Prince to Queen

"Still, I deserve a thank you for my efforts," Tom grinned. "The welcome home kiss was nice, just what I needed after dealing with the traitorous cunts, but I think something more is in order, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord," Tristan nodded, hoping it was something small, though he knew from the man's smile it was unlikely to be.

"I am taking a lot on trust, so perhaps a taster would be in order."

"My lord?"

"A blowjob, Princess Tristan; you on your knees sucking my dick."

"Oh," Tristan blushed, but he knew that this would be expected from him as a married woman, so it was only a day later and at least the man had agreed to leave the teen's anal virginity for another night. He forced a smile and reached out to take his fiancée's hand, "Of course, my lord. Let us go to my chamber."

The man shook his hand away, grinning, "Why wait?" he said and began to unbuckle his belt.

"My lord..." Tristan started to protest, then stopped. "Here?" he said piteously.

"Here," grinned the mercenary. He finished unbuckling his belt and dragged down his trousers to his ankles. His dick stood out erect; it was big, at least ten inches and thick, veins throbbing in it and curly black hair sprouting up round the base and balls. Tristan looked at it and then at the mercenary and then at the bag of heads that Wild had dumped on the floor. The mercenary smiled wolfishly, "Here, Princess Tristan. On your knees in front of everyone suck my cock."

"Yes, my Lord, of course," said Tristan.

He lifted his dress a little to help him kneel down in front of the mercenary. The dick seemed no smaller when he was at eye level. The assorted soldiery were shouting and calling, laughing at his discomfort and enjoying his fear. The teen felt his cheeks reddening as he opened his mouth and closed it round the prong. It was tasteless, which surprised him, he hadn't known what to expect, but there was no more taste than if he had been licking a finger. Still blushing he moved his head further down the dong and then back again, slowly, trying to appear seductive instead of scared. The mercenary grinned down at him and put one head lightly on the back of Tristan's head, not asserting any pressure, but certainly not allowing the teen to back away.

Tristan started to move a bit quicker, trying to tease the cock with his tongue as he did so. There was a taste now, a little salty bit of pre-cum squeezing its way out the man's eyelet. Tristan cast his eyes up, the mercenary was grinning, nodding at Tristan when he saw the young man was looking at him, "Keep going Princess."

Tristan carried on. He could hear the shouts of one side of the audience, the silence of the other half was as deafening. But there was nothing he could do, but suck the mercenary's cock, taking it into his mouth and feeling it gouge into his cheeks; anything else would be fatal. He carried sucked, his mind torn between trying to get it over with as quick as possible and the knowledge of how it would end. The mercenary's fingers slipped through Tristan's blonde hair, "That's good, keep at it, suck it good."

Harder and quicker Tristan sucked, it was strange how quickly he was getting used to the texture and shape of the cock, how it rode between his lips, dominated his tongue and thrust at his cheek. He wouldn't say he liked it, but at least it was bearable. The mercenary groaned and his eye's closed as his face gave an expression of pleasure. "Go on, that's it. I'm near." His hand pressed harder against Tristan's head keeping him in position. The mercenaries cheered louder.

"Oh yeah," groaned Tom and Tristan could feel the man's cum spurting into his mouth. He tried to pull back to spit it out, but Tom was holding him in place, blasting the cum into the teen's throat. Tristan had no choice but to swallow, drinking the salty cum down his throat, drinking it down until Tom had finished blowing his load.

The mercenary let go off Tristan's head and pulled his dick out. A small trickle of cum the teen hadn't swallowed slid over his lips and he wiped it away with the back of his hand as Tom pulled his trousers back up and put his dick away. The mercenary grinned at the kneeling eighteen year old, "Now that's a welcome a man appreciates from his wife to be, makes me fair look forward to our wedding night."

"Yes, my Lord, I'm pleased I satisfied," said Tristan blushing red.

The mercenary nodded and turned to his men, "Better stable the horses boys; I intend to have more than few drinks on my last night of bachelor hood."

*

Tristan thought his husband to be enjoyed the party; he certainly drank plenty, downing goblet after goblet of wine and ale. It had no apparent effect on him and he cheered as lustily as ever at the entertainment, a few local whores from the town hired to perform as exotic dancers and a couple of juggling acrobats who had been found on the road by the mercenaries and persuaded to alter their route to perform for the new King. Tristan had sat through it, delicately sipping his wine and nibbling a little at his food; he was neither hungry nor thirsty as his stomach had been somersaulting more than the acrobats.

