As the frosty winds whispered secrets to the evergreen firs, the coniferous trees stood sentinel, their delicate needles rustling softly in the gentle breeze.
The pathway leading to the palace of gold was a masterclass in elegance, with rows of twos, the trees stood like nature's own soldiers, guarding the secrets within.
Phecda, the Queen of Diamondhelm, stood resplendent against the golden specters of the shimmering chandelier.
The Queen's sensual corset hugged her powerful bustiness, while her fishnet revealed her strong porcelain thighs,
Ever since puberty, Phecda had been endowed with a fearsome confidence, one that commanded the attention of all who laid eyes on her.
With a gentle flourish, she drew the curtains, and the deep gold of the room transformed into the flamboyant buttercup yellow of every daydreamer's wanderings.
The lovely fragrance of roses wafted through the chambers, entwining itself with the nectarean essence of Phecda's perfume, entrancing all who entered.
Her long, silky raven tresses cascaded down her back like a waterfall of night, packed and clipped in a ponytail that accentuated her enormously voluptuous breasts.
Her eyes, like two glittering emeralds, sparkled with mischief as she awaited the arrival of her guest.
A soft knock on the great wooden door echoed through her chambers, Phecda's voice, raspy and seductive, beckoned the visitor to enter.
Cervantes, the charming blonde prince, walked in, his eyes widening in astonishment at the Queen's explicit appearance.
His long hair, like heated gold, cascaded down his back, and his turquoise eyes glowed with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
"Vantes?" Phecda called to him, her voice dripping with seduction, as she sauntered towards him.
Her thin waist and jiggly bottom caught his eyes, squeezed deliberately in her tight thongs and hosiery – a trap she had set up on purpose.
"What brings you to my chambers at this hour?"
Cervantes bowed, remaining composed, his eyes, locked on the floor.
"My father asked me to deliver this," he said, his voice firm and polite, handing her the encoded message bearing the unbroken seal of the Emperor of Light.
Phecda's eyes sparkled with intrigue as she took the scroll, her fingers brushing against Cervantes'.
"Would you read it to me, Dear?" she asked, her voice husky and sedative.
"My hands bear the stickiness of the caramel apple delicacy I just had."
Cervantes hesitated, his reluctance evident.
"My apologies, Your Highness, but the seal is unbroken.
It would be considered uncultured to intercept an encoded message from His Majesty."
Phecda's smile, however, remained unwavering.
"I insist," she said, her voice dripping with persuasion.
"You could just wash your hands?" his resistance was futile against her succumbing powers of seduction.
She leaned in closer, her breasts brushing against his arm, sending shivers down his spine.
Cervantes sighed deeply, his patience wearing thin.
"Oh dear, how disappointed your mother would be up there in Paradise.
Oh, what a shame!
The offspring of my closest companion turning down a few moments with me," Phecda played on his emotions, her words dripping with honey.
The mention of his mother struck a chord within Cervantes. He knew he had to comply, lest he offend the Queen.
With a heavy heart, he broke the Griffin seal, and the letter rustled as it was brushed together.
The scroll fluttered open, revealing the encoded message.
"It's inscribed in Gemrainian," Cervantes said, his eyes scanning the text with ease.
"Tis your mother tongue, isn't it?
My Vernacular, I bet you could decipher it in a mini-second," she said, pouring a hot cup of tea, steam dancing in the air with evaporation.
"To Her Most Gracious and Exalted Majesty, Phecda, Queen of Diamondhelm,
From His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of Light,
Hail, most noble and revered Queen!
In this, our hour of greatest need, we beseech thy aid and counsel.
The Shadow Terrestrials, those most foul and detestable creatures, have risen against us, threatening to engulf our realm in darkness and despair.
Yet, we have discovered a weakness in their armory, a chink in their defenses that may prove their undoing.
'Tis the Vulnorox crystals, those most rare and precious stones, forged in the heart of stars and imbued with their potent kinetic energy.
As Monarch of Diamondhelm, thou holdest in thy possession a vast repository of these crystals.
We beseech thee, gracious Queen, to grant us permission to forge weapons from these crystals, that we may vanquish our foes and restore the light of freedom to our realm.
Name thy price, most noble Queen, and we shall pay it, for we know that our cause is just and that our victory shall be thy victory as well.
May the light of the stars guide and protect thee,
[Seal of the Emperor of Light]"
Phecda's eyes sparkled with admiration.
"I must acknowledge your advanced linguistic abilities, Dear Vantes. You are indeed a true scholar."
Cervantes bowed, his eyes locked on the scroll. "Thank you, Your Highness."
As he turned to leave, Phecda's voice stopped him.
