rubbed the swollen mound around it.

"You lie to yourself too much, rampion child. Don't pretend you weren't waiting for us all day," the witch whispered.

The girl began to move her hips, moaning as she sought release, but the witch's nimble fingers evaded her. She had nothing to say, for she had, indeed, dreamed of this heat all day, longing.

The witch slipped a finger into her, stopping a little short of her hymen. Rapunzel's hips thrived against it, dripping, drawing once again to orgasm, but the witch pulled her fingers away, leaving the girl's pussy swollen and quivering in frustration.

The witch petted her captive in long, soothing strokes, coating her in the thick nectar as she thrilled against those long fingers.

The girl began to beg as the witch knelt behind her, her long tongue flicking at the delicacy between her legs. "Please.... Please.... Please..." she begged.

But, the witch withdrew once again.

"What would you do for me?" The witch asked.

"Anything, anything." The girl sobbed, her back aching, her legs shaking and her sex throbbing like a second heartbeat.

The witch pushed her so that she fell ungracefully, then the older woman lifted her skirts and alighted her own secret parts on the girl's soft, innocent lips. "Eat," she commanded, leaning forward to stroke her prize. "Tonight, you must have supper before you shall do any singing."

The young woman ate as if it were her last supper on this earth, lapping at those sweet lips, quickly becoming accustomed to the salty taste and drinking it in.

Throughout the night, the girl and the witch screamed again and again, while the prince waited below in great agitation and worry.

When the witch rose to leave, she told her charge "Tomorrow, when the moon sets, I will be on the roof. You may come to me." Then she was gone.

The prince asked Rapunzel what the screaming was the night before, but she only stared off into the distance. He decided that she must be under a spell, and resolved to listen carefully for any phrase that might free her, any key word to make her his.

As soon as the moon neared the horizon, Rapunzel put her hair into a bun and hurried up to the fire-pit, long since scoured clean by rain, looking eagerly for her lover, but she was alone. Melancholy, she sat down, and presently fell asleep.

She awoke to the witch's voice behind her. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," the witch sang, and Rapunzel's hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

"Why did you come?" The witch asked.

"To please and be pleased," Rapunzel breathed, feeling her hair begin to slip and wind around her once again.

"Then let us welcome your birthday together," said the witch and so they did, as the prince listened, frantic, far below.

The next morning, Rapunzel awoke in the fire pit. She sat up groggily, pulling her hair out of her eyes. She wrapped it around itself, tying it back.

Next to her was a long, long rope. On it rested a note, two letters long: "GO."

A timorous voice called from below. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

As her hair shimmered down around her, Rapunzel secured the rope to a beam and shimmied down it, to a man as flat and bland as the ground he walked upon. They rode to his city, and he threw pink roses before the pair, and their silky petals reminded her of a pair of dripping lips.

She was the lover of a witch and the wife of a king. Raised by a witch, she raised a king. And so did the witch become powerful, for even on her wedding night, the queen woke to that ominous whisper she could never deny: "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair..."



Power and Pleasure



Carol Jordan struggled to remain at attention as she waited to receive her decoration. The courtyard of the imperial palace was filled with over ten thousand potentates from all over the galactic Dynasty that was about to honor her with the highest award for bravery and dedication that the Dynastic government had to offer. It was not the crowd that caused her nervousness. It was the fact that she was about to meet the Emperor, the Dynasty's ruler.

Nathaniel Trent had been an officer in the Old Federation before it had fallen due to its own bureaucratic excesses and complacency. It had become too sure of itself and was slow to adapt to change. Faced with external pressure and internal decay, it had fallen ten years ago. Trent had rallied the remnants of the Old Federation's military and police forces, formed an alliance with the powerful Andrian Confederacy, and fought to stem the chaos that had filled the power vacuum that followed the Old Federation's fall. He had been twenty-three years old at the time. After years of fighting the Dynasty had one quarter of the galaxy under firm control, approximately one quarter belonged to the Andrian Confederacy; the rest was held by enemy governments or was unexplored.

