Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 2

A restored kingdom, & carnal acts of royal gratitude. (erotic coupling)

By ABigCat. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

We continue from part one, where Lady Lovecome resumes reading to the gardener, from her diary.

The king seemed excited about Belle looking after him while Charlotte was away. A fact that relieved the queen rather than made her jealous. She even suggested, as they left her dazed husband sagged in his bath, that she might delegate her “morning duties” from now on. “I’ll be honest with you sweet Belle,” she whispered. “I love my husband, but I do wish he was a woman. HIs manhood is just so; bothersome.”

“In which case, Your Majesty.” Belle sucked yet another royal splash from the back of her wrist. “Perhaps I need a bed closer to you and the king?”

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Queen Charlotte patted her bottom. “We don’t deserve you, darling.”

That’s how Belle ended up with her own chamber, albeit the royal dressing room, nestled between their private bathrooms. Her bed was a pile of fur coats, and she had a little window with a view of the village. However, Madame Couteau’s pride in giving the queen such a beloved gift soured when the housekeeper was asked to fit a private bell for her pot girl.

When Madame Couteau left with the carpenter who’d installed a repurposed doorbell into the royal wardrobe, she deliberately, slowly stepped on Belle’s foot. “Do not get too comfortable, girl.” She grasped her pendulous bunch of keys and hefted them like a man displaying his cock and balls. “This is the real royal power. And it belongs to me.”

Belle smiled, pretending not to notice the cruel foot. As far as she could see, the only evil in the castle surrounded the royal couple. The king and queen were surprisingly gentle, guileless even, not the maniacal despots Belle expected. They were adult children, utterly unaware of the real world, as much to blame for how they were raised as Belle was responsible for her big eyes and rosebud lips.

Belle wondered what treasure chests those keys opened. She vowed to find out.

After draining the king in his bath that morning, Belle was so sure she wouldn’t be required for a while that when the bell rang three times in the middle of the night she was fast asleep, naked as a babe wrapped in her furs.

Her first thought was, “Already?” quickly followed by a surge of pride. Her performance that morning had set out her stall for this man, showed him what she was prepared to do. No, what she liked to do. That he couldn’t wait wasn’t just an ego-trip, it was kind of a turn-on.

It rang again. Belle hopped up and darted into the king’s bathroom. Finding it empty, she carried on through into his bed chamber.

The room was big as a train station, and the king’s bed set between two triple-height windows, both open to the night and a moon that seemed twice the size of a commoner’s moon. Silver light sliced across the bed and the swathed the king’s naked torso but left his face dark.

He was so silent, she wondered if she’d dreamt the bell and he’d wake to find her rudely stood naked in his bedchamber watching him sleep. Then she adjusted to the dim and found the glint in his eye. His erection flexed as if to beckon her. She approached his bedside and stroked him from chest down to hips. He was warm and smelled still of his sandalwood bath, but also of smoke, leather and musk. She grasped his thick rod. He made a sound like boulders in a bag and she couldn’t tell if this was a growl or a chuckle.

Trying to recall the queen’s advice, she stroked him slowly with two hands but needy hips pushed back quicker. She kissed his tip and found it wet already. It seemed like he’d done half her job for her. She plucked her lips over his hot cock and balls, then followed with her lapping tongue. No complaints about moving too quick now. A draught from the window chilled a wet patch her between her legs. Something about this relative stranger and his proud phallus got to her. Having her mouth pressed to the very epicentre of the kingdom made her feel woozy, but there was also a physical scale and power to him that pulled her insides. Even his silence was magnetic.

She licked him and tugged his length quickly. His breathing hitched. She took what she could of his shaft into her mouth, and the profound plug of him already seemed familiar, almost comforting. She’d treated this man just a few hours ago, but still found herself relishing the chance to do so again.

She hummed. No, moaned. It wasn’t even contrived, it just came out of her. Like the arousal tracing down her inner thigh. The primal bluntness of walking into a room and wordlessly sucking a man off, the kingdom’s most powerful man, turned her liquid. Or maybe it was the anticipation. She’d always fantasised pleasing a man so thoroughly it left him empty but infatuated and irrepressibly hard, but she’d never had the nerve to try. Yes. she intended to leave this man very pleased indeed. Then she might please herself with him.

She nodded on his cock and rubbed him into her, trying to express eagerness with every dip and tug. Large hands rested on her head. She tensed, thinking he might force her down, but his pressure was light, almost adoring. Sure enough, he stroked her like a favoured pet, down her hair, her back, over her bottom. She planted her feet wider, encouraging his caresses between her legs. Her knees trembled.

She sucked and rubbed briskly but was unprepared for what happened when the king discovered the slickness of her inner thighs. His cock quivered on her tongue and stiffened. He made a strangled grunt and tapped her head three times, just as he had for Charlotte. He arched. Tapped again, almost desperately.

Belle giggled, sucked on.

A stifled roar, and thick, hot jets filled her mouth so frantically she couldn’t swallow quickly enough. So she let him spill, men loved that anyway. She angled into the moonbeam so he might see, caught his eye, and blinked with all the dirty innocence she could muster. He glowed, all-powerful, but with each jerk and each pump of his essence, with each salty, silky gulp of it, she felt his power move from him, into her. How much would he crave her now? And more importantly, what would he give for it? She laughed again, drunk on him, no, drunk on herself. Her hips warmed, her clit tingled.

