The Red Queen

Tatiana had been on top her whole life. She achieved what her heart and soul desired, dominated and subjugated her family. Both her father and her young husband Anton were nothing but dust. The former had no influence on her upbringing. The latter, however, ended up dealing with the consequences of the former. Namely, that without a father's protection, the girl grew up cruel, predatory, and heartless. It was no accident they gave her the name—the Red Queen. For the light of her bronze locks shimmered in the sun, and her green eyes sparkled. But the girl truly had a royal character. She only went to expensive restaurants, wore rich clothes and shoes. A spoiled feminist with the airs of a mistress.

All would have been well, but

her parents died at an early age, leaving no inheritance. That's when Tatiana realized the world was harsher than she had previously thought. That there were no rivers of milk and honey, no chocolate rivers. There was only work. There was hardship.

The girl got a job. The profession of an ordinary salesperson was, of course, no honor for such a "high" lady, but the girl decided to earn money and leave, to conquer a bigger city. Still, her character and naivety were laughable. I don't like self-absorbed people, little people. Why little people? Because those like her can neither value themselves nor understand the status of others. Now, in a real mess, in debt and without money, she charmed a young guy. Anton. Not exactly strong and manly, but more of a doormat, he allowed Tatiana to wipe her feet on him, be rude, and even beat him. Strange for a guy, isn't it?

Our story began in a simple town near Crimea, Zaporizhzhia. A city of Cossacks and seagulls, vodka and real lard with pepper. Many wonderful things were born on this land. From heavy industry during the USSR times to warrior-bandits, even back in the tsarina's day. Our heroine, however, considered herself a tsarina for some time. A sort of Dido, or Catherine of the twenty-first century. Slightly plump, but still incredibly beautiful. Perhaps it was her appearance that helped her get ahead in life. At least in the first years.

Now, however, Tatiana had become a professional predator and queen. And her name was Domina. The Red Queen. Empress of depravity and carnal pleasures.

This story concerns two souls at once. Husband and wife. Perhaps, if the girl had truly loved the guy, or if he had been tougher, everything would have turned out differently. But history doesn't like the word "if". So I will tell everything, from beginning to end.

In a small apartment in Zaporizhzhia, an argument was taking place. A wonderful girl with the temperament of a succubus had started a hellish fight. No less hellish than her soul. Dishes flew to the floor. There was the clatter, blows, and slaps to the face. Her boyfriend, Anton, was on his knees, hugging the woman's legs.

His thin hands caressed the hem of her dress, his lips sank into her flesh, and his huge eyes looked tenderly at the mistress. Not at his wife. At the mistress. Their relationship had become mother—son, then—mistress and slave. Such an arrangement wouldn't please a sane person. But here, it's not about Anton. The latter had been subjected to brutal rape in childhood. His own stepfather sodomized him with a bottle, beat and humiliated him. There was a case when bums from the stairwell took the boy's virginity. These were the wild nineties. Maybe at that hour, maybe later, the boy broke. He wasn't looking for love. More like a strong fist and decisive will. Some would call the guy gay. Maybe so. But I think differently. More likely, he was struck by a dozen complexes. Precisely those that led him here, under the heel of his mistress, into her iron grip and bitchy character.

— Darling, please! Don't leave! I'll do anything for you and our children!

— Children?! I'm not planning to have children with you! You're a pathetic loser! A pedophile! You can't even stand up to your wife, nor earn money!

Of course, Anton earned money, even good money, but the eternally dissatisfied Tanyusha thought it was too little. Very little. It wasn't enough for restaurants and bars, for a thousand-dollar dress and expensive wine every Saturday. She wanted a different lifestyle. Her soul desired wealth.

— I need a man! A real man! Strong and handsome, tall, maybe muscular and with a fat wallet! And look at yourself!

Anton could hardly be called a strongman. Intellect dominated here. But even his mind didn't help make him big and mighty. A thin little body, big bulging eyes, and bangs swept to the left, like a little Adolf. The guy didn't lift weights. His health didn't allow it. And he wasn't successful in sex either. The boy lasted a minute and a half at most.

But he was proud of his career as a manager! Big deal, a reason for pride. Personally, I dislike everything related to sales, lawyers, and other nonsense. Even a janitor would inspire more pride in me than some manager.

— But Tanya… Tanyusha… Darling! I love you! I love you! How can you not see that?!

— But I don't love you! Not like this! NO!

The girl gave a sharp slap. Then she turned around and went to pack her things. The latest reason for the argument was the problem of where to go for their wedding anniversary. Three months had passed since the wedding, and the girl wanted to go to a restaurant. But not just any restaurant, the most expensive one in the city. Where prices were inflated not by two, not by three, but by fifty times. That's where our paper crane broke. I understand that Anton is no angel either, but Tanya's greed never led to any good.

— I beg you! — he threw himself at her feet, — I'll do anything! Anything you say! All for our marriage!

— Anything at all? Mark my words, after the divorce I'll kick you out to live on the street, and I'll take your store. Only if…

— If what?! — he hugged her belly with hope, — ask for anything you want!

— I want… — she began to stammer. The desire went beyond the bounds of morality, and the girl felt discomfort, — I want to become the mistress.

— But you already are the mistress! The whole house is yours!

— No. I want to become your mistress, of your business and everything you have. I want to manage all of it. And you. Like a slave.

— You mean BDSM? — the guy was surprised.

— Not only. BDSM is a trifle. I need your money, health, thoughts. I need your things. Your… Genitals.

— What are you talking about, Tanyusha? — the guy was even more surprised.

