You Who Ought Be Queen

When first she leaped at you, grabbing your luscious black hair, you feared.

Not just the pain your tattooed rival might inflict upon you.

Nor the consequences that might follow a tearful submission, were she able to pry one from your lips amongst screams.

But her.

After all, she had a look of menace about her. A strength and a coldness in her glaring eyes. Windows to the soul through which you looked and found no doubt.

No trepidation.

Only confidence. Only hatred.

But now, as her thick thighs gently shift back and forth, and as she mumbles pleas into the sex you press to her lips, you fear no longer.

In fact, as her once-clawing digits flex in only the softest, most weakened of ways, you snicker through smirk-bent lips.

For it is time to teach her to fear you.

To instill within her the doubt you could not find. And to show her why, from this defeat on, she should avert her eyes when you look at her and lower her chin when you walk by.

She being certain that if she doesn’t, you will teach her this same lesson again. That though she once saw herself as the alpha, it is you who ought be queen.

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