I always thought it was the third son that won through in the end. That would, of course, change the whole theme of the story.
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The Soft King
- Thread starter jacksjg89
- Start date
Anyway, here is a first pic ....
Surely it should be La Boulangerie, Patisserie et Croissanterie de Paskell
ShadowWolf
Tribune
Fantastic idea!
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Apologies for delay. I am the procrastinator after all but, I spilled coffee on my keyboard, adopted a puppy, and have been busy with things that should become apparent at the end of this chapter. If you’re still reading, love you guys, you’re awesome!
3.
FSG went through side streets and back channels to a little shop in the red candle district. She exited wearing a large fur coat that completely covered her body, and a sinister looking black leather shoulder bag. She then tipped a handsome young guard to give her a personal escort to the palace, where she stated her intention of giving the King a hard on, and claim the rewards that went with it.
The clerk at the front gate looked the plus sized woman up and down, and silently drew her attention to the cage hanging above the castle walls. The priest daughter was still alive, and surprisingly clean, though this was due to the fact that once per day the cage was lowered into the moat and raised again. “Wouldn’t fit me,” said FSG, not phased by the by the sight of the naked malnourished girl. The clerk then pointed to another horror, the skull of the pirate princess hanging over gate. “She’s not even that pretty. Too bony,” said FSG. The Clerk shrugged and asked to examine the contents of her bag, which she happily handed over. The little man's eyes widened when he saw the contents of her sack. He combed through them briefly with a disposable glove, and then gave her a speculative glance. “This might just work,” he said to himself. FSG was allowed through, and she smiled to herself, because he probably thought that the contents of the back were meant for her, when they were actually for the king.
Everyone stared at her as she walked through the palace, the servants looking scornfully at this woman, the nobles admiring her…. Courage. It would be lie to say that she walked without fear. She knew quite well the risk she was taking. But there was no choice. Her former customers were after her, and for all that their money had bought her, she had in her possession. Either she would be queen, or things would get very uncomfortable. So she walked with confidence to the King’s quarters.
The king looked worse for wear. He sat on his sofa, his hair down up in a man bun, a gold/grey beard hanging from his face, and his shirt open, revealing a slight beer belly. His fly was open, showing his slinky. “You have thirty minutes,” he called out, and turned the half-hour glass over.
Frances was slightly shook by this. She was waiting to offered a glass of whatever the king was drinking from that chalice of his. Instead, he immediately tried to establish the balance of power between them, and that just wouldn’t do.
“Listen to me, Bitch!” FSG recited from her opening act speech, throwing off her coat and revealing a leather outfit that failed to hide her tits and only a flap covering her meat curtain. “You obey everyone of my little instructions, and we should both have a good time.” She turned to open her bag, showing him a very full moon in the process while she took out her black leather riding crop. “Is that clear?”
The king stared at her for a long time, then set down his glass. “If you insist,” he said.
“Then get your ugly ass over here and be my bitch,” She said.
Through a hole in the wall the servants watched in amazement at what the king allowed this fat whore to do to him. He was stripped naked, except for the crown atop his head, and a dog collar and leash was put on him. Leather cuffs were placed upon wrist and ankles, but he refused the bright red ball-gag.
“You really think you can defy me bitch?” She asked him, gently tapping the riding crop against her middle finger.
“Yes,” he said, looking bored, and slightly angry. “I’ll need to call my guards to have you taken away to be executed.”
She saw his point, but the toned would not do. “The only thing I want to hear from you, my royal pansy, are the sounds a dog makes. Bark for me.”
The king just stared at her, and then stared down at his little fellow, who remain unchanged. Frances put the crop under his chin and used it to raise his head. “Bark for me.”
“Woof,” he said, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.
“You going to be impudent the rest of your life, little king? Then you’re going to need to learn how to be a cunt.” And from her bag, she took out, and stepped into a brand new shiny purple strap on. “On your knees, your impudence.”
