Hump Day Quickie - The Queen's Entertainment
Happy hump day, smut fans. Here's a little quickie to indulge your dirty side. #NSFW
The queen stood at the threshold of the little room, clutching her robe about her at her throat, a small purse of money dangling from the same hand. The whore rose, bowed, and waited for her to move first.
"I assume you need no instructions," the Queen said at last.
"No, Lady," he replied. "Dost thou?"
The Queen gave a start. "Impudent whelp. I should have you flogged!"
He sauntered towards her, the leather loincloth wrapped around his hips jostling with each step. When he was inches from her he stopped, and reached towards the wall behind her. She called upon her breeding to keep from flinching with nerves. When his hand returned, it held a short whip, the leather handle frayed and the tails soft and dark. "As my lady wishes," he said.
The Queen stepped all the way into the room and closed the door at her back. She dropped the purse on the floor and let fall her robe. Less a robe and more a cloak, grey itchy wool, heavy, constructed for concealment, not adornment. It mattered not that it lay on the straw of the floor; it was hearty enough for that.
"I seek a new entertainment," she said. "Please me, and I may make use of you again."
He stood for a moment, taking her in. The length and heat of his gaze was enough to raise her ire once again but before she could scold him, he fell to his knees. Her thin silken shift he lifted up and over her legs, to her waist.
His hand trailed down her pelvis, cupping her warm mound and the dusting of raven hair that covered it. With two fingers he pried her lips apart, exposing them briefly to the cool air of the chamber, and opened his mouth over her sex, caressing her folds with his tongue and suckling the hard pink bud at the very center of her.
Instantly the Queen was lost for breath. Her fingers twined in his thick red hair, pulling him closer to her, urging his tongue deeper. Her knees bent, her thighs widened, granting him passage. She sagged against the wall, legs trembling. The whore continued to display his skill, working his tongue in quick twisting circles and sensuous strokes, flicking at her and covering her with his mouth's heat by turns. When his tongue probed her most sacred of openings the Queen jerked the red hair in her fist, holding him still.
He obeyed her silent command, drawing his tongue up and away from her virginity and back to the swollen, throbbing center. He caught the bud between his lips and nursed it, working her until she was frantic.
"Yes, god, god!" the Queen screamed, forgetting her composure, forgetting her breeding, forgetting why she had come.
Her release shook her from core to toes, convulsing her muscles until she pulled painfully at the whore's scalp and knew she must have been close to suffocating him between her legs. He did not pull away, nor resist, and she knew then, as the final shudders rolled through her and her legs no longer answered her commands, that she would make him her own.
"Have I pleased my lady?" the whore asked, kneeling back as she adjusted her shift and refastened her cloak.
"Aye," the Queen replied, "thou has done well." She took his chin in her hand and examined his lips, plump and red now from their work. "We are entertained."
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| The Stolen Kiss, by Jean-Honore Fragonard |
The queen stood at the threshold of the little room, clutching her robe about her at her throat, a small purse of money dangling from the same hand. The whore rose, bowed, and waited for her to move first.
"I assume you need no instructions," the Queen said at last.
"No, Lady," he replied. "Dost thou?"
The Queen gave a start. "Impudent whelp. I should have you flogged!"
He sauntered towards her, the leather loincloth wrapped around his hips jostling with each step. When he was inches from her he stopped, and reached towards the wall behind her. She called upon her breeding to keep from flinching with nerves. When his hand returned, it held a short whip, the leather handle frayed and the tails soft and dark. "As my lady wishes," he said.
The Queen stepped all the way into the room and closed the door at her back. She dropped the purse on the floor and let fall her robe. Less a robe and more a cloak, grey itchy wool, heavy, constructed for concealment, not adornment. It mattered not that it lay on the straw of the floor; it was hearty enough for that.
"I seek a new entertainment," she said. "Please me, and I may make use of you again."
He stood for a moment, taking her in. The length and heat of his gaze was enough to raise her ire once again but before she could scold him, he fell to his knees. Her thin silken shift he lifted up and over her legs, to her waist.
His hand trailed down her pelvis, cupping her warm mound and the dusting of raven hair that covered it. With two fingers he pried her lips apart, exposing them briefly to the cool air of the chamber, and opened his mouth over her sex, caressing her folds with his tongue and suckling the hard pink bud at the very center of her.
Instantly the Queen was lost for breath. Her fingers twined in his thick red hair, pulling him closer to her, urging his tongue deeper. Her knees bent, her thighs widened, granting him passage. She sagged against the wall, legs trembling. The whore continued to display his skill, working his tongue in quick twisting circles and sensuous strokes, flicking at her and covering her with his mouth's heat by turns. When his tongue probed her most sacred of openings the Queen jerked the red hair in her fist, holding him still.
He obeyed her silent command, drawing his tongue up and away from her virginity and back to the swollen, throbbing center. He caught the bud between his lips and nursed it, working her until she was frantic.
"Yes, god, god!" the Queen screamed, forgetting her composure, forgetting her breeding, forgetting why she had come.
Her release shook her from core to toes, convulsing her muscles until she pulled painfully at the whore's scalp and knew she must have been close to suffocating him between her legs. He did not pull away, nor resist, and she knew then, as the final shudders rolled through her and her legs no longer answered her commands, that she would make him her own.
"Have I pleased my lady?" the whore asked, kneeling back as she adjusted her shift and refastened her cloak.
"Aye," the Queen replied, "thou has done well." She took his chin in her hand and examined his lips, plump and red now from their work. "We are entertained."
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