This post is in honor of
Andrew Rosenberg's Bad Girl Blogfest! Go check out the rest of the cool bad girl scenes there. :)
I have to admit that this scene should be between (movie ratings) Rated PG 13 and maybe R. *Blushing*
It has lots of scenes like this--but I was truly inspired and moved to write it. I've never written anything as dark before.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did when I wrote it!
The queen is plotting to kill her husband. She is lewd and open about her activity. Here, she taunts her lover, Chengral, with one of her slaves in hopes to see if he is capable of murdering the king.
Her slave entered, a blind covering his eyes. He bowed, the tray held high laden with food.
“Ah, you have come in time. There is a table there. Chengral?” she turned to him, her eyes glittering. “Call him over here to me.”
Chengral’s eyes darkened, his jaw set but he obeyed nonetheless. “You heard your queen.”
“Yes, come here, my dear.”
The slave moved slowly, his steps unsure, frightened.
“Look at him, Chengral. So willing. So strong. So capable.”
Chengral growled and Tanchaa laughed.
She pushed Chengral off her and slithered from beneath his delicious weight, her body responding fiercely, but she ignored it. “Look at him, Chengral. He is how I like them.” Tanchaa pressed herself against her slave, her arms wrapping around him, her leg sliding up, her wings limp.
The slave willingly reached out to her, his hands holding her to him, his mouth on her neck.
“Chengral? I want you to watch me.” She saw his lashes move, his eyes glittering with anger. “Can you smell him? My slave? Can you feel him?” She kept her eyes fast on Chengral, her lips grazing her slave’s shoulder as his lips gripped her neck. “Chengral. I—,” she cried out, her talons digging into her slave’s back.
She watched Chengral, his body tensing as he raised himself to his elbow, his wings flexing.
“Can you—,” Tanchaa gasped, her gaze trained to his, “—taste him?”
“I care not to, Tanchaa! What game is it you play with me?” He leaped from the bed.
The slave flinched from Chengral’s movement, but still, he kept his diligence in exploring the willing queen. “Go on,” she coaxed him, “It is well with him, too.” He groaned, his touches wandering further on her flesh.
Tanchaa watched Chengral pace back and forth, his jaw set and eyes flashing. He turned away, his magnificent back to her.
“Chengral? Come to me,” she said, her voice tantalizing, as she knew he would like it.
He turned to her, his body trembling. “I do not find sport in your play with another. What is it you want of me now?”
“Have you had him, my slave, Chengral? He is Letys. Yes, listen to his heart how it beats alongside mine. Listen to his breath as it mingles with that of my own and how his touches glaze my skin. He is Letys, my love. Do not forget that.”
Tanchaa sank her talon into her slave, crying out along with his whimper and she released her breath with languid sighs. She gazed at Chengral and smiled at his black stare. Slowly, she glided her fingertip along the wound, holding her lover’s glower.
“Chengral . . .” she whispered, dipping her fingertip into her mouth, the talon pressing against her cheek. “Almost . . .” she tilted her head back, her long hair shielding her eyes from his angry ones, “. . . as good. . .” Tancha turned so that her slave’s back was to Chengral, “. . . as you . . .”
With a shriek, she shoved her slave with all of her might into Chengral. She spun around and fled from his quarters.
She slammed out into the secret passageway, her chest falling from her shallow breaths of desire and emotion. Screaming. She heard her slave’s cries and she smiled, lovingly licking off his blood from her fingertip, her breath held inside her chest. He was the best of her slaves. Both in serving and pleasing. She released her breath. Too bad he was Letys.
Tanchaa straightened and glided her way down the secret passageways back to her own chambers. Her plans chased each other around and around in her head. How she longed for the old king to die. The old man who dared to defile her flesh. Being king gave him no rights to her body as he thought it would when he murdered her father.
She shuddered.
How she would love to see his corpse burn and his charred remains blown to the eight winds and his castle overrun. His people could fall along with him, she cared not.
Tanchaa closed the door to her chambers with a heavy sigh, her body trembling from the thoughts of her past. Long had it been since she had dared to indulge in her musings as she just had.
She mourned her slave.
“What a waste it was,” she grumbled, moving to the looking glass, her hands touching where he had. He was young, perfect and oh so handsome. Almost as good as Chengral as she had said. She hoped that her actions would spur Chengral into action against the Letys. She knew he was willing enough, but she could still see the doubt—the question in his eyes like the vapors from the depths of the ground. Shifty and slippery.
Would he do her bidding as she so desired? Was it motivating enough that she become his queen?
(I thought you might want to hear the conclusion of this scene as it's already been 826 words. Just 104 more to see what really happens to the poor slave . . .)
Tanchaa reached for her brush and watched with anticipation as it ran through her long, thick, black lengths. She tossed her hair, watching the shine rippling down her back as she turned to her side. She spread her wings and glided her hands along her curves.
“Chengral . . .” she sighed, wishing he was present.
“Not such a waste after all, Tanchaa.”
“Chengral!” she cooed, whirling around to him. A frown pulled her lips down as she saw her slave standing there, his head bowed and blind still over his eyes. “What is the meaning of this? I thought you had slain him?”
for more reading fun, click here (fight scene) and here (blood bath)!
