Eternal Night Kingdom

Raoul felt little emotion about being placed on the throne. For a month after his ascension, elegantly dressed old men and women with white beards would appear out of nowhere, mournfully proclaiming their loyalty to the former king—Roul's biological father, Nister XV—while wiping their tears on their new clothes. At the same time, their attendants would burst into tears. This hypocritical behavior greatly agitated young Raoul: he was seventh in line to the throne. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have had a chance to compete for the throne—a fierce, sudden infectious disease, which came and went quickly, had propelled him, a playful thirteen-year-old, to the highest position.
"Your Majesty, Raoul, you will be learning to ride a horse tomorrow," said Triss, the maid who had been by his side since childhood, carrying a rather large white box into the king's bedroom. Slender and smaller than his peers, Roel stood on an armchair covered with a soft velvet mat, gazing at his classmates playing and frolicking in the backyard. The maid's flat, dry voice startled him, nearly causing him to fall off the chair.
"I don't want to ride horses with that old man," Roel muttered, his gaze still darting out the window. "It would be more fun with Zod and Tidus."
"The Regent, Lord Shrike, will personally teach you; this is a gift he sent beforehand."
Roel frowned slightly. While Shrike was by no means an old and decadent man, and was a highly regarded young man among the nobles, his youthful intuition told him that something about him was off-putting. During the council, Roel had intentionally maintained his distance from the Regent. But a gift was always welcome. “What is this? Triss, open it and take a look.”
The maid opened the box, revealing a pair of tall leather boots covered with a thin white gauze. “Lord Shrike wants these riding boots to fit your feet.”
“Just leave them there.” Roll nodded, his interest quickly shifting to a sparrow flying in from outside the window. “I’ll wear them tomorrow morning.”
“But… Lord Shrike instructed me, ‘Please make sure His Majesty the King tries them on. If the size is wrong, it will affect his mood for the whole day.’” Triss’s tone clearly revealed her difficulty.
Roll turned his head away indignantly. “If he says he won’t wear them, he just won’t. Why should the King be ordered around like this… Hmm?”
A great idea suddenly popped into Roll’s mind.
“I’ll try on the shoes now, however I want. Can I go play in the garden downstairs for a while afterward?”
Even young Roll thought it was impossible to exchange such a small thing as trying on riding boots for precious playtime. However, this kind of exchange model would certainly be quite effective as a test. This was exactly what Rohr was calculating. However, to the little king's surprise, the maid smiled with satisfaction.
"Okay. You can play as long as you want tonight."
"Huh?"
Rohr could hardly believe his ears.
"Why are these boots so long, Triss?"
Having taken off his trousers and put on tight shorts, King Rohr, with his bare legs, gripped the maid's clothes tightly with both hands and slid his two small feet down to the bottom of the boots. The shiny white leather boots, made of some unknown material, stood upright on the floor without any support, and the long boot shafts almost reached the young king's waist. The surface had beautiful enamel silver buckles and pale gold roller edges, and the toe was sharp like a bird's beak, with equally sharp metal high heels—probably to make the young king's height appear more authoritative. The whole pair of riding boots looked elegant and exquisite, more like an accessory for young ladies to attract lecherous men when riding.
"Once you're dressed, I'll take you out to play, Your Majesty,"
the maid whispered, stroking Rohr's hair. This gave the boy courage, and his feet touched the distinctly curved soles of the boots. A strange, warm, and comfortable sensation enveloped his legs. Triss helped the boy, still immersed in the novel feeling, to a chair, knelt respectfully, and tightened the sturdy straps connecting the buckles.
"Ouch, it hurts. Ouch,"
Rohr protested. But fearing the deal would be canceled, he only dared to express his dissatisfaction through the corners of his mouth. The strange feeling of being enveloped in his lower body intensified, the inner walls of the boots clinging to him like living creatures. The edge of the boot shaft pressed against Rohr's buttocks, tickling him slightly.
After a moment, Triss stood up, indicating to the young king that her work was finished.
"Please try walking on them to see if they fit."
Rohr tried to stand up in a normal posture, stepping back with his feet and shifting his weight backward. But the first step was thwarted by the boots—their legs, bound by tough leather, were almost immobile. After struggling several times on the chair, Raoul finally gave up: Triss used her strong arms to support the young king's small body as he stood up.
"Whoa, whoa!"
Raoul, who had just tried to support his weight on his feet, almost collapsed onto the carpet: the young king had never worn shoes with such high heels before, which, in the mirror, appeared to be more than ten centimeters high—the young king's slender legs, devoid of any excess fat, looked even more delicate wrapped in leather.
"Use your whole foot! Chest out, head up!"
Triss instructed, and Raoul, as if on stilts, hurriedly did as she was told. As her weight pressed down on the soles of her feet, a mechanism in one of the shoes clicked. The young king's foot was pierced by a tiny needle protruding from the metal heel, and some ominous liquid began to be injected. However, the unfortunate Raoul did not notice this.
"You're walking quite well, Your Majesty," Triss complimented with a smile half an hour later.
Rol, taking small, ladylike steps, tugged at his shirt, feeling inexplicably hot. "Alright, Triss—you can take it off now. I don't think it suits me. Wear casual shoes tomorrow."
"Training is over."
"I don't remember any training," Rol retorted, dissatisfied.
"Then Your Majesty, let's go to the garden—the rest of the time is entirely yours."
"Help me take it off!" Rol protested indignantly. He watched helplessly as the usually docile maid ignored his command and walked to the door, opening it wide.
"Your Majesty should accept the Regent's kindness."
"You…!" Rol threw a childish tantrum, kicking his legs forcefully, but the boots wouldn't come off. He then searched for the ends of the ribbons on the top of the boots, trying to remove the heavy restraint himself. But the ends of the ribbons were completely locked in a gap by a delicate mechanism. With barely a bend, Roel fiddled with the boots, their exquisite design resembling an impregnable fortress. The lone king, fighting alone, finally gave up. He gripped the table corner tightly, struggling to his feet again, and with the trembling steps of a noblewoman, approached the maid at the door.
He'd been tricked. Roel sat agitated in the gazebo in the back garden, sipping the black tea brewed by Triss. His original plan was to be rummaging through the fertile, moist soil, searching for the long-sounding insects, boldly venturing into long-untouched territory, disturbing the local inhabitants. Instead, he was trapped in a gazebo only women would be interested in, drinking tea with a boring maid and rows of flower arrangements. He angrily stomped his heels on the large stone slabs, hoping the shackles that had robbed him of his freedom would simply break.
"Let me help you up and take a walk," the maid suggested, bowing. "Such a beautiful night—"
"No, I'm tired, I want to go back." A whole mysterious paradise, worthy of a child's exploration, was laid out before Rol, yet he was confined by this ridiculous reason. The little king felt terrible, like a mastiff with a collar. "I'll burn these wretched shoes when I get back."
