The Queen's Command (MF/F)

[AlexUSA3]

The Queen’s Command
Sunday, August 11, 2019

“Who the f-ck do you think you are?!” I shriek while my kidnappers crush my elbows in metallic wire, cinch the wire without mercy, and knot it so I am trapped in brutal elbow bondage.
“Does it matter?” says the little Napoleon before me, “Names don’t matter, slave!”
“Untie me, you psychopaths!” I order them with a snarl, struggling against the wire that ties my wrists together in similarly cruel fashion, and I’m twisting my arms in a useless bid to escape.
“Get along!” the man orders me, as if I’ll listen to him any sooner than Napoleon.
“I’ll get out of this, so you’d better be in Guam by then because I’ll find you!” I snap again.
“Oh, yeah, I’m so scared of you,” the 5-foot nothing Napoleon commands me, “WALK!”

Napoleon might not even be five feet tall. She’s got her dark blonde hair in a braid, and she has her hair in a red kerchief bandana, like she’s trying to channel something more than her pathetic self. Red trainers and red canvas sneakers continue the red theme, and she balances the red with a black t-shirt and black crew socks. She is only strong because I’m bound by this wire.

Her accomplice, the man, is a brown-haired figure whom I know as “Sweetie” from Napoleon’s own mouth. They won’t tell me their names, then that’s fine. Napoleon must be Sweetie’s wife, a husband-wife duo of evil. Sweetie is average, about 5’9, and has stubble. He has beige cargo shorts and an American flag t-shirt with brown leather sandals. Sweetie loves his Napoleon.

I’m a strong girl who was grabbed following a day at the beach. As a result, I only have a blue two piece swimsuit and my blue bandana headband. My pale blonde hair betrays my Swedish ancestry, and my blue-gray eyes are on fire. I am burning them with my gaze, but they fail to see that I am the dangerous one here. Play with fire and get burned, b-tches.

“Walk!” Sweetie shoves me along without any concern, and out we go onto the deck.
“You will learn to obey when the Queen orders you to submit to her!” Napoleon snarls back.

I am held captive on a yacht, and I have neither names for my captors nor motivation for stealing me to such a forlorn place. The stark white colors of the vessel suggest opulence, and calling me a slave suggests darker motivations. Perhaps this couple is twisted indeed, but they seem to be a pair working under another. As I walk out to the wide open main deck, there she is, the Queen.

Some Queen. What kind of Queen dresses like an edge lord? Yet, there she is, the Queen, with a pair of pink black leather pants, pink combat boots, a pink flowy knee skirt, a black leather crop top tank top that shows off her belly, and a pink kerchief bandana. Queen? Queen?! I’m doing a spit take in my coffee. This is a threat? Get real, you freaks.

“Bow before the Queen,” Napoleon orders me with a stern, determined gaze.
“Her?” I point at the Queen with my middle fingers, “Are you kidding? No f-cking way!”
“Apologize for disrespecting the Queen!” Sweetie’s really getting annoyed with me.
“I’m so scared of you and your pathetic Mistress and this common sl-t you worship!” I retort.
“Defy us, will you?” and then the little Napoleon uses a paddle to swat me on the butt.
“Penny, Rob,” the Queen finally speaks for herself, “You are relying too much on brutality.”

Penny and Rob sound so much better than Napoleon and Sweetie. Too bad. I was enjoying my internal insolence. The Queen has sense at least. The logical response? My captors escalate to even more of the brutal wire. They shove me down onto the deck with force, and Sweetie Rob sits on and spanks my butt several times while Napoleon Bonapenny uses more of the wire to tie me up like a piece of meat.

Let me tell you, metal wire bondage is not even a little bit pleasant. They go up my legs with it: ankles, shins, knees, lower thighs, mid thighs, and upper thighs. Each one is cinched; each one is tight and unforgiving. Since escalation is all they know, they even use a little to tie my big toes. I don’t know whether to laugh at them or the Queen they’ve apparently pledged to serve.

“We’ll subjugate you, you little maggot,” the Queen stands over me, “Penny, your socks.”
“You’re going to regret this. Please, I’m warning you. You’ll end up the broken ones!” I insist.
“You obey and bow the knee on command,” the Queen pulls my bandana down to my neck.
“Put that bandana back!” I maintain my firm tone, “You’re going to regret this!”
“Ha ha haaaaa!” Penny gleefully sits down and kicks off her sneakers, “That’s rich!”
“Don’t do this. Please,” I really mean it, but I am forced to eat her nasty socks, “GMMMM!”

Napoleon Bonapenny wraps a silken scarf around my head as a 7-layer cleave gag, since it’s big enough to wrap my head 3 times before tying a merciless knot in the gag. Rob has exposed me and tied a wire chest harness and a waist/crotch rope, as if this will do anything. They’ve chosen to play with fire, and in time they will be burned when they realize they cannot break me.

The Queen sees it all and seems to understand what she is battling. She steps back and casually motions for stumpy Bonapenny to take over. Penny unknots my bandana and slowly ties a fresh new knot, slowly tightening until it's constricting and then until I struggle to breathe but not so I am out of breath, a clever tactic. She takes the paddle out again. I may be physically unable to defend myself, but mentally I have every advantage possible over this pathetic trio.

“Ukkkk!” I groan before I am pushed against the wall, and she begins paddling me.
“This should teach you a lesson,” she paddles both my butt and my hamstrings as if this works.
“Guh,” I breathlessly flex my muscles, enduring the punishment without any fears whatsoever.
“Take this, too,” she takes a smaller paddle, turns me around, and strikes my six-pack abs and my quadriceps, “You will learn to honor the Queen, you defiant little waif.”
“Ukkkk!” her socks tasted terrible, and the bandana made breathing a chore, but I am stronger.
“She's impressive,” the Queen staidly observes; she commands these two like a monarch.

