Charlie and the Chancellor’s Plot
By J. Dumas
(2)
The following day found Charlie going about her business acting as though nothing had happened to her. She took her scheduled post at the King’s side for his morning audience as she had many times in the past, watching him and the Chancellor greet and listen to the pleas of subjects seeking repair for their grievances or payback for ill treatment, and Charlie could almost let herself believe that the previous evening had simply been a bad dream if not for the fact that she could not talk about it, quite literally—she could not get her mouth to form the words she wanted to say.
She wanted to warn the King about the Prime Chancellor, who was by his side, wearing his typical deep burgundy robe, his usually quiet demeanor marred by an agitation that Charlie guessed was due to the loss of the potion.
For the potion worked, there was no doubt about it. Charlie had experienced it firsthand the previous night after Rochefort had left the tavern, as she had found herself walking towards the man who had made advances to her earlier in the evening and had surprised him by turning him around and kissing him, a long and deep kiss into which she had had no choice but put all of her passion and sensuality. The man had been taken aback, to say the least, but had recovered quickly and had enlaced her and pulled her up close as the kiss deepened, feeling her up shamelessly while his friends where hooting and whooping and encouraging him. She had finally pulled off as his hands were kneading her ass, pawing and grabbing and manhandling her cheeks through her rough trousers.
She had left the tavern despite his insistence that she remained and entertained him and his friends further, and she had ben frustratingly grateful that Rochefort had not told her to give herself to that man after he had made some rather explicit suggestions about the form such entertainment might take.
That Rochefort could have told her to give herself to the man she found most terrifying of all. She was not a prude, had never been, but she valued her independence, and her right to make her own choices, something her own father had always denied her. But here she was, losing control of her own will. She had wanted to scream and fight and tear through the town venting her rage against Rochefort, but she could not. All she could do was make her way placidly to her quarters, and sleep the rest of the night away.
And now she found herself standing at attention, hand on her sword, watching the Prime Chancellor, which according to Rochefort—to the extent that the bastard could be assumed to be telling the truth, but then again had he not told the truth about the potion?—was plotting against the very King he was advising, and she was unable to either warn the King about him or betray whatever had happened to her.
She thought about the duties she had to perform today—a review of the Guard in the afternoon, a dinner with the company where the events of the day would be discussed, before the free time of the evening would be upon them, and while most in the company would be heading out on the town, she would have to report to Rochefort’s chambers. She had no intention to, but if her success at fighting the effects of the obedience elixir were anything by which to go, she would have no choice whatsoever but present herself and her sword to the malfeasant as he had ordered.
The situation angered her, and she was sufficiently self-aware to understand where that anger originated. She was scared. Terrified, in fact. She wished dearly her friends were there, Oliver especially, so that she could unburden herself to them, and seek their advice. Even though, and here again, Rochefort’s order came to work against her, she would not be able to tell them anything of import, anything of what was truly troubling her. But she might find solace just by not being alone, by being held, lovingly, by Oliver, as a soothing balm over her dread.
How would he react if he were to learn that she was going to Rochefort’s chambers tonight? She would not be able to provide any kind of explanation.
The King’s audience came to an end, and Charlie was privy to an encounter of the King, the Chancellor, and the Princess, as the regent-in-waiting strolled lightly into the audience chamber as the last supplicant filed away. She was radiant, as a matter of course her long red hair floating as if by magic through an air current, her long gown catching the light and despite its billowing it did absolutely nothing to camouflage the Princess’s abundant curves and the enticing roundness of her breasts. Even her movements suggested how sweet she was in the movements of love, even though, as Charlie knew full well for being one of the confident of the future Queen, she was as yet unexperienced in the ways of love.
Charlie watched as the King’s face illuminated upon seeing his beloved daughter grace the room with her presence, just as she saw the Chancellor’s face fill with raw hunger mixed in with an equal proportion of what might be termed frustration and fear, and Charlie guessed that such expressions were brought about by the shock of seeing his plans dashed so close to their fruition. She wondered for a moment exactly what the Chancellor saw when he saw the Princess—whether he saw an instrument for wielding power, or whether he saw a beautiful young girl ripe to be plucked.
