Lady Margaret stumbled through her front door at dawn, dress askew, hair wild, cum still leaking down her thighs. General Marcus sat in the parlor, having waited all night.
"Margaret?" He shot to his feet, taking in her debauched state. "What happened? Were you attacked?"
She laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "Attacked? No, husband. I was fucked. Properly fucked for the first time in twenty years."
The blood drained from his face. "What are you saying?"
"Sir Damien sends his regards." She pulled down her collar, revealing the mass of hickeys and bite marks. "He wanted to make sure you understood the price of interference."
"That bastard—"
"That bastard made me cum seven times. When was the last time you managed even one?" Margaret swayed, exhausted but defiant. "He told me about you and the queen. Every. Tuesday. While I played the dutiful wife."
Marcus reached for her. "Margaret, please—"
"Don't touch me!" She slapped his hand away. "Your whore queen is hosting tea today. I'll be attending. And if you try to stop me, I'll tell everyone how the great General Marcus likes to watch other men fuck his women."
She left him there, broken and humiliated, while she went to prepare for the most important tea party of her life.
---
Queen Seraphina's hands shook as she arranged the formal tea service. Three o'clock approached too quickly. The crown hummed at its lowest setting—Damien's orders. Enough to keep her wet and distracted but not enough to satisfy.
"Your Majesty seems nervous," Elena, her head maid, observed.
"Just... concerned about making a good impression. After yesterday's episode..."
"Of course." But Elena's eyes lingered on the queen's flushed cheeks, the way she shifted constantly.
The nobles began arriving precisely on time. Lady Catherine, whose sharp eyes missed nothing. Duchess Miranda, young and bored in her marriage. Countess Elmore, prudish on the surface but Seraphina had seen her reading confiscated erotic novels. Lady Margaret, moving stiffly but with a satisfied smile. And finally, Lady Rosalind, the picture of virgin innocence.
"Your Majesty," Rosalind curtsied deeply. "Thank you for including me. I'm so eager to learn about court life before my wedding."
"Of course, dear." Seraphina fought not to squirm as the crown's vibrations pulsed. "Please, everyone, sit."
The ladies arranged themselves around the elegant table. Conversation started normally—weather, fashion, the king's return. But undercurrents of curiosity ran deep.
Finally, Lady Catherine broke protocol. "Your Majesty, about yesterday..."
"Yes?" Seraphina's voice pitched higher as the crown suddenly intensified. Damien must be nearby with the control crystal.
"We were all quite concerned. You seemed... overwhelmed."
"I apologize for worrying you." The queen gripped her teacup. "I've been trying a new treatment for the stress of His Majesty's absence."
"Treatment?" Duchess Miranda leaned forward, interested.
Rosalind spoke up. "In the Eastern provinces, we have certain... techniques for managing feminine tensions. Perhaps Her Majesty discovered something similar?"
"Yes!" Seraphina latched onto the explanation. "The crown contains special stones that promote... relaxation."
"It seemed quite intense," Countess Elmore noted primly.
"The first time often is." Rosalind's smile was knowing. "But the benefits are remarkable. In my homeland, married women swear by such methods."
"What kind of benefits?" Lady Margaret asked, her voice rough.
The crown's vibration jumped to level three. Seraphina gasped, tea sloshing. "Oh! Excuse me. It's... it's acting up."
"Should you remove it?" Catherine suggested.
"I can't. Not until the treatment cycle completes." A lie, but they didn't know that. "The benefits include better sleep, improved mood, and... enhanced marital relations."
Several ladies exchanged glances. The bait was set.
"Enhanced how?" Miranda pressed.
Rosalind giggled innocently. "Well, I shouldn't speak of such things before my wedding, but I've heard it makes wives more... responsive to their husbands' needs."
"Responsive," Margaret repeated, shifting in her seat. "I see."
The conversation continued, dancing around the topic while the queen struggled against increasing vibrations. Then the door opened.
