These Boots Are Made For Knockin’

By Cheezey

Rated MA

 

Deeply in concentration, the witch Haggar sprinkled a glowing red potion onto two thin oval shaped foam pads on her laboratory bench and looked down satisfactorily at them, the completion of her latest experiment.  Although it used her magic it was not a key piece to a ferocious robeast nor was it some kind of innocuously disguised weapon that she was working on—in fact, it was something fairly different from the witch’s usual brand of dark magic.  It was a love potion.

 

Well, to call it a “love potion” was a broad generalization and a bit of a euphemism.  In technical terms it was a duel pheromonal enhancement talisman attuned to the southern mystical point of the body intended to be worn inconspicuously within footwear.  In layman’s terms, it was a pair of lust-inducing odor eaters.  Theoretically, the individual who would wear the charmed inserts would radiate an aura of irresistible attraction to all those around him or her, and with that attraction, could lure in and seduce the object of his or her desire with little trouble.

 

Not surprisingly, the order to work on that little project had come from Prince Lotor.  Fed up with Princess Allura’s constant rejection—or as he phrased it, playing “hard to get” because he knew she really did want him—the prince asked the witch to make him some charm that would make her “come to her senses” and “show the desire” for him that he “knew she had.”  It was obvious to Haggar that Lotor’s ego simply could not take the notion that the Arusian princess might just think he was a jerk and not want him because he had attacked her planet and kidnapped her numerous times, but the old witch had seen enough people run through with Lotor’s blade that she knew better than to point it out.  So instead she had only rolled her yellow eyes subtly beneath her hood and obliged him.  “One love talisman, coming up,” she had quipped, and then set about to work on it.

 

The main obstacle she had to overcome was that it was a spell she had not bothered with in many a decade and she did not recall ever using it in that exact way.  Normally a love spell was cast upon the object of desire rather than the desiring suitor, but since Princess Allura was not easily accessible nor could it be guaranteed that she would drink a potion or wear a charmed item with only Lotor in proximity, there were too many variables to safely go that route.  Knowing Lotor’s temper, she was not about to risk having it given to Allura only for the blond princess to go tiara over heels for someone other than the prince, like one of the Voltron force men.  That left her to work with Lotor as the target of attraction.

 

Haggar was proud of the clever design of the odor eaters, as they were easily concealed in normal clothing, unlike some conspicuous jewel or garment, and easily removed if something went wrong as opposed to a painted talisman or an ingested potion.  If her magic was successful, all that would need to be done would be for the prince to fly to Arus, slip the inserts into his boots, corner the princess, and viola—Allura was as good as his.  All that remained was for them to be tested for effectiveness.  Although the witch was confident in her magic, experience had taught her to always test something as unpredictable as that.  While she was certain that it would work—all of her spells did—one could never tell what sort of pitfalls might arise in application of the magic, such as the subject being too sensitive to it or it attracting the wrong sort of attention.  That and it was the perfect excuse for her to slip them into her shoes and pay her favorite blue king a visit.

 

She was nearly ready to go ahead and try them out when she heard her door to her lab burst open.  With a sigh Haggar turned around to see Cossack standing there with a dopey look on his face.  “Don’t you ever knock, horn head?” she demanded irritably.

 

“Oh, sorry,” the commander replied with a shrug.  “I was just looking for you.  I heard the robots in the command center talking about some invasion to Arus going on later, and that Merla and Lotor had them get some ships ready.  You have any idea what’s going on?”

 

“No,” the old witch replied with an aggravated shake of her hooded head.  “I’ve been working on a project for Lotor all morning.”

 

Cossack’s eyes lit up enthusiastically.  “Ooh, a fierce new robeast?  Weapons of mass destruction?”

 

“Just a magic charm,” Haggar said, brushing him off evasively as she did not feel like explaining it, especially if her test run went badly.  Since the shoe inserts were complete she closed her spell book and went to return it to the shelf.

 

Cossack meanwhile leaned against her workbench, and it was then that he noticed the enchanted foam pads sitting out on it, glowing with a slight pinkish hue from the magic recently applied to them.  “Hey,” he said suddenly, leaning over to examine.  “What’re these?”

 

Knowing Cossack’s potential for blundering stupidity in handling her magical implements, the old witch’s head whipped around and to her horror she saw him eyeing the inserts.  “Nothing important,” she snapped insistently, hoping that he would have the sense to leave well enough alone.

