Queen Morgana's Rule

Despite your wishes, wake you do; several times throughout the night, to the feeling of her humongous cock plunging in and out of your stretched hole. Load after load of her cum is dumped into you as she whispers to you about breeding you and how much she loves you. You barely get out a few mumbled words each time she wakes you before she shushes you and fucks you back into unconsciousness.

You don't even know how many times she cums inside of you. She keeps ravaging you, whether conscious or not. Sometimes though, you wake to her simply holding you close or you fall asleep in her arms like that. It is strangely sweet, but if you dare to open your mouth to comment on it, she stuffs you full once more until your words are replaced with moans and cries.

Eventually, you awaken alone and feeling strangely empty. Your pussy aches dully and your lower abdomen feels… bloated. How long has it been? Are you several months pregnant already? It feels like you may well have slept on and off for that long. Your mind is so fuzzy. But the moment you shift and feel the sensation of oozing, sloshing, thick goo within you, you know this is reality.

You groan as you clench your battered vaginal muscles, your deflowered cunt still gapping and caked with dried up semen as the fresher loads bubble out from it the moment those muscles twitch. She really did a number on you. Your own sister… she… she fucked you so hard. She tried to bread you. She may well have succeeded. Goddess… that thought alone makes you tremble and your face burn brightly.

Tangled in your messy sheets, pillow hugged to your chest, the strong scents of cum and sweat upon your nose as your throat is raw from all the moaning and screaming when she fucked you through the night. The moment you stir, shifting at all, hands reach down and help to untangle you from your bedding. You groan as you are exposed to the sun, streaming in through your bedroom window. You see a figure standing above you, shadowed by the light.

"Ash?" You murmur, your brain seeing who you expect to see only for the figure to lean forward and your eyes to adjust some more. "Fyn… Fyn? Fyn!" You gasp as you see the familiar maid only she is quite different to how you expect her to be.

Rather than the short, meek, blonde full-blooded elf, she is a good deal taller, wearing what you guess are six inch, black heels that no actual maid would wear. That is not the only change to her uniform. Rather than the sensible, utilitarianly outfit, this one is ridiculously short, showing off her legs clad in smooth stockings along with the fancy white garter belt digging into her thick, pale thighs and even her panties flashing you from this angel, which are crotchless.

The rest of her outfit is somehow even skimpier with a sleeveless, black mesh bodice that has white shoulder cuffs and lace along the edges. It has an actual cutout allowing her generous naked bust to spill out from the garment, only being held back by the equally as translucent white apron with lace and a floral pattern upon it. It is not the type of outfit she would have been caught dead in. Yet, her face is blank and emotionless as she gazes down at you. You do notice a spark in her eyes, a pink flash of light that pulses across them like a heartbeat.

"Good morning, Your Royal Whoreness," she says in a monotone voice with words not her own. "Your Queen orders you awake, washed, dressed and presented in her throne room, immediately. You are to come with me."

"Fyn… where's Ash?" You ask as your brow furrows. "What of Corawn?"

"Your Queen orders you awake, washed, dressed and presented in her throne room, immediately. You are to come with me," Fyn repeats in the same tone.

"My Queen… my mother or… my sister?" You ask and she shows no sign of even registering your question.

"Your Queen orders you awake…"

"I get it," you cut her off and sit up from the bed, your skin making a peeling noise as it unsticks from the messy sheets. "Go on then… let's get this over with, and then you can take me to someone who I bet has answers."

Your legs are like jelly as you try to stand, luckily, Fyn steadies you. She may not speak her mind anymore but her body is as capable as ever, helping you along out of your bedchamber and into your private bathroom. She mutely prepares your bath as you sit upon the edge of the large, built-in stone tub that would easily fit dozens of people. The magic that provides and warms water soon gifts you with your own private spar.

Fyn has to help you down the stone steps and into the bath, having shed her few clothes and joined you in the nude as she sits you down on one of the stairs. She washes your body, loather and fingers getting into all your crevices. It's worse than even her normal efficiency. Her hands, diligent, as ever, in their cleaning of your body, seem to linger and poke at certain places.

Already you can barely contain your moans as she moves down from your breasts and to your lower body. She seems to tease and torment you, working her way up to cleaning out your well-used cunt. She scrubs it, and much to your objection, begins to clean it out from all the dried cum. Not that you don't want it clean… but her hands… they feel too good.

