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"You're new to the guard, aren't you?" 

"Yes, your Majesty."

The queen's bare feet make no noise as they pad around Yuri's standing form. "Now where did the captain find a talented young woman like you?"

"I was recommended by a superior officer, ma'am. She said that my skillsets were much more suited to a career as a bodyguard than as a footsoldier. Um, may I ask a question, ma'am?"

"Of course."

Theodora's heavy robe just barely brushes the fabric of Yuri's pants as it whisks by. Yuri stays still for a moment, stance wide with her hands held together loosely behind her back. She hears Theodora puttering around behind her, unsure of whether it's better etiquette to stand exactly as she is or to avoid pointing her back at the queen. She makes a quick decision, turning to face the mahogany tea table upon which the queen is pouring out a glass of wine. 

"Is it normal for new guards to be invited to your quarters?"

Theodora doesn't even look at her. “No. You are an exception."

Yuri doesn't blush; she's a tad too disciplined for that. But she does swallow. "I… don't know how to respond to that. Ma'am."

"An honest guard. Good." Theodora has apparently finished setting up her alcoholic table set. She sets the bottle down and pads across the floor again, coming to a rest in front of Yuri. She clasps her hands demurely in front of her and just barely tilts her head up to peer at Yuri's towering form through thick black lashes. "Take off your shirt."

Yuri blinks. Her outer form is schooled into a rigid statue but her heart is throwing itself wildly against the walls of her ribcage. When she remembers to breathe in, her control crumbles at the corners. She hesitates. Then, with deliberately steady hands, she unbuttons her shirt, top to bottom. It slips off her shoulders with a whisper of cotton against skin. She folds it loosely into a bundle and sets it down by her feet. 

Theodora's expression remains impassive. "Pants. Off."

Maybe it’s the sheer surreality of the situation that punches through Yuri’s defenses, bringing her body into motion before her rational mind has even begun to understand what’s happening. Her hands are deft and methodical as they unbuckle her belt, zip open her fly with a soft, metallic growl that seems to fill the silent room. She extracts her legs from her trousers one by one, then disposes of it the same way she did her shirt. She pauses, unsure of what to do next. So she resumes her earlier position.

Yuri is wearing practical cotton underwear, black boxers and a sports bra with no patterns or lace. It's more covering than it could be but she still feels vulnerable, standing exposed with her spine straight and her hands clasped behind her back. Her brain is starting to catch up to current events; there’s sweat at her hairline and a cocktail of confusion and doubt popping and fizzing in her stomach.

Theodora remains totally unreadable. It only takes two blinks for her to sweep her eyes down and up the guardswoman's body, evaluating her for... for what, Yuri doesn't know. The queen shifts, her robe swaying slightly. 

"Open your mouth."

Her heart pounding in her throat, Yuri loosens her jaw. She stops breathing altogether as the queen hooks three fingers over her teeth, and she can taste the queen's—the queen's —fingers against her tongue. She nearly gags just out of shock. But then Theodora pushes her fingers even deeper into her guard's mouth, and Yuri has to struggle not to close her lips around them. 

Theodora tugs, forcing Yuri's entire lower jaw towards her. As Yuri follows suit the queen leans up, meeting her open mouth in a wet, hungry kiss. 

Yuri can barely feel the kiss, her head is spinning so much. She registers plump, pillowy lips, the caress of a warm, wet tongue against her own. She starts kissing back, purely out of instinct, want and hunger coiling down her chest and pooling in the pit of her stomach. She unclasps her hands—

—The queen pulls away. Yuri feels as though she's lost her anchor to the earth, the string that kept her from floating away like so many balloons. She stares at the queen, glassy-eyed, ragged breaths catching in her throat. 

Theodora's lips are glistening slightly, her breath coming just a beat quicker. But she regains her composure in an instant, exhaling slowing as she lowers her eyes to Yuri's body. She drags her wet fingernails down the guard's chest, wipes the cold saliva off on the smooth plane between Yuri's collarbone and breasts. All of Yuri's attention rushes to that one point of contact. Theodora's fingers wander lower, tracing the outline of Yuri's abs, her waist, her jutting hipbones.

"You haven't tried to touch me yet," the queen says without lifting her eyes. It's a dry statement of fact. 

Yuri's voice is steady, if a bit small. "You haven't ordered me to, ma'am."

"Honest, obedient... perfect." Theodora traces the lower seam of Yuri's bra with her fingertips, then snaps the elastic against the guard's ribs. The muscles in Yuri's stomach jump. "Take this off." 