 

She should have known better.  “Why are they glowing?” Cossack persisted, poking cautiously at one with a finger to make sure it did not burn, sting, or zap as some of her magic stuff did.  “What are they for?”

 

Frowning as she had a horrible vision of what might happen if Cossack picked them up, Haggar blurted out a lie to appease him and hopefully get him to forget about them.  “They’re just odor eaters, Cossack.  A little experiment I came up with to get rid of that sweaty shoe smell.  That’s all.”

 

Cossack blinked, finding that hurried explanation just as believable as anything else that the eccentric old witch did.  “Oh, that’s a good idea.”  The commander then glanced down at his boot-clad feet and back at the foam inserts.  “Mind if I try ‘em out?  These boots can get pretty rank after a long mission.  I can tell you how well they work,” he said, and then without waiting for her to say yes, he flopped down on a stool and began pulling off his boot anyway.

 

“No!” Haggar protested in horror when she saw Cossack handling the enchanted shoe foam.  “They don’t need to be tested!”

 

“Oh, so you already know they work?  That’s great!” Cossack replied as he stuck one into his boot and then clumsily shoved his sock-clad foot back into it to move on to the second.

 

“I need those, Cossack!” Haggar argued vehemently, hobbling over to the bench while Cossack slipped the second one into his other boot. 

 

Hearing that, Cossack flashed the witch a snarky grin.  “Oh, so you got stinky feet under that robe?”  He frowned and looked her over.  “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen your shoes.”

 

Haggar let out a frustrated noise as she watched Cossack flex his arms—such strong, muscular blue arms, the witch thought idly—as he pulled his boot back into place.  Comprehending a moment later that she just had the horrifying thought of the buffoon of a commander as attractive in any way, Haggar quickly turned around to not look at Cossack, realizing that the intense magic of the love-inducing charm was already working in a successful test.  It was hardly how she had planned it and certainly not anything she wanted to own up to or explain, but at least she knew the spell worked.  “Just get them off!” she exclaimed desperately.  The witch only realized her tilted words after they were spoken, and she clenched her fingers around her staff in outrage.  By the gods, what had she done with her magic?

 

Cossack however was completely oblivious to the workings of the magic and the effect it had on the witch.  “But Haggar, I need them,” he argued.  “You can make another set, can’t you?”  He stood and took a few steps toward her and glanced at his feet again.  “But if you really want ‘em back, I guess my socks are still kind of clean even if I have been wearing them all morning…”

 

Either it was the longer Cossack wore the magic odor-eaters or the closer in proximity that he got to her, but suddenly Haggar noticed a subtle change in Cossack’s voice, as if it had become deeper and more suave and attractive as he spoke.  It rather reminded her of Zarkon…

 

No, Haggar thought desperately, shaking her head free of the haze induced by the spell and the potency of Cossack’s sweaty feet setting them off.  Think horrible thoughts, think unappealing toad-pond-born idiot you don’t find attractive at all thoughts!  She realized she had to get Cossack out of her lab and far away from her as soon as possible before something truly evil and horrifying happened.

 

“Haggar?” the clueless Cossack prodded, watching the witch with her back to him with a curious frown on his face.  “Are you all right?  You’re acting weird.”

 

“I’m fine,” she hissed back distractedly.  “I just need you to leave.  Now!”

 

Cossack straightened and made a face at her.  “Well fine, but you don’t need to yell at me,” he grumbled sulkily.  “I didn’t realize the odor eaters meant that much to you.  I’d have given them back if you asked me nicely.”  With that he turned and strode through the door in a minor huff.

 

It was only after Cossack had departed and she snapped out of an impulsive thought about just how nicely she could ask when the magic-induced fantasy dissipated and she realized that she had missed her chance at getting the inserts back from him without incident.  Cursing under her breath that she was not more resistant to her own magic, she then poked her head out the door and saw that Cossack was already long gone to who knows where in the castle.  With a sigh Haggar considered her options—track him down to get them back, or lay low until he took them off and feign innocent ignorance to any unfortunate encounters he might have in the meantime.  After several seconds of careful deliberation, the witch’s sense of self-preservation settled on the rational decision to let the odor eater-swiping buffoon fend for himself.  He’d have to take the boots off eventually, and she could have Coba follow him and snatch the insoles then.  In the meantime, she was going to keep herself very, very busy and as far away from Cossack as possible.

