The Hands That Lead

A hands on kind of leader…

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Saturday March 24, 2018

The witch leaned back in the elegant chair and raised her shiny black boot up, letting it settle between the bosom of the princess.

“So tell me princess, who’s the fairest of them all?”

“You are Mistress.” the girl replied as she knelt before the witch, her hands bound behind her, her legs tucked beneath her and the cool metal of the collar tight around her neck.

“Very good, now repeat your mantra.” the witch said, knowing full well it was a lie but that the princess believed it with all her heart.

“My Mistress is the most beautiful woman in the world.  My Mistress must be obeyed without question or hesitation.  I am put a lowly princess and my Mistress is the might Witch Queen.  My Mistress will use me in any way she deems fit.” the princess said and then lower her head and kiss the platform of her Mistress’s boot between her supple young breasts.

The witch smiled as the princess’s lips remained on her boot until she finally pulled the boot away and set it back down on the floor.

In generations gone by, her ancestors had tried… and failed… so many times to entrap the crown prine or princess of the small nation, but they had all made such obvious mistakes.  A cursed apple, transforming them in to a frog or goat or some other creature.

They were doomed to failure.  But the witch knew better, she’d learned from her ancestors and from the Internet.  The princess was a millennial, so consumed with her social profile that she took any opportunity to show off something new and sparkely.

The witch knew she would be unable to resist putting on the jewel encrusted collar and as soon as she did, it’s magic consumed her, bound her, subjugated her to the witches whimsy.

The invitation to the castle had come the next day.  Within a week the witch was an official advisor to the court and within a month she had taken up permanent residency in the castle in an adjoining room to the princess.

In a few more weeks the princess would announce would announce publicly that she was a lesbian, and soon after that she would have her first public date with the witch.

Within the year they would announce their engagement, with the princess taking on the role of the witch’s devoted wifey.  A pretty little thing to hang off the witch’s arm at all of the important functions.

Of course some time after their nuptials, when the King and Queen suddenly succumb to a strange illness, the witch would humbly accept the title of King and take the throne with her devoted wife the Queen.

Then, finally, her magic would impregnate the princess with her own genetic material, wiping the foul stain of the hated royal bloodline from future generations.

Instead, the witch’s bloodline would take it’s rightful place.

The witch grinned and let out a soft chuckle, “Dinner time princess…”, she said and the princess shuffled over to the side of the chain, bowed forward and placed her face in the metal dog bowl, licking up the hard crunchy pellets that it contained.

The witch pulled her riding crop from between the cushion of the chair and gently, but forcefully, landed a slap on the princesses exposed ass cheek.

“Eat!” the witch commanded and the princess complied as another slap from the crop landed.

The witch let out an evil laugh as the process repeated itself, “It’s going to be so much fun being King.” she said aloud to no one in particular.

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