Those watching through the peephole were having trouble containing themselves. The episode was unbelievable. The scullery maid Natasha, the artist among the seventh, was given the light and space to sketch a portrait of his royal highness deepthroating the fat woman’s crotch. “This is amazing,” she said to her friends as she sketched the dominatrixes bottom. “She is so dead.”
When FSG decided she’d had enough sucking she kicked the king backwards, his crown rolling back to his throne. His Royal highness tried to get up but a heel on his stomach prevented that from happening. “I have a feeling you aren’t going to-“ the king started but was interrupted.
“If you had a feeling, you wouldn't it be in this situation, would you. Now, let’s go for a W-A-L-K.” And the local whore proceeded to walk his royal highness around the room on a leash. It was an amazing sight for the servants, and FSG was quite enjoying it, but she was keenly aware that their was more sand below than there was above. “Up against the wall.” And as it happened, the King put himself before the view of the artistic maid, who had done 3 portraits so far. The fat whore struck the royal backside with a switch. And she continued to taunt him. But there was real panic in her voice now, and he strikes became more and more desperate.
And as the last grain of sand fell the king, as though with a six sense, turned on the FSG as she was making for another vicious strike and attacked her. It was so strange, to see the king give such emotion, but he got on top of the dominatrix and lay into her like a wild animal. And it was over before Natasha could even outline her masters striped backside. He left the woman on the ground, found his crown and a robe, and rang for his guards. “The special cell,” he told them when they arrived.
They had trouble with the woman, removing the clothes she had on and dragging her by her torso to the dungeon. The king then called for his jailer. “Give her three days of your best, and then take her out to the marketplace for her just reward.”
****
FSG was dragged naked down a narrow pathway, towards an cage. She was chained, spread eagle, and lowered down into the darkness. She saw all the layers of the dungeon, and all of the tortures being done to the prisoners. Woman being stretched on the rack, men being crushed by rocks, women sitting on an iron horse, women being flogged, women being branded with hot irons, the usual. And for all she saw, FSG knew that whatever was happening to those poor souls would pale in comparison to what was going to happen to her.
Finally, her cage stopped, and before her was a brightly lit room, with a blackboard, and a fat balding man with an unkept beard there to great her. “So nice of you to join us, whore.”
“Do your worst,” She said to him. “I’m ready.”
“You’re ready are you?” The man said mockingly. “Good, so…” And the man began to write horrifying symbols with chalk on his board. “If we want to find the average of a population, with a confidence level of 95%, we need the….”
“NOOOOOOO!” Screamed FSG.
“Honey, we are just getting started,” the man said. “We need the average of the sample study, X-bar, as well as the number of subjects tested, n, and?....”
“Please make it stop,” cried FSG.
“Either the population standard deviation, Sigma, or the sample standard deviation. And if we have Sigma we have to use?”
“I don’t know, please let me go!”
“So,” said the man, sarcastically looking at his watch, “we are about 90 seconds in, and you’re already breaking. That’s some special qualities you have there girl. We use the Z table to read the confidence level when we have Sigma, but if we don’t have Sigma we need to use the T Table using the…? Anyone? Anyone? Sample standard deviation. I knew you would get there eventually.”
By day three, FSG will have forgotten her name.
****
At night, up above the bakery, the scullery maid/artist and the baker were spending a night of passion together. And in between sessions of love making, they would discuss current affairs.
Paskell was most unhappy regarding the fate of her friend, but these things do happen. She was most concerned about the state of the king. She enjoyed hearing about his royal highness being taken down a peg, but since that last sand fell he had been in wild mood. Ordering the horrific deaths of 12 prisoners by trampling. He also suggested making all sexual intercourse a crime punishable by death.
“Who needs kings?” said Paskell angrily. “What are they good for anyways?
“They make very nice pets apparently,” said Natasha, jumped out of the bed, walked across the floor to her satchel and withdrew the sketches she did of the king being put on a leash and walked around. The two lesbians cuddled in bed while looking at pictures of a naked man. Is that strange? You haven’t seen nothing yet.
“You know,” said Paskell. “The king should disappear, and I think these pictures are the key.”
3.