She ignores your objections and simply states once more you are to be washed, clothed and presented before your queen. You don't have the strength on a good day to fight back against the strong and able woman with years of hard labour under her belt, let alone, even argue with her one track minded self. You bite your bottom lip and shudder as she practically fingers you in your own bath.

You have no choice but to lean back against the side wall and grasp onto the stone, hanging onto it for dear life as she washes you out. Your cheeks are already flushed from the heat of the bath but you feel lightheaded as she finally stops, seemingly, complete with her objective. "You are clean," she says and you give the meekest of nods, not trusting your voice at this moment. "But… you are not… satisfied."

"I… no," you answer, unable to lie to her at this moment.

"Your Queen orders that I must satisfy your desires in her absence," Fyn states.

"You don't have to…"

Before you can even finish your sentence her fingers return to your pussy and you gasp. One enters with such ease, still stretched out from last night. A second and even a third join it within moments. You thought before she was practically fingering you, now you know the real thing is so much more intense. Her strong and nimble fingers thrust in and out of you as her other hand finds and rubs your clit.

She is so utilitarian about it. Like a machine. A soldier on a mission. All she is doing is trying to get you off. Her face blank, eyes still pulsing with mystic, pink light and fingers driving you wild. You are already so worked up. You do not last long. Within moments you are panting and moaning before you clench around her and cum hard.

Your cries echo around the bathroom. No one but you and Fyn to hear them. If she even can hear or recognise anything beyond the enchantment your sister seems to have put her under. Still as you collapse once more she embraces you and even if she is a mindless, shambling slave… her embrace is warm, strong and comforting. It brings you down from your high and when you open your mouth to thank her, she captures it.

The kiss is brief but you are caught completely off guard as your muffled outburst is trapped between her lips. As she breaks it you are left panting and taken back. She tasted… sweet. Fyn looks at you blankly once more. "Was that… to your satisfaction?"

"Yes… yes Fyn… yes it was," you stumble over your words as you shift about. You hate what your sister seems to have down to innocent Fyn, but you cannot help being turned on by it. You are just not sure if it is having a servant so mindlessly devoted to satisfying your desires or the idea of being turned into one yourself that arouses you more.

"Turn around and I will wash your hair," she instructs and you do as you are told. Afterwards she leaves the bath and then adds special perfumes for you to lay in while she redresses and prepares your outfit for the day. Without Corwan to help her, Fyn takes longer but she is almost more efficient in her current state. Your body is given a moment to recuperate and relax from your wild night.

Soon you are out, dried and brought through to get changed. You did not know what to expect. Certainly not one of your normal gowns. Your sister seems to have a specific script she is putting you through. But it was not the outfit that Fyn begins to put onto you. Could one even call this an outfit?

It is little more than metal and silk. You have no idea how it is meant to fit together into anything resembling clothes. Luckily, Fyn is here to handle that. All you have to do is stand here, raise your arms and spread your legs when she prompts and watch as she takes metal piece after metal piece and fits it around your body. As they click together there is a flash of blue light and the metal seem to meld together.

Soon, you are encased in it. Some sorta metal bra around your large breasts that doesn't really cover anything. It is little more than a wire frame that supports your fat tits, lifting and bringing them together to give you maximum cleavage. The metal is in the shape of lotus' but leaves your nipples clearly visible if it was not for the purple silk tassels that hang right above them. Though, even then, they are very sheer and the wrong sway from your body exposes you with such ease.

Similarly, your lower body is almost as bad. The metal sits upon your hips, like a belt, with a chain across your front holding it together. From the back and front hangs a long line of very thin purple silk, just wide enough to make a meager attempt at covering up your pussy and asshole but failing in all the best and worst ways. Not only is it sheer enough to see more than just the shadow of your bits but it is not even covering them from every angle but your direct front or back. Luckily, your thick thighs and fat ass make up for some of that but one misstep…

Your breathing is almost suffocating as your breasts rise and fall against the unyielding metal bra. You are burning up with arousal and Fyn offers no help this time. Instead just more pieces to put on you. Towering metal heels that are just as exposing as the rest of the outfit as the metal winds up your legs and to just below the knee. Then, two metal braces that fit more like cuffs around your forearms and wrists. You feel like you are bound in chains already. Your heart races in your chest. You look at Fyn expectingly.

"You are dressed," she says simply.

You blink as you look down at yourself, you may as well not be wearing no clothes at all. Not even your finest lingerie is this provocative and revealing. "I… what about the rest of it?" You question, surely there is a gown or dress that goes over this… a coat… some sort of almost as skimpy piece that will actually preserve some form of modesty for you… anything more.

