Silence fell over the pair, and their embrace stretched from seconds into minutes. Lucene needed it to last, nothing had ever felt like such a balm on her soul. She was soothed, reinvigorated, reassured. Everything would be okay. When Lucene felt ready, she pulled away, and looked up, way up, into Izelle’s eyes. It was still her princess, despite the changes. She could explain everything to her, Izelle would understand, Izelle would fix this. They shared the comfortable silence for just a little longer as Lucene searched for her words, then spoke. “Izelle I, you need to talk to our queen,” she began. 

A bemused look crossed Izelle's face, and she raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that, my treasure?” 

Try as she may, there was no suppressing the shiver which rippled down Lucene’s spine at the endearment. Her cheeks flushed, and she reflexively stared at the floor, swaying a little. Once the initial shock was over, Lucene took a deep breath, collecting herself. “Just look what she did to me. I am… grateful to serve her, but I was to be her champion. And instead, instead she made me,” Lucene took a moment to gesture to her weak, diminutive body, “this. You’re one of her champions, she’ll listen to you, just explain to her I am not meant to be this way, please?” Lucene tore her gaze from the floor, and looked to Izelle. What she saw perplexed her. 

Instead of understanding, and agreement, she saw a mix of pity, affection, and condescension. Izelle seemed to struggle with her words for a moment, chewing her thoughts, before nodding, and sighing, then shaking her head. “My dear Lucene,” Izelle murmured, reaching down to brush a lock of hair from the smaller woman’s eyes. “I cannot tell you enough how much it pains me to see you so misguided,” she continued. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” Lucene choked. 

Izelle shifted in place, then stooped to one knee, even so, she was still taller than Lucene, much to her humiliation. Still, she needed not strain her neck to look her princess in the eyes, which was appreciated. Lucene had scarcely processed her position, when Izelle snapped her fingers, and Lucene immediately in turn gave Izelle her undivided attention. “There’s a good girl,” Izelled purred. Lucene could not suppress a squeak, and blushed all the more. Still, this time, she did not look away, she couldn’t, Izelle had her in her gaze. Instead, Lucene watched with intent anticipation. “My brave, brave girl,” Izelle began, brushing her fingers across Lucene’s exposed collarbone, causing the girl’s knees to buckle. Izelle caught her with ease, and righted her; it was impossible not to swoon at that, too.

“You were so strong, you fought so hard for so long,” Izelle continued. “I wish I could have done this sooner, I really do, before the scars truly set in, before you hardened the ways you did. But don’t worry, that’s over now. You’re free; we both are. Me, from the rigidity, the restrictions of nobility, ladyship, royalty, and you from the burdens of expectation, of ambition, of responsibility. The queen and I have built you a lovely, comfortable, safe cage to keep you happy and cared for, for the rest of your life. You will be mine, and hers. And you can let go of all that came before.”

Panic tore at Lucene. This was wrong, this was all wrong. How could Izelle do this to her? How could she agree with Tyranaxxia? Lucene was a knight, a warrior, a hero, she had a purpose, a need to fulfill, she—Izelle cupped her chin, tilting Lucene’s gaze upward with her as stood to her full height. Once again, Lucene found herself cast in her princess’ shadow. Once again, she was awestruck at the mere sight of her. Izelle smiled, and her fear began to wane, she stroked Lucene’s cheek with her thumb, and her eyelids fluttered, she spoke a single word, and Lucene obeyed.

“Melt.”

Lucene collapsed. Her knees gave out, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, calm washed over her. For a moment, she fell. And then, she was caught, and lifted up into a tight embrace. From above, she heard Izelle murmur something, possibly more to herself than to Lucene. “Poor thing, did you forget what Mistress told you? It was me who requested you become a bed-girl in the first place. No matter, though. I’ll show you this is where you belong.” Lucene heard the words, but did not process their meaning, but Izelle’s voice sounded so nice, so full of affection and kindness. It was impossible not to relax into her. 

Eyes closed, Lucene pressed herself into Izelle’s comforting grasp. Those warm, strong arms were wrapped around her, cradling her, squeezing her. There was no doubt about it; she was safe. And in that moment, Lucene truly understood; she knew with absolute certainty that all her struggles would soon come to an end. She felt a soft, warm hand brush against her cheek, then seize her firmly, but gently by the chin, tiling her gaze upward and willing her eyes to flutter open. That oh so familiar face greeted her. And what a gorgeous face it was, the only face in the world that could compare to Tyranaxxia’s in beauty, grace, strength. 

