Eleonora

At first, it seemed strange when Queen Eleonora ordered you to follow her into her private chambers. Her reputation as a cruel ruler was well known to you, yet despite her stern gaze, her treatment of you was not what you expected.

When you first arrived, Eleonora had asked you a question the moment you stepped into her room: “Slave, do you wish to sleep in my bed?” At that moment, it seemed like an obvious trap meant to punish you. But while you struggled to think of an answer that would not bring consequences, the queen noticed your confused expression and began to read aloud: “Life of a Slave says: ‘The first thing a good girl must do is ask if your man wants to sleep with you in the same bed, but first she must ask permission.’ And so, as the good girl, I ask as required. So what will it be?”

Her citation of the book only confused your thoughts further, so much so that you could not even remember your answer. By the time you recalled yourself, Eleonora had already apologized and left, abandoning you alone in her chamber—with the very book she had been reading.

This was the book she had ordered one of her maids to prepare before your arrival. Its title made its purpose clear, yet what were those strange phrases about “your man”? And why, despite her obvious irritation and dislike, had she allowed you to remain in her room?

She had left the book on the nightstand. Curiosity soon got the better of you.

On tiptoe, you opened it to the very first page. Eleonora had been reading it as if it were a training manual, but the introduction made it plain that she had skipped over it entirely—for it explained in detail how Eleonora, the “good girl,” was meant to become a true sex slave for “her man.”

What would Eleonora do if she ever realized this? Was it a test? Should you tell her? These questions swirled in your head—until they were cut short. Eleonora had returned.

The first thing you saw as she stepped through the door was her chest, heaving and bouncing with each step, as though it moved of its own will. Her breasts called out to you so strongly that you nearly rose to approach and seize them, no matter the cost.

Eleonora carried herself with the grace befitting a queen, noble and magnificent. She was beautiful, her alluring face only serving to highlight the curves of her body, as she continued to read about how to be the “good girl,” the sex slave. Your sex slave.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry.