White Queen, Black King

No, It Wasn’t a Dream

I opened my eyes feeling tired and sore, and foggily wondered if I’d hurt myself more than I thought in tackling the thief—then I woke up and immediately recognized my surroundings. Just what I was afraid of, I thought as I luxuriated in the canopied bed, it’s real. The clock said three, and it wasn’t dark outside. As I sat up, stiffly, I recalled the events of the last night. No, was the rueful realization, it really did happen. I was a mess, particularly my pubic area. There was a bathroom attached to the room, so I cleaned myself up, taking a nice long shower to ease my aches. When I came out, my regular clothes had been neatly laid out for me, and had apparently been washed. As I was dressing, the door opened, and the Lady Airingford said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Stone, or may I call you Ronald?”

“Ron, please, milady,” I replied. I finished dressing before turning to face her.

She smiled, an unsure one, while nervously fingering the gigantic sapphire still hanging from her neck. “Ron, you should call me by my given name, Stephanie.” That makes sense, since we’re all but married. But why was I “the Black King”?

“I can see that you have many questions, and understandably so,” she resumed, “I promise that I shall do my best to answer them. However, I would first wager that you are rather hungry, and so I have taken the liberty of having a small meal prepared for you. Would you like to take it here in your suite?”  Five minutes later, we were sitting at a table in the antechamber of my suite, me with a beef pie, Stephanie with tea.

“The answer to your first question is yes, you really are going to be the next Lord Airingford.” I instinctively looked at my wife-to-be, and decided that Stephanie could definitely qualify as a MILF. And she was a good lay—fucking her had been a lot of fun, even if the circumstances had been—out of the ordinary. Our eyes met and I blushed at having been caught looking, drawing a wry smile from her. “It’s nice to see that I can still somewhat stir the blood of handsome young men—naturally.” My blush deepened. “Obviously, that means that you will have to move here,” Stephanie continued. “On the other hand, it also means that you no longer have to work for a living. Whilst the Airingfords are not born royalty, we are extremely well-to-do, and will be for quite some time.” She looked at me with an evaluating gaze. “You are not currently married, and I saw no rings, but I must ask… are there any romantic—entanglements that I should be aware of? If so, we can appropriately compensate—” She looked relieved when I shook my head, so I asked why she would ask. “It can be a difficult negotiation, but no romantic claim, save for marriage, can override your appointment.”

I had been too busy eating to be a very active participant in the discussion to this point, but now that I was fed, it was time to get some answers. “Is there any way I can get out of this?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes and muttered something about “Americans”, before saying no with definition. “Most British would think this to be quite the honor, Ron. But the answer to your question is most definitely no. Fate has chosen you, Ronald Stone.”

“Exactly what the—has fate ‘chosen’ me for? All I remember is that I couldn’t say no to you, that I had a lot of sex with a lot of women, and a bunch of people were chanting something about, ‘all hail the Black King’. How in the hell does that happen and what does all of that mean or was I hallucinating all of that—and possibly all of this?” Hysteria. Not a good sign.

She cleared her throat. Speaking evenly and calmly, Stephanie responded, “I suppose that… it is difficult to understand, and perhaps even more difficult to explain. Let us start with this.” She held up her pendant, making me recoil inside, as I waited for her to bewitch me. “As you most certainly have determined by now,” she elucidated, “the Airingford Sapphire is not merely a gem. It is a very, very, very old magical relic. Some say that it even once graced the neck of Merlin’s adversary, Morgan le Fay. Its power can only be used by a blood member of the Airingford line, and the general assumption is that we are descended from her line. Therefore, the sapphire is useless to you. However, your children will be able to carry on the tradition.” Her calmness seemed to confirm at least some of the previous night’s happenings—which was not helping my battle against hysteria.

“Don’t you mean our children?” I testily corrected. “I assume that this magic has something to do with that, too.”