 

Satisfied with her quick thinking, the witch hung a “Do not disturb under pain of witch’s wrath” sign on the door and went back to work.  She had to make another pair for Prince Lotor anyway…

 

* * *

 

Totally unaware of the magic working on him through the enchanted odor eaters, Cossack blithely strode on through the halls of Castle Doom toward the landing bay to find out what was going on as far as the invasion he had heard about.  He was not thrilled about the idea of working with Merla, as the snooty queen was usually condescending and cattier than the witch’s familiar to him, but a fleet commander had to do what he had to do, and if that included dealing with a high on herself pink-haired queen, then so be it. 

 

It was when he passed some slaves in the hallway that Cossack first thought something strange might be going on.  They all stopped to stare at him, and at first he wondered if he had something stuck between his teeth or if Haggar had slapped a “kick me” sign on his back or something along those lines.  But a quick check of his cape and glance at his reflection in a passing mirror had told him otherwise and he saw nothing strange in his appearance.  He quickly came to the conclusion that the slaves had simply recognized him as the mighty and feared Cossack the Terrible and had been scared into silent awe, and while that was not exactly productive behavior from a slave he supposed he could excuse it since they should rightly be afraid of someone like him.

 

Shortly afterward, when he made it to the landing bay, he passed by some soldiers coming from a ship and thought he heard a wolf-whistle.  His first thought was that Lotor had gotten some hot new slaves for his harem, so he looked around to ogle them for himself.  When he saw none he was mildly disappointed and figured that he had just missed them.  He never did connect that to the odd incident with the slaves.

 

Finally he reached Merla’s star-cutter and ascended the ramp leading inside, since it was open.  He figured that Merla was probably inside making preparations for whatever attack she was leading, and he could get dealing with her directly over with quicker if he simply asked what was going on and what she would demand that he do so he could take care of it with minimal bitching.  Once inside he walked through the ship’s corridors until he reached the bridge, where he found Merla giving an order to one of her dwarflings.

 

“Hey Merla,” he called out from the doorway, “What’s going on with this invasion?”

 

The pink-haired queen looked up with a combination of an annoyed and startled look on her face.  Upon seeing that it was Cossack interrupting her, she opened her mouth to give a terse reply, but something stopped her, and instead she just stared at him, trying to figure out what it was that was different about the commander that day.  “Cossack… what do you want?” she asked finally, still eyeing him strangely.

 

“The robots down in the command center are buzzing about some big plan with heading to Arus soon and that you and Prince Lotor were planning it.  What’s the deal?”

 

Merla frowned at Cossack, somewhat surprised that she was only mildly annoyed that he had sought her out solely to pester her with questions.  She left the dwarfling at the console and joined him in the ship’s hall.  “We’re planning to leave tonight to strike tomorrow morning,” Merla explained to him.  As she approached she met his eyes curiously.  “Is there something different about you, Cossack?”

 

Cossack frowned.  “I don’t think so.”  He glanced down at his attire and saw nothing out of the ordinary, and it was then that he remembered the odor eaters.  Man, I didn’t think my feet stunk that bad, he thought with slight embarrassment.

 

Unconvinced, Merla looked him up and down, and found her eyes lingering on the contours of his body in that closer proximity for a shade longer than appropriate for casual observation.  Blinking when she realized that she was staring, she met his gaze somewhat accusingly.  “Are you sure?”  She found herself reaching to toward him, and then when she saw that she was doing so, let her hand drop abruptly to a lock of his hair.  “Your hair maybe?  Did you dye it?”

 

Looking at the queen somewhat warily as she examined his hair, he straightened as he gave his answer.  “Nah, this is natural.  Maybe it’s the ship lighting or something.”

 

“It’s attractive,” Merla replied with a note of flirtation in her voice that was even more surprising to her than it was to Cossack, who stared back at her completely dumbfounded to have received not only a complement from the snooty queen, but one that could have been taken as a come-on.  Then, before he could write it off as a misunderstanding, she let go and added with a smile, “Very attractive.  I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”

A smug smile crept across the commander’s face while Merla was inwardly horrified at what had just come out of her mouth.  Had she just told that idiot Cossack that she found him attractive?  What in the name of the Drule Empire was she thinking?  There was nothing attractive about that loudmouthed and inept jackass! 