"Your Queen has the final piece of your outfit for you," Fyn says. "You are expected to present yourself to her in her throne room."

Oh… you shiver at the thought of walking all the way there, let alone presenting yourself like this. You consider for a moment fleeing… but you don't even know where to or if you really want to in the first place. You tense but take a breath and steady yourself before nodding. "Lead the way," you say to Fyn and she turns on her own heels before walking to your bedroom door and pushing it open.

You take your own, careful, measured steps in these colossal heels. Thankfully, you are well acquainted with such daring footwear. The rest of the outfit is a different story. The moment you step out into the deserted hall, you feel like a million unseen eyes are upon you. Watching your every step. The swish and sway of the silk you wear. The rise and fall of each inch of your exposed body.

Even as you walk steadily down the hall after Fyn, you take each step with such trepidation, any moment expecting to run into someone that will see you in this state. Turning a corner, you hold your breath, only to come to another abandoned hall. Nothing but the exquisite, historical suits of armour that line this hall, standing at rest. As you pass by them you jump as their heads turn. Are there people in… no… you see swirling green energy leaking from their visors. Another of your sister's spells…

You let out the breath you were holding and continue forward. You soon reach the grand doors of the throne room, a suit of enchanted armour on either side of the door, weapons at the ready. Fyn nods to them and steps aside as they move to push the door open. Before you can even take the room in, Fyn pushes you forward.

You stumble into a very different throne room to what you are used to. Gone is the empty throne your father once sat upon. Your mother's throne, that of the Queen, which generations of her family line have sat upon, has been shifted to the centre upon the raised dais at the far side of the room. Between it and you the purple carpet remains but the windows are closed, tapestries between them have been removed and replaced with large fire sconces, in which burn mystic, purple flames that light up the room. It reminds you of the Royal Mage's chambers within her tower.

Upon the throne, of course, sits your sister. She is dressed in the finest of red and gold silks with lace and ribbons that adorn her body, but cut in a way that allows her to show off her physique, cleavage and, of course, her mighty cock, bared to those before her. It takes you a moment to realise this is one of your mother's gowns, those only worn by elven monarchies, only modified to fit her better and show off the signs of her power. Her silver hair is done up in a bun behind one of many royal crowns.

It is the everyday-wear crown, one that is not going to break one's neck if worn for too long, but just as grand as the rest. It is made of silver with three prominent gemstones in the front, one for each elven kingdom. Red, green and purple gems with opals adorning the rest of it. She sits there, prideful and smug upon a throne that was never meant for her but she is not alone. At her feet, is your mother.

She has also changed. Like you, she is wearing metal, though hers are actual chains and manacles that adorn her wrists and ankles. They are already locked in place, the ankle cuffs chained to leather around her thighs, hobbling her and forcing her to remain kneeling. The wrist ones affixed to solid metal bars that connect to a huge posture colour around her neck, keeping her arms up at a right angle, her head unable to look down and her hands away from anything. The collar also has a thinker chain connected to the arm of the throne.

She is also wearing some sort of metal, plated belt around her waist, down over her crotches and around between her ass cheeks. A chastity belt, you recognise, one specifically from the royal archive from a time that such devices were common among you royal women. You remember fantasising about such things when you were younger… you also notice she has the matching breast chasity device affixed to her sagging tits, lifting them in place and locking them away. You never understood the purpose of that piece beyond the humiliation it would have instilled.

At least, the metal adorning her is gold and befetting her status even if she has literally been bought to kneel before your sister. Fyn presses you forward once more and guides you in before your sister. As you come closer you notice that your mother is not just in chains before your sister but she is in the middle of… servicing her. Her mouth upon the head of her daughter's futa cock.

You would almost be more shocked, if not for how Morgana had already fucked you, her own sister. You also realise she is wearing a ring gag of some design as your sister reaches over casually and pulls her forward, violently, by her golden locks. She barely groans around it, taking inches into her throat and your sister merely sighs in contentment.

"Good morning dear sister," Morgana says with a wicked smile at the face you make as you look between her and your mother. "Do you like my new royal scepter polisher?"

"Is that… really necessary?" You ask, feeling pity as you eye your mother being used in such a way. "She's our mother… she raised us… do you have to treat her like…"

"Like what? Like she deserves?" Morgana snaps at you and you tense as a little spark of magic jolts from between her fingers. "The woman who pit us against each other, who betrayed her own people and tradition itself to kneel before father, legitimise his claim to the throne, allowed him to change millennials of succession and set us up to be little more than pawns in his game while they fucked till they got perfect male heir and then discarded us both?"