Emperor Trent governed from the solar system he had dubbed "Triumph." Each solar system that was part of the confederacy elected its own leaders, and made its own laws, but each paid taxes to the Emperor, submitted to certain laws concerning commerce and extradition for crimes, agreed to the abolition of slavery, and contributed to the general defense. Dynastic territory was divided into twelve sectors each protected and administered in the Emperor's name by one of the Dynastic Archdukes. The Archdukes were all comrades from the Emperor's War Against Chaos and answered only to him. 

The Emperor's title was hereditary, meaning it would be passed to one of Trent's children. (This was also true of the archdukes.) Each system elected its own officials, but the Royal family would assure a political continuity the Old Federation lacked. Jordan forced her hands not to shake. The Emperor himself would be decorating her in a few minutes.

She was to be the first person awarded the Emperor's medal of Valor. The honor had been earned through pain. She had been hospitalized for three months and undergone six operations recovering from her last battle. She still had nightmares about the fire engulfing her. She remembered the heat itself searing her flesh even through her fire -resistant space fleet uniform. She remembered dragging three injured crewmen from the flame-filled bridge. She could still see the crewmen she could not save. She remembered the burns that covered her from head to toe. She remembered endless hours in regeneration tanks and the how the itching of the skin grafts had nearly driven her man. And, of course, there was the pain; the incessant, relentless pain that no drug could moderate. 

That pain had already earned her a promotion, her coming decoration, and a personal dinner with the royal family. The royal family consisted of the Emperor, his fifteen wives, and their children. The Emperor had adopted the Andrian custom of plural marriage, and many other parts of Andrian culture. The Emperor's wives helped him govern his dynasty; overseeing his fleets, his armies, the Dynastic economy and all the various departments of government. There was much speculation about what went on behind the closed doors of the royal palace and how one man could keep so many beautiful and powerful women at his side and in his bed. Rumors abounded that Jordan herself would become his next wife and be given a position on his ruling council. Would she be asked to join the royal family? What would she do if she was?

Trumpets sounded and the crowd stilled. The imperial wives entered the courtyard. They were followed by the ten children of the Imperial household, six servants who attended them, and a platoon of heavily armed and armored guards. The wives were seated near the podium where Jordan stood. All of them were beautiful, elegant, and regal. Jordan though it silly that any one would believe that the Emperor would want her when he had such women already.

Shayal Atrava, the Emperor's first wife and his designated Empress sat in a chair that occupied a platform a meter higher than where the other wives sat. The Empress was a Princess of the Andrian Confederacy; the daughter of its current monarch, Galayen Atrava. It was through marriage to Shayal that Trent had allied himself with the Andrian Confederacy. She was young, slim, and carried herself with perfect poise that came from a life time of training. Her hair, like most Andrians, was lustrous and inky-black. She wore it at shoulder length and slightly curled. Her eyes were the lightest blue and shined with intelligence and wit.

She was dressed in a flowing ankle-length white dress made of silk; or something like silk. It was trimmed in gold with a neckline that plunged nearly to her navel, showcasing cleavage that was perfectly proportioned to her body. There were slits on both sides of the dress that ended just above the knee that allowed ease of movement. It was backless down to the base of her spine. A necklace comprised of dozens of gemstones adored her throat; a single grape-sized, sapphire hung between her breasts. Jordan found herself jealous of the Empress' beauty and grace. She was still almost mesmerized watching her dance-like walk and the flow of the exquisite dress about her ankles.

Jordan thought she should look at the other wives. She did not want inadvertently snub one of the Imperial family, but she seemed compelled to memorize every detail of Shayal's appearance. Jordan gasped when the Empress looked directly at her and smiled. It was a pleased, knowing smile. It also seemed to be a welcoming smile. It made Jordan feel like she was, or was about to be, a part of an exclusive club.