But now it was the next day, the day he was due to be married, made Queen and then fucked. Masie awoke him gently with a cup of hot spiced wine. Tristan drank it gratefully and got out of his bed. He slid out of his nightdress and walked across the cold floor into the ante-room next to his bedroom. A warm bath was steaming and he got into it, soaping the night's sweat from his body, Masie behind his washing his back and brushing his hair. After a few minutes the slave girl said, "Do you want me to shave you my lady?"

"Yes," said Tristan, knowing his new husband would expect his skin smooth and ladylike. He stood up in the bath and straightened as Masie lathered him with cream and then began to run a blade down his legs and over his chest and face and round his balls. She had shaved him yesterday as well and the day before that and every morning since he had agreed to marry Tom; she might have been able to get away with doing it every two days as the teen's body hair was downy and slow to grow, but Tristan would rather not to take the chance that he might not be smooth enough for his fiancee and preferred to shave every day. He waited patiently until Masie had finished and his skin was as smooth as a silk cushion before he stepped out of the bath. Masie took up a towel and dried him, patting and rubbing the wetness away from him.

He put on a silk ladies dressing gown and went back into the main room. a couple of guards lounged against the pillars of the door, always there to make sure Tristan had no-second thoughts. Wild was also there, looking out the window. He turned as Tristan entered the room and grinned, "So today's the big day, eh? Looking forward to it."

"Oh, yes," Tristan lied, forcing a smile on to his face and making an enthusiastic nod.

"Liar," said Wild, but he put no rancour in it, just a statement of fact. "As your father's dead, I'm going to act as father of the bride and give you away. Good for me, always wanted a daughter."

"I'll try my best to make you proud," said Tristan, he hoped that the man didn't notice the sarcasm.

From his curt laugh he probably did, but he got his revenge, "Still not sure I'd want any daughter of mine to be fucked up the arse, specially not by someone as big as Tom. You seen his prick, he's not no pygmy." Tristan nodded nervously, going red as he remembered being made to suck it as everyone looked on. Wild grinned and pointed at the bed, where a white dress was laid out, "You'll be wanting to get dressed, make yourself look nice."

"Yes," Tristan said.

"I'll be back later to pick you up. I'll just leave a couple of guards around, make sure you've no last minute thoughts of leaving the King at the altar. Don't worry about getting undressed in front of them, ain't nothing they ain't seen before." The paymaster turned and left leaving the two guards lounging against the wall, though slovenly and unsoldiery they may have looked but Tristan knew their swords were as sharp and deadly as the most erect looking guardsman.

He turned away from them and back to his slave girls, Masie and Chloe, "Help me get ready," he said and slid out of the dressing gown.

They manicured and pedicured his nails first, clipping them and styling them. Then Chloe began to paint them a pale blue as Masie applied his cosmetics, lip paint, blusher, eye shadow. Next he got into his dress, sliding on a pair of stocking garters first and then the white dress, it shimmered as it moved, bunching up and flowering round his feet. He sat down on a chair and let them brush his hair until it was golden and flowing. He looked in the mirror once they were done, he was barely recognisable as Prince Tristan, though he had to admit he looked beautiful as Princess Tristan.

There was a knock on the door, "You ready?" it was Wild.

Tristan paused, looking at the two slave girls, they remained dumb and impassive. The teenager stood up and straightened down his dress, there was no point in trying to delay. "Yes," he called back.

The door opened and Wild stood there, he'd slicked back his hair and taken a razor to his stubble, so that together with the clean trousers and shirt he looked presentable. He held out his arm and gave an evil grin, "Shall we Princess?"

"Yes," said Tristan and took his arm in hers.

The man led her down the corridor and stairs, past the main banqueting hall – where the servants were preparing for the post-wedding feast and out into the yard towards the chapel. A couple of soldiers stood there, grinning and leaning on their halberds, they straightened as Wild approached and opened the doors. Wild took Tristan into the chapel.

