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Tiberius Artemus tossed the majority of his cape over his shoulder, holding the bulk of it traditionally over his arm. To his left and right, two guards walked alongside of him. Though he knew they were bred and trained to fight and kill, he could not help taking in their pleasurable appearances. Their main bodice of armor, though tough looking corsets of leather, ended with thong bottoms. The women’s breasts spilled out from on top, since there was nothing to cover them. Around their chiseled, muscular legs were knife belts, and each carried a spear in their hands.
Deadly and beautiful, all at once, he thought to himself.
Artemus let himself be lead through the main hall of the Nile Palace. Egypt was a hot country, and it was almost sweltering beneath his royal armor. His thick, solid soldier’s build glistened with sweat, moistening the tips of his brown bangs.
The marble hallway gave way into an even bigger hall, one that rivaled the Emperor’s throne room in Rome. The entire floor was made of polished marble, the cracks in it mortared with gold, with a deep red carpet running down the center. One wall was a set of man-made waterfalls, spilling over more smooth marble before pooling into a channel that led elsewhere. Green, vibrant plants grew along it, fed by the cool water. The other wall was merely open, interspaced with carved columns and silk drapes. The warm, desert breeze blew softly, making the curtains flutter.
The carpet that ran the length of the room went up several steps on a raised pedestal, and then stopped at the magnificent golden throne at the top. The legends stories appeared to be true; it was indeed made of solid gold, and encrusted with precious stones.
Artemus and his entourage stopped a few paces before the pedestal. One of them, a deep skinned Nubian with the strongest buttocks he had ever seen spoke to him. “Wait here while we go and summon the Queen,” she said. “Please enjoy the splendor of her palace in the meantime.”
The two guards left him, exiting through a side door. Artemus helped himself first to the wag of their bare rear ends, then to the rest of the throne room.
“Splendor indeed,” he muttered to himself.
A short time later, the door opened once again. First came the two guards from before, then two more pairs, all women in the same armor. Then came two women, but unlike the guards, they were completely nude and unarmed. From the fact that one held a giant fan of peacock feathers, and the other a tray of juicy fruit, Artemus guessed they were the Queen’s slaves.
Then she appeared.
Artemus had heard many things of Queen Cleopatra of the Nile, some rumors, others true. Seeing her in person though made him realize that even the rumors were true.
In clothes of gold and gems, she swayed through the door, flanked by more personal guards. Cleopatra was the daughter of the former Pharaoh, a pure blood Egyptian to the last drop. Her eyes were deep brown, almost black pools of mystery and seduction. Her ebony hair fell in smooth, straight locks to her shoulder.
The outfits of female Roman royalty were proper and respectable. Cleopatra dressed in pure debauchery. The only thing befitting of royalty she actually wore was the thin silver band around her forehead, signifying her status. The rest, a foolish man could interpret as a whore’s attire. Her only full garment was an impossibly small thong of gold silk with a small matching wrap around her hips. A gold chain dangled from her pierced navel, a diamonded embedded at the end. She was topless, save for a spiderweb of golden chain that dangled from a large ornate necklace just above her bust.
The legends of the Queen’s body were true. It was more than evident from the very little clothing she wore. She possessed the largest breasts he had ever seen in all his life. They were beyond the size of melons, perfect in shape and form, with areola’s the size of a young man’s fist, and nipples the width of a finger. Her buttocks, he noted as he caught a side profile of her, were perfectly rounded lumps of muscle, putting even the guards’ chiseled frames to shame.
Artemus was sure to drink in as much as she could, especially of her trim backside before she turned to face him when she sat on the throne, then her amazing chest as she lowered herself to her seat. Beside her, the slave with the fan began to waft cooler air on her, and the slave with the tray kneeled obediently while lifting the fruit within easy reach.
“Welcome to my kingdom, Lord Artemus,” Cleopatra purred with an elegant wave of her hand. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”
“Very pleasant, your Majesty,” he replied, bowing respectfully in greeting. “But truth be told, I am very happy to arrive all the same.”
“Now, what offer does the Roman Empire wish to extend to me?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. “Your messengers were…cryptic, at best.”
“The Emperor of Rome wishes a union of our kingdoms, your Highness,” Artemus truthfully told her. “He believes that with our resources, our two countries will be able to conquer the world.”