More trumpets sounded, and Jordan finally forced her eyes away from Shayal. The Emperor came into the courtyard flanked by a twenty-being honor guard consisting of ten men and ten women. He was dressed in military uniform that shared the color-scheme of the Empress' gown. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and graceful in stride. His face was sculpted and confident, and his hair was a sun-lightened brown. It was cut short but was thick enough to blow slightly in the wind. Carol had always thought he was too handsome to be an Emperor. Rulers as effective and attractive as Nathaniel Trent only existed in fairy tales. But this was no fairy tale. The Emperor was only a few meters away, and his nation was prospering despite the efforts of more than a few enemies.  

The Emperor strode onto the podium, now only a meter or so away from Jordan. The wind carried the scent of his cologne to her nostrils. The scent was unique: sweet and almost unbearably masculine at the same time. The Emperor was giving an address to the crowd. Although he was speaking about her and recounting the events for which she was being rewarded, she was barely aware of his words. They seemed distant and unintelligible. What she could hear was the tone of his voice. It was deep and melodic and seemed to have physicality to it. It seemed to enter her brain through her ears and caress her mind. Added to this was a kind of vibration that seemed to emanate from the Emperor's body. (Vibration was an inadequate word, but she could think of none better.) A delicious tension began to build in her body. It was as though a lover had just indulged her in hours of expertly performed foreplay.

Jordan blinked and the Emperor was standing before her; only half a meter or so from her. She had been lost in whatever power surrounded him, and had not realized that he had finished speaking. He was speaking directly to her now, holding her medal. Dimly, she realized that he was congratulating her on being decorated. She heard herself thanking him but she was not consciously forming the words. He placed the medal around her neck; lifting her dark, shoulder-length brown hair to place the purple ribbon the medal hung from beneath it. The sensation of his fingers running through her hair made her sigh very softly. The Emperor smiled knowingly and drew his hands down Jordan's neck after the medal was in place. 

Jordan was in another world. Just being in the Emperor's presence had made her burn with desire. The feel of his hands on the bare flesh of her neck had almost overwhelmed her. She was grateful that her knees had not buckled or that she had not pressed herself against the Emperor's body. Whatever power had seized her had seemingly rendered her incapable of movement. She felt as though she was being held in place by this odd erotic energy.

The Emperor moved away, and Jordan came back to her senses slowly. That is, she could think clearly again, and she could move, but her body was still highly energized. It was not simple arousal; although that was a component of this what she was feeling. She was invigorated mentally and physically. She was simply feeling good!

The feeling stayed with her through the reception that followed. Jordan spent the next few hours being imaged for the various press agencies, posing with various government officials and showing the people of the Dynasty their newest heroine. She tried her best to live up to the people's expectations and not to think about her upcoming meal with the royal family. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jordan studied herself in the full length mirror. After she had returned to the opulent, spacious quarters she had been assigned within the Royal palace, she had bathed, changed into a fresh uniform and was assuring herself that it she was now perfectly attired. She had gone to the extra effort of having this uniform custom tailored. It consisted of a blue tunic and slacks with gold braids and trim, with the jacket worn over a white blouse. It displayed six years worth of service ribbons on the right breast. Regulations gave female personnel the option of wearing slacks or a skirt, but Jordan always opted for slacks. The standard issue black shoes had been shined to a mirror finish. She fashioned her hair into a loose pony tail, and completed the ensemble by placing her Medal of Valor around her neck, closing her eyes at the memory of the Emperor's hands caressing her neck. 

She regarded herself one last time. She had never considered herself beautiful, but she was proud of her body. A daily regimen of swimming, yoga, and martial arts practice had given her a slim waist, well toned arms and legs, and tight shapely butt. She liked the way the tailored uniform made her look. She had even had one of the palace servants help her with her makeup. After all, one didn't share a meal with the royal family every night. Besides, she had to admit to herself, she wanted to be beautiful for the emperor. 

