Killer Queen sat alone in her room, listening to the last notes of a lost song fade to surface noise as the needle bumbled to the end of the record. She would never tell anyone, but she enjoyed the music of the time before. Sometimes, she'd torture a Bohemian, just to weed new music out of them. They wouldn't know her true intentions. She was merciless; that was something everyone did know. Ripping off a fingernail for an infectious guitar riff was just another day at the office. Her wake of collateral damage did not bother her; it was just that. Collateral damage. For the most part, she entertained that she could feel nothing. For all her over-indulgence and debauchery, she couldn't say she felt anything akin to happiness or fulfilment, other than what she gained in a fleeting moment.

This numbness came with its perks though; the detachment protected her from the plunging depression she had an inkling she would feel otherwise. The anticipation of this alone was enough to push her further inward on herself, finding release only in her regal perquisites. She had never felt love, and was doubtful she ever would. There was only momentary sensation to replace prolonged satisfaction, like a rat choosing cocaine over food. The outcome was inevitable. The rat would die. Killer Queen was adamant she would live forever, immortality another string to her bow of beauty, style and ruthless smarts.

The only thing, the only one real feeling, was desire. It absolutely drove her wild. And only one person could provide her with such ecstasy.

'Commander Khashoggi!' she cried out, irritatingly aware of his presence in the next room. Every scuff of a pacing shoe sent jolts of unease snaking down her spine. Every piercing ring of his phone. Every time he shouted that 'The Killer Queen will be most displeased with your incomparable ignorance!'. When he did shout, excitement settled somewhere low in her abdomen. She knew, even with her obvious domineering attitude, he could take her by the throat and she would be his. She was not beneath calling him whenever she craved. And Khashoggi always knew the purpose of his visits.

'Ma'am?' Moments later, his voice was calling from outside the door to Killer Queen's boudoir. The needle finally left the record, and the room thrust into silence. On her red velvet chaise lounge, she stretched her legs, clad with red lace stockings. She shuffled in her scarlet corset, re-adjusting the suspenders. She had to look perfect; she had to take away his breath.

'Come in.' She rolled lazily onto her front, accentuating her considerable cleavage. She watched, biting on her finger, as the door shifted open.

Khashoggi spotted her instantly, and even under his sunglasses, she could tell he was impressed. She smirked, trailing the bitten finger slowly over her bottom lip, running it further and further down her body. She glided softly over her breasts, stopping at her hip. She was a flirt by nature, an uncontrollable tease. Khashoggi knew this, but he also knew just what he could do in retaliation. Best of all, she would be begging for him at the end. He whipped off his glasses.

'My, my. What have we here?' He eased the words out delicately, a seductive, silky note in his voice.

'Yours,' she began to walk two fingers from her stomach downward, 'all yours.'

Before she could reach her crotch, Khashoggi dived on to the chaise, straddling her between muscular thighs.

'Uh-uh-uh,' he half-sang, taking her fingers in his hand, 'not before I've started.' He looked down on her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Or was it that of pure evil? Either way, Killer Queen relished it. Her breathing hitched. 'Turn over.'

She complied, and immediately felt hands all over her. It was a feverish rush now, to undo the lacing, to expose the flesh. He was only halfway done when she raised her arse to meet his semi-erect cock. 'What are you doing?'

She giggled, playfully grinding against him. She felt him grow harder -

'Enough!' She lay back down flat, laughing to herself. 'You'll do as you're told.'

'Or what, Commander?'

'Or I won't fuck you.' Just the thought of him leaving her then made her stay completely still. She hungered for his touch, his carnal kiss and his sex. Oh, his sex! 'Good girl.'

His fingers tugged at the stockings, unclipping the suspenders. The cold touch of his fingers against the warm skin of her thighs sent a shiver up her spine. Khashoggi smirked.
He ran his hands further up, cupping her bum in a tight grasp. It was one of his many favourite parts of Killer Queen. As she often remarked, fat bottomed girls did make the rocking world go round.
He squeezed hard, her arse spilling out of the red lace panties, resisting the urge to spank her. Maybe, but not yet.

He drew closer to her, skating his lips softly over the bare skin of her back. If she could tantalise then so could he. The feel of his mouth, barely there, overwhelmed her with frustration. She dug her fingernails into the velvet chaise.

'Khashoggi, please,' she whimpered. It didn't help that he was pressed up against her, his length undeniably hard, nagging at her backside. She wanted him now.

Instead of chastising her for speaking out of turn, Khashoggi obeyed. He pounced, sinking his teeth into her neck, gently at first. Her gasp of gratitude spurred him on, sucking at the soft flesh of her collar. He bit again, harder, and felt her body wilt beneath him. With expert hands, he slid her corset down over her legs. He broke from her neck, now raw with bitemarks, to remove her corset completely. He threw it onto the floor.

'Now, turn back,' he commanded, his voice thick with desire.

Killer Queen looked stunning naked, and turning back over only proved this. Khashoggi hovered above her. He drank in her perfect form. She would not look away. She wanted to see every wicked thought pass over his eyes, every twitch of his lip. She wanted to know how much he wanted her.

