Nina327
TouchMeNot
- Joined
- May 26, 2010
- Posts
- 18,227
Lounge Questions tp Conversations
- Thread starter Nina327
- Start date
JessMarsh69
Virgin
- Joined
- Feb 14, 2026
- Posts
- 139
Nina327
TouchMeNot
- Joined
- May 26, 2010
- Posts
- 18,227
Does a Queen do her own showing?
Only when it pleases her.
So, what would I show a foreigner, someone from not around here, someone who doesn't know my reputation? Someone who has heard of My Kingdom but doesn't believe the stories?
Depends on how far out of joint their fucking nose is upon meeting my illustrious self. If the only thing they have an issue with is my functional knee-high boots, then I might show them my gardens and granaries. If they like the tattoos, I might show them the tech center and hydroponics. If they are a pissy cunt about all of it, I'll be showing them the world-class waste management system and my torture silo of teeth; maybe I'll push them in, maybe I won't.
If their nose is not out of joint at all and I find them hot, I might show them the dungeon.
What do you do in peace times anyway?
Only when it pleases her.
So, what would I show a foreigner, someone from not around here, someone who doesn't know my reputation? Someone who has heard of My Kingdom but doesn't believe the stories?
Depends on how far out of joint their fucking nose is upon meeting my illustrious self. If the only thing they have an issue with is my functional knee-high boots, then I might show them my gardens and granaries. If they like the tattoos, I might show them the tech center and hydroponics. If they are a pissy cunt about all of it, I'll be showing them the world-class waste management system and my torture silo of teeth; maybe I'll push them in, maybe I won't.
If their nose is not out of joint at all and I find them hot, I might show them the dungeon.
What do you do in peace times anyway?
monique_minx
Passionate Disgrace
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2009
- Posts
- 9,003
The Sanguine quarter did not smell of death.
That was the first surprise.
Most who entered the domain of the Blood mages expected rot and festering to linger in the air. They expected the decrepit, the old, the crippled and the sad here. Instead, the Quarter was warm and filled with crushed herbs, fresh, crisp linen and the sound of bubbling pots.
"Stay to the left of the white line." The guide said pleasantly, gesturing to the thin strip of paint on the sidewalk. “If a carriage marked with the red spiral passes, you’ll want it between you and the buildings, not the other way around.”
The architecture alone marked the district apart from the rest of Elaris. No towering spires here. No glittering mage-houses competing for height. Instead, broad, low structures of pale stone and dark-veined marble spread outward in orderly blocks, their roofs domed in muted crimson tile. Tall windows stood open to circulating air, each hung with gauze curtains that stirred in the cool breeze.
Narrow channels ran along the streets, carrying clean water in constant motion. Small footbridges arched over them, and every few paces stood brass basins where attendants rinsed their hands before entering any building. The soft sound of running water never stopped; it was the Quarter’s heartbeat.
“This is the outer ward,” the guide continued, walking at an unhurried pace. “General treatment halls. Surgical theatres. Recovery cloisters. Nothing too delicate.”
Through one open archway, visitors could glimpse a long hall lined with narrow beds separated by pale screens. Blood mages moved between them in quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hands glowing faintly red as they coaxed torn flesh to knit and fevers to break. Assistants in grey carried bowls of steaming instruments.
Screams were contained before they began, such was their power to slow hearts and induce sleep.
A little farther on stood a circular courtyard paved in black stone veined with red. At its centre rose a low fountain where water spilled continuously over sculpted hands carved from marble. Each hand cupped the next, passing water downward in an endless loop until it returned to the basin below.
“Founders’ Fountain, around here, we call it the 'Sanguine Fountain',” the guide said. “All Blood mages wash here before their first sanctioned healing. Tradition, not requirement. Still… most of them do it.”
Across the courtyard loomed the largest structure in the Quarter: a many-winged complex of pale stone and deep red glass, its central dome etched with intricate sigils that shimmered faintly even in daylight.
“The Grand Sanguine Hall,” the guide announced softly. “Primary surgical amphitheater. Research archives. And the Registry of Vital Essence.”
Visitors might notice the increased Watch presence here as the Arcane Watch was posted discreetly at entrances, their uniforms immaculate, their expressions politely neutral. No weapons drawn, but every one of them carried containment sigils worked into their gauntlets.
