Unspecific role reversal world of pure imagination ruled by a beautiful and terrifying Queen. A poor dancer aspire to be at her service.
Forget handsome men, in this world there is space only for pretty boys.
All characters are 18+.
- Be a pretty boy for me
The air hung heavy, a stagnant soup of sweat and desperation. Heat pressed down like a physical weight, but the optimistic atmosphere wasn’t the worst part. It was the grease. Cheap oil, coating his skin from a dozen previous performances, clung stubbornly despite meter attempts at washing with a chipped basin of lukewarm water. But tonight was the “big performance night,” as Master Gregor, the owner of the famous establishment, put it, the night most of the high nobles attended to at the end of their boring weeks and Elias didn’t even have time to moan about it. He had to remember why he was doing this, as always.
Of course, it was for the money. Food didn’t pay foritself. But Elias knew his ultimate goal intimately, the impossible dream he keep close to his heart. So, he practiced his usual routine – a series of suggestive shimmies, hip thrusts, and all the moves to make his plump ass look good. He prepared until he was ready to perform in front of the leering eyes of the noblewomen who drooled at the slightest hint of bare skin. As with every performance night, he scanned the crowd, Hoping to see the only pair of eyes that mattered – the Queen’s.
Ah, the Queen!
Master Gregor loved to paint a picture of her as a cold-hearted bitch, a praying mantis who kept the men she desired secluded, beating them for amusement and making them cry like babies. Venomous words spoken by the very man who bent over backward for every coin that trickled down from her and her court. Although Elias knew better.
The Queen herself was a creativity both terrifying and divine. Her beauty, honed by generations of ruthless ancestors, could steal a man’s breath with a single, languid glance. She was a storm sculpted from marble, a woman who craved power as much as she craved pleasure.
Men flocked to her court like moths to a flame, drawn by a potential allure that was equal parts fear and desire. They served her with fanatical devotion, fully aware of being mere playthings in the grand game she orchestrated. Yet, a touch of her hand, a husky whisper in their ear, was a prize more coveted than any crown. A night spent in her bed was a legend whispered among them, a terrifying and exhilarating dance that could leave men broken, forever marked by her touch, a testament to her power and the exhaust cruelty of her games.
Then there were the most special ones, kept in her not-so-secret harem, unseen by the public and the subject of countless, outlandish rumors. Elias desperately craved to be part of that hidden world of pleasure, most of his days spent daydreaming about it.
But as with every night, he searched the crowd in vain. The Queen was known for her love for a good dance show, particularly one involving strategically placed, skimpy clothing and men with impressive physics who weren’t afraid to leave little to the imagination. The current establishment was the most well-known and popular in the court, the Queen’s favorite! Still, he has never seen her.
Pathetic. That’s what he was. A jester in a court of fools. He gritted his teeth and plastered a forced smile onto his face, ending the performance until the very end.
“You know,” a raspy voice of Master Gregor after the show, “you’d make a lot more money if you whored yourself out to the leeches outside. Me and you. A virgin boy is worth a fortune nowadays.”
Yes, he knew. Of course, he knew.
A wear sight escaped Elias’ lips. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than Master Gregor, “Just happy the show’s over. I need to wash myself.” He shuffled towards the back, already picturing the cool relief of wat cleansing the night’s grime.
Before he could disappear down the familiar hallway, a rough hand clamped onto his shoulder. Master Gregor, his face a mask of avarice, stood before him. “Actually,” he drawled, “you only have time for a quick refresh, boy. You were requested for a private dance show.”
Elias frozen. Private dance shows were never about the dance. A knot of dread tightened in his stomach. “What the—?” he sputtered, the question dying on his lips. “You know I don’t do that, even when I’m requested!”
Gregor’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes narrowed. “You can’t back out this time, special guests” he said with a steely edge to his voice.
“I refund!” Elias’ voice rose in desperate defiance. “Let me go to my room!”
Gregor’s smile falsered, replaced by a dangerous glint. “I said you were requested and you can’t back out this time,” he repeated, his voice low and menuing. “No is not an option. Or do you want to be back on the street, starving and begging from petty thieves, do you prefer to give you ass to them instead of some noble lady?”
Elias flinched. He knew the answer.