"You might want to shut the door, won't desire our adversaries to eavesdrop, would you?" her voice was laced with a hint of mischief.
Cervantes' reluctance was obvious in his hesitation, his hand hovering over the door handle.
With a soft click, the door closed, and Phecda's eyes locked onto his, her gaze burning with an inner fire.
"Would you care to join me for a cup of tea, Dear Vantes?" she asked, as her fingers ran down her enormously perfect oval breasts.
"My apologies, Your Highness, but I've already had dinner. Roast turkey with a tall glass of lemonade to wash it down."
Phecda's smile, however, would not dither.
"Ah, come now, Dear Vantes. A cup of tea won't spoil your appetite.
Besides, I've already prepared it. It would be a shame to let it go to waste."
"It's way passed my bedtime, Your Highness?" the young prince's frustration was slightly evident in his body language yet, a gentle composure gained from years of experience made it quite unnoticeable to unobservant eyes.
Phecda giggled cheekily and stirred rigorously, an elixir in a teapot with a teaspoon.
"Recalling the content of this encoded letter you just read, His Majesty has opened negotiations with myself, Empress of Gems.
Shall this vivid memory of mine fail, I heard you state the phrase towards the end of the last paragraph, '...name your price..?'" she paused with a giggle.
Cervantes was speechless at the clever negotiating power of the Queen of Diamondhelm.
"Really, Father?" he muttered unintelligibly, eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications.
Why else would his father send him to the Queen at this hour? He knew he had to comply, lest he offend the Queen.
"I said, drink," she gestured for him to join her at the table.
Cervantes sighed, his patience wearing thin. "As you wish, Your Highness."
The hand of the Lunar Prince slipped away from the door knob in sympathy for himself.
With a heavy heart, he strode towards the Queen, sitting elegantly beside her, his eyes locked on the tea cup in front of him.
Phecda's eyes sparkled with triumph as she poured the tea into delicate china cups.
She hailed his gallantry, impressed with his victory against the Shadow Terrestrials earlier that day.
"Really, Dear Vantes, you are a true hero," she admonished, her voice dripping with admiration.
"I've heard the tales of your valiance, today," Phecda smiled, sipping her tea, seductively, the slurpy sound, disturbing his sensitive ears.
She slid the second teacup to him, he caught it with delicate hands.
For a winter's night, it did seem awfully warm to him.
"How you slew the pestilential parasite mounted on your trusty varmint, so gallantly."
Cervantes blushed, his modesty evident.
"It was nothing, Your Highness. Just a mere coincidence.
I must however, acknowledge a hyperbole in the rumors yet I did not defeat the creature of night, alone.
I had help from an acquaintance, Rigel, the Telepathic Nightmare, son of the Lord of Phantasm, Corvus, Duke of Aethoria."
Phecda smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"Indeed?" she said, her feet finding his beneath the table.
The Lunar Prince gulped aloud, his throat dry with anxiety.
The Queen's emerald gaze glowered with amusement.
"Oh, come now, Dear Vantes.
You're too modest. Tell me, how do you prefer your blades smithed?"
Cervantes' eyes locked onto hers, his voice firm.
"I like them slender and light. Easy to swing, weightless in precision."
Phecda's smile, however, was not vacillating.
"And what's your opinion on a mace?" she asked, her tone bore the scent of curiosity.
Cervantes' eyes narrowed, his voice calculative.
"Never my style. Suits much more powerfully built men."
Phecda giggled, her eyes glinting with amusement.
"Like Taurus of Seacrest?" they chorused in unison.
Both of them chuckled, the tension between them dissipating momentarily.
Cervantes, relaxed, began to narrate a tale of his battle experience during the Battle of Gemrain.
"I remember two winters ago, during the battle of Gemrain, I was outnumbered by Roverloam forces..."
"...and this burly warlord stuns me with a mace," Cervantes continued, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the battle.
"Pluto, the Boar of Roverhelm?" Phecda's gaze sparkled with fascination.
"Positive! Pluto of Roverhelm," Cervantes affirmed, his voice filled with conviction.
As he spoke, Phecda's eyes never left his, her gaze burning with an inner fire.
She was entranced by his tale, her mind racing with inquisition.
Yet, as the night wore on, and Cervantes sipped his tea, he began to feel a strange, creeping sensation wash over him.
His vision blurred, and his head swirled, as if he had been drugged.
Phecda's laughter echoed through the chambers, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time
Cervantes stumbled, his legs weakening beneath him, his hand grasping for the armrest, but it was too late.
He fell onto the Queen's feathery bed, his mind reeling with hallucinations.