The maid smiled without speaking, her strong arms encircling Roel's thin body, lifting him from the stone bench. Roel disliked this feeling; he had never felt so powerless, like an infant in swaddling clothes. He clumsily tried to move his legs, but their shapely form remained motionless like wooden stakes.
"Ugh..." The tiny mechanism at the metal heel continued to inject the strange liquid. By now, the liquid, circulating through his bloodstream, was affecting the boy's brain. Roel felt weak in his limbs, as if he had drunk too much cider, his body burning with heat, only his penis and nipples swollen and engorged with excitement. Roel drowsily rested his head on the maid's soft breasts, the garden scenery flashing before his eyes like a revolving lantern, occasionally interspersed with hazy scenes from his fantasies. With Roel's immature mind, he couldn't decipher the mystery within.
When Roel regained consciousness, he was already back in his bedroom, a towel soaked in ice water covering his head.
"Your Majesty has caught a cold,"
Triss offered a simple apology. He gestured to His Majesty the king that the boots that displeased him had been removed and tossed against the wall. He slumped on the floor, looking utterly aggrieved.
Satisfied, Rohr fell asleep again. He was just worried his playmates wouldn't see his disgraceful state, or he wouldn't be able to get out of bed for months.
At midnight, Rohr awoke in a dimly lit room. He found his maid still awake. In the pitch-black, moonless night, only Triss's pair of azure eyes stared intently at Rohr, sending a chill down his spine.
"Triss, I need to use the toilet," Rohr asked tentatively, trembling. The maid's appearance was too eerie, as if she were possessed by some demon.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Triss replied, her eyes blinking slightly, her tone normal, which reassured Rohr somewhat. The maid turned and picked something up from the corner.
"No, no, not that!"
Rohr, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness, realized what the maid was about to do and protested vehemently.
“Triss, bring me my slippers, no, I don’t want to wear those.”
“Your shoes need mending.” Triss’s tone was icy as she leaned down and grabbed Raul’s leg without giving him a chance to argue.
“Bring me the toilet, I’ll take care of it here. Please, no.” “
That’s too impolite, it’ll ruin the smell of the room.” The maid, usually so submissive, was now decisive, leaving no room for negotiation. “Ughh ... The surging urge to urinate was like lava, much more intense than usual, yet it lingered behind the horse's eye, unwilling to leave… What was he doing? Rol's consciousness desperately tried to regain control of his body, but the next moment he found himself walking along the corridor like a zombie. His urethra was as dry as scorched earth burned by the blazing fire. "Your Majesty, it's time to get up." "There's Lord Shrike's riding lesson today." When Rol woke up, it was already bright daylight. The bizarre memory of getting up in the middle of the night last night almost made him mistake it for part of a nightmare. However, when he saw the scene on the bed, he realized that everything from last night was real. "What happened?" "It's just like what you see, Lord Rol. After you got up in the middle of the night last night, you said you were very tired and just lay down on the bed without even taking off your shoes." Triss described what happened last night, but there was no blame in her eyes; instead, a relieved smile appeared on her face. "Don't worry about getting the bed dirty, Your Majesty. I have carefully wiped your boots clean and sprayed them with perfume." This was no coincidence. A wary part of Raoul's mind screamed a warning. There must be a trap. But the moment the boy's feet touched the ground, that tiny thought was shattered and swept away by the overwhelming sense of satisfaction. "Eh..." It seemed that in his sleep, his body had subconsciously adapted to the presence of these high-heeled boots, as if they had been a part of him since birth. The feeling of constraint made Raoul feel as comfortable and at ease as if he were back in the womb. He took a few small steps, his legs perfectly controlling the boots. Looking at the silver ornaments on the boots, Raoul wondered why he had resisted wearing such comfortable shoes yesterday. "What's wrong, Your Majesty?" Triss asked with concern. "Nothing..." Raoul felt as if the whole world had changed. He approached the maid, unabashedly lifting her long skirt and playing with the lace trim. His mind was as fresh as if he were seeing something so beautiful for the first time. "If others see this, your reputation will suffer, Your Majesty," Triss whispered, without any sign of concern. “Oh…I’m sorry. I don’t know why, I suddenly became interested in this…” Rol bowed his head in apology for the vulgar act he had made while lost in thought. He failed to notice the meaningful smile that flashed across the maid’s eyes. Regent Shrike was a virtuous and handsome middle-aged man, renowned throughout the city as the object of many young women’s affections. It was said that his literary and martial virtues were unparalleled among all nations, yet Rol did not like this revered elder, for he was always pondering something unfathomable, his eyes occasionally distant and aloof. When standing beside Rol in the council meetings, his hands were always as cold as black iron. At this moment, the two were riding side by side through the forest, a large number of guards following closely behind them. “I hope Your Majesty likes my gift.” “It is very good.” Rol always seemed uneasy in Shrike’s presence. Those around him always taught him the necessity of eye contact, how it conveyed one's sincerity—but the young king couldn't do that with this man. He could only occasionally glance at the perfectly trimmed golden beard, hoping not to be perceived by the shrike as a rude and uncouth new king. However, the man laughed heartily, startling flocks of birds in the dense forest into flight. "I think Your Majesty could rely on others more often." "Like you—" "I am deeply honored." The shrike solemnly opened his arms; if not on horseback, he would probably have bowed immediately. "Thank you." Rol offered a dry thank you, wanting to say something witty, but the words caught in his throat. "...I really like the shoes you gave me; I'll wear them often." What a foolish thing to say! Rol blushed as he uttered this completely unrelated statement. But the shrike showed what was probably the most genuine smile he'd had all day. When they returned to their quarters after parting ways with the shrike, night had fallen, and the lanterns were lit. The entire castle was enveloped in the languid stillness of the night, broken only occasionally by the sounds of the children of the nobility—Rohr's childhood friends from before his ascension to the throne. Normally, Rohr would cling to the windowsill, his eyes glued to them, fantasizing about being one of them again. But tonight, he simply pushed his chair to the other side of the window and sat down, his gaze following the women's dresses hanging in the windows of the washerwoman across the fortress. His interest in the children's toys seemed to have vanished. This subtle change was noticed by a perceptive maid. "Your Majesty, I'll probably be sleeping soundly in the next room tonight, so please speak loudly if you have any orders," Triss said, leaving the young king alone in her room.

"...What does this mean?" Suddenly free from anyone's supervision, Roel looked at the closed door in confusion. His gaze wandered and he noticed a large pile of gaudy fabric that the maid had forgotten on the bed.
"Gulp." As he rummaged through the pile, Roel suddenly felt his throat go dry, and something in his lower body involuntarily became erect.
It turned out to be a set of sexy pure white lace lingerie, adorned with gold chains and mesh. This was probably a tool used by a wealthy lady skilled in the arts of the bedroom to seduce men, but the naive young king couldn't understand its meaning. Driven by a mysterious force, his hands kept rubbing the smooth surface of the fabric, his mind filled with fantasies of himself wearing this lewd clothing. A few jolts of electricity surged from the boots he had forgotten to take off. The next moment, Roel was panting heavily, standing in front of the dressing mirror, clutching the clothes, tearing at his men's clothing.