Lucene had spent so many hours studying every facet of her princess’ face, she knew it by heart, and the familiar safety it had always evoked was amplified a hundredfold by the marks Tyranaxxia’s control had left on her mind, her soul. And Lucene was not the only one. Even a cursory glance at Izelle was enough to tell, the princess, the champion, had felt the burning heat of their Mistress’ will. Her soul had been singed, she bore the same marks as Lucene—though unlike Lucene, Izelle wore them with dignity, courage, strength. There could be no mistake: Izelle was different, and not just in the ways her body had been shaped into a towering peak of strength and purpose. 

It was the same face as always; the one Lucene had stared longingly into for hours time and time again. Her lips were the same lips which Lucene had felt brush against her own on many a night, they were curled upward into a familiar smile, one the princess had always saved just for her. She bore the same sparkling, captivating green eyes, ones which had inspired such a great many doomed suitors and pandering bards to pen poems and songs for. And yet, hidden within each facet of Izelle’s undeniable familiarity, was a new dimension, brought forth by the blessing of Tyranaxxia which burned in the princess turned champion’s breast. 

There was an intangible sense to Izelle; this aura which reverberated out of her, and exuded the sort of strength which only Tyranaxxia herself could supercede. Just as Lucene, Izelle’s very soul had been singed by Tyranaxxia’s power, but they were far from the same. The cleansing flames of their Mistress had only elevated Izelle. And in all the same ways Izelle was now greater, was now more, Lucene had been reduced, burned away. The lingering flame within her was dull and flickering; it smoldered, begged to be snuffed out and stolen away. Izelle was different; she blazed, and the scorch-marks within were both opposite and complementary to Lucene’s. The true gulf between them, wide and incomprehensible, came not from Izelle’s towering stature and Lucene’s now diminutive form, but from within. 

In all likelihood, few would be able to pick up on it, but Lucene was not like most people. She belonged to the dragoness now. And she could feel it; the burning embers of strength which blazed bright within Izelle’s breast. They radiated out from Tyranaxxia’s true champion, and took hold of Lucene. She was a magnet, drawn to her opposite pole, pulled along by invisible forces beyond her control. A simple look was enough. Izelle enveloped Lucene entirely, attuned her to every little detail, every unseen and unspoken dimension of her champion’s presence. Lucene could feel her heart exploding in need even as she was soothed with a look. Her body sang with joy at Izelle’s touch, all while crying out in desperate need for more of it. And when Izelle reached down to tenderly caress the sensitive flesh of Lucene’s cheek, her entire being was overtaken by awe and delight. Lucene could stare at that face for hours and never get bored, drink in the subtle shifts of Izelle’s expression, bask in the love she felt taking hold of her and commanding her to be still, to relax and place her fate in Izelle’s hands. 

She did just that, falling still with her arms wrapped around Izelle, held in place partly by Izelle’s arms, but mostly through that look alone. Izelle kept Lucene there, her face pressed against her champion’s soft chest, letting her slow, shaky shivering subside into stillness, and simply stared upward into her beloved’s eyes. The more she looked, the more Lucene understood, the more it became apparent: she stood on a precipice, a gaping void that threatened to swallow her whole. She could fall into the darkness, entrust everything she was to her beloved Mistresses, drift downward forever, never seeing the bottom, never seeing the end, always falling deeper, fuller, more completely into submission. And all of it was written in that face. Lucene could see the differences clearer than ever, the changes Tyranaxxia had wrought upon Izelle, hidden in reflections of reflections, behind burning brightness that threatened to blind all who looked upon them. 

First there was her smile. Though it carried the same gentle care which Izelle had always shown Lucene, she now exuded with it an undertone of smug confidence. Her eyes, too, were different. They were the same shade, the same shape, but they burned with a passionate hunger no mere mortal could ever bear; they drank in every inch of Lucene’s tiny form with an eager hunger that left the former knight shivering with want. Everywhere Lucene looked, every last detail, she could see the changes, the ways that Tyranaxxia’s will had forged Izelle into champion, and her into a meek, quivering plaything, a pet, a bed girl. Izelle had scarcely spoken a word, and yet, Lucene already hung on each and every one of them. The mere sight of her champion filled Lucene with giddy, girlish excitement, desperate burning want, and all-consuming adoration. She would do anything just to feel her touch. Izelle could spend hours on end reading from a quartermaster’s logbook, and Lucene would sit in rapt attention for hours, delighted at the simple privilege of getting to hear her voice. 

What was happening to her? Lucene was losing herself. She could feel it, feel her mind being tugged downward, her will being extinguished. Her desires, her ambitions being snuffed out and replaced with the quiet, simpering yearning of a needy, awe-struck possession. Worst of all, it was only the beginning. Izelle had scarcely spoken to Lucene and she already ached to hear the sound of her voice, had done little more than hold her and caress her, yet Lucene’s lips already ached, trembled at the effort it took to hold back all manner of declarations of love, of submission, her tongue itched to denote Izelle with every last title, honorific, and word of devotion she could think of. She could only imagine what would happen when Izelle decided to take her for real. 

Something deep inside Lucene cried out, clenched clutched, pawed senselessly, ached with need at the mere realization of how far Izelle might take her. Izelle would kiss her, surely, that much was certain. The idea alone of tasting those lips set Lucene tumbling into senseless desire. Lucene was not sure she could even bear to imagine what more her champion might do to her, might take from her. What use was her ambition, or the fleeting, flickering memory of her pride as a knight, against such all-consuming desire? Lucene had fought so hard, clung desperately to the role which Tyranaxxia had originally selected for her. There was honor in it, purpose, strength, a future in service to something greater to herself, while still carving her own path, making meaningful choices, doing meaningful, important things. Most importantly, Tyranaxxia had selected it for her. That alone made it important. And when her blessing had burned within Lucene’s breast, she had understood, had received a fleeting taste of the elation which such power could bring. Why then, did the thought of taking up a sword for her Goddess, of standing tall, shoulder to shoulder with her comrades and conquering the world in Tyranaxxia’s name, fill Lucene with nothing but fright and confusion?

Lost, needful eyes searched Izelle’s face for guidance, and Lucene found herself pulled away from such dark, frightful thoughts. Izelle chuckled, and shook her head gently. “Even after everything, there’s still that little kernel of pride left in you, isn’t there?” Uncertain how to respond, Lucene remained silent, simply staring up at her champion in expectant want. Izelle took a moment to appreciate the sight before her, pinning Lucene in place with hungry eyes, then continued. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.” Without another word, Izelle hefted her upward, slinging Lucene over her shoulders and striding off. 

Anticipation gnawed at Lucene. Each step carried her deeper into the heart of Tyranaxxia’s palace, farther from all she once was, closer to something new, closer to what Izelle had in store for her once they were alone. And from her place, hoisted over her champion’s shoulder, Lucene could do naught but watch as her final willful act disappeared off into the distance. Somehow, it felt liberating. In those fleeting moments of her mad fight from the yet unmasked champion, Lucene could have sworn that she must have practically run the entire length of Tyranaxxia’s home. And yet, it couldn’t have taken Izelle much longer than a minute to carry Lucene back to the room she had awoken in. 

Izelle carried Lucene over the threshold, and, with an unceremonious click, the door shut behind them. Without warning, Izelle’s hands gripped Lucene firmly by the waist, and she found herself sailing through the air. Lucene’s insides lurched as she realized she was now entirely at the gravity’s mercy, though before she could properly process her situation, she made a safe, soft landing upon the bed. Panting, Lucene sat up on her elbows, and caught sight of her champion. Izelle watched from her place just before the doorway, her towering form dominating Lucene’s field of view. Despite having only just thrown Lucene across the room, she stood tall, arms at her side, with a sharp, but relaxed poise to her posture. There was no hint of exertion, the only indication that she’d even moved was the simple fact that Lucene now lay flat on her back on the other side of the bedchamber.  

With long, confident strides, Izelle carried herself across the room and paused at the foot of the bed. She lingered there, staring Lucene down, drinking in every inch of her form. Lucene had never felt so exposed as she did in that moment. Though she was still bound up in lace, with her hands tied behind her back, that truly did not matter. Not a single muscle would move until Izelle willed it to. Lucene was trapped by that gaze, a feeling growing all the more familiar. But there was more; it was different this time. The ravenous hunger in Izelle’s eyes carried with them a distinct sense: this was where Lucene belonged. This was what she was for. It was where she belonged: bound up in something soft and pretty, vulnerable at the hands of a Mistress who, were she to will it, could rip Lucene to pieces without breaking a sweat. Of course, she would not. Izelle would never, nor would Tyranaxxia. Lucene was a treasure, a pretty possession on display to be viewed, to be used at the discretion of her Mistresses. 

A grin tugged at Izelle’s lips, and she broke the silence with a sharp exhalation of breath. In tandem with her champion, Lucene felt herself release the breath she had never realized she’d been holding in. Wordlessly, Izelle slid onto the bed, and crawled forward, until her face was mere inches from Lucene’s. A firm, but gentle grip took hold of Lucene’s chin, and Izelle forced Lucene to gaze into her champion’s eyes. And that face, so familiar, yet so intagably changed, radiating such burning intensity. To simply look upon her champion was to set Luicene’s heart ablaze. Her breath came in short, desperate pants, her cheeks flushed; Lucene squirmed, writhed, melted against that heat on her flesh and in her core. It was too much, too intense. Like a cornered animal, Lucene struggled to shy away, to slip from Izelle’s grip, to break from her gaze, though her grip was too strong. They remained that way for several moments, Lucene squirming and smoldering under Her presence, Izelle holding her bed girl firmly in place with nothing more than a tight grip on her chin, and a steadfast gaze. They remained that way until the heat in Lucene’s core grew unbearable, and the grip on her chin began to burn. Lucene, still struggling to break Izelle’s grip, emitted a soft whine, and, without warning, Izelle released her. 

Lucene collapsed, whimpering, shuddering, tears rolling down her cheek as she shivered. From above, she felt Izelle’s gaze on her, though the heat, the intensity, had left. This time, when Izelle’s hand reached down to run through Lucene’s hair, it felt like stillness. Lucene went limp. Her heartbeat slowed, her breath evened out, the burning subsided. From above, Izelle spoke in a cool, husky whisper. “You poor thing,” she cooed, her hand continuing to lightly stroke Izelle’s hair. “So fragile.”

“It burns,” Lucene whimpered. 

“You still have a piece of her fire inside you,” Izelle murmured. Her strong arms enveloped Lucene, and pulled her into her champion’s chest. “Maybe even some of your own old fire. A delicate little treasure like you isn’t meant to feel such things, but I can still see it in your eyes. It’s weak, smoldering, but there. Don’t worry, though, I’ll fix it. I’ll fix you, extinguish that last bit of light in your eyes.” Izelle’s hand touched her cheek, and this time, she was cool to the touch, a balm on Lucene’s searing flesh. “And don’t worry, you won’t need it. Our queen will keep us warm. I’ll keep you warm. You don’t need to struggle anymore. Let me make you the soft, delicate thing you were always meant to be, my dear Lucene.”

As the urge to succumb, to fade, to let Izelle’s unearthly presence seize her and pull her down into the depths of blissful submission surrounded her, clouded her, Lucene felt the dregs of her strength stir. Fractured, incomplete remnant’s of the champion’s blessing which had been thrust into her heart found purchase, and flared up in their death throes. Even faded and flickering as they were, they burned; it was not the welcome, soothing heat of her Goddess’ will, it was a charring, blazing heat. One that lashed out in anger, that threatened to consume Lucene. Even so, through the pain, Lucene found the strength to remember her anger, her determination, her ambition. Izelle was trying to take that from her. That was wrong, wasn’t it?

“Izelle, wait,” Lucene cried. A look of surprise and hesitation crossed her champion’s face. “This isn’t what I want,” she choked. “I’m meant to be her champion.”

