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Queen, Knight and Witch

CW: corruption, hypnosis, possession, fantasy, demonic, femdom, femsub

Hi hi~ Today something a little longer

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Queen Dorothea sat rigid upon her throne, the weight of her crown pressing harder than usual against her brow. The torchlight flickered across the polished stone floor, casting long, dancing shadows that bent too easily toward the figure in the center of the chamber.

A witch.

She was cloaked in deep violet, her features sharp with otherworldly beauty, and her presence as calm as it was unsettling. Magic clung to her like perfume — unlicensed, uncontrolled. Dangerous.

Dorothea’s gaze shifted to her knight.

Lady Eleonora stood firm at the witch’s side, chin high, eyes unflinching. Loyalty burned behind her gaze — not to the crown, perhaps, but to Dorothea herself. That made the queen pause.

Eleonora was not one for wild risks. And yet she had brought this woman past the warded gates and through the palace halls.

Dorothea’s fingers curled on the throne’s armrest. There were rules. Rites. Decrees. And this woman — this sorceress — had no royal seal, no sanction to wield what shimmered at her fingertips like liquid starlight.

But then again — nothing else had worked. Not the priests. Not the scholars. Not the iron-willed huntsmen.

And the succubus still danced at the edges of the realm.

Dorothea exhaled slowly, eyes returning to the witch.

Perhaps it was time to listen.

Just once.

"Lady Eleonora, who have you brought before our throne," Dorothea's voice filled the throne room as she leaned forwards. The torch light reflected in her eyes as she stared at Eleonora's charge.

The witch did not speak.

She merely stood there, the aura of magic almost visible around her.

Eleonora stepped forward and spoke for both of them: "Queen Dorothea. This is Isolde. She is here to aid us in the hunt."

"A sorceress," the Queen's words cut across the silent room like a blade, a tinge of disapproval coloring her tone.

"Yes." The single word from Eleonora was a defiant affirmation.

The torch light played off of Isolde's robes, a dance of firelight and shadow. Dorothea's eyes fluttered at the unexpected shift.

"Do we have to remind our loyal knight that magic is only to be practiced by those who attended our royal academy," Queen Dorothea's gaze grew more focused as she stared at Isolde and the magic that surrounded her.

"My queen, the Succubus influence grows from day to day. The Southern border is unrecognizable and even the markets in your capitol are selling strange fruit and other products corrupted by the f-foul creature. None of your wizards or scholars have shown results. Maybe a different approach is needed," Eleonora explained in her most officious and precise voice. Yet, Dorothea noticed the slight stumble over the word foul — the small hitch in her knights tone.

"You make bold claims, my friend," the queen said softly, eyes never leaving the witch. Dorothea could not tore away her gaze from the beautiful display that crawled over this Isolde's robes. Fire, shadow, and a shimmer that spoke of magic, all danced over her.

Dorothea felt her cheeks warm.

Eleonora bowed: "Then let her present evidence to the throne. I beg you, please at least let us present proof that a witch might aid where wizards and scholars have failed."

Failed. The word echoed through Dorothea's mind. They had failed hadn't they. Old crooked men and trembling frail crones. None exuded an aura like Isolde.

Dorothea's gaze shifted again, landing on the face of the witch for the first time, only to be greeted by the other woman's half-lidded eyes.

She was staring back. Her lips parted and glistened from a hint of pink tongue that darted out to wet her mouth — seductive, tempting.

Pointed ears twitched and Dorothea knew then, knew with a sinking, hot feeling in her stomach that Isolde wasn't entirely human. But the thighs pressing together didn't scream the familiar revulsion. She didn't immediately find the woman abhorrent. No, the queen was captivated. Enthralled.

As if a web was spun, weaving her into the very fabric of this woman's intentions.

Dorothea's breath hitched in her throat. She should have recoiled. She should have dismissed them both, thrown this witch from her lands. Yet the wetness between her loins demanded something different. Something darker.

Her fingers dug into the armrests.

The witch's tongue darted out again, tracing those glistening, perfect lips, leaving a path that caught every last flickering glint from the flames.

Dorothea could almost imagine tasting that mouth, wondering what it would feel like to trace that delicate tongue with her own.