The Queen's eyes gleamed with triumph, as she revealed her true intentions.
Phecda's voice whispered in his ear, her words raspy with seduction.
"Oh dear, dear, Vantes.
The problem with you is you never bestow to me the attention I so dearly desire.
Your father understands, even your mother understands, I'm sure she will.
You never dispense this tasty nectar I desperately thirst for.
Ever since your birth, I've craved you.
Your untimely betrothal does not pose a single threat, neither does it stand in my path.
In all honesty, I'd have asked you to share your nectarean essence with me but you never would.
I'm just an insignificant old widow to you.
But to me..
I'm violent.. and the violent takes it by force.
You see, I loved your mother, in a way you might not understand.
Everything I did, I did for love."
As Cervantes lay helpless, Phecda's passion consumed her. She straddled him, her body glistening in the soft light.
With a wicked smile, Phecda stripped Cervantes of his clothes, her hands roaming his flawless porcelain skin.
Her lips devoured his, ferocious kisses that left him breathless, her tongue tangling with his, pulling away with a wet loud click.
Phecda shred her lingeries sensually like a mere thread with an insatiable hunger for the slumbering Adonis.
Her curvaceousness, bold against the golden shimmers, a monstrous grin woven on her countenance.
She climbed on him, loosing her hair, the ravenous dark petals caressed Cervantes' unconscious form.
A finger ran through his firm chest, down his torso, pulling his pants down.
Ogling his groin, she licked her lips freakishly.
She grabbed his beef with vigor, like a great gear, turned on by its irregular size.
Another finger ran through his rosy lips, fiddling with them, sensually, before sliding in his mouth, slipperily.
Tasting her finger, she savored the sumptuous taste of his cherry flavored breath.
With his cheeks clasped in both hands, Phecda kissed Cervantes again, this time, delicately.
Infatuated by his nectarean lips, she licked her lips in delight, swallowing them whole.
A nasty French kiss, her tongue flicked his, gently, slurping, licking and biting.
She transformed into a beast, aggressively sucking on his tongue and gormandizing Cervantes.
The Empress of Gems licked his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running down his chin and jawline, neck and chest, sliding all the way down to his groin.
She swallowed his beef whole with a single gulp.
How astonishing something so mighty could fit in that tiny mouth of hers, like a serpent devouring prey thrice its size.
She guzzled it down her throat, gawking his sensually dimpled torso.
Varociously, she sucked him dry for hours, slurping and gagging until he gave in.
His entire torso was covered in nectareous slime, akin to honey.
Just then, she sat on his face, humping his nostrils with intensity.
She moaned subtly, licking her own nipples, her ferocious breasts wedged tightly against her elbows.
And after many hours, when she had been pleased, she forced her gigantic bustiness in his mouth.
"Yes, yes, harder," she moaned, caressing his beautifully delicate golden locks.
Soon, she sat on his beef, it slid in effortlessly, the way a red hot knife rips meat apart.
She rode him aggressively and rigorously, reminiscent of a pony.
Pounding vigorously, her back was arched as her jiggly bottom wiggled and ground.
Her slender waist had a reputation twice it size and it proved its worth by accelerating the pace with a sensual rough dance on him, wiggling left to right, rotating with the vigor of a rotor.
Her moans could not be muffled this time, Cervantes felt like a calamitous drill, spiraling through her womb.
The bed tweaked and vibrated as she humped, hopped and pounced on his groin, screaming atop her voice.
Her hands squeezed the prince's face against her enormous bustiness, aggressively, rubbing and burying his face in them.
Harder and harder, her orgasm was a ferociously untamed and brutally wild thing, showering the prince with a succession of eruptive squirts.
After she had reached climax, she kissed him again, forcefully, her tongue tugging his.
Surely the guards outside were frightened by Phecda's unquenchable desires and ecstatic fantasies.
She sat on his big toe, tickling her clean shaven gate, sensually.
Hitting another succession of orgasms, she stuck four fingers in his mouth, pulling his jaws like a manhole.
Satisfied eventually, Phecda retreated to her intricate steamy pool.
She had never felt such pleasure in eons, not even while her spouse lived.
...
The Queen bathed in her ethereally natural pool, the water's soft glow illuminating her serene countenance.
Its fascinations were surreal, gemlike pebbles glimmering in the cerulean current.
Her breasts floated on the surface, like ripe fruit on a tranquil lake.
She muttered words of thanks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Thank you, Vantes."
As she emerged from her pool, Phecda opened the windows of her steamy chambers, allowing the cool night air to circulate and clear the room of its intoxicating scent.
The sound of gentle chimes and soft rustling leaves filled the air, a soothing serenade to her satiated passion.