Stephanie looked at me strangely, and then comprehension filled her face. “Oh!” she exclaimed, laughing, “You thought that I—” She smiled and then laughed heartily. “No, Ron, you aren’t going to marry me! While I am the current Lady Airingford, now that a new, younger Lord has been anointed, tradition dictates that I must pass the title to the next generation. You will marry my eldest daughter, Claire. She will be returning from a trip to Australia in another few days. Perhaps you would like to see a photo.” Claire Airingford was cute, wearing her sunny blonde hair tied into a loose ponytail, and she looked to be well proportioned, at least as far as I could tell from the two photos that Stephanie produced. “I also have a younger daughter who would be the next Lady Airingford should Claire be unable to fulfill the duties.”

“OK, Stephanie,” I said, “your daughter doesn’t know me, she hasn’t met me, and she’s on her way from Australia to marry me. What’s her incentive?”

“Duty and obligation. Not to mention all of the perks of being the Lady Airingford.”

“I don’t get it,” I admitted. “But that still doesn’t explain everything that happened last night.”

Stephanie sighed, “You are unfortunately quite logical, and I’m afraid that’s not going to serve you well in the short term. Nonetheless, ask your next question, Ron.”

“What’s all this jazz about the Black King?”

“It has nothing to do with your skin color, if that’s what you are thinking. Last night, you were admitted to the Hellions. The Hellions are—” Stephanie paused. “Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?” I said, yes, but only through a comic book. “It is very real. However, we are a—similar—organization, a secret society of well-to-do who indulge in hedonistic practices. The organization has existed since time immemorial, forced into secrecy by society’s attitudes towards our—enjoyments. We have the same pursuits as the Hellfire Club, but they hold human life, especially those of the less well-to-do, in much less regard than we do. However, they are protected by the fact that their individual members also have much more money and power than we, and therefore, any unfortunate incidents at their gatherings have never become public. Our approach is to prevent these incidents from happening, and it is a point to have joint rule, so that the—desires—of one are counterbalanced by the dispassionate perspective of the other. The White Queen is the title of the female head of the Hellions, and the position is always held by the current Lady Airingford. Similarly, the Lord Airingford is also the Black King. The two of them preside over all Hellion gatherings and are responsible for settling any disputes between members, and holding all members to a standard of conduct.” She looked at me and saw the question on my face. “What does this have to do with what you went through to be named as the new Lord Airingford? Simply, it is that anyone given the title also must demonstrate the temperament and physical ability to be able to handle the duties of the Black King to the Hellions’ satisfaction.”

“So what exactly does that mean? I mean, I had more sex last night than in all of the last two years. What guy in the same position wouldn’t want that? Besides, it’s not like I had a choice. I know what I did last night was unreal, bordering on the superhuman. So the magic insured that I would—fill the requirements. So why can’t you just find somebody else? Sounds like any guy with a functional penis would suffice.”

“Actually,” Stephanie equivocated, “that is not true. Not everyone who is chosen makes it through the trial. Yours is not an insignificant accomplishment. Some fall short, and some are not as physically able as they seem. While the magic ensures that you have the desire and can perform sexually, it does not ensure that the rest of your body is equal to the challenge. The majority of supplicants wind up with some sort of permanent psychological scars from the experience at the least. Several others have diminished physical capacity of one type or another, and quite a few die during the trial.” There was no trace of mirth in her blue eyes while she waited for everything to sink in.

“So I could be dead or insane right now,” I said, feeling very cold, “just because you wanted to see if I could fulfill some mythical criteria and become a part of the arcane rite of an ancient secret society of hedonists!”

“Yes,” Stephanie answered without remorse. “And you have succeeded quite well, Lord Airingford.” Stephanie smiled. “Your first official duty as the Black King will be to preside over tonight’s festival. This marks the beginning of my daughter’s ascension by allowing me to revel in the glory and power of being the White Queen for these final few days.” Her smile became feral: Stephanie was clearly excited by the events to come.

Whatever the hell was going to happen, it wasn’t going to involve me, at least not tonight. I was tired, sore, fucked out, and just plain not interested. “And as the Black King, you will rule the festival by my side,” declared Stephanie.