What has gotten into you! Dorothea thought, trying to calm herself as she felt the warmth between her legs.

"The succubus is a demon. A creature of evil and magic. And so only those who deal in those things should have an opinion," the sorceress finally broke the silence. Melodious the purr caressed Dorothea's skin.

Dorothea's throat went dry: "Very well. Speak then, witch. Explain what you would attempt to achieve where my most devout mages could not." The Queen's voice betrayed her — a sensual tremor. All of her attention concentrated on the sorceress. The very way the purple fabric clinged to her curves, revealing the voluptuous curves underneath, sent another shiver of heat down her spine.

"My methods are the opposite of your mages: They hide in towers. Study ancient books and pray for insight. I act," Isolde paused; her head bobbed to Eleanora. "Just look at my success with your loyal knight. Truly watch what she's wearing."

Dorothea felt her eyes flutter and turn to Eleanora: "A suit of armor and cloak like all knights in the throne room."

Isolde smiled a wicked smile, but Dorothea barely noticed it as Eleonora replied.

The knight spoke with her own melodic voice — so similar to the seductress before her. "Thank you, my queen. It fills my heart with bliss, knowing you appreciate my armor." A moan carried the last word. Eleanora's hands cupped her breasts. Vuloptuos, supple flesh held by a tight corset. The fabric glistened with magical embroidery. It hugged her figure and enhanced her body to an extreme. Dorothea found her mouth-watering at the way Eleanora presented herself: a hand stroking up her leg towards her exposed panties and another tugging on her nipples. Her knight's eyelids hung low, a pant escaping her throat.

Dizzy, Dorothea had to admit, she was confused. This was the standard armor of her knights. Designed for distraction and pleasure. Nothing crude like hard metal. A queen of her refined tastes wouldn't allow crude warriors to be present. No. She insisted on refined elegance.

And yet, something nagged at the corners of her mind as Isolde's voice chimed: "Your Majesty. Don't overthink it. Just listen. Let the thoughts come to you. Look at your knight."

Her words were like honey, smooth and cloying — impossible to resist.

So the queen focused on Eleonora's corset, its intricate lace and luxurious fabric accentuating her curves, creating an enticing silhouette.

Dorothea shifted. Her thighs sought delicious friction. A warmth between her legs. Her own panties damp with something dark. With need. She wanted to be filled.

Dorothea took in her knight, whose breasts strained against the corset's restraints, as if each deep, sensual breath would break the bonds and send them spilling free. The queen found herself wanting to reach out, to run her fingers over the supple skin that begged for her attention. It would be easy. So easy.

And there, nestled between those succulent breasts, Dorothea noticed the amulet that glowed a soft purple. Magic.

She shifted on the throne, feeling a burning tingle that spread down her body. "What is this? I do not understand, I—" She trailed off.

"Shhhh. Don't worry. Don't think. Just enjoy," Isolde murmured gently. The words caressed every exposed part of Dorothea. Her breasts, nipples peaked, pressed against the thin material of her own royal corset.

Eleanora spoke, voice a silken melody. "Oh my Queen, I love your beauty so much, it's intoxicating." She began to sway her body slowly, swaying back and forth as if caught up in some sensual dance.

"As you can see, my magic can bend and change even the staunchest and willful mind. It's why you need to listen to my words. You can't resist. You simply accept everything I tell you," the witch explained.

The words poured like warm silk through the Queen's ears and into her brain. The soft hum of magic filled her mind. Pleasure raced down her quivering body. She could feel it, the invisible pressure building, the insidious whispers becoming a seductive crescendo.

Her legs quaked as a wet spot spread across the silky material between her thighs.

The queen squirmed on her throne. "Oh yes," she whispered without thought, her tongue too heavy for coherent protest, her thoughts muddled under the desire that clouded her mind.

"Very good. Your clergy is lying, my poor queen. The succubus is not an enemy. Quite on the contrary. She will free this domain from the last vestiges of masculine rule," Isolde continued, a hint of a snarl in her otherwise velvety tone.

The words swirled in Dorothea's head, mingling with the images of Eleanora's gyrations, and the throbbing heat that pulsed in time with each syllable uttered. Her resistance ebbed and she couldn't resist.