They drew in for a kiss, hungry and animalistic. They were devouring each other; their bodies hot and eager. Khashoggi broke the kiss, but instead began to plant kisses down her chin, over her sore neck, across her collarbones and down to her breasts. He took one into his mouth, a practiced tongue circling her hardening nipples. The other was kneaded with intense fingers. Killer Queen purred, rushing her hands to Khashoggi's head. She curled strands of brilliant blonde hair round her fingers, pulling harder when he touched a sensitive spot. She felt her skin begin to prickle when he suddenly stopped.

Fatally unsatisfied, she removed her fingers slowly. She wouldn't beg again, but oh how she wanted to. She threw her head back in anguish, only to feel his tongue again a second later. It was trailing from her belly button. Down. Down. Down. He stopped at her panties.

'No, no, no. These won't do.' He clenched the material between his teeth and began to tug. It was only then, when her bare pussy was touching the material of the chaise, that she realised how wet she was.

Khashoggi waited a considered few seconds before he hurried down on her. He lapped at her folds. Killer Queen bit her lip hard to hold back a strangled moan. He moved quickly, greedily. He longed for the taste of her in his mouth, flicking his tongue all over her hot mound. The pace was dizzying, and her breathing could hardly keep up with his forceful exploration. Swiftly, though, he stopped altogether. Killer Queen could not immediately feel unsated. Instead she was trying desperately to catch her breath and pull herself back from the brink of orgasm. His expertise had been torturous, and she needed to stop before she exploded.

She felt his tongue again, travelling more slowly this time. She did not take comfort; she knew where he was going.

He dragged his tongue up, nestling deep into her moist folds. He stopped at her clit, took a breath and started to lick slowly over it, like an ice cream on a hot day. Killer Queen's legs trembled every time he touched it in the right spot. He seemed to be doing that a lot. She began to feel light-headed as he picked up his pace. Soon, he was lapping at her like a wild animal. She felt the world shake beneath her.

'Oh, fuck!' she cried. Just before she could come, he raised his head. She could have screamed.

'Not so fast, ma'am.' He smirked.

'You're an evil man, Khashoggi,' she heaved, breathless. He knew, though he had no time to contemplate it, his mind woolly with lust. He threw off his jacket and started to rip at the buttons on his shirt. Slowly, tantalising, he ran his fingers down her thighs, every inch of her skin exposed to his rough hands. Years of combat, ordered by Killer Queen. It reminded her that she was in control, and all his teasing just wouldn't do. She rolled over, taking him with her. Now it was her straddling him.

She reached down to his trousers, kneading his cock over the material. His face was still awash with the shock of how fast this was going, how unexpected it had been. She let go, dragging her long, red fingernails over her own, naked skin. She bucked her hips against his length, riding him through the brushed cotton of his M&S slacks. He let out a long, deep groan. 'I'll show you how a Queen does it.'

She leant to lick over the hot skin of his stomach, gingerly fingering his belt, and down the zipper of the pants. 'Take them off.'

It was almost funny to watch Khashoggi squirm, struggling to throw them off in a frenzied rush. She managed a throaty laugh before she swooped down on him, pulling his trousers and underwear to his knees. She couldn't wait any longer.

She sunk down slowly onto his cock. A wave of pleasure passed over his face as his head hit the pillow. His back arched, and Killer Queen let out a soft coo. Gently, she rode him, her authority occasionally questioned when he thrusted into her, greedy and mad with sickly craving.

'Lie still. That's an order.'

'Madam, it's-'


She dragged a fingernail sharply down his chest, raising blood to his skin's surface. Khashoggi's face remained still as she quickened her pace, raising her hips to slam them down again. Killer Queen could feel a moan crawling up her throat. She grabbed one side of Khashoggi's unbuttoned shirt collar, pulling his face to hers. Impatiently, she kissed him, muting her cries of desire. He licked his tongue over hers, beyond willing to be taken. He felt something tense in his stomach. He was close.

Faster still, she raced, throwing him back down onto the lounge. He could no longer buck his hips or thrust back. He clenched his eyes shut and balled his fists. Their bodies were sticky and hot, far too hot. The room felt as though it would fall in on them. Khashoggi needed more. He fought back, using all his spent energy to rhythmically fuck Killer Queen, hitting her in places she did not know he could reach. 'Khashoggi!'

In a matter of moments, she could see stars.

He was not far behind. Two more thrusts. One more thrust. His entire body jerked and shuddered, emptying himself into her.

The pair simultaneously exhaled, a smile on Killer Queen's face plugged by a cigarette. He didn't ask where it came from. She grasped a lighter from a table beside them. Khashoggi wrapped an exhausted arm around her waist, sinking back below her waist.

'Why did you call for me, Ma'am?' He asked, peppering kisses up her thighs, back in his place. She lit her cigarette, taking her first drag and savouring the taste.

'We're out of caviar.'

Khashoggi cracked a smile, and Killer Queen began to giggle uncontrollably. Soon, they were both collapsing in on each other, tired, hot and cackling like madmen.