“Why does he wish to conquer the world?” Cleopatra asked almost lazily as she plucked a grape from a cluster and let it burst between her teeth. “What does he seek in the bloodshed?”
“The Emperor wants a unified land, your Highness. One that can be governed easily, its people brought together in harmony. As distasteful as the war would be, it is a necessary evil.”
“It is a very interesting offer…” the Queen said mysteriously. “But I am sure this talk of power and conquest is not discussed best when weary and hungry.” Her eyes glittered in the afternoon sun. “Join me for dinner this evening after you have refreshed yourself in your own chambers. There is much to discuss, Lord Artemus.”
Artemus smiled and bowed respectfully again. “Very well, your Highness. Thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Cleopatra made a motion with her hand, and a small gong sounded somewhere. Three nude slave girls entered the hall, heads bowed submissively within the presence of the Queen. “Slaves, take Lord Artemus to his chambers, and make him comfortable,” she commanded them as she rose from her throne, and then said to him, “These slaves are very experienced. Feel free to explore their abilities to your heart’s content this afternoon.”
With that, she left the throne room, her escort in tow. The slaves gently took Artemus by the arms and guided him through another door. One was a native, tan skinned Egyptian with long black hair to the middle of her back. Another was a pale skinned young girl with bright, glimmering yellow hair. The last was a dark Nubian with ample breasts and a curvy body.
Artemus smirked to himself, both enjoying their company and the surrounding beauty of the palace corridors. Everything was going according to plan.
Of course, the Emperor would never share power with Queen Cleopatra. It was merely a ploy to dupe the so-called Goddess of the Nile so she could be easily captured, and her land conquered. Her kingdom was the only one that rivaled the Roman Empire, and once it was conquered nothing else would be unobtainable.
All he had to do was sit back, enjoy his three gifts from Cleopatra and indulge in her dinner. Then, when she let her guard down, he would restrain her and hold her captive until he could send for his soldiers. The Queen would be smuggled out and taken back to Rome, where she would serve as the personal sex toy of the Emperor. Then it would be a simple matter of taking the palace.
Artemus hooked his arm around the waist of the Nubian slave, then grabbed a hold of her breast, kneading it roughly. She seemed to be just like the kind of women he preferred in bed, as if the Queen knew his desires. The slave smiled and drew closer to him in stride, obeying her Queen’s wishes to pleasure him at any cost.
Artemus had just gotten out of bed when the Queen’s messenger had notified him that the evening feast was ready. Two of the slaves, the Nubian and the blonde, lay in each others arms in the sheets, exhausted and covered with sweat. The Nubian proved to have an amazingly powerful mouth, while the blonde had the tightest pussy he had ever felt.
The Egyptian, the only of the two spared from his sexual appetite, bathed him in a stone tub, thoroughly scrubbing, to his delight, his entire body. His armor had been cleaned and polished by another, and was delightfully cool against his skin in the warm early evening.
He was escorted to the dining hall by the Egyptian slave and the messenger. Inside was a sight to behold. A large table stretched to a good portion of the room, filled with exotic food from all over the land. Roast meats, fresh fruit, and decadent desserts filled every corner. Cleopatra sat at the head with a thin robe on over her earlier attire, bust still spilling out for the world to marvel at.
A small troupe of musicians played in the corner of the room, and along with them, providing more arousing entertainment, were several belly dancers around the table, clothed and veiled in various colored silk.
She beckoned to him as the women departed from his side. “Come, Lord Artemus, and sit,” she said and patted the pillows nearest her. “Taste the bounty my land has to offer.”
He sank into the lush fabric and reclined as the food was served. They ate roast pig and ham, interspaced with juicy fruit and cake. All of it was heavenly, expertly cooked and prepared, easily putting many chefs in Rome to shame. The wine served was extraordinary. Artemis found himself downing several goblets quickly.
“What else can you tell me about your offer?” asked Cleopatra as she gazed into the twisting bosom of a dancer.
“It is a chance to exchange culture as well as power,” he replied, thoroughly enjoying the silken swaying hips of an Arabian dancer. Her body writhed like a snake about to strike, an evening breeze causing her teasing silk outfit to brush against him. “Rome can learn many things from Egypt, and we hope your people can learn from us as well. Just think, Roman women in Egyptian fashion, Egyptian soldiers trained in Roman combat.”