“Yes, milady,” I heard myself say as “The Gray” claimed me again.


Dinner was served in the formal dining room of the manor, after which I found myself sitting at the front table in the ballroom, which was evidently set up for a Hellion event. There were beds, ottomans, a divan, and plush carpeted areas, all nicely spaced throughout the room. One corner not only had carpeting, but lots of pillows. Then there were the… devices. It was easy to see that several of them were restraints of one type or another, and two swings hung from the ceiling. That could be interesting, was my immediate thought. However, I spotted yet another kind of apparatus hanging from the ceiling that definitely did not fit my definition of fun. I looked around at everything with a sort of naïve wonder, feeling uneasy about seeing, not to mention being in the middle of, people doing things I’d only heard about.

I was taking this all in by myself in relative solitude; Stephanie had excused herself immediately after dinner to “change into more useful attire.” The other Hellions were giving me a wide berth, while the servants exuded fear whenever they had to come close, which they were obvious in trying to avoid. Maybe it’s because they don’t know you, consoled a voice in my head. If that’s the case, then how do they expect to get to know you? retorted my inner pessimist.

Someone loudly announced, “All hail the White Queen!” from the ballroom’s foyer, and Stephanie entered the room to delicate curtsies and grand bows from everyone, including me. She was dressed more like a model from a B&D catalog than a titled noblewoman, wearing a red leather minidress, accompanied by a garter holding black fishnet hose, and black leather boots with spiked high heels. The only accessories she sported were the sapphire pendant, a long cigarette holder, and a cane. The most unsettling thing about her outfit was that Stephanie looked entirely too comfortable in it. This was not merely dressing up for ritualistic purposes; it was a manifestation of Stephanie’s innermost desires. As she approached, I could see a sparkle in her eyes that said that she knew exactly how to use that cane, and she was going to take a great deal of pleasure in it. It made me shudder in anticipation of being her mind-controlled victim.

“Milord,” she formally greeted, “your lady bids you come sit with her.” Resigned to my fate as, quite literally, her whipping boy, I meekly followed Stephanie through a doorway.

“Your fear and submission is exciting,” she panted, “in the extreme.” Stephanie put a black cigarette into the holder, lit it, and my body responded as it had the previous night. The front of my tuxedo had an obscene bulge before Stephanie had finished half her cigarette. She hastily shed her dress, and still in garter, hose and heels, excitedly growled, “Fuck me, Ron!” And I did, my magically-enhanced manhood noisily sliding in and out of her while she braced herself, bent over a table, allowing me to bury myself to the hilt. Stephanie moaned softly, the British accent further inflaming my passions. Her ass began to jiggle, and she came with a long, drawn-out, “Ohhhhhh.”

My cock was now thoroughly coated with her pussy cream, and I slowed my thrusts, making Stephanie groan rapturously, but she started wiggling her ass each time I would draw back, and suddenly, it was time for me to deliriously sigh her name, and add my cum to her creamy pussy. I could feel it leak out as I withdrew.

Stephanie turned and passionately kissed me, my intensity quickly matching hers, until we both needed air. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said with amusement, “and immensely satisfying.” she steadied herself against the table on shaky legs. She was much less frightening for the moment without her cane and leather dress, so I could look at her. I had to admit that the garter and hose made her quite sexy, and the goo running down her thighs was a surprisingly erotic sight. “My original intent, Ron, had been to advise you of your role in tonight’s activities,” Stephanie said after drawing a loud breath. “But you ‘pushed one of my buttons,’ as you Yanks are fond of saying. Power and fear are the two things that arouse me most, and your fear was so—palpable, that it rendered me insanely randy to a point where I ceased caring why I brought you to this room.” She cast a glance at my slowly retreating dick and licked her lips. “However,” she resumed, “I do believe that Claire will be most pleased with your—gifts, outside of the Hellions.” I blushed.