Every last drop of intensity which had permeated Izelle’s demeanor only moments ago completely faded. She lowered herself, and rolled on her side, then took Lucene in her arms. Lucene breathed a sharp gasp, as her flames stilled at Izelle’s touch. Breathing in a slow, soothing rhythm, Izelle curled her towering form around Lucene, and pulled the bed girl into her. Lucene was helpless in those arms; Izelle took her, pulled her in close, and nestled her head against her champion’s chest. The gentle beating of Izelle’s heart, and the soft cushion of her breasts lulled Lucene further into a state of comfortable relaxation. Lucene felt her heat subside, the strength in her evaporating. To fight, to struggle, to stand on her own was a burden, but it did not matter. Izelle was here. Izelle would hold her, comfort her, hold up her burdens for her. As the fires inside Lucene were tamed, the pain began to fade. She was trembling, weak, vulnerable, but Izelle could see to that. Lucene would be safe here, in her champion’s arms. 

“You understand now, don’t you?” Izelle crooned. “You feel it. You need to let go of your fire, it does nothing but burn you.”

Lucene wanted to believe her. She felt the truth in Izelle’s words, felt the safety she brought, the pain she soothed, the contentment, belonging and peace. And yet, when confronted with the prospect of giving in, of falling forever into passive, docile, even joyful acceptance of the fate Izelle had in mind for her, Lucene could not bring herself to let go. It was too much, too final. She would be destroying everything she was. “This is wrong, Izelle. You’re making me into something I’m not,” Lucene said. 

“You cannot honestly believe that, can you, Lucene?” Izelle asked. “That is not you talking, it’s the flame Tyranaxxia bestowed upon you, the same flame that burns you so painfully. It’s the errant, misguided sense of duty you clung to as a knight, the same sense of duty that had you so ready to cast your life away at my father’s behest. The same sense of duty that kept us apart for so long.” Izelle ran a hand through Lucene’s hair, and pressed her lips to the bed girl’s forehead. “It is the same pride that, time and time again, tried to persuade me not to dote upon you, to dress you up in silks and tell you what a beautiful, wonderful woman you are. It is your fear; the fear which told you the desires you had were shameful, unbecoming of a knight, ridiculous for a lady of your former stature. Deny it all you like, Lucene, but you were at your happiest when you let me be strong for you. So give in, my love. Let go of all the things which used to hurt you, which still do hurt you, which even now cry out in destructive self preservation, threatening to consume you. Let me dote on you, dress you in pretty, soft silk, and shower you in the love and care you’ve always yearned for. Every night could be like those nights we shared in the castle, only far, far better. Be mine; be hers. Let us take care of you.”

A slow, shuddering breath escaped Lucene’s lips. She rolled onto her back, and froze. Izelle loomed over her, a loving, patient expression on her face. The world faded from view, there was nothing else to see but Her. There was a choice before Lucene, two paths. One led out upward, away from the bedchamber, back to Tyranaxxia, back to the ritual, back to her place a champion, a proud knight, serving a greater purpose, earning glory, honor, respect, climbing higher, burning brighter into the heavens. The other dropped sharply and suddenly, into a deep and endless chasm of submission. Into a faded, shrunken world, where all that mattered lay within the walls of Tyranaxxia’s home, and all without would lose its meaning. It was a frightful choice, and yet, it was no choice at all. Lucene was no true champion; even if she were, the choice had already been made for her. Her eyes met those of the woman she loved so dearly. Breath hitched in her throat, Lucene gasped out the words which sealed her fate. “Take me, Izelle.”

A warm smile spread over Izelle’s face. “With pleasure, my darling.” 

With gliding elegance, Izelle leaned back, then sat on her ankles, Izelle followed suit by propping herself up on her elbows to gain a better view. Towering over Lucene, she began to peel away her clothing, revealing breathtaking physique. Everything about Izelle was honed to a fine point. Below the regal, familiar beauty of her face was a body carved from dignified ferocity and graceful strength. Her arms, once nearly as slender and delicate as those which Lucene now had, bulged with muscle. Where once she had a soft belly, Izelle now revealed a rippling abdomen so firm a spear might bounce off it. Her breasts hung full and proud. From her neck, all down to her feet, the occasional patch of ruby scales dotted her flesh. There was no modesty, no princess’s shame. Izelle sat tall, reveling in her form, exuding well-placed arrogance. Between her legs, stood a proud, hard member. 