“No… I—” his voice trailed off, lost in the echo of Gregor’s words.
“Good,” Gregor cut him off. “Don’t make me force you. Or I will pick you up myself if I need to.”
Elias had heard whispers from the other Dancers, rumors exchanged in hushed tones about the private shows. Fear, cold and primary, coiled around his heart.
Elias followed Master Gregor down a dimly lit corridor. The air grew thick with the cloying sweetness of exotic perfume, a sickly scent that did little to mask the underlying tension. Finally, Master Gregor stopped before a heavy velvet curve. Pushing it aside, he gave Elias a shove.
Elias stumbled into the room and smelled the dust and something musky, a scent that sent shives down his spine.
He was blindfolded, unable to see the faceless figure that awaited him. His body was bare, except from the faded makeup and display of cheap knock-off jewelries across his chest and torso. Gone were the skimpy and mesh fabrics around his waist, gone was the sense of security of the stage. He was exposed and vulnerable in the intimate space.
He stood there, frozen, as Master Gregor exited the room, leaving him alone with the unknown and his pounding heart. A bruise, hot and tender, bloomed on his upper arm, a harsh reminder of Master Gregor’s callous grip.
“Good evening” Elias whispered, feeling dumb and unprepared.
The air crackled with unspoken anticipation. A whispered conversation swirled around him, a language of veiled desires and hidden power. Then, he felt someone coming closer to him slowly circled him like a predator assessing its prey. Even blindfolded, he could feel piercing eyes studying him.
“Milena, you always have the best taste, this must be the best ass I have ever seen” a warm voice pursued, lacened with amusement. “Come on, prettything, dance.” The woman rejoined the lady called Milena, leaving him room for his dance.
The sensitive and familiar music from his performance echoed in his ears, saving him from further embarrassment. Elias closed his eyes, the darkness behind the blindfold a small comfort. He channeled the practiced movements.
He knew that, unlike his previous performance, they could perfectly see his half-hard cock bouncing around and the oil oozing out his asshole and falling down his legs, both unwanted curtseys of his Master. He ignored it and still tried hard to focus on swinging his hips in a slow, sinuous roll. His hands danced in the air, tracing invisible patterns, his muscles flexed and relaxed with each deliberate step, a response to their unspoken demands. That was what he was used to. Make the crowd want and desire him.
Despite the practiced movements, Elias felt a raw vulnerability he hadn’t anticipated. He was no longer the performer in control of the stage; here, he was aspecimen on display, his every move scrutinized by these unknown women.
A dark bargain formed in his mind. Could he endure this and turn it all into a twisted advantage? Who were these mysterious ladies, cloaked in darkness and with an unspoken power that even Master Gregor couldn’t deny as he always had done for him before? Perhaps they were just stepping stones to finally reach the Queen.
Hi Thoughts and choreography screeched to a halt when a soft ring-adorned hand, cool against his heated skin, cupped his asscheek. A low hum escaped the unseen figure, a sound that sent shivers down Elias’ spine. It was a sound of appreciation, of anticipation – the very thing he’d desperately tried to avoid. Here, in this room of shadows, his carefully constructed facade, his desperate hopes crumbled to dust.
The two feminine voices, lacened with amusement, cut through the thick perfume-laden air.
“Do you think he really is a virgin?” the voice behind him voice pursued, the question leaving no room for doubt about their intentions.
A soft, warm hand stroked his arm, sending a jolt through his body. The same voice, closer this time, spoke in a husky whisper that sent a wave of nausea crashing through him. “Are you really a virgin, pretty boy?”
His mind raced. Was it a trick question? Could a simple lie lessen their desires?
Panic constricted his throat. “I-I… “
“Mh, let’s check,” the voice murmured walking away from him. “Be a dear, Milena, and put him on that chain longue.”
The words were an order, devoid of kindness or respect. Elias’ breath hitched. The soft surface offered no comfort in this moment of utter vulnerability. He felt a hand on his back, urging him forward. With a growing sense of dread, Elias was forced onto his belly, his exposed back an open invitation.
His body trembled from the dawning realization.