 

Except for those shapely blue muscles, a gentle and seductive voice of desire inside her whispered in a silken tone.  Or those bright golden eyes… that sexy helmet… that shit-eating grin…

 

No! Merla told herself harshly, and dreaded what the commander might think of her statement.  Oh no!  I just know that fool is going to let that complement swell his head and think I desire him or something!  And I don’t!  I can’t possibly…

 

That teasing little voice sounded once more as her eyes still lingered on him despite her protesting thoughts.  Don’t you?  Sure, he’s an uncultured cretin, but it’s not stimulating conversation you’re interested in…

 

Just as Merla feared, Cossack took the distracted queen’s second statement exactly in the way her more rational thoughts had concluded he would, and his grin widened to show two gleaming fangs as he leered back at her.  To think that all that time Merla had acted so stuck up and high on herself, it had been because she was simply fighting an incredible attraction for him!  Not that he could blame her of course, he was Cossack the Terrible, after all, and what woman wouldn’t go weak in the knees for that?  Cossack assumed a flirtatious tone of his own as he answered her, and shifted to a slightly more imposing pose to show off.  “Well thanks, Queenie!  Glad you think so.” 

 

The longer she looked at Cossack and the complacent smirk on his face—why was it so attractive on that stupid oaf, anyway?—the more seemed to Merla that the temperature in the star-cutter was rising.  Get a hold of yourself!  Tell him he has it all wrong and put him in his place!  The more Merla’s ignited lust wrestled with her common sense, the more frustrated the queen became, for even as protests and warnings blared in her mind like sirens she still could not peel her eyes off of Cossack.  Instead all she could do was notice how gracefully his mustard-colored cape fell across his shoulders, the lopsided way his weapons belt was slung across his hips, and the large bulge of the electrolash attached to it…

 

Oh gods Merla, no, you’re staring at his crotch!  That realization was simultaneously horrifying and exciting to the queen, in that she had no idea why all of a sudden she found Cossack so attractive, and what insanity had come over her to make him such to her when she had always thought of him as a repugnant idiot beneath her station.  In a heavily flustered panic, Merla whipped her eyes up to an appropriate level and tried to form a dignified response that would not only save her dignity but also deflate his ego.  Instead what came out was, and in a husky and suggestive tone at that, “Anytime, Cossack.”

 

The fleet commander’s eyebrows rose upon hearing that, and in the close proximity of the corridor of her star-cutter, he found himself eyeing the pretty drule seventh kingdom queen like a tasty little tart.  Although normally Cossack did not even like Merla and as a result had never previously thought much about her in a sexual context, when she was actively flirting with him it was a whole different story.  “Anytime?”  The innuendo in his voice was as subtle as a rampaging robeast. 

 

No!  Never!  Not in a hundred centuries!  Unfortunately for Merla, in the midst of the undeniable magic of the odor eaters, her body’s desires betrayed her rational thoughts, and instead she moved closer to him and smoothed her hand up his arm in an overtly flirtatious manner.  “Anytime,” she purred back.

 

The sensation of Merla’s silken touch was enough to make the surprised Cossack’s heart to skip a beat or two in excitement.  Bitchy queen that he had previously assumed hated his guts or not, Merla was hot, and she was hitting on him with a vengeance.  Cossack the Terrible was not about to turn down an offer of kinky sex from someone who was so clearly hot for him, even if he did think she was an uptight snob.  No, he had no moral complications with that idea whatsoever.  “Anytime, huh?” Cossack said, shamelessly ogling her curves in that delightfully close proximity.  As his eyes lingered on the swell of her armor-covered breasts, he grinned and said, “They always say there’s no time like the present…”

 

Overwhelmed with an intense rush of desire, to her own horror Merla responded to his suggestion by pinning him against the wall and pressing her lips to his in an aggressive and demanding kiss.  The pass caught Cossack off guard, evidenced by the loud clang of his helmet as it collided with the metal wall of the star-cutter, and although it was a pleasant surprise, he had half expected to be slapped or at least told to go do something indecent to himself for coming onto her in such a brash manner.  He did not complain, however, and instead slid his arms around her back and pulled her close to him while shamelessly enjoying the sweet taste of her lips, and then her tongue when it snaked into his mouth.