Lucene was uncertain how to react, how to process the sight. The rational parts of her brain struggled to understand if it were possible for Izelle to have had it from the beginning, or if, for some reason, it had been bestowed by Tyranaxxia. However, those rational parts were few and dwindling, drowned out by the flood of pure want that flared up in Lucene’s own nethers. She was transfixed, utterly taken by the sight, and the desires it carried. Lucene wanted Izelle inside her, she wanted it more than anything. She would happily give away whatever she could to have her flame snuffed out, and feel her champion’s heat erupt inside of her. A garbled, nonsensical string of syllables spilled from Lucene’s lips. The meaning was not lost on Izelle. She chuckled, and leaned forward. A single finger pressed against Lucene’s chest, and effortlessly pushed her down, flat onto her back.   

Like that, all the searing flame within Lucene concentrated, pooling in belly and radiating from her aching slit. She had a need, untethered, uncontrollable. Above her, Lucene could see Izelle’s face hovering just above hers, tantalizingly out of reach. Consumed by her hunger, Lucene lurched upward to meet those lips with her own, only for Izelle to rise just out of reach, a smug, patient grin plastered on her lips. Firm hands fell upon her Lucene’s shoulders, effortlessly pinning her to the bed. Izelle loomed over her, face calm, and eyes betraying molten lust. Still, her champion remained patient, taking in the sight before her: a pretty gift all wrapped up in ribbons. She released a slow exhale, and her hot breath tickled Izelle’s neck. More agonizing moments followed, Lucene churning inside, Izelle’s petrifying gaze the only thing keeping her hips from bucking, lurching in need. 

Suddenly, Izelle’s fingers were trailing across Lucene’s cheek, as her free hand lifted up and away from Lucene’s shoulder, and came to rest around her throat, just over the handprint collar which Tyranaxxia had seared into Lucene’s flesh. That single hand easily wrapped entirely around Lucene’s neck. She held Lucene in place, applying no pressure, keeping the bed girl in place with idle implication alone. The fingers stroking Lucene’s cheek trailed toward her mouth, brushing her lips. Consumed by desperate want, Lucene eagerly parted her lips, but before she could take her champions fingers into her mouth, Izelle pulled back. A soft whine rose from deep in Lucene’s core, Izelle cocked her head, and chuckled. Next thing Lucene knew, Izelle was upon her, their lips crashing together in a flurry of dancing tongues and muffled moans. The force of Izelle’s kiss pressed Lucene further into the soft bed as she lay helpless, at the complete mercy of her lover’s ravenous desire. 

Each flick of her champion’s tongue was a theft. Izelle reached inside Lucene and scooped out the scraps of her strength, her resistance, her will. All the world faded save that one kiss as Lucene lost herself in Her, tumbling down into a dark, gentle, warm emptiness. She floated there for time unmeasured, lost in that kiss, drowned by Her warmth, Her lips, Her tongue. Then, from nothing, she felt a hand rest upon her belly. A guttural moan erupted from her lips as Lucene regained shape and form and presence. Her hips lurched upward, into her champion’s touch as the aching in her core returned. With familiar strength, Izelle pushed Lucene’s hip back down onto the bed, using her knees to pin Lucene in place, legs spread. Cool air brushed against her burning sex. A moment of quiet anticipation passed, and then a finger brushed along her labia. Lucene collapsed, she had abandoned any control over her body; she was a puppet, and those hands, that tongue, held the strings. 

Another brush against her lower lips, and Lucene’s eyes fluttered, rolling back into her head as a desperate cry erupted from her lips. Izelle broke their kiss, and hovered above Lucene, locking eyes with her, slowly stroking. Lucene could look nowhere but those eyes. Each touch sent ripples of pleasure through her flesh, sent her toppling further into the deep dark comfort of control and submission. Simply put, Lucene was in awe; she stared up at the most beautiful, perfect woman in the world, matched only by her Goddess. Izelle’s eyes were burning stars, and the entirety of their heat was laser-focused on Lucene, yet she did not burn. She basked, bathed in her Mistress’ radiance, captured by her splendor, tangled and twisted by far-away touches at her most intimate place. Then, without warning, Lucene’s finger’s plunged inside Izelle, and she was gone, plummeting a thousand feet per second into carnal delight. 