“Blood work can… attract interest,” the guide said lightly. “Best to ensure all donations remain voluntary and all research remains licensed.”
Beyond the Hall stretched quieter streets - recovery gardens where patients walked slow circuits under the supervision of healers, apothecaries whose windows displayed vials of deep crimson tonic and translucent restorative gels, lecture houses where students of the Sanguine discipline debated anatomy over anatomical diagrams rendered in exquisite detail.
The guide slowed as they approached a narrow avenue flanked by high, windowless walls of polished stone.
“We won’t be continuing that direction,” they said smoothly. “Restricted practice facilities. Advanced transfusion work. You understand.”
A faint red glow pulsed once behind the distant doors before fading.
The guide clapped their hands gently, drawing attention back to the sunlit street and the murmur of flowing water.
“Now then,” they said with a courteous smile, “if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the restorative tea house. Their ironroot infusion is famous across three provinces, and entirely safe for non-mages.”
The guide paused and then finished, “Mostly.”
That was the first surprise.
Most who entered the domain of the Blood mages expected rot and festering to linger in the air. They expected the decrepit, the old, the crippled and the sad here. Instead, the Quarter was warm and filled with crushed herbs, fresh, crisp linen and the sound of bubbling pots.
"Stay to the left of the white line." The guide said pleasantly, gesturing to the thin strip of paint on the sidewalk. “If a carriage marked with the red spiral passes, you’ll want it between you and the buildings, not the other way around.”
The architecture alone marked the district apart from the rest of Elaris. No towering spires here. No glittering mage-houses competing for height. Instead, broad, low structures of pale stone and dark-veined marble spread outward in orderly blocks, their roofs domed in muted crimson tile. Tall windows stood open to circulating air, each hung with gauze curtains that stirred in the cool breeze.
Narrow channels ran along the streets, carrying clean water in constant motion. Small footbridges arched over them, and every few paces stood brass basins where attendants rinsed their hands before entering any building. The soft sound of running water never stopped; it was the Quarter’s heartbeat.
“This is the outer ward,” the guide continued, walking at an unhurried pace. “General treatment halls. Surgical theatres. Recovery cloisters. Nothing too delicate.”
Through one open archway, visitors could glimpse a long hall lined with narrow beds separated by pale screens. Blood mages moved between them in quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hands glowing faintly red as they coaxed torn flesh to knit and fevers to break. Assistants in grey carried bowls of steaming instruments.
Screams were contained before they began, such was their power to slow hearts and induce sleep.
A little farther on stood a circular courtyard paved in black stone veined with red. At its centre rose a low fountain where water spilled continuously over sculpted hands carved from marble. Each hand cupped the next, passing water downward in an endless loop until it returned to the basin below.
“Founders’ Fountain, around here, we call it the 'Sanguine Fountain',” the guide said. “All Blood mages wash here before their first sanctioned healing. Tradition, not requirement. Still… most of them do it.”
Across the courtyard loomed the largest structure in the Quarter: a many-winged complex of pale stone and deep red glass, its central dome etched with intricate sigils that shimmered faintly even in daylight.
“The Grand Sanguine Hall,” the guide announced softly. “Primary surgical amphitheater. Research archives. And the Registry of Vital Essence.”
Visitors might notice the increased Watch presence here as the Arcane Watch was posted discreetly at entrances, their uniforms immaculate, their expressions politely neutral. No weapons drawn, but every one of them carried containment sigils worked into their gauntlets.
“Blood work can… attract interest,” the guide said lightly. “Best to ensure all donations remain voluntary and all research remains licensed.”
Beyond the Hall stretched quieter streets - recovery gardens where patients walked slow circuits under the supervision of healers, apothecaries whose windows displayed vials of deep crimson tonic and translucent restorative gels, lecture houses where students of the Sanguine discipline debated anatomy over anatomical diagrams rendered in exquisite detail.
The guide slowed as they approached a narrow avenue flanked by high, windowless walls of polished stone.
“We won’t be continuing that direction,” they said smoothly. “Restricted practice facilities. Advanced transfusion work. You understand.”
A faint red glow pulsed once behind the distant doors before fading.
The guide clapped their hands gently, drawing attention back to the sunlit street and the murmur of flowing water.