Yuri has to struggle to peel the tight sports bra off of herself, and the more time she spends wrestling with the stubborn fabric the more embarrassed she becomes. She manages it somehow and drops the pesky garment onto the floor, just barely missing the neat pile of her shirt and pants. It's no use trying to fix it. She stands up straight again, topless, her small breasts fully exposed and her nipples obviously erect. There's a hot flush in her cheeks.

Theodora doesn't touch this time. She just observes. Then, she commands: "Stay." Yuri obeys, and as the queen disappears behind her again she does her best to calm the roaring of her blood. 

The queen returns with her earlier filled glass of wine. She sips from it, leaving the faintest imprint of her lips against the polished glass. Then she raises it up to Yuri's lips. "Drink." The wine slips down Yuri's throat like liquid gold, the scent of grapes dominating her senses. A drop escapes her mouth; Yuri catches it quickly with a flick of her tongue. Theodora watches. She takes the empty glass back to her tea table. Returns. 

She strips off her robe. It's lined with warm fleece inside, and Yuri thinks she catches the queen shiver almost imperceptibly as its protective thickness leaves her skin. Underneath, Theodora is wearing a negligee made of crimson satin and lace that shimmers against her warm brown skin, patterns of light dancing as she moves. 


She leads Yuri to her lush, enormous bed—it’s so big, it would be ridiculously easy to lose the queen’s diminutive form under all those sheets—and sits at the foot of it, right on the edge. Yuri kneels on the floor before her. Now it's the queen who looms over the guardswoman instead of the other way around. Theodora crosses her legs and lifts a dainty brown foot in Yuri's direction. "Kiss my feet."

Yuri has to bend over to reach, bracing her hands against the carpeted floor. The back of the queen's foot is soft under Yuri's lips. Yuri can feel veins running under the thin skin, fragile veins that could be so easily cut or damaged. Delicate bones, also easily crushed or shattered. Theodora's foot dips under the weight of Yuri's next kiss; the guardswoman raises a hand from the floor for support, but stops with her fingers hovering just centimeters from the queen's sole. Yuri looks up with wide eyes at her queen, questioning. 

There's a hint of amusement in the quirk of Theodora's lips. "You may use your hands."

Yuri slides her hands under the queen's foot, doing her best not to tickle, pressing her thumbs gently into the slight divots near her ankle. Her palms and fingertips are calloused but she hopes the queen doesn't mind. She rubs soothingly up and down the slopes and ridges as her lips mouth silent words down the path to her toes. The queen's feet are ridiculously clean; Yuri supposes it's a full-time job for the maids to keep the floor in the queen's chambers spotless, given her apparent affinity for walking around barefoot.

Yuri wraps her lips around the queen's big toe and sucks. She hears a short, pleased hum above her and redoubles her efforts. As she sucks she massages the queen's foot with her fingers, specifically looking for spots of tense muscle, then pressing in. Theodora sighs deeply at that, and when Yuri peeks up she sees the queen leaning back and briefly closing her eyes, not quite smiling but definitely at ease. The sight makes Yuri’s stomach flutter.

Yuri moves on to the rest of Theodora's toes, sucking them two or three at a time, flicking her tongue out into the gaps between, occasionally glancing up to see if Theodora is enjoying herself. Yuri worships her queen's foot for as long as she can, until Theodora uncrosses her legs, crosses them again the other way, raises her other foot and demands, "This one too." Yuri repeats the process, more boldly this time.

And then Theodora extends her leg further, turning it to one side, letting Yuri’s lips slip up to the inside of her ankle. Yuri gets the message and starts kissing up, charting a slow, wandering path up the inside of Theodora's calf, teasing just a little along the way. Yuri raises a hand to the outside of Theodora's thigh, looking to grip for support—

“Drop the hand. Now ."

Yuri's arm falls to the floor like it’s been shot. She looks up and freezes, seeing something dangerous smoldering in Theodora's deep brown eyes.

"If you touch me anywhere above the knees without permission again, I will whip you raw and send you back to the barracks naked and bleeding."

Yuri's head spins at the thought. Her breath catches, warmth rushing between her thighs. She swallows. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."

"Good. Continue."

Yuri closes her hands into tight fists and crosses her wrists behind her back before she continues, just in case she slips up again. She alternates between Theodora’s thighs as she gets closer and closer to her core. Theodora is wearing satin panties—of course. Because why would a queen wear anything less than luxurious? Theodora opens her legs, inviting Yuri in. The negligee is barely an obstacle; Yuri nuzzles it out of the way and hazards a soft kiss to the surface of the panties. That close, she picks up the sweet scent of the queen’s arousal, and her mouth waters. Theodora responds to the kiss by tensing up, inhaling a little breath that draws her posture upward, prompting Yuri to do it again. 