Each thrust of her Mistress’ fingers captured more of Lucene, seized her, aligned her with who and what she was meant to be. If there ever had been a way out for Lucene, it was gone now, erased in her present, her future, her past. Lucene was claimed, a weak flame confined to a dwindling wick with no way out, all Izelle needed to do was snuff her out for good. And yet, each thrust of those fingers only brought her heat more to the forefront, kindled it, stoked it, encouraged the need in her core to build higher and higher with each delightful, pleasureful stroke that filled her. When Izelle finally withdrew, Lucene was a gasping, panting mess, red in the face, drooling, staring blankly up at her champion. Nothing in the world made sense save that face hovering above her, nothing else needed to, Izelle was Lucene’s world. A small world, but one of endless depth, exactly as simple, as large, and fulfilling as a delicate little treasure would need.  

Warm, wet fingers brushed against Lucene’s lips, smearing her arousal against sensitive flesh. No words needed to be spoken, Lucene eagerly took her champion’s fingers into her mouth, sucking on them, rolling her tongue along them, licking up her own arousal, savoring the touch, the taste. Lucene lay there a while, eyes closed, licking and sucking her Mistress’ fingers. As she did, a quiet, heavy peace began to fall over her. Her breath slowed, along with her heart, her eyes took on a glassy glaze, and a peaceful stillness took her thoughts. Her task, her purpose, was simple: please her Mistress. All Lucene needed to do to accomplish that at the moment was to keep idly licking and sucking at those fingers, drooling and moaning weakly. One thing remained unchanged, however, the burning in her nethers persisted, shining brightly through the blanket of empty, blissful obedience. It simmered, and rose, bubbling, rolling, until it reached a boil and, even under the thick haze of Mistress’ will, Lucene’s need could be contained no longer. 

Glassy, pleading eyes stared up at Izelle, silently begging for that last bit of catharsis, of fulfillment, of pleasure, of destruction. And, through that veil of hazy submission, blazed a single moment of perfect clarity. Lucene understood; her moment had come. Izelle leaned in close, so close their lips brushed together as she spoke, and whispered to her cherished belonging. “It’s time, my love. Time I break you, time I finish making you into what you were meant to be: mine.” Joy sang through Lucene’s heart as her Mistress continued. “I know there is some tiny part of you, at this point it must be nearly invisible, imperceptible, but it is there. The remnants of pride, of independence, those things you clung to when you still pretended to be a knight. But do not worry, I will take them from you.”

Just then, Izelle shifted, and Lucene felt her, warm and firm, lingering at her entrance. Lucene waited, eyes staring longingly up at her Mistress, knowing she could do nothing but wait, pray for the moment it was all taken away from her. There was no pomp, no circumstance, no poetic pause. One moment, Lucene was staring up at Izelle, waiting, the next, Izelle had thrust into her. The entirety of her length glided into Lucene with ease, filling her completely, taking her, quelling that unbearable need, tempering the searing heat, and this time, it would be for good. Lucene screamed in cathartic pleasure as her whole body exploded at the sensation of being filled by her beloved Mistress. Then Izelle pulled back, and thrust again, and again, and again, over and over, sweeping Lucene further and further from reality, and into her perfect little cage. 

Each thrust erased more of Lucene, removed the unneeded, unwanted parts of her old life. They took her title, they took her ambition, the scraps of her strength, every last attachment to her old home, her old role, they took, and took, emptying Lucene out even as she was filled. By the time her fingers were gripping the bed sheets, and her eyes had rolled back into her head, Lucene had been freed of every last thing a precious bed girl like her would never need. She managed one last moment of clarity, of focus, and locked eyes with her Mistress. Izelle smiled, sending the bed girl’s heart into an awe-struck frenzy of adoration. 

Her pleasure built, rising to untold heights. Lucene’s legs shook, her hips bucked, her moans turned to screams as her Mistress took her, claimed her, filled her. She was on the brink, the edge; Lucene was well past the point of no return, but no, she was staring the abyss in the eye, and begged to be swallowed whole. Like an angel from above, just as Lucene felt herself dipping below the crashing waves of bliss, Mistress gave her final command. “Cum for me, my love.” Orgasm rocked her entire body, with it, the last of her heat evaporated, though Lucene did not find herself in a cold, dark world. She was bursting inside with her Mistress’ warmth, both metaphysically, and very, very physically as, in that moment, her Mistress erupted into Lucene, filling the bed girl with her burning essence. With that, Lucene’s flame went out. 

