Mine
Concubine!Marc Spector x Queen!Reader
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In a female-dominated society, Marc Spector is presented to you, the queen, as a prized virgin, to become your newest concubine.
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"This way, my Queen," Elshal, the captain of your royal guard, directed. Famed for her towering stature and body like steel, with coal black hair and chalk white skin, she cast a menacing warning to any who would consider approaching you.
Squaring your shoulders, you followed her lead into the royal ballroom, where music politely paused and your subjects all bowed respectfully.
The rich, colorful fabrics and textures adorning lords and their gentlemen created a calidoscope of color as you nodded for their dancing to proceed.
You took a moment to greet a few of the most prominent members of your royal court - distinguished, accomplished women who took wealthy husbands with outrageous dowries - and raised their sons to perhaps catch a queen's eye.
One such young gentleman was presented to you now. Lord Cado nearly thrust her son toward you, causing Elshal's grip to find the hilt of her famed sword. A young man, just come of age, bowed deeply, shyly uttering, "Your Grace."
A few dances with the nobles would be expected of you, you supposed. Perhaps one or two wouldn't hurt. After all, you still needed an heir - a strong, vibrant daughter to inherit your queendom and rule over your people.
You had a husband once. A beautiful, adoring man who bred in you a tender son. But your boy died in infancy, followed by your husband, who was believed to be poisoned. His mysterious death kept Elshal as close as a shadow. Your heart had knit itself closed since that time. You poured your heart and soul into your people, your queendom, with only the occasional concubine brought to satisfy your urges.
Today, a new crop of potential concubines would be presented to you for inspection. Young orphans or lads from poor, common families would send their sons to train to serve and pleasure their queen. They were inspected for disease, bathed and perfumed and waxed. And only the most handsome and capable of young men would ever earn the pleasure of actually traveling to the palace, let alone be in the presence of the queen.
As lowborn sons of the realm, to have this chance, and to be chosen to be bedded by their queen would be the highest honor of their lives. They could never hope to marry a queen, nor any noble, or even provide you with an heir, but for a time, the beauty and majesty of their queen would shine on them, and their family would be rewarded and protected during their time with you.
After one dance with the young gentleman whatever-his-name, you felt eager to move this event along. You hadn't bedded a man for weeks. You could almost feel a pulsing ache between your legs, longing for a sculpted body sprawled underneath you, and a thick cock spearing you open.
"Bring me the tributes,” you ordered.
Everyone stopped, and the sea of aristocrats parted as ornate doors opened wide and a line of men marched into the ballroom in perfect time, as if trained by Elshal herself. Each wore a robe of deep ruby, plain except for its striking color. A hood covered each young man’s head. Their master guided them to where you had taken your seat, in an ornate throne-like chair, often used in the royal ballroom.
The leader wore a similar robe, but in royal blue with gold trim. He approached you, bowing deeply. “My Queen,” he said, “your tributes are ready for inspection.”
“Thank you,” you politely responded, noticing his salt and pepper beard. Now in his middle age, he must have risen about as high as a lowborn commoner or orphaned boy could possibly rise - preparing young tributes for his queen.
“Kneel,” he commanded the tributes. In perfect unison, they sank to their knees, heads bowed.
“Present,” he ordered. Again, in synchrony, they each removed their hoods, revealing their handsome faces.
“Reveal,” he finally told them. At that command, they opened their robes, allowing the heavy material to fall from their shoulders to pool around them on the floor.
The body of each tribute was a masterpiece: young, firm, oiled and perfumed, every hair in place. Skin smooth and hairy in the exact places you preferred, covered only by a simple loincloth. Several of the men stood on their knees clearly taller than others, as it was rumored that you preferred tall, square-jawed, broad-shouldered concubines.
“Your queen thanks you for presenting yourselves here today,” you told them, pacing back and forth in front of them. They didn’t dare look up until invited.
“Please allow me to know the pleasure of your names.” You approached the first man, fair skinned, with golden hair. He forgot to look up at you until his master cleared his throat, warning him not to waste the queen’s time.