It was a silly thought, she knew. She could never hope to achieve the beauty and grace that the Empress had displayed earlier that day. There was no reason for the Emperor to give her more than a passing glance. Yet, he seemed to have deliberately caressed her neck, and seemed to be aware the effect he had had on her.

The door chime sounded and Jordan was pulled away from the mirror. "Enter." She said.

Two members of the Emperor's personal guard entered. Both were both young women. One was very tall with red hair. The other was shorter with deep-black hair. Both were well muscled and moved like cats. "Emperor Trent is ready to receive you, Commander Jordan; if you would follow us please?" The taller guard said.

Jordan followed. Her quarters were in the wing of the palace reserved for VIP guests. They had consisted of three rooms, and included a personal hot tub and spa, and a large fire place. The furniture was posh and soft, and the palace servants had responded to even her slightest whim. Compared to the four meter by four meter quarters on the cruiser she had served on, the luxury she had lived in over the past week seem shamefully decadent. Once they passed into the Palace's royal wing, however, her quarters seemed quite spartan.

Paintings, statues and various works of art lined the hallways. Marble columns held up vaulted ceilings. Polished floors made exotic woods were underfoot, and guards adored in ceremonial swords and armor stood posts every twenty feet. Finely carved hardwood doors were inlaid with gold and silver, and windows five meters long were spaced at intervals. This all served to make Jordan's nervousness return. Her hands were shaking again as she approached the double doors that led to the Royal Family's apartments.

The guards opened the doors and stepped aside so Jordan could enter. Upon stepping over the threshold she was greeted by the Empress herself. Jordan suddenly felt overdressed. The Empress was dressed in simple pale-blue frock and was barefoot. She touched Jordan on both shoulders and smiled broadly. "Carol, welcome to our home," She said, taking Jordan by the arm and leading further into the Imperial quarters.

"Thank you Empress." Jordan Stammered.

"Call me Shayal."

Jordan surveyed the room she had been led into. It was obviously the primary living area. It was round, two tiered, and arranged in concentric circles. The lower tier was reached by descending five steps from the upper tier. It was furnished with four semi-circular sofas arranged in a circle facing each other, two large crescent-shaped hardwood coffee tables in front of the sofas, and several richly padded reclining chairs. A large circular fire place dominated the center. 

The upper tier was surrounded by a panoramic window that provided a view of the palace's expansive gardens. There were several sets of luncheon tables and chairs where one could dine and view the gardens, as well as six lounge chairs and a massage table that were placed where the sun would shine on them for most of the day. The surroundings were certainly comfortable, but they lacked the opulence of the corridors Jordan had just walked through.

The Emperors wives all rose to greet Jordan. They were dressed for comfort as Shayal was. "Carol, this is Sandra," Shayal said gesturing to a tall blond woman wearing a dark blue silken robe that just covered her knees. "Sandra is Field Marshal of all Dynastic armed forces." 

Jordan knew what rank Sandra held, but was grateful for Shayal's reminder. It allowed her time to deal with her growing confusion "Nice to meet you Ma'am," Jordan replied.

"Sandra," the blond woman said. "There are no ranks or formalities in this household. It is our home and should be comfortable and welcoming."

Jordan was introduced, in turn, to the other wives. Each was quite beautiful and each held a key position in the Emperors government. They were wearing various loose fitting, light clothing and were all barefoot as was the Andrian custom when at home. She realized that she herself was over dressed. She had assumed that a dinner would be a formal affair and had dressed accordingly. She felt the flush of embarrassment come to her face.

"I apologize Emp...Shayal; I thought dinner would be a formal affair." Jordan explained.

"How would get to know each other that way?" Shayal asked. "You are a guest in our home and we want you to be at ease."