—Post Script—

Laying on the softest, most comfortable bed, dressed in the finest, most delicate, skimpy silks, Lucene basked in the simple joy of the moment. She was surrounded by other treasures, like herself, her head resting atop the plush, smooth belly of another bed girl. Her day, like every day, passed in a hazy blur, sharing lazy kisses and idle chatter, giggling, napping, cuddling. The finest foods were available to her, along with the company of an ever growing menagerie of girls like herself to befriend, and share intimacy with. Since falling under the control of her Mistresses, Lucene had found herself with no shortage of feminine delights. She had found herself sampling beautiful women of all shapes and sizes, more than she could ever hope to or wish to count. 

With time, her thoughts of the outside world dwindled, and with them, her conception of the pain and strife it had once brought. Lucene instead happily lived in the pretty, luxurious cage her Goddess and her Champion had gifted her with. On this day, one scarcely distinguishable from the last, or the before it, or the one before that, Lucene found herself in the midst of slow, slothful intimacy with one of Tyranaxxia’s many treasures, when a sudden sense of bright, clear, warmth and importance coaxed her attention. 

Tyranaxxia stood in the doorway to the room, in all her resplendent glory—though such complex words did not come to Lucene in the moment, in truth, she could think of little more than the flood of awe which overtook her senses at the mere sight of her Goddess. Lucene’s own voice joined the chorus of gasps as the dragon queen herself crossed the threshold, and strode up to her treasures with a warm smile on her face. 

Each bed girl looked upon Tyranaxxia with eyes of uncontained lust, desire and adoration. The dragoness approached them, and greeted each in turn, visiting upon each of her treasures a little stroke of the hair, kind words, a kiss on the forehead, or whatever other sign of affection the bed girl in question needed most. Each show of affection elicited a string of gasps, giggles and at times incoherent declarations of love and devotion. Lucene was no exception. To the untrained eye, she would seem indistinguishable from her peers, just another toy, another plaything reduced to little more than vapid gasping, adoration and lust. Of course, such could not be further from the truth. Each of the Mistress’ treasures held a special, bespoke place in her heart, and Lucene was no exception. And as Tyranaxxia pulled away from lovingly stroking Lucene’s cheek, she sputtered a quiet declaration of gratitude. 

“Th-thank you, Mistress, for freeing me. For freeing Izelle.” 

Tyranaxxia smiled, the sight alone was enough to warm Lucene to her core. She blushed, and looked away. “There is no need to thank me, dear Lucene. Each little treasure in my hoard is a blessing and a gift. You, and my brave, dashing champion are no exception.” Tyranaxxia paused for a moment, and something in the silence guided Lucene to gaze back up into her Goddess’ eyes. “She is home now, Lucene. You have missed her dearly, I know. She is waiting for you.” 

Joy illuminated Lucene’s face once more, and, with a silent nod of permission from her Queen, she dashed from the room. Lucene did not know how many days it had been since her champion had left, gone off to do their Goddess’ bidding, but they did not need spend more than a moment apart to ignite a bright, giddy excitement in Lucene at the prospect of returning to her beloved’s embrace. Her feet carried her on instinct through the winding halls and to Izelle’s quarters. 

Lucene flung open the door, and there she was. All other matters lost any and all import to Lucene as she dashed across the room and flung herself into her Mistress’ arms. Izelle, of course, caught her with ease. They shared a long look, and a passionate kiss, then collapsed on the bed. Izelle wasted no time in peeling away Lucene’s clothing, revealing the delicious treat within. She captured Lucene’s gaze with a simple tilt of the chin, and grinned down at the awestruck, adoring face beneath her. “Mistress says she’d like us to spend the evening with her tonight,” she began. Excitement flared up in Lucene’s chest. Evenings spent with Izelle alone were already everything she could ever dream of, but whenever their Queen requested they both retire to her private chambers, Lucene was privy to delights which could only be described as unearthly. Her mind already raced, imagining the heights of pleasure she would reach in service of her Mistresses, and in use by them. A sultry chuckle called Lucene’s attention back to the present. “But that is a matter for later. We still have a few hours before our Goddess expects us, and we have much catching up to do, my love.” With that, Izelle fell upon Lucene, and the two were lost in their shared passion.