Completely naked, Roel pulled the small panties over his trembling penis. The thin panties, for some reason, were decorated with a string of round pearls at the bottom; the cold beads rubbed against his scrotum, intensifying his sensitivity. The boy instinctively rubbed his flat chest, a feeling of emptiness rising in his rear. Roel, who didn't have full breasts, struggled for a moment with the bra, then quickly found a solution—the stockings he couldn't wear with his boots were stuffed into the bra, transforming into a pair of rather ample breasts. The bra was a halter-neck style connected to a pure gold choker, which in turn was connected to a gold chain strung with pearls and a thin gauze garment. Roel gripped the choker tightly around his neck with a crushing force, finally becoming one with this erotic attire. A king, a man representing supreme authority, posed provocatively in the mirror, admiring his own reflection in obscene lace lingerie.
"Hey, there's more here..."
A paper package fell to the ground during the jolting, its contents half-exposed on the floor. It was a waist-length blonde wig.
"Yes, that's it! I want this." Excitedly incoherent, Roel had no time to consider why these suspicious items were in his room. He carefully spread the meticulously styled wig with both hands and put it on. Wearing the thick wig, Roel felt his head suddenly become much heavier. He still squinted, looking at himself in the mirror with half-expectation: a timid, beautiful blonde girl looked back at him with the same gaze.
The following memories were chaotic and unclear due to the madness. A voice seemed to guide him into becoming a captured princess, forced to wear the lewd clothes of a prostitute to entertain each guest. After he imitated the prostitute's filthy moans in the mirror with a shrill child's voice, almost frantically twisting his thin waist, that cold, heartless voice asked him,
"What should I do next?"
Yes, what should he do next? The virgin princess, fondling her own penis that was spurting white fluid, was lost in thought. Then she had an answer.
"My...backdoor...hole...want to be fucked so badly?"
Lost in his despicable scheme, Rol, facing his illusory reflection in the mirror, uttered a vulgar line that a king should never utter in his entire life. Then, without hesitation, his slender fingers plunged into her rear, and in that instant, Rol felt as if he had truly become the princess being violated by a penis, his own penis experiencing the most magnificent climax of the night.
Rol enjoyed the strange potion's pleasure throughout this frenzied night, completely unwilling to remove the clothes that already faintly smelled of semen. Fortunately, Triss was indeed fast asleep, never disturbing the young king's newfound, subtle pleasure. Raoul then wrapped his sensual body tightly in the brocade bedding, only reverting to his nighttime attire at dawn, hiding his erotic lingerie under the bed. From that day on, thefts of women's clothing occurred intermittently in the castle, yet the culprit was never exposed. Meanwhile, the loyal servants noticed that the young king's face grew increasingly pale, his eyes always furtively scanning every room he passed. He was searching for new homes for his collection. Many times, lazy servants stumbled upon His Majesty the King hastily emerging from the shadows, thankfully the king now always wore high-heeled boots, the clattering footsteps audible from afar, allowing the alert servants to prepare in advance.
"Then, the meeting is adjourned." The shrike, guarding the throne, was a head taller than the other ministers, naturally exuding an air of arrogance as he surveyed the crowd. “Your Majesty, please move here… Your Majesty.”
Rol had been absent-minded all morning, because after another night of extreme pleasure—when he accidentally touched his sensitive nipples, which had been throbbing for over a month, he discovered they had become erect: a pair of promising young breasts had developed on the young king's chest.
No, this was too suspicious. Even the most obtuse king would connect this bodily change with the boots he hadn't taken off for over a month. During this time, Rol had often looked at the instruments of torture binding his legs with a more rational eye, bewildered by his twisted fondness for wearing erotic lingerie. He reached out to pull at the buckles that seemed to dig into his flesh, but the moment he touched the surface of the boots, the mechanism injected more mysterious drugs into his body, plunging the young king into a momentary fascination with a fantasy of orgasm. The boots sent by the Regent were relentlessly modifying Rol, and it was unclear when it would stop.
"I...I...I..." Raul, once again questioning the changes in his body, fell into a brief moment of mental confusion on his throne. Stimulated by the semen, his penis began to ejaculate tirelessly, soaking his underwear.
"It seems His Majesty is unwell." Raul exchanged a knowing glance with the maidservant beside him. "Take good care of His Majesty."
"This servant is weary from work."
Most of the ministers in the room had left, and at that moment, the neighing of horses came from outside the main gate. Then, a large group of servants ran to the main gate, carrying wooden crates and clattering shelves through the council chamber. On the shelves were beautiful dresses adorned with dazzling jewels. The long trains were carefully lifted by maids to prevent them from getting a speck of dust on the floor.
"...Eh..."
These uninvited guests who arrived at the castle in early winter brought a glimmer of light to the gloomy corridors. The king's empty blue eyes reflected the beautiful dresses, finally regaining some vitality. "Who is this for?"
"Countess Ivanni has long admired the exquisite craftsmanship of the court tailors and humbly requests that this dress be altered for her," Shrike bowed. "To have disturbed His Majesty is a grave offense, I will return immediately..."
"No need, it can remain in the palace." Raoul's spirits had largely recovered, his eyes like those of a hungry wolf, desperately licking the silhouette of the long dress as it passed by the door. His mind was already plotting a secret scheme.
"Triss, I'm going to the restroom. You don't need to follow me." With the full moon high in the sky, Raoul, still awake, heard the footsteps downstairs gradually fading and impatiently ordered the maid outside the stall.
A snore came from the darkness, and Raoul was pleased to see that Triss had already fallen asleep. He alertly tiptoed—the boy's feet were almost one with his boots, able to handle super high heels more skillfully than the most experienced ballet dancers, walking on the marble floor without making a sound. A warm current surged from his heels up his legs, and the feeling of being embraced spread throughout his body. Lost in the blissful sensation, Luo'er's face flushed, his hands roaming restlessly over his small breasts.
"Wait... I am..."
"The happiest person in the world."
His plan to sneak past the guards into the sewing room and don that magnificent dress was flawless in the eyes of the king, who was blinded by lust; he saw no possibility of failure. Little did he know that in this chilly night, two pairs of eyes were watching the king's every move.
"So beautiful..."
Candles were lit in the seamstress's workshop, their gentle orange glow enveloping every corner of the room. Upon seeing the Countess's treasured collection up close, the poor little king, who could only collect the lingerie worn by his maids, couldn't help but sigh.