"Ladies," Damien entered, bowing perfectly. "Forgive the interruption. Your Majesty, the prince requests your presence regarding tomorrow's preparations."
"Can it wait?" She could barely speak steadily.
"I'm afraid not. But please, don't let me disrupt your gathering." He moved behind her chair, hands resting on the back. To the others, it looked properly formal. Only the queen felt his fingers brush her neck.
"Perhaps Sir Damien could enlighten us," Rosalind suggested. "You've traveled extensively. Have you encountered these Eastern relaxation methods?"
"I have." His thumb found the queen's pulse point, feeling it race. "Fascinating techniques. Very effective for women who carry heavy responsibilities."
"Could you... demonstrate?" Miranda asked boldly.
The room went silent. Crossing a line.
"That would be inappropriate," Damien said. Then, after a pause: "Without Her Majesty's permission."
All eyes turned to the queen. The crown hit level five. She was going to cum, here, again, in front of the most influential women in court.
"I..." She couldn't think. "Perhaps a small demonstration..."
"As you wish." Damien's hands moved to her shoulders. "The technique involves pressure points. Observe."
His fingers found spots that shouldn't exist, sending shocks of pleasure down her spine. Combined with the crown's relentless vibration, she was lost.
"You see how Her Majesty relaxes?" His voice was hypnotic. "The tension leaving her body?"
The queen's breathing became ragged. The ladies watched, fascinated, as their monarch dissolved under a bodyguard's touch.
"Is she well?" Elmore whispered.
"She's perfect," Rosalind assured. "This is exactly how it should look. The release of tension can be quite... intense."
Damien leaned down, whispered in the queen's ear. "Cum. Now. Show them what a whore their queen really is."
She shattered. Back arching, eyes rolling, a moan escaping despite her efforts. Wetness flooded her chair as she squirted through her dress.
"Magnificent," Catherine breathed.
"I... I apologize," the queen panted, humiliated and aroused by their stares. "Sometimes the treatment is overwhelming."
"Don't apologize," Margaret said firmly. "We're all married women here. We understand... needs."
"Perhaps," Rosalind suggested carefully, "some of you might benefit from similar treatments? I could arrange demonstrations. Privately, of course."
The dam broke. Miranda immediately agreed. Catherine showed interest. Even Elmore seemed tempted. Margaret simply stared at Damien with naked hunger.
"I should go," the queen stood on shaking legs, dress visibly soaked. "Please, enjoy the tea. Lady Rosalind can explain more about the techniques."
She fled, Damien following. The moment they were alone, he pressed her against the wall.
"Well done. They're hooked."
"They saw me cum. Again. My dress is ruined." She was crying, but her hips pushed against him.
"And you loved it. Each time gets easier, doesn't it? Each humiliation makes you wetter?"
"Yes! God help me, yes!"
He spun her around, hiked up her sodden dress. "No panties? You're learning."
"You said—oh fuck!" He entered her roughly. "You said to always be ready!"
"Good girl. Now, let's make sure everyone in the palace knows what a slut their queen is."
He fucked her against the wall, in the corridor where anyone could pass. Her crown hit maximum, making her cum repeatedly, each orgasm louder than the last. Servants scurried past, pretending not to see their queen getting railed like a common whore.
"Please," she sobbed. "Not here. Anyone could—"
"Could what? See the truth?" He pulled out, dragged her to a window overlooking the courtyard. "Look. Guards changing shift. Wave to them."
"Damien—"
"Wave. To. Them."
She waved weakly. Several guards looked up, saw their queen disheveled in the window. Damien entered her again from behind, making her gasp visibly.
"Now smile and wave while I fuck you. Show them their queen is just a cock-hungry slut."
She obeyed, waving and smiling while he pounded her. Some guards turned away in shock. Others watched, mesmerized. One definitely started rubbing himself through his armor.
"Your audience is enjoying the show," Damien growled. "Maybe I should invite them up? Let them all have a turn?"
