You're touring Liverpool, looking down at your phone trying to find directions to a nearby history museum, when you bump into someone. You're already busily apologizing when you look up, and see that it's none other than Queen Liz. She towers over you, nearly ten feet tall. With minimal effort her powerful thighs squeeze your arms together, holding you in place. She's holding you loose enough that you might be able to wriggle free, but doing so would be very impolite, and it's scandalous to even think about doing something so rude to the queen.
"You really should watch where you're going, peasant," she says derisively. "As punishment for assaulting the Queen, under the Royal Acquisition Act of 2019, you are now officially my property."
"I'm sorry, what?" You say, still in shock from everything.
"Follow me. You're going to the Tower of London, where you'll be my slave for the rest of your life." She says it so casually. It takes you a bit to recall that name, which you read about in a tourism brochure. The torture museum, you realize... only it's not a museum anymore. There were rumors about what it had become, since Liz became Queen...
"You can try to run," she says with a laugh. "But the punishment for stealing Royal property is execution... by my specially made, golden Louboutin execution boots. And I can walk very, very fast."
There are people all around, watching you, but none of them would dare to interfere. You could try to call the police, but they'd side with her. "There is one other option," she says, staring down at you. "Since you're already trapped between my thighs... If you can make me come , right here and now... Then maybe I'll let you go with a warning. But if you don't give me a screaming orgasm, I'll crush you between my thighs. So what will it be?"
Well, what would you do?
joe
2019-10-12 16:10:41 +0000 UTCDr. Whoopass
2019-10-12 13:43:30 +0000 UTCRocketNowWow
2019-10-11 23:47:21 +0000 UTC