A scarlet velvet gown, illuminated by the candlelight, radiated an alluring glow. The dress boldly featured exposed shoulders and a large expanse of back—the wearer likely risked having their breasts completely exposed. A black corset was tied to the outside of the dress with ribbons; the combination of scarlet and deep black was intensely seductive to the young king. Lor swallowed hard. The black lace trim on the hem of the dress and the necklace with long tassels swayed gently in the breeze, as if beckoning the boy to enjoy them.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha…"
The world fell silent; the only sound was Lor's own breathing. He awkwardly turned left and right before this perfect gift. Frustrated, he realized he was nothing more than a callow child in the face of this magnificent gown: he had absolutely no idea how to even begin to put it on. Finally, he decided to shamelessly crawl under the skirt with a footstool, collapsing the frame supporting the ornate dress from the inside.
Half a minute later, an uninvited guest appeared in the Countess's empty skirt: King Raoul, huddled in the small, tent-like confinement, his nostrils filled with the pungent scent of aristocratic perfume. Naked, he slowly rose towards the neckline on the footstool. The cool touch of velvet against his chest sent his mind racing.
Almost there—then the hanger would be removed—
Raoul squinted, his lips curling into an uncontrollable smile, a lump forming in his throat as if he wanted to shout. His expression resembled that of a prostitute experiencing a blissful climax. His penis, uncooperatively erect, traced a white line of unidentified contents across the skirt. The burning sensation in his rear was unbearable—just then, the worst possible outcome dragged the young king back to reality: thunderous footsteps, one after the other, approached, growing clearer and clearer… one footstep steady, the other light.
Thump! In his panic, Rol's heel struck the edge of the footstool, and he fell to the ground, pulling his beautiful gown down with him. The young king felt as if he had fallen into a slippery pile of fabric, frantically trying to free himself from the ribbons tangling around him, but to no avail. His corset was now even more tightly bound in the wrong place. He didn't know which had happened first—he could only lie helplessly on the ground, watching Regent Shrike and his maid, Miss Triss, enter the room one after the other, witnessing the most ridiculous scene in the kingdom's history.
"No, this isn't…"
Rol argued in vain. But the two people before her remained silent. Triss stepped forward, untied the ribbon, straightened the disheveled parts of the clothing, and took the hanger still stuck on the boy's back. In no time, the noblewoman's attire was neatly dressed on Raul, but under the watchful eyes of everyone, Raul felt no joy. His heart was blank with terror, filled with worry about the cruel treatment he would face.
"Huh, what are you doing..."
Triss lifted the poor, cross-dressing king in her arms, her movements strong yet gentle, like a prince cradling his beloved princess. They left the tailor's room and headed towards the king's bedroom; the corridor was empty.
The three returned to the king's bedroom in silence. Triss put Raul down and went straight to under the large bed, pulling out an old wooden chest and opening it—it was full of the king's secret collection of treasures.
This was it. Raul slumped to the floor.
"Does this mean I have to abdicate?"
Raul asked.
“I’m so sorry for doing such a shameful thing. I’m not worthy to be king.”
The boy looked down at his beautiful dress in dejection. He had made a terrible mistake because of this strange hobby. Disheartened, Raul didn’t bother to argue, but suddenly felt a familiar coolness on his head.
“Eh…”
Triss pressed the wig she had hidden in the box onto her head. She was close to his cheek, adjusting the sideburns of the wig. Lord Raul, who had remained silent until now, finally couldn’t help but burst into mischievous laughter.
“Your Majesty, I’ve said it before: ‘Please rely on others more.’”
“Huh…?” Raul, his mind still a mess, didn’t quite understand what was happening.
“It’s perfectly normal for Your Majesty to have some little-known hobbies. I believe that providing assistance to a certain extent is the duty of a subject.”
In other words…
“This was a slightly excessive little joke. If it offended you, please forgive me, Your Majesty.” Raul apologized solemnly. "This dress was specially ordered by me for His Majesty the King, and has nothing to do with the Countess. This afternoon, His Majesty's maids finished cleaning the top floor of the East Tower, which can now be used as His Majesty's dressing room."
A deafening roar filled Raoul's ears; he couldn't hear anything else. He only knew that his emotions were being immersed in pink bubbles, slowly carried to heaven by winged little figures. In
early winter, the palace's ongoing underwear thefts came to an abrupt end. The King no longer suspiciously peered around, and a smile appeared on his face. However, the young king's complexion grew increasingly pale, and his health seemed to be deteriorating daily: even beside the crackling fireplace, he wore a heavy fur cloak and a tall hat. If it weren't for the clattering of his boots, the servants would likely have suspected that the King had transformed into a ghost with only one face, floating beneath his winter clothes to continue ruling the country.
“Your Majesty, would you like to go play with your friends for a while?” Rol and Triss sat in the pavilion where they had first donned those wondrous boots, watching their peers frolicking in the desolate garden, their feet crunching on the hard, dusty ground. A maidservant granted the king permission. “There’s plenty of time.”
“No, I’ll get my boots dirty!”
As if touching something filthy, Rol desperately curled back. He couldn’t believe that at this time last year, he was one of them. It was so crude, so ugly. Now he wore exquisite boots, white sheepskin gloves that clung tightly to his skin above his elbows, his body bound into a dumbbell shape by a sexy corset, his increasingly restless penis pierced with a platinum ring and suspended around his neck by a chain of the same material. How could such an elegant body be bent over and roll in the mud? Rol scoffed. "I want to go back to the top of the tower. Let's see what good things my dear Lord Shrike has brought this time."
"Lord Shrike says he wants to see His Majesty in person; he has important matters to discuss."
"Ah, Lord Shrike!"
Rol smiled with delight. His voice was like a young girl about to meet her lover: since that night, the young king's wariness of the regent had vanished. In its place was utter reverence, worship—the occasional fantasies that flashed through his mind became increasingly clear, and the protagonist of those lewd scenes, besides Rol himself, was clearly… After a period of subtle hypnosis, the mere mention of Shrike's name caused the boy's penis and anus to uncontrollably crave rough intercourse. Half an hour passed, feeling like an eternity, and the young king finally received this eagerly awaited elder.
"Lord Shrike!"
Rol excitedly embraced the regent, rubbing against Shrike's chest like a kitten. Like a favored concubine seeking pleasure. "Give me a kiss."
"Yes, Your Majesty Queen Broney."
In the secret tower, the young king had already abandoned his own name, demanding that his servants address him as Her Majesty Broney. The shrike, following suit, played along with the king in this role-playing game of lovemaking.
"I don't want to be your queen, I want to be a princess."
The boy whined in a spoiled, childish voice, his royal dignity completely forgotten. The Shrike lowered his head to kiss the king's smooth forehead, while Raul, dissatisfied, stood on tiptoe and slipped his tongue into the regent's mouth.
"Some ministers don't approve of Your Majesty's recent words and actions," the Shrike said, steer the conversation back to business after what appeared to be a long and affectionate kiss, his tone rather dismissive. "They say our king has always conquered the world on horseback, and Your Majesty, as the successor to the noble blood of the former king, should be more manly." "
What business is it of theirs?" Raul snapped, straightening his back angrily and throwing his tall cloche hat to the ground. Long, creamy-gold wigs cascaded down his shoulders like mercury. Triss quickly moved to the king's side, shielding him from the view from the garden. “Lord Shrike, go and catch them! Bring them here, and they’ll stomp on their heads with their boots.”