She began to put the dress back on. “As the Black King, your primary responsibility is to keep things from going too far. Pain is one thing, incapacitation quite another. This includes myself.” Stephanie picked up the cane and muttered, “Especially myself.” I opened my mouth to say something, but she held up her hand. “I will listen to you, despite having the power of command. Since I am the bringer of pain, you may not intentionally inflict pain on another, but you may otherwise indulge yourself. All the other Hellions must always defer to your wishes, and any of the servants in the room are also at your complete disposal. Should you have the desire, but are physically incapable, find me and I will use this—” Stephanie indicated the cigarette holder, “to overcome that little problem.” I looked at her strangely. “Don’t worry,” she blithely said, “if you survived the supernatural desire of the trial, you’ll be fine tonight. I suspect that boredom will set in long before you approach that mark.”

Before I could ask anything else, Stephanie held out her arm and with a twinkle in her eye, asked, “Shall we join the festivities?”

Two things happened when we opened the door to the ballroom: I could almost feel Stephanie transform into an evil leather dominatrix with a cane, and I was so shocked by the sheer amount of sex going on in all its forms and various glories, that I gave a reflexive jerk backwards. The room was filled with the scent, sounds, and sense of sex. Stephanie impatiently tugged on my arm, annoyed at my sudden recalcitrance. When I refused to budge, she turned to me with her hands on her hips, looking peeved and stalked away as I stood with my back against the door, trying to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. Stephanie returned after a little while with the holder from the previous night and a small cigar in it, as well as a young, attractive, frightened-looking, red-haired servant girl. “You stand there,” ordered Stephanie, emphasizing the location with her cane. She lit the cigar, took a drag, and I felt horny. “The Black King is a—” She dragged again, and my erection started to become uncomfortable. “—participatory position.” She drew on the holder long and hard, opening her mouth to let the smoke drift out for a few seconds. Then she snapped the remainder in, and tilted her head back before exhaling through her nostrils. I was now fully erect, feeling enormous, and I wanted to fuck her—first, followed by several other women in the room. I quickly removed my clothes, and when Stephanie took her next drag, I involuntarily thrust at air. This time, she directed her exhale into the servant’s face. The girl wobbled on her feet, swooning, looking orgasmic, until her eyes landed on me. She gave me a look like a lioness regards fresh meat, and was on her knees taking my iron bar-like dick into her mouth in seconds. Her other hand was furiously working beneath her skirt. “That should get you into the spirit of things,” Stephanie snapped at me, before imperiously barking, “Mister Ravenscroft!” I saw her point somewhere, but ceased to care about Stephanie as my cock pulsed mightily at the servant’s eager oral devotions.

As nice as her mouth felt, after a while I realized that it wasn’t what I wanted. I tore off her clothes, and shoved her onto her back. “Ohhh, yes, your lordship!” she cried before spreading her legs wide for me. I teased her with my cock, using it to masturbate her without actually penetrating her, and soon she was writhing in frustration, the light in the room making her abundant juices glisten around her sex. When I made her eyes roll and her hips wiggle from just touching her with the tip of my cock, I smiled evilly, pulled her legs wide, and slid all the way to the bottom of her pussy. My enchanted lover came with a loud squeal, holding my hips in place with deceptive strength while she thrashed, tossing her head from side to side, bucking powerfully as her eyes crossed, alternately grinding against my pubic bone, and driving her ass into the floor, with her mouth perpetually open. Some of the root of my dick was exposed, but I didn’t care because her internal convulsions matched her outer ones.

 She was a good ride, this one. I would start pounding at her as soon as her orgasm would subside, bottoming out on each thrust, making her yip each time. Although I did not care if I was hurting her, the redhead showed no signs of wanting to stop, and she had a second orgasm… then a third… and yet a fourth! We were both under the arcane spell Stephanie had cast, and just when I began to think that I could fuck her all night, my orgasm hit with almost no warning. The tingle began as I started to raise my hips, intensifying all along my length as I sank back into her. I exploded as I bottomed out again, and my lover came in response with a bloodcurdling scream.