 

Mmm, she is serious about this, the bemused and more than a little smug Cossack thought as she devoured his mouth like a hungry predator and wriggled her body sensually against his.  Of all the things he had thought he might do that day, none of them were Queen Merla, especially not that way.  Still, Cossack the Terrible was an adaptable kind of guy, able to deal with the unexpected when it came up… and speaking of things coming up, wow, Merla was sure making that happen by grinding against his hips like that.

 

Soon they broke apart for air, and Merla inwardly cringed in horror at what she was doing and so fully enjoying as she snuggled up against him in the hall of her ship, deliberately pressing her body suggestively against his and slipping her fingers beneath the line of his helmet to massage the back of his neck.  Cossack meanwhile looked down at Merla with a dopily contented and entirely too triumphant look on his face.  “Wow, Merla,” he murmured, leaning into her pleasant touch, “You’re flushed almost the color of your braid.”  He grabbed it near the end and twirled it around playfully.

 

“Shut up, Cossack,” the flustered Merla hissed back, considering it a victory that she had managed to work a note of contempt into her tone but fearing that he would not listen anyway.  “I don’t want to hear you talk.”  And I don’t want to do anything else either! At least, I shouldn’t… but I do, her inner voice lamented.  Why, cruel gods, what have I done to deserve this?

 

“Oh, I gotcha,” Cossack said with a knowing grin.  “You’re one of those girls that likes all action, huh?  Well, no problem!”  His hand dropped to her shapely rear and gave it a squeeze.  “Cossack the Terrible can find plenty of other uses for his mouth… and yours.”

 

He’s a pig!  He’s an idiot and a crude and disgusting swine and I hate him, and after I scratch this shameful itch and use him for the one thing I want him for, I’m never going to speak to him again! Merla decided in outrage when she heard his response.

 

“Not here,” Merla growled, and jerked away from him.  Cossack only had time to give her a puzzled look before she took hold of his wrist and yanked on him to get him to follow her down the corridor.  Stumbling gracelessly he trailed after her and let her pull him into a room in the back of the ship that he realized had to be her private quarters.  It was a decent-sized chamber with a plush bed in the center of the room.  Once they were both inside Merla slammed her palm against a button on the keypad beside the door and it slid shut.  The click of a locking mechanism ensured that it was secure and they would not be disturbed, and once he heard it, Cossack turned toward Merla with a grin even wider than the one he’d worn before, for now any lingering doubts he might have had about her following through with what she teased him with were pleasantly dismissed.

 

“Get on the bed!” Merla’s feminine voice barked with the authority to challenge that of any drill sergeant.

 

“Right away, your highness,” Cossack said obediently, and flopped onto the plush mattress with dramatic fanfare spread-eagled on his back.  “Let me guess, you like the dominant position, huh?”  Merla’s response was to pounce on top of him and pin him beneath her in another lusty kiss, and Cossack in turn responded to that by letting his hands wander with shameless freedom over her lithe and wanting body, stopping at the hem of her skirt after rounding over her buns.  When they broke apart he looked up at her with an aroused but decidedly dopey smile.  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Merla let out a hopelessly frustrated grumble.  It’s bad enough that I want to sleep with this toad-pond born jackass for whatever insane reason, but does he have to talk so damn much and remind me who he is?  “I thought I told you to shut up!”

 

“You’re right, Merla,” Cossack whispered as his fingers dipped up and under the short skirt to fondle what lay beneath.  “I’m a bad boy.  Spank me.”

 

“Oh, I’ll do more than that,” Merla snapped, grinding involuntarily against his finger as it brushed against the outside of her armored underwear and she silently wished for it to go beneath.

 

Meanwhile Cossack’s eyes went wide with surprise when he came in contact with the undergarment.  He had been hoping she was not wearing any when he’d gone a good distance across her smooth rear cheeks and felt nothing, but hitting metal was unexpected.  He glanced up at her chest and the metal bra built into that armor and wondered if that was all she wore there, too.  “You wear a metal thong?” he asked, his voice husky with excitement.

 

Merla frowned at him.  “I go into battle frequently, being a warrior queen and all.  I need to be protected.”

 

He squeezed her buns again.  “But a thong?  Not that it’s not sexy,” he said, one finger traveling a bit southward to other parts the armored underwear covered, “But doesn’t that defeat the point of protecting your flank?”

