Jocastas Stone

The following is a spin on the most infamous incest tale of all. I would love feedback, and I hope you enjoy it.

Jocasta's Stone

"The curse was a foul punishment dispensed by the Gods in lieu of fate. And though it cost the King his life, none ultimately suffered more than Her Majesty."

The fall of Thebes, as spectacular as it was, can be condensed into one sinister truth: corruption is seductive. It can claw into the purest of hearts, shroud itself in chaos, and embed within our dormant desires. As it manifests, it infects those closest to us, leaching all good and virtue and leaving the depraved husks of its unfortunate victims with nothing to guide them but their broken moral compasses. It is humanity's greatest weakness.

When Laius seized the crown from the same duplicitous uncles who had usurped his father, his heart was already enveloped with an anger and lust for power befitting of his royal lineage. To quell the kingdom's unrest and improve his public perception, he swiftly arranged to marry the beautiful daughter of a prominent and distinguished nobleman. News of their nuptials circulated like wildfire, supplanting the negative gossip as travelers from all walks of life arrived to partake in the ceremonial festivities. On the day of the wedding, the streets swelled with civilians hoping to catch a glimpse of their new Queen. Those in attendance who did manage to see her grace the steps of the citadel were not disappointed.

The girl was ravishingly gorgeous. As she waved gracefully, draped in the finest midnight purple tunic, long raven hair running back over her elegant shoulders, few would have guessed that she was hardly 18. The gown did an excellent job molding to her figure, accentuating the flare of her hips and swell of her ample bosom. King Laius beamed, unable to restrain his self-satisfaction. He had plucked the child from relative obscurity and turned her into a queen. His queen. A figure for the crowd to adore, the men to desire, and the women to admire. She was a perfect fit, a modern Aphrodite. And best of all, she would forever be indebted to him.

The cocky king could not wait for the formalities to end, so he could seal their union. Little did he know that beyond the fair skin, long eyelashes, and sparkling emerald eyes of the young bride, imbued a fragile innocence that, if squandered, would provoke the heavens.

Jocasta's heart beat rapidly. She tried hard not to concentrate on the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, or the anxious trembling of her knees, as she surveyed the massive assembly. The cacophonous cheering amplified into a deafening roar. Closing her eyes to stop the dizziness and regain some composure, she inhaled the warm summer air, catching the sweet scent of her own flowery perfume. Someone squeezed her hand, which startled her. Glancing up and meeting her husband's gaze, she was comforted to see him grinning proudly. Allowing her shoulders to relax, and their fingers to intertwine, she returned his smile. It was all still so strange. Her whole life had been upended in a matter of weeks. With no warning, she had been plucked from relative obscurity, handed the keys to the kingdom along with a stranger with whom she was to spend the rest of her life. Though she saw it as a blessing, and genuinely wanted to help her people, she could not avoid feeling utterly unprepared. It had never been her dream to be Queen, and part of her wished she was not. She scolded herself for not trusting the Gods. This was their gift and she had to accept it.

The King's eyes lingered on her. Jocasta pretended not to notice. She was inclined to reserve judgment for the time being. This was just the beginning to their marriage after all. He would have plenty of time to grow on her.

That night, the sovereigns consecrated their vows in the privacy of the royal chambers. While Laius slumbered, passed out with the stench of wine heavy on his breath, Jocasta laid awake, eyes open. Threads of moonlight breached the crevices of the stone walls and painted patterns across the cold floor. The forceful wheeze of the King's snores saturated the empty air. Jocasta shuddered as a bubble of the man's oily seed oozed from the folds of her tender hole and trickled down her inner thighs. The sheets emitted a musky scent as they absorbed the post-coital residue. The Queen consort scooted to the dry edge of the bed, her muscles stiff, her naked skin dirty and sticky. A despairing thought ruminated in her head, "Was this how it was to be?"

The days following the celebrations were turbulent, but Jocasta refused to be overwhelmed by her new responsibilities. Her home was striking, with vast halls, massive columns, and a courtyard that stretched off to the horizon. She spent hours acclimating herself to the surroundings, exploring the lush grounds, and surveying the scores of servants as they maintained the premises. Unlike most women, she would never be expected to sew, cook, or clean, except in a supervisory capacity. Her main duties were to arbitrate civil disputes, host parties, and above all, make the King happy. Propelled by youthful ambition and a conviction to give back to the people who had embraced her as their Queen, Jocasta jumped into her work, making sure that her judgements were fair and merciful and that she was kind to everyone she met, however distasteful. She took pride in memorizing the histories of every noble family in the region and frequently reached out with invitations to the palace.