The next thing I was aware of was that the room was deathly quiet. I had popped out of the servant, who lay with her eyes open, unseeing and her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Her rapid, shallow breathing indicated that she was alive—barely. I had literally fucked her damn near to death. Stephanie had left the man she had been punishing, and was inspecting the girl. “Dr. Cross, will you see to Hannah?” she called into the crowd. The limp girl was gently picked up and carried from the room followed by a man dressing as he walked. 

Now that my brain was no longer sex-fogged, I began to worry about the girl, and instinctively turned to look for my clothes, but Stephanie stopped me with a gentle hand. “Your place is here, Lord Airingford. Dr. Cross will see to Hannah. She will recover,” said Stephanie as the chant, “All hail the Black King,” began again. This time, I sensed that there was more to it.

“Yes,” Stephanie whispered, “I feel it, too. The fear and envy among the men. The all-encompassing desire of the women, all of whom wish we were Hannah right now, just to have experienced what she did at your hand.” She fondled my crotch, drawing no response. I was completely spent and didn’t feel a thing, at least not physically. Not even the most dense and clueless nerd could miss the strong attraction and arousal Stephanie was broadcasting. “However,” she unhappily sighed, “I have already monopolized you for far too long tonight, and I have my own—entertainments—to realize. The night is yet young, my liege. I wish you continued amusement.” She stood and left me as the chanting stopped.

Being sexually exhausted to the point of impotence when you are in a room full of women who want to fuck you is perhaps the greatest ironic sensation known to man. There were seventeen women in the room other than Stephanie, of varying levels of attractiveness, and all of them were horny for me, including the woman who was almost old enough to be my grandmother. I’d fucked her the previous night, and it was not an experience I wished to repeat. Suddenly, I felt a surge of sexual hunger go through my very soul, accompanied by a diminution of my lassitude. My cock started growing, slowly at first, and knowing what was coming, I removed my pants. The level of female sexual interest in the room went up a notch. I glanced across the room to see Stephanie securing my antagonist of the previous night to an X-shaped spreader apparatus, cigarette holder clenched between her teeth, puffing away on a black cigarette. Not only did that explain the sudden increase in desire and ability, but it also answered the question of whom to choose: his beautiful, lithe blonde wife was purposefully striding my way with pure lust in her eyes. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all, I thought, drooling. I held out my hand towards her as she approached, simultaneously feeling disappointment radiate from every other female nearby.

While I was kissing my chosen lover in abbreviated foreplay, I heard a yelped, “Yes, milady!” from across the room, interrupting my playing around her delta as I looked towards the source of the noise. Stephanie, cigarette holder still clenched between her teeth and cane raised, was poised to strike again. She paused to look my way as if she knew that I was watching her. Our eyes met, and she smiled knowingly at me before returning her attentions to her new playmate, rendered willing by the magic in the sapphire.

A noise next to me reminded me that I was supposed to be engaged with my own extremely-willing-sans-magic playmate. Even though my dick was parallel with the floor, and she was stroking it, I maintained enough cognition to ask, “What is your name?”

My lover paused, and with a bit of surprise, replied, “Emma Ravenscroft, my liege.” The expression on her face said that she was flattered that I cared enough to ask. She tightened her grip on me, increasing the friction as she continued masturbating me.

“And what would you like me to do, Emma?” She sank to her knees and began to suck me. The previous night, I had been too enchanted to care about my sex partners beyond which orifices they were presenting for my gratification, which was a shame since Emma was quite orally gifted, taking me to the back of her mouth as soon as my cock was slick enough. Down, down, down she went, increasing the depth until I was breaching her throat more and more. As much as she wanted to, Emma couldn’t take all of my supercock with her mouth. Oddly, I found myself wishing that I wasn’t magically enhanced, and wondered how exquisite this would feel if I could sense the natural ebb and flow of blood and stimulation.

My musing was cut short by Emma gasping, “Take me, my liege!” as she rolled onto her back and cocked her legs high. Unlike Hannah, there was no teasing, and I went straight in, almost to the hilt. Our hips churned energetically, determination and intensity showing in Emma’s locked gaze. There was no energy lost to unnecessary sound or motion, all of it was focused, and all of it was sexual, culminating in an explosive, simultaneous orgasm. Emma locked me into place with her legs and grabbed at my ass, making sure that she received every last drop of cum I had to give. We lay intertwined for a long, intimate time, intentionally oblivious to the sexual mêlée surrounding us. No one dared approach the Black King and his consort in their repose.

A scream interrupted my peaceful cuddling with Mrs. Ravenscroft. It was her husband, whose participation in the White Queen’s pleasure had progressed to pain. “…the—desires—of one are counterbalanced by the compassion of the other.” Stephanie’s words rang in my head, and I reluctantly excused myself from Emma’s embrace, heading towards Stephanie at a brisk trot for reasons I didn’t quite understand. I was unsure of how I could stop her; after all, she had the sapphire, and she alone could wield the arcane power. If nothing else, she could light one of those cigarettes or cigars, and immediately I’d be utterly distracted by looking for someone else to fuck. I cleared my throat just as she struck again, rapture on her face, completely unaware of the scream of terror and pain issued by her enchanted playmate. “Milady,” I cautiously began, “please stop.” Stephanie must not have heard me, because she raised her arm to deliver another blow. “Stephanie. Stop. He’s had enough,” I firmly said, emboldened by remembering her earlier assertion that she would stop at my word, and I touched her shoulder. She whipped her head around, the rapture on her face replaced by rage at the interruption, and for a moment, I thought she might swing the cane at me. “Stephanie,” I warned more forcefully, even as I braced myself for whatever action she would take.

She blinked, and the rage in her eyes dissipated. Stephanie lowered her arm, and with an incline of her head, demurred, “Yes, milord.” She took several deep breaths, and seemed to regain control of herself, along with her regal bearing. “Yes, thank you, Ron. I’m quite all right now.” She rested her hand on my arm. “But I think—perhaps—we should take a brief respite.” I asked her if we could leave the orgy in progress early. “No. The King and Queen have a responsibility to ensure that everyone’s safety is seen to. This doesn’t mean that we have to wait for everyone to get their fill of sex, however.” She spoke to a servant standing by the exit, who subsequently nodded and announced, “The King and Queen wish to retire. All hail the White Queen and the Black King!”

 The eager activity taking place in the ballroom literally ceased for an instant, and the room responded, “All hail the White Queen and the Black King!” Stephanie lit a black cigarette, but much to my surprise, I felt no supernatural surge of sexual energy as she smoked, evidently lost to her own thoughts as we waited. Everyone in the room had at least some clothes on within the next incredibly boring hour. Stephanie took my arm, and we left the ballroom to another pronouncement and Hellion chorus of hails. I was happy to escape without having any more sex and thought that maybe I could get a good night’s sleep for a change. All this sex was getting tiring, and it didn’t quite feel—authentic. It was real, it felt good, I came lots, but in retrospect, whatever spell she cast to turn me into a fucking machine muted the sensations just enough to be noticeable.

We went to my room, and I turned to say goodnight to Stephanie. She had her back turned away from me, and was locking the door. “Ron,” she said in her incredibly cultured-sounding way, “Mr. Ravenscroft provided excitement—” She removed the cigarette holder. Oh, no. “—but not the release.” Her eyes were shining as she lit another black cigarette in it. My reluctance and lack of desire vanished in the smoke, along with any ideas of an early bedtime. “Now, my Lord Airingford, give me that which I desire.”

I saw that she still wore the blue pendant, and its glow was the only thing that cut through the gray haze filling my world. Within seconds, even that became indistinct, merging with everything else in the universe. Kneeling between her legs I replied, “Yes, milady,” before I started licking, reenergized and possessed by the unnatural, extreme lust once more.

This story copyright © 2010, 2011, The Flying Pen

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