“Your Grace,” he almost choked out. “I am Del.”
You tipped his chin up with your fingers, smiling at him graciously. “Hello, Del,” you said softly.
A smile, and especially a touch from their queen would sustain these men for the rest of their days, not to mention the monetary reward they would receive.
The next man had dark brown skin and piercing black eyes. He gazed up at you confidently, flashing a winning smile. “Your Grace, I am Uku.”
He beamed after earning a deeper smile from you than Del had, amusing you with his confidence.
Down the line you went, meeting young men of several different ethnicities, races and builds.
Near the end of the line, your eyes landed on of beautiful crown of chocolate curls. The smallest man in line, not necessarily in build, but in height, peered up with you with dark, unreadable eyes. His chiseled jaw clenched before he remembered himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he finally spoke.
“Your Grace, I am Marc.” He could barely hold your gaze, throat bobbing in what could have been assumed was nervousness or shyness. But you read him right away. He felt ashamed. You wondered how this man ever made it past the master and into your royal ballroom. There was a distant coolness in his gaze, a defiant tension in his jaw and shoulders, and secrets behind the plush curve of his lips, you felt certain of it.
He was a beautiful man, with skin of sun-kissed bronze, but he did not hold himself quite like the others. He did not seem to be here simply to please you. And this intrigued you.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Marc.” You granted them the most gracious greeting of them all. He stared at you wide-eyed, forgetting to bow or thank you, even when his master cleared his throat. Your gaze lingered on his, curious as to if the was ill-trained or simply interesting.
You graciously and dutifully finished greeting the line of tributes, thanking them all once again. You made your way back down the line of men, pausing briefly at the few who would be chosen to follow you to a private room for further inspection.
Your guests would continue their party and dancing, and the remaining tributes would be allowed to join the party - a night of noble spectacle for one special night of their lives.
Uku, Marc and two others stood before you in privacy, loosening their loincloths and presenting their naked bodies to you.
You wet your lips, tempted to take the four of them to your room, but knowing, aside from a dalliance from time to time, that you enjoyed the adoration of one man at a time until you were done with him. Men were too messy and complicated for all that drama.
Perhaps you would send for Uku for a night of fun, but one look at Marc's cock and you nodded to his master. Typically, you would turn and leave the room, whispering to their master who to send to your bedchambers. You would bed your tribute, usually for weeks on end, before sending them back to their lives.
But this time, you did not speak to their master. You turned to leave the private chamber but stopped just before you exited. You extended your hand and called his name.
“Marc. Come with me.”
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Marc stared at you, swallowing thickly until his master hissed for him to obey.
Nodding quickly, he scurried to your side, bowing once again, eyes clouding with distrust at your outstretched hand. "My Queen?"
"You will refer to the queen as Your Grace," his master corrected.
"Thank you all for appearing here today. You are dismissed," you said conclusively.
The other three tributes attempted to hide their slight disappointment, dressing in their loincloths and robes and exiting silently behind their master.
Marc remained with you and with Elshal, stark naked, chest rising and falling in anticipation.
"Come," you smiled at him, taking his hand. Elshal flinched, uncomfortable with you so near a stranger, despite the vetting done in advance to even allow Marc into the palace.
Throat bobbing once more, he nodded, taking your hand and following you. As you led his naked body toward your chambers, you called back over your shoulder for Elshal to bring his robe.
She caught up to you quickly, allowing Marc to cover himself as you walked through the palace's private corridors.
"My Queen, I will have the tribute prepared for your bedchambers at once," Elshal offered, but you waved her off.
"I will speak with him first."
"But my queen -" the towering woman insisted, trailing off as you gave her a silencing glare.
"You will walk seven paces behind your Queen," Elshal instructed Marc, who was now fully robed.
"No, talk with me," you insisted, eliciting a familiar groan from the captain of your royal guard.
"Yes, my Queen," Marc dutifully responded, "I mean, Your Grace."
