Thread: In the Shadow of Camelot: A Femdom Arthurian Tale (Closed)

He was hers, then. Ensnared in a sticky, dangerous web of desire and now Morgana could do as she pleased, but all in good time. She had found that even the strongest of men could be bent to her will, and Arthur would be no exception however, it would take time. She had planted a blasphemous seed within his mind, and it would ferment while he was gone, and every moment he was away from Morgana, he would secretly and shamefully long for her. He would dream of her lips and her touch and her body wrapped around his own until he was nearly sick with lust. Upon his return the tension between them would be intense and erotic, and then she would make her move, and he would be unable to resist her. It would all work perfectly, Morgana would make certain of it. For now, though, it was a pity to see him out. He was so pretty, and she did sincerely enjoy his company, and the way he stumbled nervously over his words was so unbecoming of a king and so pathetic that she almost found it a bit endearing. He seemed to have taken her cue - smart boy - and was pretending that their previous moments, their sensual kiss, hadn't happened at all, even though they would both remember it vividly in the coming days and weeks. For Morgana was not as unaffected as she would like to be. Her chest clenched, she felt short of breath, hot and dizzy, as the beginnings of arousal stirring within her. And whenever her thoughts betrayed her and turned to more than just kisses and fleeting touches between she and her half-brother, it resonated between her legs and a throbbing, almost aching need would blossom there, something she knew she would have to keep under control. Arthur spoke, anxious and stammering and confused, and Morgana simply kept her head bowed, not meeting his eye, instead looking into her lap where he hands still lay, folded. When he stood, so did she, and now she did look at him, her expression a painful mixture of confusion, guilt, disappointment, and a forced smile. She watched him go to the door, and was about to open her mouth to say goodnight, when he suddenly made a request of her. Her favor. Of course, it made sense. The chivalry and romance of it somehow suited Arthur. I could not deny Your Majesty such a flattering request, Morgana said, quietly. Excuse me. She turned around and disappeared into her private chamber for now more than a moment, and then she emerged once more. She walked across the room and dared to stand close to him - their bodies were almost touching, and the sexual energy crackled and buzzed in that sliver of space left between them, and she could feel her skin break out into goosebumps. It is my honor to present Your Highness with my favor, Morgana said with a smile. She held it up for him - it was a long, silken handkerchief of sorts, of the same dark blue color as her dress, and embroidered with silvery flowers, and her name, in white, swirling letters. On one condition, she added, that you present it to me upon your victorious return. Of course, he wasn't expected to agree. But it was a wistful, romantic notion, which paired with her expression of longing, might easily occur between parting lovers. Morgana took his hand, gently, pressed the handkerchief into his palm, and closed his fingers around it. Her own hand lingered on his. It has been a pleasure and a privilege to speak with you tonight. Rest assured that while you are away this heart will ache and pray for your safety as well as your triumph. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then released his hand and stepped back. Good evening, my lord.