The only time her life ever felt like a chore was at night. King Laius was typically busy with his own official obligations during the day, so she rarely saw him before sundown. When they were together, Jocasta attempted to connect with him but had real difficulty breaking through. His responses were gruff, and his eyes would glaze over with impatience throughout their discussions. Jocasta tried not to take his apathy personally. She knew running a kingdom wasn't easy and remembered the vows she had made. Still, her heart yearned for a bond beyond their poor physical relationship.

Any hopes that she could chalk up their first night together as an aberration were dashed in the subsequent days. Laius was simply not a good lover. He followed the same sloppy routine whenever they settled in for bed, and that night was like any other.

Jocasta felt the mattress sag as her husband's prowling eyes skulked over her shoulder and the heat of his breath grazed against the back of her neck. Her eyes were closed, but that did not matter. His arm snaked around her tapered waist and pulled her close, his erection nudging angrily against her ass. She bit her lower lip in pain as he groped her breasts, pawing blindly in the dark at the tender mounds of flesh. His pudgy fingers pinched and twisted her nipples. She tried conjuring pleasurable things to mind, but the shock of the King's fat tongue running up the nape of her neck made concentration nearly impossible. She turned, preventing him from stuffing his prick into the crack of her virgin ass.

Brushing back a mane of luscious, dark hair so that it splayed out on the sheets and away from her face, Jocasta willed herself to face Laius. The pudgy-jowled ruler roughly pushed her legs apart and mounted her. A vacant emptiness washed over her every time she submitted. She ignored the tickle of his hairy knuckles smarmily running down the curve of her toned stomach, his drunk cock roughly poking the surrounding opening of her dry pussy. The coarse irritation could get so bad that recently Jocasta was reduced to fingering herself discreetly before Laius joined her in bed.

The King was not morbidly obese, but he had a habit of gorging and drinking like a younger man. His age and sedentary lifestyle made him ill-equipped for endorsing such customs, and his protruding belly was proof of that.

Jocasta's fine, narrow body was usually smothered underneath Laius's big, clammy frame as he fucked her. Several times, as his chest pancaked her breasts, and his sweaty mass rubbed mercilessly against her, she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Where she hoped to find love and affection, she caught him glaring back with sordid lust, gritting his teeth with a demented smile.

She fought the repulsion and assured herself that, given time, he would be open to constructive suggestions. Whenever she attempted to mix things up, switching positions or guiding his hand, Laius would shake his head, push his lips onto hers, and possessively thrust his tongue into her mouth hard until she kissed him back. This bullying tactic did not charm her. She couldn't help but shudder when tasting his boozy spittle; it made her cringe, knowing it was in her body. Of course, Laius never appeared to notice, and when he pulled back for air, he took her browbeaten silence as submission.

The sensation of him cumming was not horrible, especially when her vaginal walls were raw from friction. It also signaled the end of their intimacy, which caused her to relax. The King would wipe off his cock on her trimmed mound and then roll, or collapse, on the other side of the bed.

All in all, the whole act was usually over in less than 10 minutes. Shorter, if she moaned or contorted her face to look like his toxicity had triggered some secret arousal. The Queen did not like lying to her spouse, but she also recognized that the bad sex was taking a toll on her. Every evening, she drifted to sleep feeling soiled and numb, giving her jarring and ghastly dreams. She always waited till the next morning to bathe, because she did not want to offend her husband. By then, his germs were caked on her and, although she hid it well, she began to begrudge it.

It miffed her that her upbringing had romanticized such an ugly act of nature. Even the word lover felt disingenuous when recounting her experience with Laius. He showed no appreciation for her needs. She yearned to mesh with her partner, feel the peaks of slow-building orgasms, and fornicate in a way that didn't leave her feeling so abused. Even if it wasn't perfect, intercourse was supposed to be special. Yet every night she suffered at the ham-handed will of her King, she felt herself becoming lost.

