Naughty Fairy Tales: The Complete 6 Story Collection

What the Queen Wills-3

Amelia’s fists clenched around the basket so hard she could feel the fibers of the wicker digging clefts into her skin. She was terrified if she let go of the basket she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from running her fingers along the queen’s cheekbone and up to the curve of her ear.

I want to feel my fingers in your passage, she thought.

“I’ll make sure you’re serving at the Gathering then, pretty one,” the queen said. Chuckling softly to herself, the queen turned away and glided down the hallway, maids and butlers dodging out of her way like an oncoming avalanche.

“Holy f**k, did I say that aloud?” Amelia whispered to Lola, the blood draining from her face.

Lola’s laugh was loud and deep like a warrior cry. “Don’t worry about it, new girl, Cas has that effect on everybody.”

“But Eliot—”

“She’ll invite him. How he handles himself once he’s here is up to him, but ‘body like a miracle’ is a pretty good recommendation,” Lola’s violet eyes pinned Amelia for a second, her gaze serious for once. “Just make sure he shows up. The queen doesn’t like to see her invitations ignored.”

Amelia’s eyes followed the queen’s bright green train as it disappeared around the corner. The layers of fabric couldn’t disguise the perfectly round a*s swaying slightly on her perilous heels.

I wish…

Amelia turned back to Lola and said with the seriousness of a sermon, “I’ll make sure he shows.”

Eliot re-read the gilded invitation for what must have been the fifteenth time. On an intellectual level, he understood the meaning of each word, both individually—and as they were strung together—he still couldn’t truly comprehend what was written. In shaking fingers, he clasped the object of every Crispin man and woman’s deepest desires and most honest fantasies.

“Your presence has been requested at the Queen’s Gathering.”

The simple phrase spelled out in raised silver script on the gold-plated—real gold—invitation sent Eliot’s pulse racing. He paced back and forth in the foyer as he contemplated his options. He had been invited once to a small town neighborhood Gathering and his brothers’ boots guaranteed he didn’t attend. Now he was expected to go to the Queen’s Gathering? It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Inconceivable.

Eliot dug through the day’s mail once again, hoping against all odds to find invitations for his brothers buried in the mess. They would be livid if Eliot was the only one invited. He shuddered at the thought of what punishment they'd devise if they ever found out.

He paced from the door to the kitchen. The Queen has requested my presence. I have to go.

He paced from the kitchen back to the door. My brothers will never forgive me.

He paced from the door to the back garden, ready to throw the invitation onto a pile of burning leaves. His hand nearly made it to the fire.

The Queen’s Gathering is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

He paced back to the house, throwing open the door to the servants’ quarters, the broken chairs from Amelia’s last day still scattered around. I will embarrass myself in front of everyone. Amelia was special and forgiving. The other guests will be disgusted by my large c**k.

It was an impossible decision. Refusing a royal request felt treasonous, but going to a Gathering without his brothers felt disloyal. He walked back outside and sank into a wicker chair on the porch, taking comfort in the familiar groaning sound it let out as it accepted his weight.

The garden needed work he didn’t have time to do. The roses were overgrown and the small fountain of swans making love was covered with a creeping green mold. The old lilac bush in the middle of the garden, surviving inexplicably well on its own, reminded him of a happier, pre-orphaned childhood. After his parents’ death, Eliot’s older brothers fed him, clothed him, and kept a roof over his head. How can I even think of betraying them?

Eliot slouched over, resting his elbows on his knees and taking his face between his hands, rubbing the slight stubble outlining his jaw.

“Hey there. I thought you could use a friend,” a familiar voice chirped. He looked up and felt a wide grin bloom across his face. The afternoon sun silhouetted her lithe curves, hiding her face in shadow. Her melodic laugh danced around him, and she stepped onto the porch to reveal her much-missed face.

Amelia looked great in the palace staff uniform. Palace life definitely seemed to agree with her. Eliot’s eyes took in every sweet inch of her: her black leather corset proudly displayed her perfectly-rounded breasts, the playful skirt fluffy enough to be whimsical, but short enough to send a person’s head reeling. And the lacy garters. Eliot always did have a thing for garters.

He took a moment to collect himself before standing up to greet her, hugging her tight and loving the feeling of her silken corset against his chest. He struggled to speak as the blood rushed away from his brain.

Amelia giggled at his gaping expression. “A little bird told me you got an important message today.” Her eyes moved to the invitation sitting on the floor beneath his chair. “The queen—may-she-c*m-long-and-hard—wants you to come, Eliot. To her Gathering, I mean,” she finished, sounding flustered.

Eliot’s excitement soured. His head drooped and he ran a hand through his long brown hair. “My brothers will never allow it. You know them. They weren’t invited. Besides”—he shifted uncomfortably—“I’ll probably just make a fool out of myself.”