Probably just what Rochefort thinks when he sees you, thought Charlie. The two men were cut out of a similar cloth, both uncaring of feelings of others, both ignorant of the basics of honor, both unable to see past the immediate fulfillment of their basest desires. The Prime Chancellor might be more ambitious, his eyes fastened on a larger prize, but that was a difference in quantity not in quality. At least, and the thought Charlie had used as a mantra to console herself throughout the morning, the Princess would be spared the horrors of subjugation to the vile advisor. She would have to find a way to save the Princess, to find a way to ensure that the Chancellor would not be able to get his traitor’s hands on another potion and spellbind Princess Helena. Charlie owed that much to her future Queen, and vowed to do all that was in her power to bring it about.
That thought, the hatching of a plan to eliminate the Chancellor as a threat both to the King and to the Princess, kept Charlie occupied intellectually for the remainder of the day, helping to distract her from the ordeal she would be facing in the evening.
And the thought did carry her through, through the afternoon review and through the dinner and through the discussion of the events of the day. Her fellow Royal Guard looked at her askance as she was more withdrawn than her usual self, and she responded that she was simply pondering some reports that she had received and wanted to think about them more before discussing them, and her fellow knights trusted her enough to take her at her word.
She had longed to beg them to stop her from leaving the Royal Guard quarters tonight, but she could not get the words out when she tried. She thought of taking a dose of an herb kept in their kitchens that would induce a deep drowsiness, but she found her hand unable to reach for it as she stood before the cabinet. She even thought of knocking herself out, only to find her plans foiled by an inability to carry through. Rochefort had told her to present herself to him this evening, and there was nothing that she could do to prevent it from happening.
Thus when the hour came, when the after-dinner discussion fizzled and the company dispersed, she changed and found herself leaving the Royal Guard quarters and crossing through the courtyard to the chambers of the Dragoons, where Rochefort found lodging.
She nodded to the sentry posted at the entrance of the chambers, who looked at her strangely, but did not stop her. It was unusual for a Royal Guard to venture in this section of the castle at that time of the evening, doubly so when said Guard was dressed in a long flowing gown which clung to her curves. Charlie could not help but wonder whether Rochefort had told of his good fortune to others. Her heart sank a little further, but she kept up a brave face. She nodded to the sentry, and went inside.
After asking after Rochefort’s chambers, Charlie made her way to the indicated hallway, stopping before a large oak door. She wanted to run, but could not. She, who had faced numerous dangers, from invading hordes of reanimated corpses to fire-breathing dragons, she who had earned a post in the most elite company of knights of the Three Kingdoms, faced the prospect of losing her control over herself with not a little trepidation. But she fought it down, unable to resist the drive to knock on the wooden door.
“Come,” responded the voice from inside.
The door was not locked. She entered the room. It was large—larger than her quarters in the Royal Guard—and messy. Clothes were strewn everywhere, food was on the table, drinking jugs on the ground. Weapons of various sorts were lying about, discarded, forgotten. Behind a large drawn curtain to one side of the room she figured lay the bed.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte of Artagnia! So glad you could join me.” Sitting in a large chair in one corner of the room was the Count of Rochefort, completely naked. His cock, red and large and already semi-hard, was unavoidable between his wide open legs. He was looking at Charlie with a smile on his face.
Charlie could not look away, and she concentrated her gaze on Rochefort’s eyes, who were filled with a glee that simply could not be faked.
He did not stir from his throne. “I have been waiting all day for this moment. In fact, you could say I have been waiting all my life for this moment. My afternoon has been spent dreaming of the best way to cement our new relationship, my Lady. Charlotte. Charlie. You don’t mind if I call you Charlie, do you? Not that what you mind is really relevant...”
Charlie could only glower. Her instructions from the night before were still in effect, and so she could not raise her voice to him. Still her frustration needed an outlet. “I would rather you called me nothing, Rochefort.”