“I have heard many things of Rome’s beautiful women, as well as of their unstoppable armies” said Cleopatra. She snapped her fingers, the order to once again refill his goblet with wine.
Artemus gladly took another swig. The belly dancer had now swung her legs over his and straddled his lap, grazing her thighs across his breastplate. The luxury and decadence was something that he could have gotten lost in forever, had not even more been promised for him for completing his assignment. So with that in mind, he drank freely, enjoying the erotic dance with the knowledge that more was to come.
“Please, do not hesitate to imbibe, Lord Artemus,” Cleopatra said grandly as she had his drink refilled yet again. “You have had barely half of my own portions. I hope you are not trying to be polite, for Egypt is a land where food is greatly cherished.”
“No, your Majesty, of course not!” he said. “Your wine is excellent. Just another thing Rome will be thankful to sample!” The goblet was drained again.
“Perhaps you would like something stronger?” she suggested. “It seems a man such as yourself is above the power of mere liquor.”
“That sounds very intoxicating,” he chuckled. “Forgive my pun. I do not make it a habit to try to impress my hosts with poor humor. But yes, if you insist, your Majesty.”
A separate goblet was brought to him, full of a creamy, white liquid. The dancer draped a silken fold behind his neck and leaned back, allowing him to sample the Queen’s new indulgence while still performing her own. Her tan skin glistened in the torch and candle light. The top of her outfit was only a set of transparent silk sleeves; her breasts were bare, nipples covered in tiny silver cups that were attached by a chain.
Artemus sipped the liquid. It was spicy, with a taste of liquor and something else far sweeter. Unfamiliar, but no less delicious. He drank deeper, draining half of it, but before he could take it away to breath, the dancer pushed lightly on the underside of the cup, willing him to drink it all in one go.
Triumphantly, he placed the empty glass down while smacking his lips. “Delicious, your Majesty!”
“I’m glad you found it so,” she said, smiling beautifully. “It is quite a wonderful drink.”
Artemus realized that he should probably stop drinking, as the alcohol was beginning to affect him greatly. The room was beginning to spin a little. The dancer on his lap became embossed in a hidden light, growing even more beautiful. He placed his hands on her hips.
“My apologies, but I think you should stop,” he said with a chuckle. “You might make me a little too dizzy.”
The dancer cooed and leaned close, begging him to let her continue. She was enamored with him, his strength, and how handsome he was. She wanted to pleasure him, to dance all night. She began to spin with the room, her silken outfit a whirl of colors.
It became too much, and everything became black.
When he woke, Artemus discovered three things. First, he was bound, his limbs pulled taught, spread to four corners, and his arms were sore from the fact that he was dangling from them.
Second, he was naked. His armor and clothing had been stripped away, placed neatly against the wall in front of him, along with his sword.
Third, he had been oiled. His entire body glistened with wetness, all save his head which remained dry.
Confused, he looked around. He was bound by cords of leather to some sort of rack between two columns. The strips were knotted tightly several different times in several different places. Each strip on his arms and legs was pulled tight, forcing him to stand spread eagled. He gave a tug on his bonds, but there was barely a half inch of slack.
Then he looked down and saw that his cock was fully erect, glistening in the oil. He remembered the dancer, but there was no way his body could have still been aroused from that. The way it was sticking straight out with no curve indicated he was either freshly aroused, or had been aroused for some time, but that was impossible.
What is going on?
A door opened behind him, but he could not turn his head enough to see who it was. His question was soon answered though, and Queen Cleopatra floated into his vision.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, trying not to sound outraged. Perhaps this was merely one of the Queen’s games he had heard so much of it?
“What is the meaning?” she asked back with a light laugh. “My dear Lord Artemus, you have no idea how I prevented myself from asking the same thing to yourself when we met.” She placed her hands on her hips, her breasts glaring at him like a second set of eyes. “Did you really think your plan would work?”
“Plan?” he asked, this time outraged, though falsely. He was feeling more fear than anger. Had the Queen somehow discovered his intentions? “What are you accusing me of?
“Any kingdom knows that the Roman Empire does not share power,” she stated, pacing back and forth. Artemus took notice of a table covered with whips, canes, clamps, and other objects that made him even more nervous. “You simply take it, feeding off of other lands.” She looked at him, her dark eyes still glittering with seduction. “Like locust.”
“This is an outrage!” he shouted, swelling in indignation. “Release me at once, and perhaps you will not incur the Empire’s wrath.”