Amelia grabbed Eliot's hand and dragged him into the house. “It’s past noon, so I assume your brothers are down at the pub, right?” She raised an eyebrow and gently ran her nimble fingers down Eliot’s chest. “Is it just you and me?”

Eliot felt his pants tighten at her touch and a bead of nervous sweat ran down his face. She was astonishingly good at winding him up.

He loved every second of it.

Eliot pulled her close, the intoxicating smell of her washing over him like the catharsis of a holiday. What I wouldn't give to hold onto that smell all year.

He held her face in one hand, clasping the small of her back with the other as he kissed her with everything he had.

Amelia met him with equal force, tongue thrusting between Eliot’s open lips, exploring the contours of his mouth. When his lungs began to scream for air, she pulled back, locking her eyes with his.

She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head forward, l*****g at the sensitive tissue behind his ear, running her wet tongue down his neck to his collarbone. Amelia kissed her way down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt with her skilled fingers as she went. A small nip to his navel made his eyes roll into the back of his head with want and she pulled his stiff length from his trousers, grinning.

“Hello again.” She chuckled, looking up at Eliot. She was now on her knees before him and began stroking and l*****g him, pleasuring each enviable inch. She pulled his pants down and ran her nails up and down his thighs, leaving light marks that would take days to fade. She kissed his shaft, his testicles, his legs, but would go no further.

He resisted the urge to thrust into her, claiming her mouth.

“You know, I work at the palace now.” She took him in her hand and licked him from base to head. “Everything I do is meant to serve our queen.” Amelia guided his member towards her lips and she swirled her tongue around the very tip of his great length. “If only there was some way I could convince you to honor our queen by coming to her Gathering.” She looked up at him with a wicked grin, and then took him into her mouth.

Shit, that feels so good. Eliot couldn’t help but let out a wild groan as she worked on him. He was so worked up from her teasing that every touch, every inch of contact felt like lightning. She looked up at him again and he nearly came on the spot; her eyes gleamed, she was so joyful when pleasuring him.

Breathing heavily, he reached down and freed one of her breasts from her corset, smiling at how hard her n****e felt. She gasped around his d**k as he began to massage and roll her smooth flesh. He was too big for her to take him fully in her mouth, but her hands played with the base of his shaft in tight strokes. Her hands, her tongue, her mouth—it was too much to take. Eliot let out a roar as he came hard, spilling his seed into Amelia's tight mouth, grasping her breast like a life raft.

“You’re amazing,” Eliot let out in a breathless rumble.

Amelia smiled as Eliot helped her to her feet. “You're not too bad yourself, which is why we need you at the Gathering.” She pulled out a simple black mask. “I brought this for you. We need to find you something to wear because this”—she made a gesture with her hands that encompassed Eliot’s modest form-fitting trousers and ragged shirt—“is not going to cut it for royalty.”

Eliot pulled her close, capturing her soft, pink lips with his mouth. He leaned his forehead into hers, breathing in her intoxicating scent. He still wasn’t sure his enormous d**k would be acceptable at the Gathering, but he didn’t want to disappoint Amelia. He took a deep breath and gave into the inevitable.

“What do you have in mind?”

Amelia giggled, pulling Eliot by the hand as she led him through the house, bringing them both to Artie’s bedroom.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Eliot began to protest. Artie will f*****g kill us both.

Amelia put a hand over Eliot’s mouth. “Have you no loyalty to your Queen, sir?” She giggled through her mock outrage. “Showing up in anything but the best attire you can...acquire”—she gave him a quick wink—“would be downright disrespectful.”

Without waiting for Eliot’s reply, Amelia skipped into Artie’s bedroom. It was so meticulous and impersonal, the room almost looked unoccupied. The stark wooden bed was made with tight, perfect corners, the goose-filled pillows at the top in precise ninety-degree alignment. Even his remedial sewing kits for mending his Gathering costumes (which he would make Eliot do) were lined up with obsessive-level care, each needle placed exactly one inch apart. The walls were freshly-painted white on white with no additional art to distract from Artie’s perfectly-controlled space. It’s going to be impossible to go through Artie’s things without him noticing.

Eliot tried to suppress an anguished cry as Amelia started going through Artie’s closet, flinging bits of leather and rubber indiscriminately over her shoulder as she rummaged through his meticulously-organized piles. They landed in haphazard heaps all over the room, knocking over a line of matching high-heeled red leather knee-length boots with glitter on the toes. They fell over like dominoes and Eliot felt each red-heel topple like anticipated blows.

“Ah ha!” Amelia exclaimed, holding up a huge black leather codpiece. She chuckled slightly as she removed bits of cloth stuffing from the inside. “I don't know who your brother was trying to fool with all this padding. But it might actually be big enough to fit you.” She looked back and forth between his loins and the inside of the codpiece, forming and fitting the inside to more closely match his physique.