Rochefort chuckled. “Well that’s too bad, my lovely doll. And Rochefort is so cold... so impersonal. It’s like you don’t like me, don’t respect me. From now on, you will refer to me as your Lord and Master whenever you address me, my lovely doll. And before we do anything else, you will strip. I love the dress, but I want to see that gorgeous body of yours.”
Again, the compulsion was irresistible. Charlie, much against her wishes, detached the belt holding her sword, and in one smooth movement that she meant business-like and not sexy in the least, she pulled off her dress by sliding it over head. Rochefort minded not at all, staring with rapt attention that he really meant to appear detached and casual.
In short order, Charlie’s sandals, leggings, and underthings had joined her tunic in a pile on the floor, and she stood nude before her tormentor, one arm covering her breasts and the other down between her legs, providing her with a short respite of modesty. She was not ashamed of her body, never had been, in fact was proud of the marriage of femininity and strength that she had inherited and developed. But this was different. Altogether different.
“Nice!” exclaimed Rochefort, not bothering to cover up the look of naked lust in his eyes as he took in the fantastic toned body of the woman before him. She was beautiful, a fact he had known already, and her Royal Guard uniform had always hinted at a glorious body underneath, reinforced every time he had spied her in civilian garb out on the town, during her days of leave.
But it was altogether different with Charlie naked before his eyes. Her body was lean and strong, her limbs sleek and powerful. And yet her skin looked soft, her curves were generous, and her body as a whole screamed to be treated like a woman’s body ought.
“Put your arms down,” he nodded. “You will not cover yourself up when you are naked.”
Charlie’s heart sank as her arms lowered of their own volition. She was seething inside.
Rochefort drank it all in, her large breasts, perfectly round with red-tipped nipples that were stiffening in the cool night air—her pussy, covered with a light layer of auburn fur, trimmed neatly in a strip that he could not help himself thinking must require constant attention, and the fact that she spent an appreciable amount of time grooming her sex made it all the hotter for him.
He stared a long time, running his gaze over her body several times over, his cock growing hard under the display of flesh. She was perfect, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, rivaling even the Princess in sheer beauty. And she was his, all his, unable to resist obeying his every whim, wish, desire. He looked into her eyes, noted the defiance, loving that they both realized that defiance was for naught, an empty display of will, brave but ultimately futile.
“You are one fine woman, that’s for sure. And before the night is out I will know every nook and cranny and pleasure spot on that wonderful body of yours.” He cocked his head to the side, wonderingly. “Push your tits up and together, my lovely doll.”
And to her utter shame, even though she knew full well this was coming, this or something equally sordid, she hefted her breasts up and pushed them together, the sensations strong. It looked like she were offering them to Rochefort, and in a way, she had to acknowledge that that was just what she was doing.
Rochefort was grinning widely, his cock twitching hard against his stomach. “Nice! I’m sure your boy the Count of Athia must have had a lot of fun playing with those pillows.” He looked up at her. “Did he? Does our boy like your tits?”
“Yes, my Lord and Master.” The words burned her throat.
“I bet he does. Loves to push his face into them. Probably likes to fuck them. Do you let your boy fuck your tits, my lovely doll?”
“No, my Lord and Master.”
“Too bad. I certainly won’t let them go to waste like that. But we get to that, I think it is high time you pledge your allegiance to your new master. I see you brought your sword. Take it, and come before me. And remember, you will not try to hurt me.”
Nude, Charlie picked up her sword, conscious of her breasts swaying as she did but unable to do anything about it, conscious of showing parts of her body that were not meant to be shown with every movement.
She walked slowly to the smug Rochefort, who was watching her every move. He stopped her when she was a sword’s length from him.
“Kneel down, Lady Charlotte of Artagnia.”
She did, reluctantly.
“I have to say, you look good there, on your knees, between my legs. You should get used to it, as I think you will find yourself in this position often.”
Charlie said nothing. She could feel his eyes crawling all over her skin.