The intensity of the spanking increases all while the bandana about my throat remains. Force is used, sending jolts of pain into my body. It's nothing but me and the paddle for sound. “Ukkk!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkkk!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Guhhhhh!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ughhhhh!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Gmmmm!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ugkgkgk!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Guhhhum!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkkk!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Gmmmm!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Guhhhhh!”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkkk!”

But I never break even as my thighs, quads, belly, and butt are punished.

The wire is terrible in how it restrains me so effectively. Sweetie Rob uses zipties to bind each of my fingers to its pair on the other hand. Each finger gets at the tip and base, and the thumb is only zipped at the base. My palms are zipped together, and my thumbs are zipped to the palms. Lastly, two more zips bring the four pairs of fingers together. He takes over the paddling while Napoleon Bonapenny takes a wooden ruler and uses it to strike my arms, lower legs, and, most of all, my feet. I am subjected to constant SMACK! from the paddle and WHACK! from the ruler. They loosen the bandana only ever so slightly, and the Queen approves.

SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkk!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ughhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Gmmm!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ugkgkg!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhum!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkk!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Gmmm!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkk!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ughhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Gmmm!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ugkgkg!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhum!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Gmmm!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ukkkkk!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ughhhh!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Gmmm!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Ugkgkg!”
SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! WHACK! SMACK! “Guhhum!”

Pathetic people. They don't know I survived true hell on earth.

How to escape my gaze? By blindfolding me with a white bandana, of course. The cowards are afraid of my eyes, and I could see it in their body language as they privately discussed me before doing it. Actions speak louder than words, and their words speak very loudly, the language that is known as cowardice. They can deprive me of motion and sensation, but they can't break me.

“Get down on your knees before the Queen!” Penny demands my compliance.
“Ha!” I remain as strong as ever, though, and another strike on the arm follows.
“Respect us and apologize!” the little blonde demands my surrender again.
“Guhh ukkk uhhmmmm!” I tell them off through Penny’s socks in my mouth.
“I am impressed,” I hear the Queen’s voice, “She is stronger than either of you.”

The Queen pauses and apparently dominates the atmosphere for a moment.

“Lock her in the cabinet,” the Queen dishes out her next carefully calculated order.

And I’m jammed into a small metal cabinet like the one below, only tipped on its side. 32 inches high, 22 wide, 16 deep. Just barely big enough to hold me inside. Fingers zipped; wire bondage; Napoleon’s socks in my mouth; partially strangled with my own bandana. Before the door’s shut and locked, a vibrator is put against my crotch and turned on to maximum intensity, and binder clips are put on my nipples and painfully twisted. Inhuman. I manage to react to the pain but not suffer the emotional affliction they desire I experience. I am stronger than you three combined.



My boyfriend forced me to abort our baby and beat me after the abortion to ensure the baby died. He cheated on me, and when confronted proceeded to tape me, gag me with my own socks, turn me into a sex toy, and duct tape me to the water main in the basement to starve to death. Sorry, Napoleon Bonapenny, Sweetie Rob, and Queenie, but I am not scared of you at all.

“UGGGGGGGHHHHHH!” that wand just got me really good, though, thanks to the crotch wire.
“She is a stubborn one,” I hear Sweetie Rob’s voice speak as if my strength was a weakness.
“She is admirable, but perhaps we will have to make a common slave out of her,” Napoleon says.
“No slavery is needed. She can’t be subjugated like that,” the Queen wisely responds.

I sit there, jammed in the cabinet, locked up like a danger to society when in reality they ought to be locked up and have the key thrown away. Of what is this woman a Queen? What Queen with any real power would dress like an edge lord? She looks more like a bondage toy than me, yet I am the one that’s been turned into a bondage toy. I’ve been beaten with paddles, hands, and even sticks, and I will likely be bruised from this. They think they can break me, but they can’t.

I kick the cabinet with incredible force, letting out a loud noise but failing to dent the strong box in which I am kept. They can bind me with all the wire they wish, and they can stuff all the dirty socks they wish in my mouth, but they can’t bind or stuff my mind and soul. I’ll scream, thrash, and resist them all the night long, but I’ll sooner snuff from my bandana headband, turned into a garrote by those freaks, than surrender to them. If I can be broken, no one’s discovered how yet.

“UKKKKKKK!” I squirm and crash against the roof when the wand and wire coerce an orgasm.
“Her suffering is so delightful! Ha ha haaaaa!” Napoleon Bonapenny cackles.
“I’m loving the sounds, like she sincerely believes she can get out of this,” Sweetie Rob adds.
“She’s warning us,” the Queen speaks more wisdom, “Give her 2 more minutes and open it up.”

Thank you, their Queen. Their Queen. Not my Queen. You may be a sadist who seems to like to use goons to force random young women to pledge fealty to you, but I am not suffering a bit of that. You can forget receiving any fealty or worship from me. No, in fact… Yes… Yes… It’s decided. You will soon learn that you are not in charge; I am in charge.

“Out with you!” the door opens, and Sweetie Rob hauls me out to a standing position.
“Will you bend the knee to our Queen?” Napoleon Bonapenny asks with sickening arrogance.
“No,” I calmly say into Bonapenny’s filthy, disgusting socks, and Sweetie loosens the garrote.
“Remove her gag,” Queenie says, and Bonapenny unknots and unwinds the scarf, “Any words?”

“Yes,” I calmly and firmly say despite my bondage, my blindfold, and my wounds, “Get on your knees before me, your Queen, the Queen who has taught you what genuine strength means.”

And my three assailants all get down on their knees and acknowledge my victory.

THE END