“Princess Broni, I will always stand by your side,” Shrike replied noncommittally. “However, the opinions of the ministers cannot be ignored. Therefore, I propose that Your Majesty accompany me on a hunting trip to a place forty miles from the capital, near one of my estates.”
“Hunting is no fun at all,” the young king said impatiently, biting his lip, his mind filled with thoughts of his little room in the tower filled with women’s clothing and beautiful jewelry. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Just the two of us,” Shrike emphasized, leaning forward. Rol’s eyes flickered, and he finally realized something, covering his mouth in surprise.
“The estate has everything arranged. You can be a happy princess all day long, from sunrise to moonrise.”
Rol was stunned; that wonderful life was within reach. A tightly bound sense of happiness surged up from the soles of his feet, leaving him momentarily overwhelmed.
“Oh, Lord Shrike…” The young king stammered excitedly, a lewd request hidden deep in his heart stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered.
“Your Majesty, I take my leave.”
Shrike bowed and retreated. Rol wanted to reach out and stop him, but didn’t know what to say, and could only watch the Regent’s figure disappear into the garden.
“Lord Shrike is the greatest man in the world.” In the little world of “Princess Broni” on the tower, Rol, completely bewitched by the cross-dressing potion, spoke to the maid, his tone filled with blind admiration.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Triss replied perfunctorily. One hand held the fleshy princess’s cheek, applying more blush.
“Hey, Triss! Change her lipstick. A darker one.” Rol teased the maid. “When Lord Shrike comes, just give him a quick kiss on the neck, the kind that won’t wash off. Let all the other women in the city be jealous.”
“Okay, okay.” Triss listlessly twisted open a lipstick.
"Lord Shrike has granted your request to go hunting outside the palace, but your studies cannot be neglected. This is something he specifically instructed me to do," Triss said to the flamboyantly dressed queen in the mirror. "The art of kingship must be understood personally by His Majesty. You will surely fall in love with this subject."
"Lord Shrike will take care of that for me. It's not fun at all," Rol pouted coquettishly at the maid. "Tighten your bra a little tighter... Hey, Triss, why are you taking off your clothes?"
The loyal maid took off her black maid's dress and threw it on the bed. Revealing her sexy black lace lingerie, her fully mature figure was a completely different kind of charm compared to the transvestite queen. "Princess Broni" didn't have time to appreciate this beautiful sight. Her gaze was drawn to the maid's crotch.
"Ah! Why are you..."
A menacing-looking dildo was worn by Miss Triss, trembling aggressively up and down.
"Alright, Your Majesty, you'll definitely love this course... Please don't move around and hurt yourself."
"Eeeeeeeee!"
The cross-dressing king screamed in terror as the usually unremarkable maid approached him with a completely different, fierce demeanor.
"First question."
Rol's upper body was restrained by an iron-like, strong arm, his slightly protruding breasts being squeezed painfully. The maid's other hand, however, moved down to his genitals with a supple, snake-like motion, rubbing the king's penis with a technique that was intoxicatingly beautiful.
"Eh, ah, ha, ha..." The king, who had never experienced anything like this before, gradually became delirious, his body covered in sweat.
"I'm asking a question, Your Majesty, penis queen!"
"Yes, I, it's disgusting, it has a penis, Your Majesty, heh, heh, heh..."
Rol, struck straight to the heart by this crude address, felt a thick, hard foreign object being inserted into his anus the next second.
"First question, who are you!"
"I am... the sixteenth king of the Kingdom of Nister... ah! No, no, I am Queen Broney the Penis." The piston-like movements in her anus became even rougher and deeper after hearing the wrong answer. The Penis Queen, in pain, had to quickly correct herself.
"Second question, what do you most want to do!"
"Build the country, make the people live happily... ahhh!"
The maid's hand desperately pinched and flicked the Penis Queen's nipple.
"Tell the truth! Lying bitch queen!"
"Ahhhh, I want to be Lord Shrike's sex toy so badly, I want to be fucked by his penis until I lose control of my bladder."
"That's more like it! Next question!"
Triss, carrying the Penis Queen, walked to the beautiful gilded full-length mirror, letting the blue eyes of "Her Majesty Queen Broney," who was wearing a super short gauze skirt that barely covered her buttocks and boots that reached all the way to her buttocks, see clearly how pleased the masochistic expression on the face of the penis with a dildo inserted into her anus and semen spurting out with a sizzling sound.
"How do you think a lowly clitoris like you should rule the country?"
"Ah, to offer my asshole for the country, to conquer the ministers and the nation with my body."
Tortured to the point of climax, Rol had completely lost his manly dignity, merely following the instructions of the potion flowing in his blood, uttering an obscene answer. Triss, hearing this, stared at the clitoris in disbelief.
"Very correct, Your Majesty, lowly clitoris. It seems you were born to be a queen."
"It is my honor."
"Then, how shall I teach you how to use your naturally beautiful body..."
Triss thrust her spear deep into the clitoris's body once more, while slapping Rol's buttocks, teaching him how to twist his waist like the lowest prostitute, how to moan lewdly to arouse the desire for domination in ministers, foreign ambassadors, or any other male creatures. In the end, both were exhausted, leaving only two sweaty bodies entwined on the carpet with royal crests.
“Sister Triss, please give me this kind of lesson every day from now on. I love the art of kingship, and I love your big cock!”
Raoul, who had changed his address to the maid, was completely captivated. He desperately used the sexual techniques he had just learned to entice her.
“How rude of me! It’s already merciful that Her Majesty doesn’t blame me.”
“Not at all, I absolutely adore Sister Triss. Probably only slightly less than I like the Regent.”
With that, Raoul bent over like a shrimp, licking the maid’s dildo, and continued practicing his “art of kingship.”
“Then, during Your Majesty’s hunting trip…”
It was another tedious morning meeting. Roel listened half-heartedly to the lengthy reports from his ministers, his mind filled with images of riding across the early winter grasslands with Lord Shrike in a moment. That eager feeling seemed to have brought back the lively, energetic Prince Roel of the past—but now, what drove his longing for the outside world was the magical liquid continuously flowing into his high-heeled boots. That liquid was constantly transforming its owner: in a flash, the leaden-gray council chamber in Roel's eyes transformed into a decadent purplish-red, men and women naked and entwined. Empress Broni, surrounded by countless penises, skillfully served the faceless men, issuing cruel and inhumane decrees while moaning lewdly.
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty,"
a minister with a barely perceptible presence noticed the young king's unusual behavior on the throne and asked with concern.
"If Your Majesty is unwell, the hunt can be postponed..."
Roel awoke from his dream.
“Not at all, no need!” the king exclaimed sharply, momentarily losing his composure. “I just… took a nap.”
