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She is his totem. His hand of power. His queen. His reality, and concrete touch. His ideal, and elusive whisp of eternal content. Image
She lives ever at his hand, never before, never behind.

His equal.

His eternity.

His lover.

His love.
She exists solely for him. And he exists solely to secure her existence.

He will hold the universe tightly in his grasp. Bend it to will until no threat remains. Only in securing absolute power will he assure absolute safety.
She is bedecked in jewels. Naught else. For nothing else is befit to touch her personage.

Chains of precious gems clothe her form and drape her frame.

Her beauty is blinding.
She sits only in his presence, only upon his knees, where she is ever within his protection.

Truly she is protecting him.

She is the most lethal of foes, containing all the power of their combined might. Holding the balance of scale in her slim digits
A flick of wrist and she could slay them all. On her own.

Or he, at her command.

He is ever at her command. Eager companion for every sigh and mumbled utterance.

She is his. Completely.

His to do with what he wills.

Only for her complete fulfillment
Any food desired is secured for her. Fed to her by his hand. Only after he has supped of it himself.

Any possession fancied, aquired. She has so few yet.

Any craving.

He will satiate it.
His power. Hers.

His life. Hers.

His flesh.

Hers.
She drips as she walks the halls of their palace.

Her presence leaves a trail of lightning for him.

She wishes his touch at any moment and he is giving of it.

Fingers. Tongue. Cock.

Hers.
If she so wishes, he splays her open on their current throne and coats her inner self with his brand.

He deigns her to stay so displayed, letting all know that she is his. And he gives his everything to her.

Dignitaries to pay tribute while he buries his fingers in her cunt.
Accolades of highest honor while she drinks his spend.

Her slick painted upon his lips, his throat, his pulse points, before he addresses a galaxy.
She sits, just to warm his rod, keeping him ready at all times.

She doesn't let him cum, she keeps him hard for her eager sensation.

She masks her skin with his seed, lets it rest for hours before bathing.
The bruises they leave are highlighted marks of ownership.

She wears them outwardly, jewels chosen for their matching tones.

His are subtle, stiffness in movements from long scratches down his back.

A tight joint where teeth marks embed in flesh.

All behind his accoutrement.
She is his. His queen.

His all.

But he is her's. Wholly.
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