All the work to make his body appealing, all the grueling hours spent learning sensitive movements,all the sacrifice to remain untouched – it was all about to be thrown away for these two unknown women. Shame and fear coiled in his gut, tightening like a vision. “Please,” he chooked out, his voice a pathetic whimper. What could he possibly do other than grip the cushion under him like the powerless thing he has always been?
Milena seemed impervious to his plea, following the command of the other women. Another hand reached out, cold and impersonal, gripping one of his cheats roughly. Then, it descended, cupping the firm curve of his buttocks with a firm, testing grip. A strong finger slowly entered his pumped hole exploring the part of him nobody has ever touched so intrusively before.
“He is indeed a virgin,” Milena confirmed, pulling uncertainly her finger out of his hole.
“How come a boy as pretty as you is still a virus?” The other voice was lacened with cruel amusement, tinged with a hint of disbelief. “It can’t just be for show, can it?”
“It’s not yours! It’s not yours to take, you can’t have it!” destination cracking his voice like a dry twig snapping in two.
“How dare you speak like that to—” Milena’s words were halted by the voice of the other woman, a sharp cut through the tension.
“Is this some game you like to play, pretty boy?” The woman’s voice dripped with mockery. “Shy, willing virgin, my arse! Master Gregor assured us of your…availability. Yet here you are, all coy and hesitant. What’s the play here?”
Tears well in Elias’ eyes, blurring his vision. He chased back a sob, the words catching in his throat. “It’s not a game,” he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper.
A scoff escaped the woman’s lips. “Amuse us, boy, who is this woman who claims your purity?”
“My virginity…” he mumbled; the words heavy with a truth that no one seemed to believe. “It belongs to the Queen.”
A long, tensile silence followed his confession. Then, a soft, almost musical laugh broke the stillness.
“The Queen, you say?” she pursued, her voice a silent care. A subtle shift in the air behind him suggested a change in her posture, as she turned to Milena. “I need to speak with his master. Bring him here. Now.”
He heard Milena slipped out of the room without a room for protest.
The woman’s voice, surprisingly calm, speak again. “While we wait,” she said, a hint of amusement creeping in, “why don’t you tell me how come an unknown dancer, with your…assets,” she added, “has this laughable desire to remain untouched for the Queen?”
Elias took a shuddering breath, while his mind flashed back to a time the only things he felt were hunger and cold, back to a dark night a lifetime ago, a night that shaped his entire existence.
The market was long closed, the vibrant bustle replaced by an unsettling silence punctuated by the occasional cought or muffled curse. He was alone, utterly defendless. Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his scream. A gruff voice rasped in his ear, “don’t move, or you’ll regret it.”
The other hand roughly entered his pants looking for the price. Elias’ heart hammered against his ribs as he felt the cold steel of a knife pressed against his throat. Fear choked him, robbing him of the ability to fight back. He was a scrapny, ragged boy – easy prey in the underbelly of the city.
Just as the figure behind him tightened its grip, a sudden communication erupted from the main street. The attacker froze, his head whipping towards the sound. In a whirlwind of movement, a figure, clad in resplendent armor, materialized from the shadows. Long, black hair flowed down the young warrior’s back, too young to be already a warrior. It was the heir, the future Queen, her presence Already had an aura of power and unwavering authority.
The scared attacker threw Elias to the ground like unwanted trash before he could disappear into the darkness like a cowardWhile he stood there in awe, imprinting her face in his memory.
She was supposed to be the future Queen with a heart of ice, still one simple act of kindness changed everything for him and bonded his life to her.
“I had nothing. Even now, I have nothing truly precise to offer, no grand gesture worthy of my savior. So, I pledged the only thing I had left – my purity. It became my silent vow, a reason to improve myself, the reason I dance. All to stand before her again, a testament to the debt I owe. It’s my gift to guard and give to who I want. And it’s hers.”
Elias finished his whispered tale, the air thick with the weight of his confession. Would she find his devotion misplaced or ridiculous? Would she just take him anyway and in addition would he be punished by his Master for his unwillingness? Doubt gnawed at him, but even his wildest anxiety couldn’t prepare him for what unfolded next.
A long, tension silence followed. It stretched on, each tick of the unseen clock hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Just when he thought he could bear the uncertainty no longer, a sound broke the stillness.
“Isn’t that your lucky day?” she pursued with a newfound amusement.