"No! Please, I'm yours, only yours!"
"Prove it. Tell them."
"What?"
"Scream it. Tell them who owns you."
She broke completely. "I belong to Sir Damien! He owns my body! I'm his whore!"
The words echoed across the courtyard. Guards stopped. Servants stared. The kingdom's perfect queen had just declared herself property.
Damien came deep inside her, marking her. When he pulled out, cum immediately began leaking down her thighs, visible to all below.
"Good girl. Now go clean up. Tomorrow the king returns, and you need to be ready."
She stumbled away, crown still buzzing, cum dripping, utterly destroyed.
---
Back in the tea room, Rosalind had the ladies eating from her palm. She'd convinced them to let her demonstrate "pressure points" on each other, which quickly became thinly veiled groping.
"Oh my," Miranda gasped as Rosalind's fingers found sensitive spots. "That's quite... intense."
"You should feel it with the special oils," Rosalind suggested. "Perhaps we could arrange a more private session? All of us together, learning these techniques?"
"Like a salon?" Catherine suggested, her usual sharp demeanor softened by arousal. "For educational purposes?"
"Exactly. Tomorrow morning, before the king's arrival. We should all be... relaxed for such an important event."
They all agreed, even Elmore. As they departed, each woman moved differently—aware of their bodies in new ways, thinking forbidden thoughts.
Margaret lingered. "Lady Rosalind, might I speak privately?"
Once alone, Margaret's composure cracked. "I know what you're doing. You and Sir Damien. The queen."
Rosalind tensed but kept her innocent smile. "I don't understand—"
"I want in." Margaret's eyes burned. "Whatever you're planning, whatever this is, I want it. My husband betrayed me for years. Last night, Damien showed me what I've been missing. I want more."
"Lady Margaret—"
"I'll do anything. Tell anyone. Betray anyone." She gripped Rosalind's hands. "Please. I'm forty years old and I've only just learned what pleasure really is. Don't let me go back to that empty life."
Rosalind studied her, then smiled—not the innocent maiden smile, but something darker. "Tomorrow morning. Come to the queen's private bath. Bring nothing but yourself and an open mind."
"Thank you. Thank you!"
After Margaret left, Damien emerged from the shadows. "Recruiting?"
"She's desperate. Desperate women are useful." Rosalind poured herself tea. "The others will follow. Miranda's young and bored. Catherine's sharp but unsatisfied. Even Elmore will crack—the prudish ones always fall hardest."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we corrupt them all while the queen watches. Let her see her social circle become our whores. The final humiliation before her husband returns."
"You've gotten cruel, Yuki."
"This world made me cruel. Eighteen years of playing innocent?" She laughed. "I'm making up for lost time."
That night, they met in Damien's chambers to plan the final day before the king's return. Maps of the palace, lists of targets, contingency plans.
"Marcus is broken," Damien reported. "His wife made sure of that. He won't interfere."
"The prince remains oblivious. Spent the day planning romantic gestures for our wedding." Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Sweet boy. Shame he'll be wearing a dress by year's end."
"The queen?"
"Completely ours. Today proved it—she came in public, again, and loved it. Tomorrow's bath will cement her submission."
"And the king?"
They both fell silent. King Aldric was the unknown variable. Returning victorious from war, expecting his perfect queen and loyal court.
"We stick to the plan," Damien decided. "The queen plays devoted wife while wearing evidence of her corruption. If he notices, we adapt. If not, we continue spreading."
"And if he tries to kill you?"
"Then we reveal everything. Every affair, every scandal, every noble wife who's tasted my cock. Let him try to rule a kingdom where half the nobility is compromised."
"Or," Rosalind suggested, "we corrupt him too."
Damien laughed. "Now you're thinking big."
They spent the rest of the night refining plans, like old times but better. By dawn, everything was in place for the final day of freedom before the king's return.
The bath chamber had been prepared. The noble wives would arrive expecting education.
They'd leave as converts to the new order.