“Now then,” they said with a courteous smile, “if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the restorative tea house. Their ironroot infusion is famous across three provinces, and entirely safe for non-mages.”
The guide paused and then finished, “Mostly.”
Nina327
TouchMeNot
- Joined
- May 26, 2010
- Posts
- 18,227
The_gladiator
Avatar of Fantasy
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2007
- Posts
- 24,727
‘anything can be art johnny, you just have to believe. you have to have style, you have to be creative and emotionally move yourself or others.’
the young johnny scratched. ‘so, movement can be an art?”
“Have you ever seen dancers, that’s art isn’t it?”
The young man nodded finally “What about words,”
“Have you ever read a poem, or heard one spoken out loud to you, or even better have you ever seen a salesman weave his words to get someome to buy something they don’t need.”
The young man nodded getting into it. “Yes I have, you remember that used car old Johnson got you to buy. What a piece of junk.”
“We don’t talk about that Johnny.”
“Alright Mister then, what about food, surely food can’t be an art.”
“Have you not seen the decrative cakes bakers make, or even the beautiful way your mother blends the spices in your favorite soup she makes.”
Johnny frowned but then nodded his understanding. “So you’re saying it’s not about what you’re doing that makes art, but how you make people feel?”
The old man just nodded.
“Death is not an art.” The boy sounded triumphant at his beating the old man at his own game.
The old man’s face grew dark. “There is no art more sinister than the dark artistry men have made out of killing one another. Pray that that is one art you never have to face. For fear is just as much of an emotion as joy or melancholy.”
The boy shivered at the grim words, but then as young adults often do he shrugged off the dark words and rushed off to meet his lady love.
This left the old man alone to reflect on the art of lovemaking and seduction, ah what it would be like to be young again.
the young johnny scratched. ‘so, movement can be an art?”
“Have you ever seen dancers, that’s art isn’t it?”
The young man nodded finally “What about words,”
“Have you ever read a poem, or heard one spoken out loud to you, or even better have you ever seen a salesman weave his words to get someome to buy something they don’t need.”
The young man nodded getting into it. “Yes I have, you remember that used car old Johnson got you to buy. What a piece of junk.”
“We don’t talk about that Johnny.”
“Alright Mister then, what about food, surely food can’t be an art.”
“Have you not seen the decrative cakes bakers make, or even the beautiful way your mother blends the spices in your favorite soup she makes.”
Johnny frowned but then nodded his understanding. “So you’re saying it’s not about what you’re doing that makes art, but how you make people feel?”
The old man just nodded.
“Death is not an art.” The boy sounded triumphant at his beating the old man at his own game.
The old man’s face grew dark. “There is no art more sinister than the dark artistry men have made out of killing one another. Pray that that is one art you never have to face. For fear is just as much of an emotion as joy or melancholy.”
The boy shivered at the grim words, but then as young adults often do he shrugged off the dark words and rushed off to meet his lady love.
This left the old man alone to reflect on the art of lovemaking and seduction, ah what it would be like to be young again.
monique_minx
Passionate Disgrace
- Joined
- Sep 27, 2009
- Posts
- 9,003
You never cease to amaze me Glad 
PapaRomantic
Writing away...
- Joined
- Oct 1, 2016
- Posts
- 8,322
A hush suddenly covered the room as the model appeared on the makeshift stage. There was no hesitation in her purposeful stride. She walked as though she wanted to be there. The fact that she was naked didn’t necessarily cause the hush. The fact that it appeared that her body was flawless was what made the room quiet.
Katie was with me, and she immediately grabbed my arm with a strength I didn’t know she possessed. We watched together, along with the rest of the forty or so gathered, trying to anticipate the model’s next move.
She arrived at a softly padded arm chair that was stage center. Next to it was an end table of some sort, with a box perched on top. She immediately turned so that her deliciously rounded ass was facing us.
Katie whispered to me, “Wow, what a perfectly formed ass.”
The model dug into the box and retrieved some type of sexual toy. She fondled it, then brought it to her mouth and kissed it.
“Look at that,” she said softly. “It looks like she’s in love with it. She knows it will take care of her and take her to where she wants to be.”
The model sat down and immediately lifted her legs and spread to the point where both were over the arms of the chair. In the brightness of the spotlight, it was easy to see the light reflecting on the moisture that had accumulated between her legs.