“Do you want to taste me?” Theodora breathes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Yuri rasps in return. 

A finger hooks under Yuri’s chin, drawing her up. “Not yet.”

Theodora rolls her shoulder so that a strap of her dress slips down. Yuri raises herself up on her knees to get it, nipping at the fabric delicately with her teeth, then tugging it down, revealing lovely brown skin an inch at a time, until her lips brush over and past Theodora’s hard nipple. 

“Come here, come here…” Theodora murmurs, sliding her palms along Yuri’s cheeks, cupping her face and bringing her forward. Yuri wraps her lips around Theodora’s nipple and circles it with the tip of her tongue, then sucks. Theodora lets out a long, low groan that vibrates through her chest and across the surface of her skin. Yuri can’t help but whimper too—god, but the queen tastes so good —she catches herself almost using her hands again, and crosses them more firmly behind her back. 

Theodora guides Yuri to repeat the undressing process with her other breast. Yuri would be fine with just looking at this sight—the queen, the queen , the beautiful queen with both her breasts spilling out of a luxurious negligee, one of her lovely wide nipples already glistening with Yuri’s previous attention. Yuri can hear Theodora’s breaths as she continues her work; the heavy, deep sighs, the minute shifting of the rest of her body, the way she gasps  when Yuri risks grazing her teeth against the taut bud…

“Good girl,” Theodora pants, “Good girl, you’ve earned it…"

Yuri’s head is so blank with euphoria from the praise that she nearly misses Theodora pushing down on the top of her head. Yuri lowers herself back down, balancing on her heels, leaning forward. Theodora does a bit of wiggling, slipping her panties off just to her thighs, and Yuri takes them down the rest of the way with her teeth. 

Yuri almost can’t look—this is too impossible, and she somehow has this idea that if she looks the dream will fade away and she’ll wake up to the sound of her guard commander barking orders. But Theodora doesn’t give her time to doubt herself, just fists her hands in the guard's hair and shoves her in. 



The salty, musky scent overpowers Yuri, overwhelms her and surrounds her, pierces her mind and clouds her head. There isn’t any room to tease, just slick, soft folds pressed against her nose and mouth and juices already dripping down her chin—muscle memory takes over, and Yuri’s lips and tongue are moving in tandem to collect as much sweetly bitter moisture as possible. She navigates by feel and taste, savoring every second. She doesn’t think, she just licks, sucks, listens to the soft groans coming from above—so good, the queen tastes so good —and when the tip of her tongue circles around Theodora’s clit, the queen gasps and tightens her fingers in Yuri’s hair hard enough to hurt. 

There ,” she moans, “Right there, use your lips, don’t stop—" 

Yuri whines in response without meaning to, thighs tightening underneath her as she feels a pulse of wetness soak her own boxers. She licks with a few more quick, insistent strokes, then wraps her wet lips around the queen’s clit and sucks.

“Just like that, good girl, keep going, keep going —"

A wordless gasp, and Theodora’s thick thighs clamp around Yuri’s ears with surprising strength. It occurs to Yuri a beat too late that she can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter because the queen’s body is drawn tight as a piano wire and convulsing all around her—pulses of hot liquid arousal coating her entire face, the queen’s hips rolling as she breathlessly moans Yuri’s name— 

The queen keeps Yuri trapped between her thighs even after her orgasm is finished, riding out the last aftershocks on Yuri’s tongue. Yuri’s head is a bit light from the oxygen loss but she dutifully stays where she is, hands now braced on the carpet, inhaling in sips when she can.

Finally, the queen lets her go. Yuri throws her head back, taking in gulp after gulp of oxygen; her hair is plastered to her flushed, her face is overheated by sweat and cum, and the cold air washing over her forehead and cheeks is a blessing. 

And then the queen’s hands are there, caressing Yuri’s cheeks, wiping some of the moisture off. “Such a lovely pet,” she coos, “So good with your tongue, so good at following orders…"

The praises send a shudder running down Yuri’s spine. Even with her shortness of breath, she manages to stutter out a “Th-thank you, ma’am.” Her toes curl and she shifts ever so slightly on her heels, making the wet patch on her boxers rub over an ankle. The queen's eyes flicker downward; Yuri realizes she’s clenching the carpet in her fists. 

“Guard,” the queen says, tilting her head, her voice low and lilting, “Are you wet?"

Yuri swallows a whimper. Her voice cracks. “Yes, ma’am.”

Something gleams in the queen’s eyes. Her earlier graceful composure is still there, but relegated to the background. The queen looks hungry

“On your back,” she says. And just to make sure Yuri gets the message, she places her heel firmly on Yuri’s shoulder and shoves.