"That's not… succession law has never… she didn't…"

"Name an elven king."

"I… father…"

"Was human."

"He ruled an elven kingdom and before him… I am sure there were…"

"No. Succession was always through the female line before him. There is a reason our education was so narrow. Do not trust what you think you know of our history and tradition," Morgana says simply as she pulls your mother even closer and further down upon her cock. You can see the elven matriarch take your sister's cock with ease, barely a mumbled groan. It is almost astonishing… "I have been to the other elven kingdoms, seen what they hold true, learned from them and come to restore what we have lost."

"I… thought this was purely personal," you say, choosing your words carefully as you see that familiar rage in the mirror to your own face that is your sister's. "Are you… supported by the other kingdoms? Our… extended family?"

"It is personal, they know nothing of this, yet, but the idea, itself, came from what I learned from them and elsewhere. This is, in fact… deeply personal," Morgana claims, and as if to prove her point, grabs your mother's hair with both hands and feeds her the remaining inches of her cock. "Choke on me you bitch…" She moans as your mother barely splutters around her unearthly large cock. "Father taught you one good skill at least."

"Morgana!" You snap. You watch your mother shake and shudder as she suffocates. "You can't just… what was she meant to do? Stand up to father when he conquered her whole land? Be put to death with the rest of her family? She did what she did to survive…" Morgana looks up at you in shock at your words.

"You are not the only one that knows more than they wanted us to be told. Do you know how many brothers and sisters she lost? Family members before her who were beheaded when they refused to marry and legitimise father's claim?" You ask and she is, for once, speechless as your mother gasps desperately for air beneath her. "Thirteen aunts and uncles, seven brothers, eight sisters and not to mention her own mother and father that died days before… the only reason we have any extended family within the other kingdoms is thanks to her actions."

"... It doesn't excuse the life she gave us from that," Morgana claims but you can see the chink in her armour. You can win this argument. Only, you better hurry, your mother is beginning to actually struggle, choking now upon that massive dick. "What she allowed him to do and set up for us to become… can't you see it is all their fault that we are like this?" She gestures between herself and you. "So fucked up in the head that I would do all this… that you would beg me to breed you… your own sister… is that healthy?"

You blush as she brings that up once more. "No… but is it really all her fault?"

"No one else is left here to blame," she says and you can't argue with that. Your father is dead, any aids or others that are accountable for what was done to you and her during your upbringing, the ones who remain at least, they are even less responsible than your mother. Morgana is right, responsibility falls to her. "But… if you wish to relieve her of her current dutities… than you can take her place."

There it is, the compromise. She'll take pity on your mother. But will ask something from you instead. You steel yourself and nod your head. "Good," she says and finally releases your mother, but to your shock, you watch as your mother remains glued to your sister's cock, barely moving an inch as she keeps herself firmly in place. "Get off me whore!"

She obeys immediately, pulling back, spital going everywhere as she separates herself from your sister's cock. You can see the brown member, glistening with saliva, as your mother coughs over it. Her lips are blue and eyes wet as tears have streamed down her face. You notice no pink light in them or any other signs of enchantment upon her. Your sister slaps her cock against your mother's face.

"Get this disgusting cock sleeve out of here… clean her up, give her… some slop to eat and let her rest back in her cage… I am long from done with her," Morgana commands and Fyn approaches. She hands off the chain connected to your mother's collar to Fyn and Fyn leads away your helpless mother, who can do little more than shuffle with her arms bound and legs hobbled. "Hurry up!"

Fyn increases her pace and yanks on the chain, choking your mother and making her gasp through the ring gag before she falls flat on her face. Fyn practically drags her from the room as she struggles to wiggle forward after her. You dare not try your luck at further accommodations for your poor mother, both in fear of what Morgana will ask but also a small part of you enjoys watching her suffer. That same small part of you that agrees with Morgana.

"Come sister…" Morgana says and waves you forward. "Tend to your Queen. I have to see to my people's needs soon, many seek guidance with me, and I want to show them your new place in all this as well."

You gulp. Of course, this would not be simple. Morgana always seemed to have a plan or end goal with everything she did as a child. This is just another of her ploys. You get the feeling that this whole thing with your mother was little more than a setup to place you exactly where she wants you.

The question is… where is that? Kneeling before her, worshipping her cock, like your mother was? With your legs spread and loads being pumped into your fertile cunt like last night? Or something new?