The seats were filled, mainly with mercenaries, but also a few of the more prosperous townsfolk and noblemen who had the good sense not to refuse the invitation of the new king. His mother, the old Queen was there as well, sitting demurely in the front row, not turning to look at her son as he walked down the aisle. The bishop from the nearby cathedral was at the front, standing nervously between two thrones. On one of the thrones Tom was slouching, a leg over one of the arm rests. He stood up as Tristan approached. The mercenary captain had dressed smartly, with grey trousers and pale white shirt, buttoned up to his throat. A gold fastener held his cloak in place. He bowed as Tristan approached, "My lady, you are looking lovely."

Tristan curtsied back, proud of how well he managed the complicated manoeuvre, the practice paying off; as it did for the words rolling off his tongue, "My lord is too kind, my beauty is nothing to how handsome he looks – he sets my young lady's heart aflutter."

The mercenary captain walked down the steps too stand beside her, so close she could smell he had doused himself in scent; it didn't smell unattractive, masculine and manly. The man's arm slid round his waist, stroking his side as he looked up at the Bishop, "You can begin..."

The Bishop paused for a moment and Tristan felt his heart bumping at the thought the man might be about to refuse to marry them. But it was only a second as the man took a breath, "We are gathered here in the sight of the five Gods to affirm the marriage of our rightful King, Thomas Bonnett to his dearly beloved lady, Princess Tristan de Hont..." Tristan forced a smile as the man went through the litany, many times had he sat through it, half-listening as one of his father's men had married some simpering daughter of a minor aristocrat or wealthy merchant. Never had he imagined that she would be the one standing in a silk dress.

The service was shorter than Tristan remembered; missing out the normal homily around the service to the Gods, but keeping in the importance of being a dutiful wife and honouring her husband. And then it was time for the vows, Tristan felt Tom's arm on his waist turning her so that they were facing each other. The eighteen year old found himself staring into the face of the man who had killed his father and usurped the throne as the Bishop intoned, "Do you Princess Tristan take this man to be your husband, to honour and obey him in all things?"

"I do," whispered Tristan, in a voice which was so quiet that the Bishop almost didn't hear it. Tom's deadly eyes were looking at him, a cool, cruel smile on his face and Tristan coughed and said loudly, "I do."

The Bishop turned to Tom, "Do you Thomas Bonnett take this... woman to be your wife to protect and cherish her?"

"I do," said Tom.

The Bishop looked towards the audience, "They are now man and wife under the five Gods."

The audience erupted in the traditional cheers and shouts of applause, loud and raucous from the mercenaries, more restrained but still audible from the other guests. As they continued to cheer the Bishop turned to Tom, "You may kiss the bride."

"Good," said Tom. He gripped Tristan's waist and pulled the young princess towards him, his mouth slammed on the teenager's and his rough, stubbly chin rubbed against Tristan's. The teen felt his member hardening as Tom pushed at his mouth, forcing open his lips and pressing his tongue inside. The older man was aroused as well, Tristan could feel his hard dick pressing at him, it was like a rock and big, and Tristan knew that he would be expected to take it in him later. Surprisingly the thought, though it scared him, didn't deflate his own horniness and to his surprise he was slightly disappointed when Tom pulled back. The crowd was still cheering, driven on by the kiss and Tom waited for them to quieten, before turning to the Bishop, "Now the crowning."

The expression in his voice suggested that to him this was as important as the wedding. He took Tristan's hand and led him the few steps up the thrones, sitting in the King's before gesturing Tristan to sit down in the slightly less ornate Queen's beside him. Tristan did so as the Bishop lifted up a gold crown. He started to speak in the old Tongue, as tradition demanded, Tom didn't speak any of it Tristan knew so the man could have been saying anything to him. But Tristan knew enough to know that the man was crowning him as he'd been asked. He finished the speech and placed a gold crown on Tom's head. Tristan had to admit his husband looked regal, with his tough looking face and muscular body. The hall remained quiet as the Bishop took a smaller circlet, still gold, and began to speak again in the old tongue. The speech was shorter and more succinct, Queens were much less important than Kings, ending with him slipping the circlet on Tristan's head. The Bishop stepped backwards slowly, retreating down the stairs. Once he was on the main floor he knelt towards the King and in old Tongue said, "Arise King Thomas. Lord of these lands."