You smiled knowingly at him. "I am your queen. You are permitted to say as much."
"Forgive me," he said softer, eyes downcast as he matched your pace. "I am not accustomed to royalty."
"Most are not," you reasoned. "Were you not trained by your master for this exact moment?"
Marc's perfectly cut jaw clenched again. He took his time responding.
"Answer your Queen," Elshal directed.
"Captain, stand down," you told her, rolling your eyes. She was thorough, your captain, and, in some ways, possibly your truest friend and advisor. But a damn nuisance sometimes.
The exchange granted Marc the time to come up with an reply. "I was trained to serve my Queen in any way that she requires, for as long as she requires it."
"Ahhh, a rehearsed answer, if ever I did hear one," you teased, a playful glimmer in your eye. "You are surprised I chose you. Or perhaps you did not wish for me to choose you? You may speak freely. I am truly curious."
"I am deeply grateful, my Queen," Marc instantly responded. "That is the truth." His eyes met yours steadily. You saw no lie in them.
"Very well," you relented, pausing for a moment. "I'll have you shown to your rooms. Supper will be brought. You may rest before you're brought to me tonight."
"Thank you, my Queen." He bowed deeply.
As Marc was led away, Elshal gave you a look you'd come to know well - a disbelieving look. A challenging one, honestly.
"I know you think I should have chosen Uku," you told her, making your way back to your chambers, "but concubines like Uku are available to me at a moment's notice. Beautiful, confident, charming, with a magnificent body."
"Exactly," Elshal said dryly. "And well-trained by his master. Where as this one is...too familiar. I don't trust him. And his accent is foreign."
"Many of my subjects were not born on our shores," you reasoned. "Besides, I like him." You smiled to yourself. "He's very pretty."
"He's not as polished at the others. Could have been a latecomer," Elshal reasoned. "He could be an assassin or a spy -"
"For the love of the gods, Elshal," you groaned. "It is the master's duty to present appropriate tributes to his Queen. And it is your job to protect me. Do so."
"Yes, Your Grace," she dutifully responded, realizing the conversation was over.
With a sigh, you glanced back over your shoulder, while heading into your rooms. "I don't have to trust him. I just want to fuck him."
Elshal closed the doors and your ladies scurried to undress you and help you change into something more comfortable than your typical gown and armored attire.
"I want to take his virginity and make him a man," you went on. "I want to draw his secrets out of him through his pretty cock."
"Sounds complicated," Elshal boredly commented. Your dear friend found most matters between men and women rather dull.
"You're no fun at all, Captain," you said. "Please see that Marc is brought to me as soon as he is fed and rested."
She bowed. "Your Grace."
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You lay on your balcony under the stars in a silken robe and nothing more, reading one of your favorite stories in between moments of watching the stars glimmer in a veil of darkness.
Elshal stood guard, as always, but soon alerted you to the news that your concubine was ready for you.
"Leave us," you ordered everyone, including Elshal, who would wait right outside the door during your tryst.
As you stepped inside the bedchamber, you saw your concubine, seated on his knees on your bed, head bowed, dark curls falling across his face. His body had been oiled until it shone. Golden chains and precious stones draped around his shoulders like a cloak, but he was otherwise naked.
You licked your lips at the sight of him, so pretty and willing to please you for weeks on end.
Speaking his name softly, you commanded him to look at you, expecting uncertainty in his eyes. But he met your gaze unflinchingly, watching you carefully as you allowed your robe to drop to the floor.
"Have you truly never lay with another before?" You asked him, stopping just shy of the bed's end.
"No, my Queen, I am unspoiled," he softly answered. His cock twitched and stirred to life at the sight of your naked body. His bronzed chest rose and fell in anticipation. You chose well. His cock would stuff you full.
"We will spill your seed early then," you told him, climbing onto the bed to join him. He inhaled sharply as you neared him, shuddering as your fingers made first contact with his shoulder. You wordlessly removed his bejeweled cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor before surging forward to kiss him lustfully.
Read chapter 2
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
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