She laughed at his threat with a wave of her hand. “Rome does not intimidate me, Lord Artemus. Nor shall I have to worry about any bloodshed.”
“My soldiers will learn that you have taken me captive, and will return with all of our armies!”
“My guards slit each and every one of their throats before the sun fell,” she said simply. “Your escorts are dead, and you are alone.”
“What?!” he shouted.
“Yes,” she replied, then, sounding tragic continued, “And poor Lord Artemus’s ship sank before reaching Egypt. A Roman hero, lost to the elements.” She chuckled, and her voice dropped to a satin-like purr. “That is what history will say. You, however, will become my slave.”
It was Artemus’s turn to laugh. “Do you think I will just submit to you like that? I have face far worse torture than what you have there,” he nodded towards the table of whips.
“Oh, I do not doubt the fact that you are a strong man,” she replied mystically, slowly glancing up and down his oiled frame. “It is why I rather you be taken alive and trained than simply killed. You will find that all submit. It is only a matter of time, and I am very patient.”
With that, Cleopatra turned and began to examine the instruments on her table. Artemus pulled at his binds, but like before, it proved useless. His stiff cock wagged, not having lost any of its length or girth.
“That liquor you drank is my special aphrodisiac,” Cleopatra commented, taking a long slender cane in her hands. “Made from the finest liquor, herbs and Oriental spices, as well as the milk from my breasts, mixed with several drugs of course.”
No wonder he was so aroused. He actually tasted the nectar from that wonderful bosom? His cock felt like it had been hard for hours, constantly teased without released. It was even a shade of red as the full nine inches of it twitched in frustration.
“Hmmm…” Cleopatra cooed softly as she turned to face him, the cane in one hand, a small strip of black silk in the other. “A Roman soldier is such a fine specimen of man, strong in both body and mind.” She circled behind him and pulled the silk across his eyes and pulled with surprising strength, drawing his head back. “Should I use pain, and slowly whip and strike you into submission?” she whispered in his ear. “Or perhaps pleasure, and drive you mad before taking you into me, leashing you with desire and lust?”
The tone of her voice was strong. Artemus was certain he could sustain torture and interrogation, but what Cleopatra spoke of seemed something otherworldly. For a brief moment, his resolve wavered.
The cloth fell away, and she circled in front of him again. Slowly, with meticulous detail, she slid her index finger down the length of his rock hard shaft, the perfectly manicured nail lightly caressing the tender flesh. Artemus let out an involuntary moan at her touch. Her very finger seemed charged with energy.
If just a single touch can do that, what else can this woman do?
She took her finger, glistening with oil, then slowly stroked it over her nipples, coating each one and the areolas with it until they both glimmered like jewels. She circled to his back again.
“I do not train all of my slaves personally, Lord Artemis. So impress me. Show me how long a Roman general can stand to the lash without crying out.”
Without warning the cane swished and struck him across the lower buttocks. The pain was so surprisingly bad that he almost yelped out right there. But he caught himself in time and stayed silent. Again the Queen struck. Then again, and again, and again…
It was not until his buttocks were striped several dozen times before the agony spilled over his limit, and he cried out. She continued her strikes, each brisk, efficient strokes of her wrist sending a wave of pain through his ass.
“Not too bad, Lord Artemus, though weaker men have lasted longer…”
“Vile whore!” he spat. He immediately regretted it as a violent lash landed across both cheeks, causing him to yelp like a wounded dog.
“Hold your tongue while you still hold your title, Lord Artemus,” the Queen hissed. “Or I shall gag you, and you will not speak until you relish the taste of my feet.”
The strokes continued without further comment. Artemus could no longer keep himself quiet. Each stinging bite from the cane issued a small cry or grunt. Soon, he was writhing in his binds, trying to do something to at least alleviate the pain. But try as he might, his ass was completely helpless to her whim.
“All you have to say is mercy,” Cleopatra said lightly as she struck. “There is no hidden penalty. Simply submit, and I shall stop. Then, we shall move to something else.”
If she thought he would simply do as she wished, the Queen was sorely mistaken. Artemus kept himself silent. The pain in his backside grew worse. If she continued at the pace she was going, it would only be minutes before he would begin to shout out loud.
Another stroke landed harshly across his buttocks, and he winced as he groaned, tears stinging his eyes. Another stroke….