Suddenly, a hand, surprisingly strong, shot out and grasped the back of his neck. The world spun as the blindfold was yanked free in a rough motion. Light flooded his vision, momentarily blinding him as his eyes adjusted.
Then he saw her.
The Queen.
There was no mistakenly taking the regular bearing, the sharp cheesebones, the dark predatory glint in her eyes.
The air crackled with a tension that went beyond mere amusement. He felt his knees buckle under the weight of her gaze and the revelation. Only the iron grip on his nape kept him upright.
“Milena,” the Queen’s voice boomed without looking away from him. “Tell Gregor that I am going to take my gift somewhere that doesn’t smell like rat’s shit. I intend to savor unwrapping this one.”
Still reeling from the revelation of the Queen’s identity, he barely registered the bewildered arrival of Milena at the doorway. The Queen’s words, dripping with a dark promise, had consumed his attention entirely.
—
Elias’ head swam as the world spun into a whirlwind of activity. One moment he was in the hot, oppressive private room, the next he Found himself bathed in fracture water, his body slick with proper oils, and patpered by silent attendants. The heavy musk of sweat and stale oil that clung to him was replaced with a delicate perfume, its floral notes both intoxicating and unsettling.
Finally, they led him to the Queen’s chambers. The air here was cool, heavy with the scent of interest, a heady mix of sandalwood and something sharper, almost metallic. The room itself was opulent and intimidating. Black marble walls gleamed under the flickering light of strategically placed torches, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the ornate tapestries depicting scenes of conquest and domain. A thick, blood-red velvet carpet stretched across the floor, swallowing Elias’ sound as he walked. Although the furniture that caught his eyes was a massive four-poster bed drawn in heavy black silk, its posts adorned with obsidian carvings of snarling beasts. It was a chamber designed to command respect, to install fear, and Perhaps, a strange sense of awe.
The Queen entered the chamber, her presence extinguishing the flickering torchlight for a heartbeat before it flared back to life. Elias, rooted in the center of the room, felt suddenly clumsy and out of place. He stole a glance around, searching for a place to sit, to put himself – anything – between him and the overwhelming power radiating from her.
His eyes darted back to the Queen; drawn by a force he couldn’t resist. Her beauty was a weapon, as sharp and deadly as any blade in her armory. Her every movement, from the confidentset of her shoulders to the way the silent fabric of her dress skimmed her form, was imbued with an almost predatory grace. The Queen strode over to a massive chest tucked into a shadowy corner. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she unlatched the heavy clasps. Elias watched, mesmerized, as she sifted through the contents, her browser furrowed in concentration. He longed to break the suffocating silence, to ask a question, anything to dispel the whirlwind of emotions churning within him.
But as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the Queen found what she was looking for, a shiny small dildo attached to a leather strap-on harness.
“The devotion in your tone,” she finally spoke, her voice a silent care. She turned, her gaze finally setting on him, “the effort you put into…everything. It’s something I appreciate, more than you Know.”
Then, with a predatory grace that sent a jolt through him, the Queen began to approach him with the harness in her hand. Her eyes locked onto his as they bore Elias’s soul.
Her hands roamed freely over his body. Her touch was electric; each care sent shockwaves through his system as if awakening something deep within himself that has been dormant for far too long.
“And your delicious fat ass, sure works in your favorite” she harshly grabbed both his globes, pulling them apart and playing with them, while he squealed. “Your dance tonight,” she said, her voice low, “it was…impressive. I sat there barely containing the urge to feel your skin beneath my teeth. The sight of your pretty ass makes my mouth water. I wanted to bite your cheeks so hard you bleed and then taste it just to know if it is as good as it looks.”
He gulped. His heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, completely unable to speak an Intelligent word. The Queen withdraw one of her hands from his ass, her fingers brushed against his jaw before wrapping around his chin, tilting his head back.
“Open your mouth,” she commanded.
He did as he was told. Obedience was a well instinct in him. His jaw hung slack, lips parted in a silent plea or perhaps a surrender. He was a maronette, his strings held tight in the Queen’s hand.
She slipped two slender fingers past his lips, exploring the cavern of his mouth and coating them with his saliva. She went deeper until he flinched instinctively, but her grip on his chin remained firm, unwavering as it was the one on his ass.
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