FSG went through side streets and back channels to a little shop in the red candle district. She exited wearing a large fur coat that completely covered her body, and a sinister looking black leather shoulder bag. She then tipped a handsome young guard to give her a personal escort to the palace, where she stated her intention of giving the King a hard on, and claim the rewards that went with it.
The clerk at the front gate looked the plus sized woman up and down, and silently drew her attention to the cage hanging above the castle walls. The priest daughter was still alive, and surprisingly clean, though this was due to the fact that once per day the cage was lowered into the moat and raised again. “Wouldn’t fit me,” said FSG, not phased by the by the sight of the naked malnourished girl. The clerk then pointed to another horror, the skull of the pirate princess hanging over gate. “She’s not even that pretty. Too bony,” said FSG. The Clerk shrugged and asked to examine the contents of her bag, which she happily handed over. The little man's eyes widened when he saw the contents of her sack. He combed through them briefly with a disposable glove, and then gave her a speculative glance. “This might just work,” he said to himself. FSG was allowed through, and she smiled to herself, because he probably thought that the contents of the back were meant for her, when they were actually for the king.
Everyone stared at her as she walked through the palace, the servants looking scornfully at this woman, the nobles admiring her…. Courage. It would be lie to say that she walked without fear. She knew quite well the risk she was taking. But there was no choice. Her former customers were after her, and for all that their money had bought her, she had in her possession. Either she would be queen, or things would get very uncomfortable. So she walked with confidence to the King’s quarters.
The king looked worse for wear. He sat on his sofa, his hair down up in a man bun, a gold/grey beard hanging from his face, and his shirt open, revealing a slight beer belly. His fly was open, showing his slinky. “You have thirty minutes,” he called out, and turned the half-hour glass over.
Frances was slightly shook by this. She was waiting to offered a glass of whatever the king was drinking from that chalice of his. Instead, he immediately tried to establish the balance of power between them, and that just wouldn’t do.
“Listen to me, Bitch!” FSG recited from her opening act speech, throwing off her coat and revealing a leather outfit that failed to hide her tits and only a flap covering her meat curtain. “You obey everyone of my little instructions, and we should both have a good time.” She turned to open her bag, showing him a very full moon in the process while she took out her black leather riding crop. “Is that clear?”
The king stared at her for a long time, then set down his glass. “If you insist,” he said.
“Then get your ugly ass over here and be my bitch,” She said.
Through a hole in the wall the servants watched in amazement at what the king allowed this fat whore to do to him. He was stripped naked, except for the crown atop his head, and a dog collar and leash was put on him. Leather cuffs were placed upon wrist and ankles, but he refused the bright red ball-gag.
“You really think you can defy me bitch?” She asked him, gently tapping the riding crop against her middle finger.
“Yes,” he said, looking bored, and slightly angry. “I’ll need to call my guards to have you taken away to be executed.”
She saw his point, but the toned would not do. “The only thing I want to hear from you, my royal pansy, are the sounds a dog makes. Bark for me.”
The king just stared at her, and then stared down at his little fellow, who remain unchanged. Frances put the crop under his chin and used it to raise his head. “Bark for me.”
“Woof,” he said, but his heart definitely wasn’t in it.
“You going to be impudent the rest of your life, little king? Then you’re going to need to learn how to be a cunt.” And from her bag, she took out, and stepped into a brand new shiny purple strap on. “On your knees, your impudence.”
Those watching through the peephole were having trouble containing themselves. The episode was unbelievable. The scullery maid Natasha, the artist among the seventh, was given the light and space to sketch a portrait of his royal highness deepthroating the fat woman’s crotch. “This is amazing,” she said to her friends as she sketched the dominatrixes bottom. “She is so dead.”
When FSG decided she’d had enough sucking she kicked the king backwards, his crown rolling back to his throne. His Royal highness tried to get up but a heel on his stomach prevented that from happening. “I have a feeling you aren’t going to-“ the king started but was interrupted.