True to purity, the sanguine girl resisted the vexation of her love life and remained optimistic that her future was bright and that her marriage could only improve over time. She immersed herself in the city's politics and actively challenged any outdated policies she could not overturn on her own. To the residents of Thebes, no prior Queen's selflessness or beauty had ever reigned as supreme. Her actions resulted in more freedoms, less taxes, and a higher standard of living for even the poorest of souls.

Her primary public appearances were by the side of King Laius as they attended high-class receptions and gatherings. She loved the parties except when it felt like she was being used as an enticing prop piece for her husband. Her gowns and jewelry were elegant and breathtaking, but she preferred mingling with friends to flaunting her affluence.

It was during one of these soirees where she learned some distressing news concerning her father's health. Stricken with alarm, she urgently arranged a journey home. Her transport was nearly packed and ready when Laius heard of his wife's plan and intervened. Jocasta pleaded with the stubborn monarch, but like all their conversations, no amount of reason would change his mind. He wanted her in the capital by his side.

For the first time since matched in wedlock, Jocasta gave into her anger, cursing the King and wallowing in her own hopelessness. She worried about what her father would think of her absence, how betrayed he would feel.

She numbed her pain with wine, raiding the King's stash and quickly developed a reliance on the beverage, much like her husband. She resigned to spending her days in the private corridors, passing any work off to her advisors. Despite her mood, the King insisted on continuing their nightly ritual. She held back tears as he molested her body and soul with his prowling hands, flabby stomach, and ugly pecker; the only change was that the alcohol helped her sleep.

About a month after hearing the news of her ill father, the Queen was stumbling down a random passageway when she overheard a group of maids divulging the juicy details of their latest romantic endeavors. Peeking out from around the corner, she decided to keep her presence a secret.

"Simmias is so cute. We got lost in town last week and almost ended up wandering into a brothel," giggled the first girl. "He kept trying to apologize as if I've never seen a pair of fucking tits, and his face got so red..."

"Simmias? What happened to Myron?" A plump, blonde girl pitched in.

"Shhhhh, don't even say his name. That pig-headed jerk was way too controlling and selfish."

A third, rather becoming, brunette spoke up. "Every man can be selfish. That doesn't mean you can't adjust his thinking. You simply have to remind him of how important

you

are." The woman made a crass sexual gesture with her hand.

The whole cluster of maids cracked up, and Jocasta rolled her eyes at the insinuation.

"I'm not teasing," continued the provocative, dark-haired servant when the snickering died down. "There's no quicker way to a man's head than through his penis. Men aren't capable of denying me anything when I take charge." She extended her fair arm to show off a thin gold bracelet. It would look tacky in comparison to any of the Queen's regal gems, but for a commoner, it was quite extravagant.

"Well not all of us have the advantage of perfect cheekbones and... other assets." The heavyset blonde frowned while staring at her co-worker's perky teenage tits, projecting triumphantly through her tight, white robe.

"Nonsense. Get enough mead in him and a man will screw his own mother." The brunette answered to the gasps of the others. The Queen, feeling like she had eavesdropped enough, slipped back to her chambers.

That night, as she lay catatonic on the bedspread with another of her husband's loads seeping steadily from her pink canal, while her father might be dying back home, she contemplated what the brunette had said.

The idea of using sex to manipulate a man seemed immoral, and she seriously doubted Laius would magically start doing as she bid if she turned things up in bed. They had been shagging nightly for months and he was no more inclined to listen to her than when they first met.

For a moment, she entertained the naïve fantasy that he could still evolve into someone better. It was a lie, signified by the hollow feeling it left in the pit of her stomach. She was tired and depressed. The Gods were obviously not watching over her any longer. Even though it would probably lead nowhere, she was too desperate not to try something. She closed her eyes and mulled over a plan.

For the first time in weeks, Jocasta was up as the light of dawn illuminated the sky and spread across the city. Forgoing her morning drink, she opted to draft an invitation to one of her closest friends, Penelope, to join her for brunch.

Jocasta fiddled with her nails as she sat on the veranda overlooking the courtyard. It was a beautiful fall day, and the table in front of her was catered with ripe and delicious-looking fruit. When her friend arrived, they spoke cordially and dined on the exquisite display. Swallowing a bite of her apple, the youthful Queen suppressed her royal modesty and steered the conversation toward her darker desires, recounting the maids' discussion from the day before and watching Penelope's eyebrow arch with interest.