"The uniform has to go." Another blond woman said. She was slightly shorter than Sandra, and her hair was a lighter, almost golden, shade of blond. An ultra sheer toga-like gown obscured, but did not hide her body. Jordan recognized her as Auril: the chief of the Dynastic Intelligence and Security service. "She'll never relax in that."

"I think we can find something for her to wear," a voluptuously built brunet said stepping forward. She was dressed a sheer black robe that extended to her mid thigh. 

"I'm Kalin," the brunet said taking Jordan in a sisterly embrace. "Let's get you into something comfortable."

Within a few minutes Jordan found herself in room that was stocked with hundreds of fine dresses and gowns and equipped with several dressing tables. Kalin and some servants helped her change into a loose fitting pale-blue dress made of satin. It left her shoulders and most of her back bare and was secured only by a thin strap around her neck, and gold-inlaid rope belt. It left most of her cleavage open to view; barely covering her nipples. The hem ended millimeters above her knees. No shoes were offered.  

Kalin carefully looked Jordan up and down. "There, now you can enjoy the evening."

In truth, Jordan felt a bit self-conscious. The dress was attractive but very revealing. She said nothing, however, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her host's hospitality. "Thank you General."

"Call me Kalin. When you are in the family's quarters, always use first names, and that includes Nathaniel." Kalin said, touching Jordan on both shoulders. She looked at Jordan and smiled. "Nathaniel will love you in this, and your medal is the perfect accessory," she added, placing the medal back around Jordan's neck.

Kalin led Jordan over to a full length mirror. "Look at yourself; beautiful, just beautiful." Kalin prompted. "We know you have endured much pain, but that is over now," she said kneading Jordan's shoulders gently from behind. "You are tense and tired, but we will soon fix that."

Time seemed to stop as Kalin's skilled hands worked the tension out of Jordan's neck and shoulders. After what seemed like all too brief a time receiving such attention Jordan's solace was interrupted. "That was wonderful." 

"I'm glad to have helped," Kalin replied. "When Nathaniel tends to you tonight, you will feel as though you are floating on air."

"The Emperor will tend to me?" Jordan asked, her voice week with a mix of confusion and anticipation.

"Oh yes," Kalin said running a hand down Jordan's bare right arm. "You have served his Dynasty well, and endured a great deal of pain on his behalf. Nathaniel will want to help you heal."

"But I've already been cleared for duty by medical." Jordan remarked.

"Your body has healed most satisfactorily, but what of the mind? What of the spirit?" Jordon was silent. Did they know about the nightmares and the flash backs? Did they know she saw the crewman she failed to save as the bridge burned lurking in the shadows and waiting to punish her failure? Did they understand the guilt she felt at having survived the destruction of her ship? Could they all see how weak she truly was?

"Come," Kalin urged. "We will have some wine and talk. You need to get to know the family."

The wine was very good. Jordan soon found it hard to believe that she was surrounded by the most powerful women in the Dynastic government. She found herself speaking freely about her past and family. She listened to tales told by the Emperor's wives. The environment was easy and jovial. She was at ease among friends and laughing heartily after hearing a tale of Sandra's time as a fleet cadet, when the Emperor arrived.

"Wait until you hear how she got herself out of that mess," Nathaniel Trent said as he entered the room. He was dressed in an ensemble that seemed like a cross between silk pajamas and a karate gi. 

It was sleeveless with the front of the tunic open enough to expose the front of his torso from his neck to a point just above his naval and tied with a black sash. The top was white and the pants were black. Jordan made no attempt to hide admiration. He was regal and handsome. His smile was open and genuine. He was well-muscled and his muscled formed smooth graceful curves as the flowed into one another. He had just a hint of a sun tan and the slightest, barely visible, sprinkle of hair on his chest. The word magnificent came to Jordan's mind.

The wives all rose and gathered around him; each received a kiss and a hug in greeting. "Hello Carol," the Emperor said as he moved to greet her, his eyes holding her gaze in a way that seemed very intimate.