 

“Anything but a thong in chain-mail chafes.”  She found it utterly ridiculous that she was explaining her choice in undergarments to Cossack at all, but it verged on insanity that she was telling him that while permitting him to touch what it covered… especially that way, she thought as she rubbed against the exploring digit in a means to encourage it to delve deeper.  “But a thong feels like wearing almost nothing at all,” she added in a sultry whisper.

 

Cossack chuckled mischievously and wiggled his finger against the slick warmth of the aroused queen.  “Feels to me like if you don’t get it off soon, it’ll rust.”

 

Merla arched her back and leaned into a kneeling position above him and looked down at him haughtily as he teased her in ways that made her toes curl with pleasure in her boots.  “Just shut up,” she groaned, almost pleading that time instead of ordering.  “Don’t think that I like this, Cossack.  I can’t stand you!” she informed him indignantly as she first tore off her shoulder pads and then began to unfasten her chest piece.

 

Grinning, Cossack pulled his hand away from beneath her skirt long enough to help her out of her armor.  He was delighted to see that the built in bra was all the support the lovely queen needed, and he fully enjoyed the sight of her luscious blue orbs springing full and free to greet him as she tossed her garb to the floor with a clang.  Immediately the horny commander’s hands flew to her bare breasts like two suicidal moths to a flame and began fondling them with abandon.  “You got a funny way of showing it, Queenie.”

 

“I do,” Merla insisted heatedly.  “I find you crude, witless, and utterly repugnant… but despite that… gods, I want you!”

 

“That’s all right Merla, I think you’re a bitchy and self-righteous know-it-all,” Cossack countered, and drew her closer so that he could nuzzle and kiss the ample blue bosoms he had been granted access to.  “But maybe you just need a good lay to lighten up, and Cossack the Terrible is just the man for the job.”

 

Merla leaned down on top of him and kissed him hungrily.  “Just don’t screw it up,” she warned afterward.

 

Cossack’s hands dropped from her breasts to her skirt, and yanked it down.  “Up, down, sideways—I’ll screw you any way you want, Queenie,” the commander assured her with a wry grin, and admired the view of Merla in her chain-mail thong as she distractedly kicked the discarded skirt away.

 

“Your pick-up lines are the only things worse than your jokes,” Merla informed him disgustedly, only to have her words cut off with a small gasp of excitement as she felt him slip her thong off as well, leaving her naked and trembling with desire as she knelt over him.

 

“Oooh!” Cossack exclaimed, either ignoring her insult or dismissing it in favor of savoring the sight of haughty Queen Merla fully exposed, “Haggar was wrong!  She said that your pink hair couldn’t possibly be natural.”  He slid his hands appreciatively over her nude body and drew her closer to him.

 

“What?  How dare she?” Merla demanded, writhing pleasantly under Cossack’s touch.  “Ugly old bat,” she muttered contemptuously, and began clutching at what the commander wore, starting with his wrist guards, which he helped her flail off, and then moved onto his shoulder guards.

 

Feeling her hips brush against his pants that were by then quite uncomfortably tight, Cossack helped the excited queen’s cause by peeling off his shirt while she reached for his belt.  “Let’s not talk about the old witch,” he panted as her hands brushed and teased him while she worked to unfasten the belt, “She’s a real mood killer.”

 

“I’d tell you not to talk at all, but I know it won’t work,” Merla murmured back as she tossed the belt on the floor and drew herself up against his now bare chest to feel his warm muscles against her soft skin.  Once she was repositioned she brought her leg up high to rub against him suggestively while she lowered one hand to work open his pants.  When she felt a firm poke in the side of her thigh, she looked down at the prone commander with a coy smirk.  “Did you bring your electrolash?”

 

Cossack answered her with a snicker.  “You already took my weapons belt off, or did you forget?”

 

Merla slid her hand across the bulge in his pants and began to stroke it.  “A shame.  We might’ve had fun with it.  But from what I can tell, this’ll do just fine.” 

 

With an aroused growl Cossack shoved her hand aside so he could pull down his pants, and he felt immeasurably more comfortable as his personal loaded weapon was drawn and then cocked by the lovely queen on top of him.  He throbbed in her hands as she started to fondle him, and his ego shot through the roof when he heard her say, “Oh yes, very fine.”  Something else nearly shot off when he next felt instead of her hands on it, her tongue run up him instead. 