There was a reason she had reached out to this friend in particular. Though they had known each other for a long time, Penelope had a reputation with men that Jocasta suspected would be useful.

"So, are you asking me if it's true?" Penelope surmised when Jocasta was done. The Queen nodded and took a cooling sip of her cider.

"Oh, you precious darling," Penelope chuckled, placing her hand on Jocasta's. She was only a handful of years older, yet she found the Queen's innocence charming.

"Of course, it's true. I don't know how I would survive in a world where we couldn't use sex to our advantage. Can you imagine what men do when left to their own devices?

Penelope registered the gleeful twinkle in her friend's eyes and grinned.

"You little minx. Out with it! Why am I really here?"

When King Laius returned late that night, soused and irritable, he was incensed to discover his Queen not waiting in their chamber, as was customary. Pounding his fist and knocking a vase from its stand, sending it shattering to the ground, he turned heel and prepared to stomp through the castle in a rage. No sooner had he spun around; his attention was drawn to a silhouette in the doorway.

"Where have y..." Words clogged in his throat as Jocasta stepped out from the darkness.

The raven-haired beauty had spent hours preparing for this moment. Her ribs ached from sampling and squeezing into, what felt like, every racy outfit in the kingdom. Penelope had insisted on picking out the tightest, skimpiest pieces, which suffocated her figure, but left little to the imagination. The results were impressive. Jocasta's body practically blossomed out of her raspberry-pink silk gown, which cut off right below the hips and cinched around her waist with a subtle black ribbon. Her boobs, jutting out in all their feminine glory, swelled and exposed a ripe amount of sun-kissed cleavage. Her glistening oiled legs rubbed together as she sauntered forward, a pair of strappy, nude sandals completing the risqué ensemble.

Her wavy locks fashioned into a messy bun with fringes that framed her face, and drew focus to her mesmerizing green eyes, which had been shaded with kohl eyeliner to give a sexy flair to her naturally long lashes. Gone was the naïve girl who had been thrust into the regal limelight. In her place was a woman. She was the Queen. And as she stared down the most powerful man in the kingdom, her determination washed away any residue of timidity keeping her back.

The silk material slipped down her slender arms. She beckoned his hands to mold her perfect tits. The warmth of her lush skin tempered the biting chill of Laius' fingers as he caressed the heft of cushy flesh. Unable to pull his eyes away, he pinched her nipples, testing their resiliency between his calloused fingers. Jocasta leaned in, holding his wrists and slanting her neck to kiss the side of his mouth. It was a simple demonstration, but she kept her lips to his face, feeling the pointy stubble of his majesty's day-old beard and tasting the mead on his lips. She kissed his neck and chin before opening her mouth wide and letting him jam his tongue into her oral cavity. For the first time, she heartily sucked and embraced the intrusive muscle as it wriggled deep in her throat. She slackened her jaw to give him full access and Laius hesitated, unaccustomed to such eagerness from a sexual companion. Jocasta did not waver. Ignoring the taste of stale breath and rank saliva, she pressed her full lips against his and clutched the back of his head. The fiery passion of their kisses grew, and soon her back was pushed up against a pillar while she kicked off her sandals and desperately cupped and squeezed the King's groin through his tunic. She felt his hardness pulsing anxiously.

"Let me serve you, my King," she whispered, dropping to her knees as if awaiting a boon.

She had never gone down on a man before. Her pussy had been violated and sullied daily, but no penis had ever passed between her proud lips.

Despite the newfound confidence blazing through her veins, her heart thundered wildly as she deftly loosened the strap around her husband's waist. As the royal tunic opened, Laius's excited knob sprang out and brushed the Queen's chin. A rank, dark forest of pubic hair encircled the thick mushroom dick like a shaggy lion's mane. It was clear the King had skipped his last few bathing sessions. A fishy odor emanated from the entire region and the dizzying aroma would have made Jocasta swoon had the pressure from a pair of weighty palms, coaxing the back of her head, not forced her forward. The inevitable salty foul taste of dirty cock being rammed several inches into her cute, unprepared mouth caused her lashes to flutter as she blinked rapidly. Before the teen bride even knew what was happening, Laius was pumping her face with his veiny prick, driving inch after inch deeper into her throat with each downward thrust. Her petite frame and spindly arms flailed and tried to regain control.