“Charlie, I want you to pledge your allegiance to me now. You will repeat what I tell you to repeat, and whenever you repeat it the words will sear themselves into your mind as if they were edicts from God Himself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord and Master.”
“Present your sword to me. Pledge it to me.”
She held up her sword with both hands, the flat of the blade in the palm of her left hand. “I pledge my sword to you, my Lord and Master.”
“Pledge that you will protect me, with your life, and not allow any harm to come to me.”
“I pledge that I will protect you, with my life, and not allow any harm to come to you, my Lord and Master.”
“Pledge that you will obey me without hesitation, without reticence, without doubt.”
“I pledge that I will obey you without hesitation, without reticence, without doubt, my Lord and Master.”
“Pledge your body to me, for me to use and abuse and enjoy as I will, for as long as I will, however I see fit.”
“I pledge my body to you, for you to use and abuse and enjoy as you will, for as long as you will, however you see fit, my Lord and Master.”
“Pledge that you will do your best to bring me pleasure, physical or otherwise, to the best of your abilities, and will strive to become the most perfect lover in all of the Three Kingdoms.”
“I pledge that I will do my best to bring you pleasure, physical or otherwise, to the best of my abilities, and will strive to become the most perfect lover in all of the Three Kingdoms, my Lord and Master.”
Rochefort was elated, and aroused beyond belief. That she was under his compulsion was clear enough and evidenced by her presence in his chambers. But to have her naked, her perfect body on display for him to ogle to his heart’s desire, kneeling between his legs and telling him in so many words that she would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that she would die for him when was not trying to please him to the best of her undoubtedly awesome abilities, it was enough to drive a man wild. Part of him wanted only to grab the vision of beauty before him and toss her onto his bedspread and spear her between her bewitching legs, driving into her over and over again while she screamed for him to take her harder.
He accepted Charlie’s proffered sword, and put the flat of the blade on her right shoulder. “I accept your pledge,” he said, trying to make his voice stentorian. He then ran the tip of the sword down her body, appreciating the heft and balance of the finely-crafted weapon. He ran the tip over her hard red nipples, then down her toned stomach to the valley between her thighs, covered with her soft auburn fur. Charlie remained motionless throughout.
Rochefort finally tossed the sword aside, and leaned down towards Charlie. “There’s more, my lovely doll. Listen, and listen well. That potion you drank last night ensures that your will submits to mine, until the day you die. And let me make one thing clear—you will always remain you. Whatever I order you to do, whatever I order you to become, you will, underneath it all, still be you, still be Lady Charlotte of Artagnia, the valiant knight. And I want you to reflect, trapped within your own mind, for the rest of your life, about how badly you have treated me, you and your friends. Do you understand?”
Charlie shivered inwardly, wanting to scream and grab her sword and run him through like a wild forrest boar, but all she could do, all Rochefort would let her do, was meekly answer “Yes, My Lord and Master.”
Rochefort grinned. “You are so sweet when you say things like that. You will always act pleasant and happy to be with me, as if you loved me, adored me, worshipped the ground I walk on. But do not fear, my lovely doll. I will make sure you do enjoy yourself. Whenever you think about me, or my cock, or anyone that I give you to, you will get aroused and wet and hornier than you’ve ever been. Nothing brings you more pleasure then being penetrated, in any of your holes. Nothing arouses you more than when men—or women—view you as a sexual plaything, looking at your body, touching your body, wanting you body. You will not do anything until I allow you to, but you will feel the hunger and desire and lust build inside of you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Lord and Master.” There was an odd tone to Charlie’s voice.
Rochefort leaned back in his chair, satisfied, anxious for the expectation that had been building up for the past day and had just intensified in the past hour. He stared at the beautiful brunette kneeling at his feet. His cock quivered. It was time.
“You will now worship me, my lovely doll. Show your Lord and Master how skilled your mouth is at pleasing a man.”
Rochefort leaned back in his chair, spread his legs even wider, and waited, looking at Charlie the whole time, a careful neutral expression on his face. Inside, he was almost shaking with delight. The buildup was even better than he had expected. He held his breath when Charlie bent down at the waist, and parted her lips slowly as she reached the head of his cock. And when she slid those lips down on the hard flesh and started sucking softly, his breath caught slightly, and he suppressed a shudder. Her mouth felt wonderful, and he had to fight the urge to just grab her long dark hair and pull her head forcefully down onto his cock, choking her, seeing the panic in her eyes as she could not breathe for the thick shaft of flesh in her throat, blocking everything, and fucking that throat roughly. He grinned, thinking about how he would introduce her to what he and his friends called skull-fucking, and grinned even wider when he realized that he could make her like it, even crave it.
Charlie was unaware of these thoughts as she dutifully bobbed her head up and down on Rochefort’s cock, slurping and sucking and licking, compelled to do the best job she knew how to do. She was no stranger to pleasing a man’s shaft with her mouth, one might even say she liked it, as it connected her with her lovers in a way that was different than straight up intercourse. But when she did, with Oliver, who simply loved feeling her mouth down on him, they were usually head to heel, pleasuring each other simultaneously, with Oliver running his tongue up and down her twat and sending shivers of lust up and down her spine while she tried to swallow his shaft whole.
But this was completely different. This was her, on her knees, servicing Rochefort, like a servant girl shining a pair of boots or, perhaps more accurately, a pleasure girl servicing her customer for enough money to pay her rent and some food to put on her table.
She sucked Rochefort’s cock hard, trying to ascertain what he liked more, what he liked less, much against her will trying to make this the best experience he had ever had. She had to admit he had a nice cock, large and hefty and probably pleasant to many women if he knew how to use it. She wondered what it would feel like when he slid it into her crack, and she realizes almost as a shock that she was wet, terribly wet. Between the fat cock pistoning in and out of her mouth and the images of that same cock spreading her pussy lips wide open to invest her, she was getting horny and building up towards wanting to be humped good and proper. She moaned as her mouth descended on the thick shaft, imagining she was sliding her pussy down instead, feeling herself be filled with man meat.
“Not bad,” said Rochefort. “With some practice, we may make a good cock worshipper out of you yet.”
Rochefort did not want her to feel too proud of herself, too happy about herself, or he would have told her the truth, that this was a fantastic blow job, the best he had ever received. Charlie was clearly an expert, sucking hard and fast, applying the right amount of pressure in the right places and swirling her tongue in just the right rhythm. She used plenty of saliva, which was pooling down between his butt cheeks, and she easily took in three-quarters of his cock into her mouth before pulling off and restarting the cycle. And she was getting into it, too, Rochefort could tell, from her moans and her renewed enthusiasm and the way he could see she was slowly shifting her ass back and forth, as if she wanted someone to take care of her down there.
And take care of her he would. The sensations she was imparting to his cock were incredible, and part of him wanted nothing more than let go in her mouth, drown her with his offering, shower her with his cum, watch her swallow it all like the finest nectar. But the higher parts of his consciousness knew he would get more pleasure out of fucking her. And thus he grabbed Charlie by the hair and pulled her off of his cock. The girl moaned in disappointment, and that sound almost pushed Rochefort to ram his cock back into her throat. But he resisted, and pushed her away.
“On your back. Spread those legs of yours wide, real wide. Open up your cunt wide. I want to see it all.”
Charlie, unable to think, her mind clouded by the heat and hunger that was spreading from her crotch to the flimsiest extremity, lay down on her back and spread her legs as she had been ordered, and the exposure made her blush inside with the wantonness of it all. She moaned again as the cool air hit her damp slit, and she ran a hand softly over her sex, shivering under her own touch.
Rochefort rose to stand between the brunette’s splayed legs, admiring both the way she looked and the way she moved—the way she exuded sex. Gone was the cold powerful knight with the deadly sword—at his feet was a woman, aroused beyond comprehension, desiring but one thing in this world. “What do you want, my lovely doll?” he asked, stroking his cock slowly above her.