 

Fortunately Cossack prided himself on his self-control and he somehow he managed to keep a hold of himself as Merla toyed with him in ways that even a seasoned conqueror and torturer like Cossack the Terrible would have deemed merciless.  Flailing rather gracelessly as he did so, Cossack tried to wriggle out of his pants the rest of the way, but they got caught on the edge of his boots and got stuck.  He sat up distractedly and reached to remove the thwarting footwear, but then Merla decided she could stand to wait no longer and straddled him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Leave your boots and helmet on,” she ordered, grinding her warm and wet sex against him in a teasing and insistent manner.  She smiled down at him predatorily.  “I think it’s sexy.”  Why on Doom she thought that she had no idea, for in all actuality the flustered fleet commander looked mildly comical spread out naked and obviously aroused while helplessly tangled in his pants on one end with his helmet terribly off-center and sunk deeply into her silken pillow on the other. 

 

“Really?” Cossack’s voice and expression indicated that was both excited and surprised by that fact, although it quickly gave way to more excitement with a touch of smug satisfaction.  “So you’re saying my horned helmet makes you horny, huh?”

 

Merla nodded, although inwardly she winced at his stupid remark.  “Yes.”  She realized that normally she would have either laughed viciously or sneered at him in disdain in such a position but that day his blundering oafishness only made him more attractive to her.  By the Gods, whatever it is making me want this idiot—this hot, writhing, desirable idiot—so badly, I hope it goes away, and fast! 

 

That was the thought on her mind as Merla drew herself against him and yielded to a thrust that drove him deep into her, eliciting audible noises of pleasure from them both simultaneously.  Well, maybe not that fast, Merla amended silently, her eyes closing with pleasure as she felt him fill and stretch her oh so pleasantly.

 

Cossack laid his hands upon her hips as he began to take her in earnest, basking in shameless pride with each breathless pant, moan, and squeal that came from the bucking queen on top of him.  When she was like that, he decided, Queen Merla was not so bad after all—well, at least not bad in a bad way, he thought with a smirk, because she certainly could be called the term in the definition of naughty.  Oh, yes!

 

The pace of their lusty act escalated and much to Merla’s simultaneous delight and disgust, Cossack drove her into a hotter frenzy with each thrust.  Letting out a particularly loud moan, she threw her head back and her braid whipped around, slapping her right in the ass.  Even though he was otherwise occupied, from his nice view beneath her Cossack could not help but notice, and he could not help but chortle, and quite visibly, while continuing to ravish her.

 

Merla flushed with heated indignity and leaned forward so that she fell on top of him more fully, her braid thwapping the both of them with a stinging crack.  He caught the end of it with one of his hands and clumsily tugged at the band holding it in place.  “If you’re this hot like this,” he murmured with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “Let’s see how kinky you get when you really let your hair down.”  With that he yanked the tie loose, causing the edge of her braid to unravel and her pink hair to unwind into long silken locks.

 

“Damn it, Cossack!” Merla panted angrily, her voice ending on a slight moan as she ground her body against his after a particularly powerful thrust.  “Do you have any idea how long it takes to get that braid just right?”

 

His own breath a bit short from the intensity of their mutual exertion, he distractedly grasped at the end of the untied braid and ran his fingers through it to help the cause along, much like a child deliberately doing something his parents forbade him to just because.  He then proceeded to tease her by flicking the loosened strands against her bare buns, which bucked high and hard against his hips in the midst of their act.  She let out a passionate snarl as soon as she realized what he was doing and with what.  “I’ll pay you back for this,” she hissed angrily.

 

“Why Queen Merla, I didn’t think you were that kind of lady,” Cossack retorted with a wry grin.  “But that’s ok, ‘cause it’s all on me anyway… and all in you!”  He leaned up and kissed her lips hungrily to get the point across.

 

Merla groaned as the tension that led promise of an intense orgasm began to mount inside her.  “You’re a crass and loathsome bastard,” she growled hatefully.

 

Cossack beamed with shameless pride.  “Of course I am—I’m Cossack the Terrible!”

 

“Damn you, you’re not terrible,” Merla insisted in halting words, her face twisting to an expression of tortured delight.  “You’re incredible!”  The declaration was not without audible regret in its honesty.