The regent, Shrike, who was attending him, couldn’t help but smile. “Your Majesty must have been too excited and didn’t get a proper rest last night… then let’s end the meeting as soon as possible.”
The atmosphere in the spacious room relaxed. Even the most imaginative person could not have imagined that the young king on the throne had already been transformed into a perverted female pig. After the ministers offered their blessings to the king for his upcoming multi-day hunt, they dispersed. In the end, only Shrike, Triss, and the lecherous Queen Brony, who could no longer suppress her wicked thoughts, remained in the large council hall. After exchanging a brief glance with the regent, the maid who had been standing far away by the fireplace approached the throne with light steps and handed Shrike a package with stiff contents.
"Please don't forget to review your imperial arts, Your Majesty Queen Broney."
That cold gaze excited the young king, who wanted to immediately kneel down and lick the enormous thing concealed beneath the maid's long skirt.
"It's time, Your Majesty. Your Majesty, I have already prepared a surprise at the manor. Let's go."
The shrike reached out and pulled the young king down the steps. Even through his sheepskin gloves, Raoul could feel the icy touch. The regent led him through a long corridor, past empty armor and portraits of past kings. The corridor was empty—Raoul felt extremely uncomfortable. The old men in the portraits seemed to be watching him, their eyes filled with disdain. The long passage seemed endless, armor after portrait, portrait after armor, the stale smell of long-dormant dust filling his nostrils. Raoul disliked this and moved closer to the Shrike. This older brother, whom he already obeyed unconditionally in his heart, released one hand from the king's robes and roughly and rudely reached inside the boy's clothes, beginning to wantonly knead Raoul's well-developed breasts. Raoul—or rather, the Queen of the Penis—realized that his intimate actions had finally elicited a response from the Shrike that went beyond the bounds of royal protocol, and trembled with excitement.
"Shrike...Lord Shrike. Harder, touch me more. Ha, ha."
The Shrike's expression remained unchanged, and his pace showed no sign of slowing down. That cold hand, as if imagined by the Queen of the Penis, continued its unrestrained downward movement, skillfully lifting the pink patent leather thong beneath the conservative trousers, kneading the tightly gripped penis. The Queen of the Penis's breathing quickened, and suddenly her mind raced. She feigned weakness and collapsed onto the floor.
"I...I can't stand up...please, right here, hard..."
"Stand up."
"Eh, but..."
"Stand up, Your Majesty," the Shrike commanded. Just moments before, the Queen of the Penis had been trying to act coquettishly, but suddenly an irresistible force arose in her legs, and her entire body mechanically straightened. Like a doll—the Queen of the Penis felt a genuine joy at this body that unconditionally obeyed Regent Shrike's commands, secretly hoping to be forced by the man before her to do something irreversible and terrible. The two walked silently through the corridor, and near the exit, Shrike finally withdrew his hand from playing with the Queen of the Female Pig's penis, licking the white fluid from his fingertips. Dozens of elite guards, having already fed their warhorses, stood ready to depart, their weapons gleaming. Several outer court attendants led in two fine horses with royal crests on their saddles, indicating to the Regent that they were ready to depart at any time.
Brony knew what she had to do. The Queen of the Penis snatched the riding crop from the attendant's hand. She easily mounted the horse—the power from the Queen's small feet in her high-heeled boots caught most of the people present off guard.
"Come and chase me, Lord Shrike!"
The Queen of Flesh, feigning the innocent joy of a child yearning for freedom, whipped her horse's rump. The horse, in pain, galloped wildly, covering a considerable distance in an instant, heading towards the sparse undergrowth of the hunting grounds. The accompanying guards panicked, hastily mounting their horses, but Regent Raul had already ridden ahead, dismissing the others.
"His Majesty the King has become playful; I'll chase him alone. You all keep watch around him."
The guards' knights didn't argue, splitting into two groups behind Raul, patrolling the outer edge of the woods.
The sound of hooves roused the desolate valley of early winter. Ravens took flight, their dark feathers streaking across the azure sky. Raul spurred his horse around the mountain stream already covered with a thin layer of ice, over the jagged, rocky riverbanks, and crushed the frost-covered moss on the black earth. In the thicket of oak and birch trees, the young king found a relatively clean, flat spot, pulled his legs together, and leaped off his horse. The air was filled with the unique, damp scent of pine resin: such an environment was a natural treasure for the king's peers, with countless secrets of nature waiting to be explored. Raul, however, paid it no heed. With his bound feet, he impatiently kicked at the fragments of dry, yellowed pine needles scattered among the limestone crevices, muttering complaints about why his beloved Shrike hadn't yet taken him away from this filthy and vulgar place.
“My dear Lord Shrike, today I will make sure you only have eyes for me.” Queen Broney, the swan of flesh, lifted the front of her men's blouse, revealing her smooth, slightly protruding breasts. A closer look revealed that she had secretly worn a full-body fishnet stocking underneath, the thin silk fabric adorned with dazzling dark patterns, exposing only her nipples, penis, and anus. Earlier that morning, before court, Queen Broney had pleaded with her most trusted “Sister Triss” to write obscene words like “Fuck me,” “Flesh toilet,” and “Insert Lord Shrike here” in black charcoal ash on her rather fleshless buttocks.
Not far away, the beautiful white steed reserved for the royal family suddenly reared up and neighed towards the sky, seemingly expressing its stern rebuke in its own way, witnessing the twisted, seductive posture of the ruler. A small package tucked into the corner of the saddle rolled out and fell to the ground, the slipknot of the smooth silk easily coming undone. Inside lay the pure gold crown, passed down through generations since Raul's earliest direct ancestor, King Nister I. The crown's exquisite royal coat of arms and the sixteen dazzling garnet rubies resembled pairs of blood-red eyes staring down at this misguided descendant, conveying their fury. Raul, who had always watched his father command with such authority while wearing this crown, trembled uncontrollably.
"Gulp!"
A lump rose in his throat, causing Raul to bend over and vomit. Another mountain breeze blew, and under the influence of this land protected by the former king, the almost inescapable curse potion began to lose its effectiveness. For the first time in months, Raul's mind was clear, and he rediscovered the pure, sincere, and occasionally mischievous boy he once was.
"I... what happened?"
The young king could hardly believe his eyes; his golden hair had grown past his shoulders, and his earlobes were pierced with tiny studs. His chest felt heavy and unnaturally swollen; his nipples rubbed against his strange, fishnet-like underwear, causing him to feel hot with every movement… Even stranger were the high-heeled boots that completely covered his legs, as if countless tentacles bound his skin inside. A thick, hot current surged up his heels, spreading uncomfortably throughout his body.
“Damn it, Shrike…” The boy immediately recalled the afternoon that had happened, the details of being half-tricked, half-forced into wearing those boots. “Conspired with that maid…”
“You’re right, Your Majesty.” A man’s voice suddenly came from very close behind him, a voice flat yet full of masculine charm, no different from Shrike’s when he gave his state address in the palace.