“Mercy.”
“Hm?” Cleopatra asked, striking again.
“Mercy!” he said louder, biting his lower lip from the pain.
Artemus half expected the whore-Queen to simply continue, but true to her word, the lashing ceased, leaving his ass to glow like a burning ember. Cleopatra circled to his front, lightly bending the cane in her fingers. The thin wood had become slightly bent from the steady punishment.
“You see?” she said as she set the instrument down. “I am merciful. A harsher ruler would have you whipped and beaten to no end. But I…” she drew close, lifting the strip of silk beneath her breasts teasingly, slightly lifting the heavy mounds. “I do not wish to ruin the body of a handsome, endowed man. They can be put to much better use. Now, I think, some pleasure…to show you what lay in store for those who are obedient.”
With that, she sank down to her knees before him. Artemus was bound on a square of soft fabric, so the Queen felt no discomfort from the floor as she settled before him, eyeing his enormous, throbbing cock. She took it in her hands, her touch tingling and magical as she began to caress it.
“Do not think that because I kneel before you do you stand above me…” she purred softly. “”
Artemus let out a moan of pure ecstasy. With her experienced hands, Cleopatra explored every surface of his girth and balls. She even knew about the sensitive spot beneath his head. Did she simply know this, or was it revealed to her from the slave girls she had given him earlier? What other sexual secrets did she know about him?
Her hand stroked down, the butt of her palm spreading over his shaved base, then glided back up, gently squeezing over his head while her thumbed brushed the tender spot. Then it when back down, pulling back on the crown of his head, puckering the slit.
Over and over it went, each stroke sending a wave of pleasure through his spine. Artemus tried to force himself to not enjoy it, but it was impossible. Captive or not, it was something intoxicating to watch a woman almost kneeling in submission before him but still exerting such an influence over him.
“Such a long, powerful cock,” Cleopatra commented as her hands glided across his glimmering shaft again and again. “And such enormous balls; perfect to give up their seed to their Goddess. No doubt you have made many women cry out from both pleasure and force over the years.”
Artemus didn’t reply, too lost in the sea of pleasure. But suddenly, it all vanished, and Cleopatra was on her feet, dabbing her hands dry on a cloth. He sputtered. “Wh-what?”
“You don’t really think I would allow a new slave to orgasm so quickly?” she asked rhetorically as she picked up a many tailed whip and began to inspect it.
What a wicked game the Queen played! Still at the mercy of her aphrodisiac, Artemus could not do anything to relieve himself of his erection. Even without it, in the constant presence of the near-naked Cleopatra and her glorious body it would be difficult. All the while, his body and mind craved satisfaction and release.
The Queen clapped her hands, and several slave girls entered the chamber. Two were fair skinned, the third a dark Nubian.
“Lord Artemus is in need of more oil,” she said to them.
Obediently, two of the slaves moved to the wall where a large set of shelves sat, filled with bottles. They removed several of them and took them back to where Artemus was restrained. The third slave went to Cleopatra’s side, and aided her in removing her glittering golden chain top. All that she now wore was her thong, the shiny wrap above it, and the heaps of jewels above her bust.
The two slaves poured salves into their hands and began to work it into his skin, starting at his arms before moving to his body, groin, and legs. The oil warmed his skin, supplying even more tingling delight where it touched his cock and balls.
Their tasks finished, the nude women departed. Slowly, Cleopatra circled around him, still caressing the leather tendrils of her whip. “Tell me, Lord Artemus,” the Queen mused softly to herself before drawing her arm back and swinging the lash. The tips of the leather snapped across his already sore ass. “What should a man such as yourself do to please a Goddess?”
Artemus gave her nothing. In response to his silence, she whipped him again, this time prying free a grunt of pain. His ass was already streaked with fire, and the whip was beginning to fill in the gaps. The Queen struck again, then again, then again, falling into a steady rhythm. The whip would swish, crack against his ass, and he would grunt.
Swish, crack, grunt. Swish, crack, grunt.
“I ask you again, Lord Artemus, what must a man do to please his Goddess?”
Swish, crack, grunt. Swish, crack grunt.
He bit his lower lip, eyes stinging in pain as the punishment continued. The Queen was asking a question, so maybe he could distract her enough for a break. “A man must-” CRACK “A man must pay tribute to his Goddess!”