The girl walked into the bedroom. Anton watched as she bent towards a drawer, as her ass showed through the expensive red dress, and her heels rhythmically clicked. Her fingers retrieved a small box, decorated with a leather ribbon. Her manicure was striking. Where did she get the money for all this?

The marvelous item lay on the plump female palm, and her lips gave the command, — come here.

Anton's penis could hardly be called big. More like a dry, thin pod and two balls below. <a href="">erotic stories That's precisely why the guy's appearance had feminine features. It was a matter of testosterone production.

— Put it on.

A belt appeared on his genitals. Plastic, with a metal attachment, it was a chastity belt. At the head, there was a hole for urination, some attachments, and an inscription: — property of the Queen.

— I want you to wear it. Constantly. Otherwise, I'll dump you, kick you out on the street, and sue for the store. I want to achieve everything myself, and a weakling like you is fucking useless to me.

— Okay, darling… As you say…

Anton was slightly in shock. His flesh had just been enslaved. His penis seemed to become even smaller, his testicles hung like some useless decoration. Anton understood that his pride had completely evaporated. Everything had become many times worse than five minutes ago.

— And also, I want you to start taking these drugs. — Tanya pointed to a small box, — these are vitamins. For your potency. So that the organ swells again and my husband can have me with his little pod outside the belt.

— Okay, dear! — Anton said more happily, — and now shall we go to the restaurant?

— Hmm, I have a nicer idea.

Tatiana approached the guy and aggressively grabbed his hair. Brought his face closer. Passionately sank into his lips, and fiercely pushed her tongue in. The kiss lasted five to seven minutes, but the guy felt the heat of her breath. And then, a click. His left hand was cuffed to the radiator. With hard handcuffs, real ones.

— Oh, are we going to play this game? — the guy asked excitedly.

— Play whatever you want, and

I'm going to the restaurant.

— What?! What the hell?!

— Just because. My lover François said to cuff you to this iron thing and leave you at home. We don't need a sexual rag underfoot, and a problem like you.

Tanya walked towards the exit, swaying her hips erotically.

— Oh… — she stopped halfway, — and one more thing. I'll take your money. That's your whole salary, right? Well, I'll spend it all, dear. I hope you don't mind.

— Tanyusha, stop! — Anton yelled at the top of his lungs, — please don't go! Darling! I love you! Dear!

— Bye, my little snot. — the girl just said.

A taxi was waiting for her there, a meeting at an expensive restaurant in a hotel, and a passionate night with her lover. But our story is only just beginning here. And it begins in the darkest tones. Dark, of course, for Anton, the cuckold and outright loser.

Tanya became the Red Queen later. She was twenty-three. Beautiful to the point of terror in herself, passionate and lustful, she resembled more of a photo model. Many men thought so. Neither her plump cheeks nor freckles prevented the girl from gaining fame and money from admirers, and her sharp tongue even gave her power.

— Well, dear, are you happy with your place?

Anton was on his knees. Broken, humiliated, beaten bloody. The taste of semen was in his mouth. Women's clothes on his body, shit and blood under his feet. The inscription "cuckold" was clearly visible on the boy's forehead. A new tattoo on his wife's initiative. Her fucker turned out to be a tattoo artist and happily provided his services to the couple.

— Now, Tosha, you are my slave. Or rather, you were, but now my lovers can use you too. Do you like it, little one? Of course, you do. How long have you been taking the pills? Two years? Then you must definitely like it.

Tanya's cruelty had reached a boiling point. The prostate pills turned out to be estrogen capsules. Roughly speaking, the wife was feeding her husband female hormones. His member was withering more and more, his balls had deflated and shrunk, and his voice resembled a delicate girlish squeak. Even Anton's face had pleasantly rounded out. It became more oval. Soft.

— Yes, beloved. — he whispered through the viscous fluid in his mouth.

— How do you like my lover's cock? Do you like it? That's right, dear. François can please us BOTH better than you. That's right, both. Because now you look more like my little sister, or another whore from the stairwell.

Anton looked towards the mirror. He saw the reflection. Tender blue eyes, a thin waist and breasts, like a woman's. A beautiful, fully-formed woman's. Nothing but surgery could save the guy, but only by completing the operation entirely. As it was, he was a girl. Young and sexy, but a girl.

— I think, dear, there are no more problems? You understand who's in charge now?

— Yes, Mistress… — the guy answered tensely, — I understand. May I lick your pussy, lick off the droplets of your lover's seed and swallow it all. To the last drop.

— Oh yes, dear, I agree to that.

Anton closed his eyes and pressed against his wife's hot vagina. His tongue caressed the labia. Gently touched the clitoris, teased the foreskin. It felt like he was licking a lollipop. Obediently and diligently. Like a true slave.

Scientists have proven that self-suggestion frankly influences a person's mental health. If you repeat every morning—I am God, then after a couple of years you will feel lightness and confidence. But in a negative situation, the phrase "worthless" can break, weaken, and even kill a thinking being. Something similar happened to Anton. But much more terrifying.

— Dear, it's time to listen to the Domina.

Tatiana fed her husband estrogen every day. The feminine appearance and weakness of character lived at the biological level of the boy. But now, after several months of audio therapy, he had become a woman. Completely. Especially in his soul. Tosha called herself by the female name Antoinette, responded to "my girl," and tenderly teased her "little clit," that is, the remains of his tiny penis. Tanya insisted on the complete removal of his testicles. Now before her was a beautiful slut, with a real pink vagina and a clitoris protruding from under the labia.

Anton obediently put on the headphones. Closed his eyes and began to listen to the motivational file.

— You know, — Tanya began lazily, placing her heel on her "husband's" knees, — I always knew you were more inclined to submission than to strength. Responsibility is clearly not your forte. You, my kitten, are more of