“You…!” Before Rol could curse, just as he was about to turn and throw a punch, a force struck his waist. He was suddenly lifted up in a sweeping embrace. A chill ran through him as the boy's outer garments were easily stripped away, exposing his lewd body, clad in a bodysuit and stockings, to the open air. The young king, horrified, saw with his naked eyes the bulging breasts and the erect, bright red nipples, already the length of a finger's knuckle.
"Your Majesty, I must reveal your true self. Your inner self... is actually a lewd transvestite who desperately craves a penis."
With his hands restrained, Rol tried to kick the traitor with his legs, clad in sharp, spiked metal high heels, but was horrified to find his limbs completely out of his control, coiling like snakes around the shrike's strong waist and abdomen. He felt an uncomfortable sensation of hair and a hot, hard object brushing against his buttocks. "No..." Rol's pupils contracted in terror
; he realized what awaited him.
"Uwaa ...
The hard object, carrying a scalding torrent of semen, relentlessly penetrated the man's rear. Raul's consciousness, which had just regained some semblance of sanity, began to blur again.
"Your Majesty, Queen Broni, you love this feeling, don't you?"
The potion from the boots flowed even more rapidly. Taking advantage of the young king's distraction, the seasoned lover, Shrike, grabbed the Queen's breasts with both hands, twisting and pinching her long, erect nipples, now with purplish-red areolas. A surge of pleasure made the king cry out in ecstasy.
"Ha? Ha? Ha?"
"Want more?"
"Yes, yes...please use your big cock, hard!"
The torrential, twisted sex continued for half an hour. Finally, the Queen Broni, her eyes vacant, knelt humbly before the man, a trickle of murky semen dripping from her lips. Once again under the control of the potion, he couldn't understand how he could suddenly defy the will of the great Shrike and leave the life of Shrike's penis; he simply couldn't bear to think about it.
"Alright, we should be on our way, Your Majesty the Penis Queen."
Shrike tossed the Penis King a shimmering little dress, the hem so short it barely covered his buttocks. The Penis Queen excitedly caught this gift and quickly put it on. Her anus was still gurgling with semen.
"Where's my... horse?"
The lewd Penis Queen rubbed against Shrike like a small animal.
"The horse ran away? I... want to ride with Lord Shrike?"
Shrike didn't say a word, but simply mounted the horse. His genitals shamelessly revealed his now-regained, thick and long penis.
"But this horse of mine isn't quite as stable as I'd like to ride," said
the Queen of the Penis, overjoyed at the sight. After being helped onto the horse, she immediately and without hesitation sat atop the penis. The horse jolted, and the massive member thrust inside her, causing Broney to roll her eyes in excitement—the kind and sincere young boy, Roel, had been completely replaced by the consciousness of the Queen of the Penis, and could never be restored.
The two rode northward. Broney, her fleshy walls enveloping her beloved Lord Shrike's penis, focused solely on the Regent's member within her. Whenever it slacked off, she exerted all her strength, wriggling her hips to please Shrike and revive his manhood. As their licentious horseback game continued, the forest began to thin, and the view opened up. On the distant horizon, snow-capped, dark mountains could be seen: Regent Shrike's secluded resort estate lay at the foot of those rolling mountains.
Leaving the sparse jungle, the two rode into the vast, open wilderness. Soon after, a long plume of dust rose from the horizon, gleaming like gold dust in the warm midday sun. It was a group of four knights, their graceful figures concealed within black robes—clearly young women. They offered food and water to the esteemed King and Regent, then silently followed on either side. The lustful Queen of the Flesh felt a surge of jealousy at this sight, clamping her clenched penis tightly between her small buttocks. To Bronny's slight relief, Lord Shrike showed little interest in the four female servants, only urging the horses to gallop faster, occasionally flicking his idly fingers at the Queen of the Flesh's nipples and penis, eliciting gasps from the Queen.
At midday, the group of six, on five horses, finally arrived at Shrike's holiday estate. Beyond the low courtyard wall, the main building of the manor seemed utterly mismatched with its owner's noble status. The two-story stone building was painted a beige with straw slurry, and four narrow black iron windows opened on each side of the wings. Nearly withered hydrangeas bloomed on either side of the central porch. The gate was wide open, revealing a glimpse of an ominous purplish-red within.
Two maids dismounted and opened the main gate of the villa's courtyard to allow their master to ride through. On horseback, Bronny pouted her pink lips in grievance: she had imagined her beloved Lord Shrike living in a far more luxurious house. What she saw now resembled the work of the most inept architect, bland and utterly shabby. Was Lord Shrike perhaps too preoccupied with governing the people and the state? This would not do! She would return and organize the largest possible workforce to build Lord Shrike a manor even more luxurious than a palace. She personally supervised the construction, whip in hand. If any foolish and filthy poor people slacked off, she would stomp on their heads with her boot heels and whip their backs. Lost in her brutal and absurd fantasies, the Queen of the Penis failed to notice the incongruity of her surroundings: the building had no pathways whatsoever, not even the slightest animal trail. It seemed to have sprung from thin air.
The Shrike withdrew his thick penis, which had spent the entire day in the young king's tender anus, and set the Queen of the Penis, Bronnie, down from her horse—as his penis was exposed to the frigid air of the wasteland, it released a final, contracting ejaculation, landing on the young king's buttocks, tightly encased in crocheted fishnet stockings. The four faceless maids seemed oblivious to this lewd scene. The Queen of the Penis and the ambitious Shrike stepped into the empty, dark hall, and only then did the maids behind them simultaneously remove their hoods and toss their black robes outside. Hearing the rustling of fabric in the wind, Bronnie, not having time to survey the room's furnishings, turned around curiously to examine what Lord Shrike's personal maids looked like.
"..."
The four maids, upon entering, froze and lined up against the wall. They... no, it should be said that "their" figures were so hot that every adult man would never forget them. The four blonde sex dolls' bodies displayed a sexy tan, their cannonball-shaped breasts supported by strange purplish-red chitin bras, beneath which stood enormous, engorged phalluses. Their large buttocks rubbed against the wall with their slight panting... The transvestite maids had undoubtedly been suppressing their lustful desires for who knows how long. Their fiery red lips parted and opened slightly, their eyes darting back and forth between the two nobles' genitals.
"They are..."
"You are the most beautiful, Your Majesty Queen Broney." Like a playboy, Shrike lifted the king's hand and gently kissed it. He uttered a few hoarse, indistinct words, words that instinctively felt indescribable and blasphemous.
"Oh, Lord Shrike, this is…" The transvestite maidens began to move, silent and synchronized. Queen Broney realized she was being forcibly taken away from her beloved Lord Shrike, from the dark but still faintly lit hallway. She was dragged into an unfamiliar corridor, her vision shrouded in darkness. She protested shrilly, but the surrounding area was deserted for miles around. Her booted feet clattered countless times on the descending stairs. Her nostrils were filled with the damp, musty smell of the ground and the pungent, acrid stench of dust. Gradually, light appeared in her vision—an ominous, vast, purplish-red light. She didn't know when her limbs had been released, and the young king knelt in terror on a smooth marble floor somewhere.