“If you had a feeling, you wouldn't it be in this situation, would you. Now, let’s go for a W-A-L-K.” And the local whore proceeded to walk his royal highness around the room on a leash. It was an amazing sight for the servants, and FSG was quite enjoying it, but she was keenly aware that their was more sand below than there was above. “Up against the wall.” And as it happened, the King put himself before the view of the artistic maid, who had done 3 portraits so far. The fat whore struck the royal backside with a switch. And she continued to taunt him. But there was real panic in her voice now, and he strikes became more and more desperate.
And as the last grain of sand fell the king, as though with a six sense, turned on the FSG as she was making for another vicious strike and attacked her. It was so strange, to see the king give such emotion, but he got on top of the dominatrix and lay into her like a wild animal. And it was over before Natasha could even outline her masters striped backside. He left the woman on the ground, found his crown and a robe, and rang for his guards. “The special cell,” he told them when they arrived.
They had trouble with the woman, removing the clothes she had on and dragging her by her torso to the dungeon. The king then called for his jailer. “Give her three days of your best, and then take her out to the marketplace for her just reward.”
****
FSG was dragged naked down a narrow pathway, towards an cage. She was chained, spread eagle, and lowered down into the darkness. She saw all the layers of the dungeon, and all of the tortures being done to the prisoners. Woman being stretched on the rack, men being crushed by rocks, women sitting on an iron horse, women being flogged, women being branded with hot irons, the usual. And for all she saw, FSG knew that whatever was happening to those poor souls would pale in comparison to what was going to happen to her.
Finally, her cage stopped, and before her was a brightly lit room, with a blackboard, and a fat balding man with an unkept beard there to great her. “So nice of you to join us, whore.”
“Do your worst,” She said to him. “I’m ready.”
“You’re ready are you?” The man said mockingly. “Good, so…” And the man began to write horrifying symbols with chalk on his board. “If we want to find the average of a population, with a confidence level of 95%, we need the….”
“NOOOOOOO!” Screamed FSG.
“Honey, we are just getting started,” the man said. “We need the average of the sample study, X-bar, as well as the number of subjects tested, n, and?....”
“Please make it stop,” cried FSG.
“Either the population standard deviation, Sigma, or the sample standard deviation. And if we have Sigma we have to use?”
“I don’t know, please let me go!”
“So,” said the man, sarcastically looking at his watch, “we are about 90 seconds in, and you’re already breaking. That’s some special qualities you have there girl. We use the Z table to read the confidence level when we have Sigma, but if we don’t have Sigma we need to use the T Table using the…? Anyone? Anyone? Sample standard deviation. I knew you would get there eventually.”
By day three, FSG will have forgotten her name.
****
At night, up above the bakery, the scullery maid/artist and the baker were spending a night of passion together. And in between sessions of love making, they would discuss current affairs.
Paskell was most unhappy regarding the fate of her friend, but these things do happen. She was most concerned about the state of the king. She enjoyed hearing about his royal highness being taken down a peg, but since that last sand fell he had been in wild mood. Ordering the horrific deaths of 12 prisoners by trampling. He also suggested making all sexual intercourse a crime punishable by death.
“Who needs kings?” said Paskell angrily. “What are they good for anyways?
“They make very nice pets apparently,” said Natasha, jumped out of the bed, walked across the floor to her satchel and withdrew the sketches she did of the king being put on a leash and walked around. The two lesbians cuddled in bed while looking at pictures of a naked man. Is that strange? You haven’t seen nothing yet.
“You know,” said Paskell. “The king should disappear, and I think these pictures are the key.”
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
All my life, I've dreaded two things----------having my kinks discovered, and statistics.
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
That fear is currently a reality for me.
ShadowWolf
Tribune
Sorry, I didn't see this part ! Is it the end ?
Anyway, this story shows why , in France, we killed our king ...
Mmmmm ! I shoud like to eat some "viennoiseries" ...
A lovely display Messaline
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
Things are going slow on my end too, with a real statistics class taught by real sadist.
Anyway, this story shows why , in France, we killed our king ...
Mmmmm ! I shoud like to eat some "viennoiseries" ...
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