Charlie opened her eyes, and fastened them on his hard shaft. She hated herself for saying it, but the urge was not only irresistible, it also fed the hunger in her pussy. “Your... your cock, my Lord and Master.”
“You want my cock? You want my cock inside of you? You want my cock in that sloppy cunt of yours? You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes... Yes, my Lord and Master.” Charlie’s hand was running up and down her slit harder. She thought she would go crazy if she did not get him inside of her. Another moan escaped her lips, completely uncontrollable.
“Then beg.”
Charlie’s mind tried to revolt, but her body and her mouth obeyed, the compulsion and the hunger too powerful. “Please... please, my Lord and Master. Please fuck me! Fuck me!” Her hand was pushing three fingers inside her pussy, and she was astonished to find it sopping wet, ready to welcome one and all.
Rochefort was pleased. He knelt between the brunette’s leg, and then leaned over, his cock still in his hand, his face three inches from Charlie’s.
“Did you ever beg your boy Oliver, my lovely doll? Did you ever beg him to fuck you, like a pleasure girl?”
Charlie had to respond. “No, my Lord and Master.”
Rochefort grinned, a cruel smile. “I guess I win, then. Let me claim my prize.” He pressed the tip of his cock against Charlie’s slit, amazed at the heat that radiated from there. Charlie moaned loudly when she felt the head press against her lips, and she tilted her hips up to let him slide into her. Rochefort pulled back, teasing the poor girl who groaned in disappointment. “Please...” she begged again, her eyes closed.
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, my Lord and Master.”
“How do you want me to fuck you?”
“How... however you want, my Lord and Master.”
“Of course—but you must have a preference, deep down inside, my lovely doll? How do you want me to fuck you?”
“Hard... Fast... Deep... Fuck me hard, fast, and deep, my Lord and Master.”
“Hard, fast, and deep. Truly like a pleasure girl. You want to be fucked like a pleasure girl, then?”
“Yes... Fuck me like a pleasure girl, my Lord and Master.”
“Charlotte of Artagnia—Lady Charlotte of Artagnia—pleasure girl. I love the sound of it. High-class pleasure girl, for knights with discerning taste. I’m sure all the valiant knights of the Kingdom would love the chance to sink their cocks into you, like THIS!” He shoved hard into the writhing girl underneath him, and his cock slipped inside her without resistance, so wet she was.
Charlie gasped and clenched her hands on his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation of the hard shaft plumbing her depths. It felt like nothing she had ever felt before, like she was filled with a hot rod of pure pleasure. She felt ashamed of the thought, but she had to admit that even at his best, Oliver did not make her feel like she was feeling now. Of course, what she was feeling now was artificially induced, but there was no point trying to tell that to her own body, who was taking in the pleasure like a drunken man his wine. She let out a yelp with every thrust of Rochefort, wrapping her legs around his waist and rubbing them back and forth to egg him on. She wanted to feel him spear her, explode into her, drown her in his seed.
Rochefort was enjoying the feeling equally, if not more. If her mouth had felt heavenly earlier, her cunt was the Fountain of Youth at the heart of Paradise—hot and tight and silky smooth, grasping him hard when he was all the way inside and shivering about his shaft as he pulled out. And the way she clung to him, her mouth open, her hair thrown back, in the throes of overwhelming delight, her perfect ass rising up to meet his thrusts, her legs pressing against his sides, her breasts rubbing against his chest.
After too short a time, Rochefort knew he could not repress his urges, and with three hard lunges he rammed his cock as deep into Charlie as he could and exploded, gratified to feel the beautiful brunette reach her own orgasm with him, shaking and twisting and clenching around him like she had been struck by a lightning bolt.
It had been so good that all he could do was collapse next to Charlie trying to catch his breath, and it took a full minute before he had enough energy to order her to get down and clean his cock of their combined juices with her tongue, nice and slow and as sexy as she could, thrilled to the core to hear her answer “Yes, my Lord and Master” with a subdued tone before performing her new duties.