Before him lay a pool even larger than the palace courtyard, filled with a purple, bubbly liquid. The king was unaware that this filthy, profane liquid was the very thing that had transformed him into a monstrous female—and that the true creator of this liquid lurked beneath the vast pool.
"#￥%&…&%…*…%￥￥#%…&*"
The maid behind him uttered words similar to Lord Shrike's. Beneath that pool of potion, a terrifying monster, originating from the darkest corners of the human heart or from the most distant stars, began to stir.
"Ughhhhhh!"
The colossal ancient creation revealed a portion of itself to the tiny human king, dragging him into the bottomless pool of venom.
Shrike didn't sleep well that night; the king's screams from the cellar assaulted his weary nerves all night. The first half of the night was terrifying and filled with despair, gradually softening in the second half, until it almost became the purring of a cat in heat. The voice reminded the ambitious man of the mysterious witch who had led Shrike to this enigmatic building and entrusted him with the secrets of the potion. The woman shrouded in black robes had made a similar gurgling sound when she breathed… and then she vanished into the pool in the cellar, becoming food for the ancient gods. Perhaps she also had a large penis. Shrike chuckled disdainfully at the thought. A knock
came at the door. It was the first transvestite maid transformed by the potion, here to report something; when she was still male, she was the gardener in the Regent's palace.
“The lord is very satisfied.”
“Is that so?” Shrike put on his shirt.
“The things underground have all been entrusted to Her Majesty the Queen.”
“Then I’ll go down and take a look.”
Shrike’s bedroom was located on the second floor, on the highest point of the right wing, furthest from the cellar where the ominous creature lurked. The way down to the cellar required passing through a hallway. The ambitious man suddenly realized that the crown, a testament to generations of kings, lay forlornly on the dusty floor. A sudden urge to play seized him; he picked up the priceless heirloom that had silently witnessed such desecration of his noble lineage, tucked it under his arm, and carried it underground.
The cellar was damp and dark. Two effeminate maids, accompanying him, lit torches behind him; the flickering flames illuminated the path ahead, but nothing else was clearly visible. A gust of cold air swept over him as the shrike stepped into the spacious area. However, unlike his previous visit, it was utterly dark; the ominous red light that had illuminated the walls was gone. The maid with the fleshy penis lit a torch to shine on the pool's surface. But the firelight revealed only the bare, deep black bottom of the pool.
Leaning against the pool's edge was a figure, her long, wavy golden hair shimmering in the firelight. She had her back to the shrike and was making gurgling noises, seemingly fast asleep.
“Your Majesty Queen Bronnie.”
Shrike jumped into the now empty pool, realizing he was safe. The indescribable filth had entrusted everything to the Queen of the Flesh. Shrike shook her repeatedly, and the Queen of the Flesh, lost in some blissful dream, reluctantly awoke.
“Ah! Lord Shrike!” Bronnie screamed upon seeing him, throwing herself into Shrike’s arms. “At first I was so scared. But she’s actually a very gentle person. I completely understand her thoughts. We’re together forever.”
“Okay, okay.” Shrike absentmindedly comforted the Queen of the Flesh, his gaze scrutinizing the young king’s drastically changed body: his hair had been stretched into long, golden waves; his skin had been dyed a wheatish-brown overnight, the same color as the effeminate maid; and his deformed breasts, larger than a cow’s, were supported by a smooth, purplish-red corset. With each breath, eerie, crimson patterns appeared around the Queen of the Flesh, starkly visible in the dim light. The once pristine white boots were now stained the same purplish-red as the bra, with dangerously sharp spikes protruding from the toes. The Queen of the Flesh, her eyes brimming with tears, raised her face, a mixture of world-weariness and innocence, accompanied by the demonic aura of a malevolent god. Even the self-proclaimed iron-willed Shrike momentarily lost his composure—in a flash, the Queen of the Flesh, donning tight-fitting gloves with nails that resembled demonic claws, grabbed the crown tucked under Shrike's arm. Curious, she looked at it, then smiled at him. Then, she crushed the symbol of royalty like clay, the rubies, large and small, falling to the ground with a clatter.
"Not good-looking. I'll make something beautiful,"
Broni smiled seductively at Shrike, a smile that utterly bewitched the schemer. He suddenly realized the terrifying monster he had unleashed, but he was already powerless to escape this enormous vortex.
"Let's begin today's meeting."
The old prime minister cowered in a corner of the council hall, now a den of iniquity, not daring to utter a word.
"Of course? It's execution?"
The Lustful Queen of Penis moaned as she sat on her brand-new throne adorned with pure gold phalluses. Behind her sat the ashen-faced regent, the once dashing regent, now only his erect penis remained, barely able to express his will, merely a decoration on the chair. Since King Roel returned from a hunting trip six months ago, his appearance and personality had drastically changed, and he proclaimed himself Queen of Penis, Bronnie I. Those ministers who had disagreed with him... no, those who had expressed dissent against her, had all been transformed by a strange power into female puppets completely subservient to the Queen of Penis.
"Is this the leader of the rebels? Ha, ha? With a rather excellent penis, huh?"
The Queen of Penis, wearing a pure gold pointed crown that held back her sexy, wavy hair, wore a heavy gold necklace, and her large, fleshy nipples were adorned with thick gold nipple rings. Her areolas were adorned with rubies arranged in a heart shape. The succubus queen, overcome with lust at the sight of the fresh, hard penis, rose to her feet, her bracelets and anklets jingling as the thick, long penis, encircled by rings, ejaculated foul-smelling semen. All of this was connected by delicate gold chains. With each step, her enormous breasts released purplish-red fluid. It was utterly lewd.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ahhhhhhh!"
The young leader of the resistance screamed the moment he came into contact with the terrible aphrodisiac fluid, his body undergoing a dramatic transformation. His eyes became blank.
"Long live Your Majesty?"
As the twisted and blasphemous intercourse continued, another outstanding and conscientious young man of this nation was transformed into a transvestite puppet subservient to the evil queen. The old prime minister resisted the urge to think about where this nation was headed. The number of sexy transvestites on the streets increased daily; they spent their days only indulging in mutual caresses and sexual intercourse, obedient to every command of the penis queen, Broni, and considering nothing else. In their eyes, the old prime minister, still just an ordinary person, was the truly ugly and disgusting figure.
Bronya simply wiggled her plump buttocks excitedly, subjecting all living beings she saw to feminization—she felt genuine happiness, a happiness that would last forever.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/190346.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=190346&aspx=1

Previous Page : Mature, hot mom, sexy mother, beautiful legs, stockings, young married woman, office lady, charming wife

Next Page : Peach and Apricot Palace

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Eternal Night Kingdom

comment Open a new window to view comments