“She is so ready for this.”
The model twisted the end of the toy, and it was clear that it was a vibrator. We watched as she began to caress it over her body, following it with the open palm of her other hand. Her body took on a soft rosy hue, and when the vibrator would touch sensitive places, she would jump lightly.
“She is so thoroughly preparing her body – making her mind be perfectly in tune with her desire.”
We all began to hold our breath as the model brought the vibrator down to her exposed center. She took the time to tease herself, sliding the toy over the top of one firm thigh and then returning it in the same fashion up the other. She was edging herself, and it was having the same effect on us.
And then, without warning, she plunged it deeply into her body. A collective gasp erupted from the audience as she worked the toy in and out, fucking herself with it.
Katie whispered to me, “Oh god, such passion – such energy – such desire to create something so intense and magical.”
The model removed the toy and replaced it with two fingers on her free hand. The toy ended up on top of her clit. We could tell she was getting close because she used her long legs to lift her groin up and off the seat. She began a sustained wail, starting low in her vocal range, and then climbing higher as she got approached her goal.
Suddenly, the model stopped – her mouth open as if in a silent scream. One more swipe of the toy over her clit and one more plunge of her fingers deep inside her body, and then she exploded with a loud shriek. The power of her orgasm caused her to fall out of her chair, and she writhed on the floor, overcome by the pleasure that ripped through her perfect body.
Finally, she stopped and lay still. Somewhere, she found the strength to bring the toy to her lips, where she sensually licked it, before dropping it on the floor next to her. It was the final note of the masturbatory symphony that had played out before us. We began to applaud in joyous appreciation of her skill.
Katie leaned over to me. “That was magnificent! I’ve never seen anything like that!
“My love, that…was…art!”
Katie was with me, and she immediately grabbed my arm with a strength I didn’t know she possessed. We watched together, along with the rest of the forty or so gathered, trying to anticipate the model’s next move.
She arrived at a softly padded arm chair that was stage center. Next to it was an end table of some sort, with a box perched on top. She immediately turned so that her deliciously rounded ass was facing us.
Katie whispered to me, “Wow, what a perfectly formed ass.”
The model dug into the box and retrieved some type of sexual toy. She fondled it, then brought it to her mouth and kissed it.
“Look at that,” she said softly. “It looks like she’s in love with it. She knows it will take care of her and take her to where she wants to be.”
The model sat down and immediately lifted her legs and spread to the point where both were over the arms of the chair. In the brightness of the spotlight, it was easy to see the light reflecting on the moisture that had accumulated between her legs.
“She is so ready for this.”
The model twisted the end of the toy, and it was clear that it was a vibrator. We watched as she began to caress it over her body, following it with the open palm of her other hand. Her body took on a soft rosy hue, and when the vibrator would touch sensitive places, she would jump lightly.
“She is so thoroughly preparing her body – making her mind be perfectly in tune with her desire.”
We all began to hold our breath as the model brought the vibrator down to her exposed center. She took the time to tease herself, sliding the toy over the top of one firm thigh and then returning it in the same fashion up the other. She was edging herself, and it was having the same effect on us.
And then, without warning, she plunged it deeply into her body. A collective gasp erupted from the audience as she worked the toy in and out, fucking herself with it.
Katie whispered to me, “Oh god, such passion – such energy – such desire to create something so intense and magical.”
The model removed the toy and replaced it with two fingers on her free hand. The toy ended up on top of her clit. We could tell she was getting close because she used her long legs to lift her groin up and off the seat. She began a sustained wail, starting low in her vocal range, and then climbing higher as she got approached her goal.
Suddenly, the model stopped – her mouth open as if in a silent scream. One more swipe of the toy over her clit and one more plunge of her fingers deep inside her body, and then she exploded with a loud shriek. The power of her orgasm caused her to fall out of her chair, and she writhed on the floor, overcome by the pleasure that ripped through her perfect body.
Finally, she stopped and lay still. Somewhere, she found the strength to bring the toy to her lips, where she sensually licked it, before dropping it on the floor next to her. It was the final note of the masturbatory symphony that had played out before us. We began to applaud in joyous appreciation of her skill.
Katie leaned over to me. “That was magnificent! I’ve never seen anything like that!
“My love, that…was…art!”