 

The shit-eating grin on his face widened considerably.  “Thanks, Queenie!” he panted in labored and excited breath.  “I do my best to please.”  He ended his statement by clenching his fingers tightly on her hips and taking her with hard, fast strokes.

 

Clutching at the sheets and the man beneath her in the throes of lust, Merla found herself at a loss for words as the feverish ravaging he gave her sent her over the edge.  The pink-haired queen mewled desperately as she gave in to the inevitable and went weak in his grasp, overtaken by blinding sensations of pleasure.

 

Merla’s obvious satisfaction from their impromptu roll in the sheets was enough to swell Cossack’s ego to the point where the commander could no longer hold back, and with a few final and powerful thrusts he drove himself into her and enjoyed the sweet release of his own tension.  His fingers still clamped tightly on her soft blue skin almost with enough force to bruise, he held her heaving body against his for several moments before the two of them collapsed spent against the sheets, panting heavily.

 

Not surprisingly, Cossack was the first to speak.  “Wow… for a cold-hearted bitch, you’re hot!” he murmured appreciatively, clearly meaning the less than flattering remark as a complement.

 

Merla meanwhile flushed with shame-filled satisfaction, especially as her companion’s idiotic rambling reminded her of just who it was who had made her feel that way.  “Gods, Cossack… shut up,” she groaned into his shoulder before rolling off of him and onto the bed.

 

Still grinning from ear to ear with smug pride, Cossack casually rolled over to survey his pretty pink-haired conquest in the afterglow.  Unfortunately he had forgotten that his pants were still tangled in his boots around his ankles, and his legs thrashed gracelessly against hers for a moment until he squirmed into position to cuddle up beside her.  Pretending the un-suave moment never happened, Cossack then smoothed his hand along Merla’s bare back in a caress.  “All right, just for you,” he conceded.  He leaned over and kissed the side of her neck just beneath her ear and then added in a whisper, “After all, you probably need some rest and time to think about how you’ll always remember today as the day Merla, Queen of the Seventh Kingdom of the Drule Empire, was conquered by Cossack the Terrible!”

 

An irritated look flashed across the queen’s features and she turned to glower at her toad-pond born lover.  “Oh, please… I was on top,” she informed him with as much dignity as she could muster, and then shoved him away roughly when she realized that Cossack was getting cozy with her in the afterglow.  Pleasant as the presence of his warm body next to her was, it was already incomprehensible enough to her that she had done what she had done with Cossack, and she was not about to compound the horror of it by snuggling with him.  Somehow despite the fact that she found his proximity pleasing she found the strength—or was it sanity?—to say, “And now it’s over, so get out.”

 

Cossack frowned with mild disappointment, but quickly dismissed the idea that it could possibly be anything personal given the way Merla had so clearly wanted him before.  “So, you’re not a cuddler, huh Merla?”  He smiled.  “That’s okay.  I get that you wicked queens got a reputation to uphold.  Besides,” he added with an impish leer as he got to his feet and pulled his pants back up, “I know the hot love of Cossack the Terrible can wear a girl out.” 

 

Merla looked up at him in utter defeat and wondered again why he looked so attractive half-dressed and gathering his things, when objectively she knew that the only thing more repulsive than his crude idiocy was his unashamed ego in thinking that he was such a stud.  “Just go…”

 

Are you sure you want him to go, Merla?  The terribly cruel voice of lust in her head sounded again as she watched him smooth his pant leg over one of his boots, even though she was too exhausted to act on it. 

 

“Go, Cossack,” Merla insisted, her voice more pleading and desperate as her will to fight it began to fade again.  “Please.”

 

“All right,” Cossack said, finished dressing and heading for the door where he paused for a moment.  Casting a sly glance back her way which to Merla looked frightfully adorable, he added, “If you’re up for another conquering mission, give me a call.”

 

With that the commander strode out leaving the bemused and tired queen on her bed to ponder what had happened.  As the lusty haze brought on unbeknownst to her by his enchanted insoles began to fade, Merla came to grips with the reality of what she had just done and with whom.

 

“I slept with Cossack,” she lamented aloud, and clutched her pillow in tormented anguish.  “I slept with that idiotic oaf and I… I enjoyed it.”  The exhausted queen then collapsed against the covers, conceding defeat both to that knowledge and her physical fatigue and lapsed into a much-needed rest.

 

The End?

 

 

Continued

 

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