A pause. Artemus let out a breath of air as he felt Cleopatra drew close behind him. He felt the strips of leather from her whip playfully pat painlessly along his back side. The oil from his skin had been whipped off, transferring to the whip and making it heavier. Each stroke had truly been painful.
“That is correct,” she purred softly into his ear. “A man must pay tribute to his Goddess. He must offer what she demands, and do it gladly. Remember those words, Lord Artemus…”
Artemus moaned as he felt her electric touch, her fingertips slowly caressing his oiled sides, tickling his senses and raising goosebumps. His cock throbbed, almost as if it were begging for the Queen’s attention once again. Perhaps he could trick her, make her think that he was submitting, and get her to make him come.
But what if that’s what she wants? To lure me into a false sense of control? Artemus was not sure what tricks Cleopatra could do if that was her game. No, it was best that he resist completely.
“So, am I to worship you as a Goddess then?” he tried to taunt, his voice coming out shuddering from her caresses. “Then must I slaughter animals on an alter before you.”
She chuckled that wonderful sound. “Very cute, but what you speak is blasphemy. And like many places, blasphemy is punished.”
The caressing hands vanished, and Cleopatra circled to the table of instruments, selecting from it a long chain with clamps on either end. Artemus’s eyes widened a bit when he saw the sharp teeth along the mouth of the clamp.
“The male body is such a wonderful thing,” she said as she draped the chain across her neck. She began to caress his nipples with just the tips of her fingers, and despite him knowing what was going to happen, they began to harden, not unlike Cleopatra’s own massive ones, glazed in oil. “Despite the presence or knowledge of pain, it still prefers pleasure.”
With one final tweak to ensure their firmness, she took the chain from her neck and placed one end over his nipple, then let the clamp bite into the skin. To Artemus, it felt as if a burning ember had been pressed to his skin. He yelled aloud as the clamp’s teeth burrowed deep into the tender flesh of his nipple, but not deep to draw blood or irreparable damage. Within a second, the other was fastened, and the Queen stepped back admiring the chain as it trembled when he struggled.
“Silence your cries, Lord Artemus,” Cleopatra warned him over his yelling. “Rest assured, I will follow through with my threat to gag you. And a harsh gag will only add to your misery.”
It took a few seconds but he managed to quell his roars to a low, shuddering series of grunts.
“Better,” she said satisfactorily. “Now, since you prefer to mock the methods of offering, I will enlighten you.” Cleopatra ran her hand over the curvature of her left breast, carefully avoiding the circle of oiled areola. “A man’s offering is his semen, the alter my breasts. You will learn to give much, Lord Artemus; even though I am a kind Goddess, I am quite strict when it comes to tribute. Do you understand?”
Artemus stayed silent, a move that turned out to be a very poor one. With one touch of her finger, she pulled lightly down on the chain attached to the clamps, bringing back the throes of agony. “Every second you choose to ignore my will, another hour is added to this punishment.”
“YES!” he cried. “I understand.”
“Is that any way to speak to your Goddess?” she hissed. “Again!”
“Yes, my Goddess!” he cried out again. “I understand.”
She removed her finger, and Artemus let out a pained sigh of relief, grateful that the pain had diminished somewhat. No sooner than he did, he let out a surprised intake of breath. Cleopatra’s hands had circled his cock once again and began to pump. The pain fell away, overpowered by the tidal wave of pleasure. She continued longer this time, her hands expertly squeezing and stroking his shaft. Soon, his balls began to tingle, his head flex, and-
“No, Lord Artemus, you shall not orgasm,” she whispered softly, and ceased the masturbation.
“Gods!” he cried out in frustration as his cock began to relax. Her hand swept out, slapping his face at his blasphemy and leaving a streak of oil on his cheek.
“You insult your Goddess,” she purred with a venom dipped voice. “I am the only one you shall worship. No longer will you be chained to the silent Jove.”
Cleopatra took from the table another cane. It was branched, almost two sticks of wood bound together. Artemus moaned and shook his head. “Please, not again.”
“What I wish, is all that matters,” the Queen replied as she slowly circled around him, until his ass was within striking distance. She drew back the cane and struck.
Not only was the lash firey hot against his already sore buttocks, but the cane pinched his flesh, pulling it painfully as it was brought back for another strike. Artemus screamed in agony as his ass was set ablaze by a second stroke, then a third, then a fourth…
To Be Continued?
You tell me.
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