The Marquess de Rousseau

The marquess Celia de Rousseau swept through the castle in a fury, a pair of red faced guards trailing in her wake.

Once more she had been outwitted by that dismal priest! How she loathed him.

Wherever she walked people scuttled for cover. Whilst she could be charm itself when in a good mood, Celia's tantrums and whimsies were a thing of legend. She kept a large court in her castle, which was the hub of culture and politics in the west of the kingdom. Bards, wizards, diplomats, scholars, rogues and chancers were frequent visitors. Some would stay in the castle itself, whilst others would stay with friends in the local town of Redwell or in the local taverns. Anyone staying at the court quickly learned about the Marquess's furies, and no one crossed her. Well - no-one except the priest.

She saw one of her suitors, an idiotic but wealthy noble from the south, and snarled at him. Celia had many suitors at court - she was a young, beautiful woman, with curly blonde hair and gleaming eyes. She looked great, especially in her expensive frocks that showed a little more of her generous cleavage than strictly necessary and showcased her slender waist. She had learned long ago how to use her body to distract and confuse men - and in turn, how to make them underestimate her so she could defeat them. Her only real defeat in life had been at the hands of another girl - an enchantress who had humiliatingly turned her into a frog for a week. Of course, no one mentioned that story in the castle!

Despite her disdain for suitors, she did of course have her needs. She enjoyed the company of both men and women, and sometimes a courtier would be lucky enough to be invited to her bed chamber. Sometimes she would explore her submissive side, letting the lucky courtier dominate her. At other times, she would open the box under her bed and withdraw her polished, ivory strapon, and the startled suitors would find that it was they who were going to be bending over the bed that night.

But most of her sexual needs were sated with prisoners in her dungeons. Defeated, helpless, chained... how she loved moving between her captives and tormenting them. She found her greatest sexual releases came when forcing defeated enemies to pleasure her with their tongues, or by pleasuring herself whilst watching them be defiled by her slaves from overseas.

She tore into the throne room, where Sylla was waiting for her. Sylla was a slight woman with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in a deep purple dress. You could tell from the way she stood that she was more accostumed to armour than pantyhose. She bowed awkwardly.

"That priest!" Celia raged. "Why is he not in my dungeon!"

The priest in question was Primal Slurtis. He had been sent by the Temple to spy on the Marquess, and whilst she knew it she couldn't prove it. She was convinced that he was actively working against her and underminimg her plans, and she was sick of his sly looks and duplicitous manner.

Sylla nodded. "Marquess, I hear you. I'm working on it."

"Don't just work on it! Do it!"

"Marquess, I have a plan. You know that the priest is not permitted to sleep with ladies outside of his order. But he is just a man, yes? He can be led astray and defeated by his own cock." She grinned. "I have a girl working on seducing him right now. A beautiful, young girl. He should know better of course, and perhaps he even realises it is a trap. But he will not be able to help himself. Once she has him in her bed, we will catch him with his pants down. She will denounce him. You can then arrest him and secure him in your dungeon, and the Temple won't act to save him."

The Marquess paused, her breathing slowing. "Yes. Yes, that's good. Thank you Sylla. This girl of yours, can she do it?"

Sylla smiled. "She can be very persuasive. She'll be his downfall, believe me. I've seen the looks he gives her in court. She's honey, and he's about to be caught in her sticky mess. Its only a matter of time."

Celia smiled coldly, and ruffled her blonde hair with her hand. "That improves my mood no end. So Primal Slurtis is just a fly in your web, as so many other foolish men are! Thank you Sylla. Let me know when you have him."

Sylla bowed. "Might I ask what you will do with him?" She enquired. She knew that nothing improved the Marquess's mood more than talking about future victories.

Celia's eyes gleamed. "Strip him. Have him hung from his wrists. Tease him. Get him hard in my hands and make him tell me he loves me. Hurt him. Demean him. Let my maids play with him as they will. And then, something public, at court or in town. Something shameful." She chewed her lip. "Paraded naked through the streets, led on a leash by the young girl who seduced him," she says finally.

"Delightful," murmured Sylla, picturing the scene.

Celia stretched, feeling better already. "Very good Sylla. Let me know when you have him."

Sylla bowed and left the room.

Celia sat on her throne, looked out at the room, and smiled. All was good!

Just then, the door barged open and the elven bounty hunter Laralassa came charging into the room, her boots making loud clunking noises on the stone floor. Celia started with fright.

"This had better be good!" She shouted furiously.

"We have her!" Laralassa exclaimed. "We have Eilwy the Enchantress!"

Celia's jaw dropped. It was good.