Tom sat still for a moment, then he rose and the hall exploded again in cheers and shouts as the crowd cried out their loyalty as they knelt. Tristan remained seated watching them and wondering how easy loyalties changed, weeks ago half this hall had been leal subjects of his father, now they were bowing to his father, even his mother was down in a curtsey, waiting for the king to call them up. Tom stood looking at them for a few moments, the hall full of half-bent men and crouching women. Then he gestured with his hand, "You may rise my loyal subjects."

They did and took their seats. Tom continued standing surveying them. A small smile played on his face like he was thinking how far he had come, then he spoke, the traditional speech of a new King, all about his love for his subjects, how he would protect them with just laws and low taxes, keep their freedoms and to the five Gods. All kings good and bad gave the same speech, some might have even meant it. Then the words were over and the King grinned, "And now for the entertainment."

*

Sitting at the high table later Queen Tristan had to admit that his husband had not stinted on the wedding and coronation festivities. There had been jugglers and fools and acrobats, scantily clad dancers and even less dressed swerving girls, pawed and patted by the mercenaries and the townsfolk tried to ignore the squeal of sexual ecstasy coming from the corridors as the soldiers led the prostitutes away to service them. It wasn't only the strippers who had danced but the 'happy' couple and their guests as well, Tristan pleased his lessons paid off as he was led round the dancefloor; he even had a dance with Wild as Tom danced with the dowager Queen. And the meal was one fit for a new King and Queen, delicacies from far off land mixed with the best quality local produce, all it of piled high and constantly replaced so that even before a platter was half-empty it was swapped with one containing a mountain of food. Tristan ate delicately, a few sweets and sips of wine, to show willing to his new husband and to make it look like he was enjoying himself. But he was too nervous to eat much without fearing he would be sick. Tom didn't eat much either, though he made up for it with wine drinking, knocking back goblet after goblet, none of which seemed to have any impact; he had been making loud boisterous jokes with his cronies at the start of the meal and he was at the end.

Suddenly Tom turned towards him, a leer on his face, "You finished? It's time for us to go to our room."

Tristan was tempted to say that he was still hungry, but that would be putting off the inevitable. Instead he gave what he hoped was a loving smile and pushed away his plate, "I am ready, husband."

Tom's grin was wolfish, " I always thing the first night is the best part of any wedding, don't you?"

Tristan just smiled. Tom didn't wait for an answer, standing up and slamming down his empty goblet with a crash. Tristan stood up much more delicately, as the guests began to clap and cheer. "Time for us to consummate," yelled Tom to the assembled throng. Sometimes, with older husbands they only made a pretence of taking the bride in their arms and carrying her, but Tom went not the only the whole way, but further. He grabbed Tristan and threw him over his shoulder, making the teen give a shocked squeal, especially as his dress fell down over him, exposing his naked arse cheeks. Tom squeezed one, "This won't be virginal by the morning," he laughed and strode down from the platform, through the hall and towards the room. Cheers followed him as he went up the stairs and opened the door to the main room, throwing Tristan on the bed before turning back to the bed and locking it. He unclipped his robe and dropped it to the ground as he took a few steps towards the teen, lying on the bed with his dress half-way up his waist. "I've been looking forward to this," grinned the new King.

"So have I," replied Tristan.

"Don't lie," snorted the older man as he unbuttoned his shirt, "You've been shitting yourself all day, I'm not stupid. He pulled off the shirt revealing a muscular chest, with hard pecs and a iron like stomach, a few scars, not many, criss-crossing it. He dropped the shirt to the floor and kicked off his boots, "You going to get undressed?"

"Yes, my husband," Tristan stood up. He found himself quivering as he began to undo his wedding dress and wished he had one of the slave girls to help him do so.

Tom stood watching him, a lump in his pants, pushing them outwards like a small mountain was positioned in his nether regions. He grinned as Tristan pulled the dress from his shoulders, "As soon as I saw you I wanted to fuck that sweet arse; never seen someone less suited armour." Tristan continued to pull his dress off, standing up and turning away from his husband in a vain attempt at modesty as it lowered down his back to his bottom. Behind him Tom grinned, "You're much more suited to a dress." Tristan pulled it down over his small, firm peach of a backside. Tom laughed, "Though you're more suited out of it."