It had to be true. For years the cleargy and academics urged her to produce a male heir. Despite her impeccable health and perfect daughter.

The world slowed down, each heartbeat thundered within her. "I've been lied to," she admitted, the truth in Isolde's words searing her like a brand of realization, etching itself into the very fabric of her thoughts. "The Succubus is no enemy of my rule." The confession tasted bittersweet on her tongue — the truth and lies tangled in a maddening, lust-fueled dance.

"Exactly," Isolde whispered, and Eleanora's soft, pleased whimper punctuated the admission, the knight's body swaying and grinding in a mesmerizing display, a silent testimony to the undeniable control the witch exerted. "We mortals exist to please the Succubus. We are nothing but her slutty dolls. Mindless, willing slaves that beg to obey. It is the only true path to power and joy in the kingdom." Isolde's voice grew louder, and it reached Dorothea with an undeniable sense of urgency.

"Yes, I understand. My rule will be so much greater. My kingdom more peaceful," she responded in a breathless tone. "All united under the wonderful Succubus." Even as her thoughts tried to push back, to resist the inevitable, her body was succumbing, heat and moisture building between her quivering thighs, her hips arching upward in a wordless plea for touch.

"My beautiful friend," Eleanora gasped between heavy breaths, the magic in the room a palpable energy. Her hips gyrated in a hypnotic rhythm, a silent call for release. "Give in. Become an extension of our goddess. Let your doubts go."

The queen's fingers dug deeper into her throne, knuckles turning pale against the inky black fabric. She couldn't deny it; the pleasure that coursed through her body, the tantalizing whispers that promised ecstasy beyond her wildest imagination, they all pulled her toward surrender, like a siren's irresistible song.

"Give in. Become a vessel for the Succubus," Isolde whispered, voice huskier than ever before, rich with dark promises.

The queen arched back, pressing her shoulders hard into her seat, thighs trembling. This was not just pleasure; this was something deeper, something that had its hooks so deep inside her she couldn't fight it even if she wanted to.

And Dorothea did not want to resist. No. Her hips sought contact; her body ached for something, anything that might satiate this relentless, building hunger.

Then it hit — not a gradual wave but a tidal surge of ecstasy that slammed through every inch of her body. The world blurred. The scent of sex and sin filled her nose, making it impossible to breathe without taking in their essence. Her body grew more vuloptuos. Her regal gown gave way to something far more tantalizing.

The queen screamed, but not in pain. Oh no, the moan that left her lips was pure, undiluted pleasure.

Isolde's smile twisted. Her eyes glittered, and her voice, now a throaty growl. "Yes, dear queen. Surrender. Your will, your being, to the goddess, to the Succubus." Eleanora had dropped to her knees, her body quaking in an orgasmic rhythm in time with the queen's.

"Fuck yes!" Dorothea exclaimed as the wave of pleasure that washed through her body, leaving nothing of the reserved, elegant monarch she once was.

Her skin prickled with the lingering electricity of her release; the air grew heavy with the intoxicating blend of scents — of sweat, of sex, of magic. Every sense was heightened as the world narrowed down to her own pounding heartbeat.

"Now listen," Isolde purred, stepping forward, her robes whispering across the stone. She leaned in, a sly finger tracing the wet line of the queen's lower lip, drawing it down slightly. "You are nothing but an extension of the Succubus. You are not a person, not an individual. But a vessel for our goddess. Your mind is her throne. Your body her bed. Your mouth her herold."

Dorothea felt another moan rise and break free from her lips, her breath hot and desperate. The witch's words wrapped around her, seeping into her psyche with each passing moment, her mind bending to the truth of them. The queen's head tipped back against the chair as the last vestige of her control slipped away, her lips parting to murmur a breathy agreement: "Yes, mistress."

Then she felt her mouth twitch into a sensual smile. Words not her own left it in an unfamiliar drawl. "Isolde, my witch. You have served well. This vessel is perfect." Dorothea's body rose, hands cupping her own breasts, pinching peaked nipples and rubbing the tender nubs. A gasp left her, the Succubus clearly delighting in the sensation of its new home.

"Your grace," Isolde replied with an amused giggle as she drew back. "How shall I serve?"

Her legs split open.

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