The king spasmed under her like a dying pigeon in the jaws of a cat. She sucked him past his over-sensitised twitching, until he flagged, then didn’t stop until he swelled against her palate once more. It was actually happening. She was sucking his spent cock hard again. Having her deepest fantasy manifested, especially with such a fantasy man, made her feel lost in a dream. Still, the very second he moaned and rocked needily at her mouth, she reigned herself in. She kissed his taut bulb and, even as her hole clamoured for satisfaction, turned to leave.

He grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Belle.”

She curtseyed.

He still had her hand. “You’re very wet.”

She sucked cum off her bottom lip and relished the flick of his eye, watching her. She shrugged. “I love my job.”

The boulders-in-a-bag-noise. So that was a laugh, then. “None of my staff ever say that.”

“Then you have the wrong staff.”

No response. She’d gone too far. She cleared her throat, still thick with his taste. “And I can’t help it, Your Majesty is very sexy. I’m only human.”

His phallus bobbed graciously at the compliment. “Is there; something else I might do for you?”

She might have thought this a dismissal, but the king squeezed her hand. His gaze latched to her hips, his cock bucked. The rumours about this man were true. He was insatiable. She’d push her luck again, see where it led.

Belle stepped close to where his movie-star head lay on the pillow, as if his gaze reeled her sex toward him, when it was the reverse. She’d use her dripping cunt to lure and net this glamorous leviathan.

She set her hips so close to his reclined face, his sigh heated her folds. She placed a foot on his bedside table, or rather on the large, leather book there: his bible. Her bare toes looked debauched on the embossed gold cross. “I think you’d like to lick me, sire.”

His eyes widened, yet softened. Puppy dog eyes. He swallowed. Belle bit down on the urge to laugh omnipotently. She opened her pussy lips to him instead, one slavering beast to another.

He leant toward her. She swung her hips away from him. He flicked a scowl.

“You’ve made me very horny, sire. I’ll burst quickly. Would you like me to come on your mouth?”

Rumble.

“I’d like to.” Belle dug a finger into her sopping hole, slid out and stirred at her clit. She shivered showily. Chuckled.

The king leant toward her again, and she dodged again. He grumbled. She surveyed his muscular, animal form laid below her. Naked, he was more carthorse than king. She gathered her juices and slid slippery fingers over his cock until it glistened in the moonlight. “I’d love to come on this. Would you like to sire me, sire?”

The king seemed to collapse into a lascivious silence. His wife had made them promise to: “eat each other senseless, but neither kiss nor fuck.” His dick nodded at her fingertips, secretly answering for him.

He slid his face closer to her cunt. She rubbed herself quickly over him.

He glowered. “You want me or not, woman?”

Belle sighed. “Very much, Your Majesty.” She dug two fingers in and out of herself in a way that always pleased the viewer more than her hole. She pretended to take herself to the brink, took a deep breath and withdrew her fingers. “Yet I resist.” She wiped her wetness across the king’s lips. His bassy hum vibrated the room.

“I bet you’d like all your staff to enjoy working for you as much as I.” She watched his tongue slide over her fingers, suckle on them. Good boy. “Hmm?”

“Mum-humm.”

“If I was your housekeeper, I would; ” She dragged her hand from his mouth, stirred her bud. “fix it for you.”

He grabbed her hips. “Enough, woman. Give me your cunt.” He tried to nuzzle past her busy hands, but she was in full flow, her sex caged by self-pleasuring fingers. She whimpered, tremored.

“Okay, Okay” he blustered. “I’ll consider it.”

Belle grasped his head, yanked it to her mound.

“Good.” He covered her sex in hot kisses. “When I’m done, you may receive, my seed, again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, I would love that.” Which, of course was not an actual agreement.

“Really?” He buried his face in her wet cunt. “Oh God thank you. Thank, Yumm.”

Belle let the king finish her, then left him alone in his bed even more rigid than when he’d called her. She deferred the offer to “receive” him one more time. Not because she didn’t want to, but because he wanted it much more than she and that suited her better. Instead, she suggested he take the air with her the next day, and that, if he brought Madame Couteau’s palace keys, she would grant his heart’s desire. She even sealed it with a promise. “I would empty a man who trusted me. Drain him twice. Three times. Even that might not be enough to satisfy me. I’d make a king feel like a god. Your Majesty will need his rest tonight.”

Belle woke to a commotion amongst the palace staff. It looked like the king had kept his word. From her little window on the village she watched Madame Couteau stride away, alone and bagless. She looked pitiful and small and that made Belle want to cheer. The woman left a curious energy in the household. A few trudged about as if preparing a funeral, but for most it was Christmas. When Belle left to meet the king for their picnic, cook gave her a basket of sandwiches and a bottle of wine, and then kissed Belle’s cheek.

As the king sauntered into the rose garden to meet her, he looked dressed for a date: a pristine white shirt, mirror polished shoes, and linen trousers much distorted at the crotch. But his Brando smoulder, cracked by a hopeful smirk, was what weakened Belle’s knees.

“My Lady.” He produced the hoop of keys from behind him, bowed and presented them like the heart of a dragon he’d slayed in her honour. “I hope you won’t be too busy to answer my call from now on?”

Belle grabbed the keys as if they were to heaven itself. Which they were. She dropped them into the picnic basket. “My mother and I will share duties, sire. She’ll be at your service during the day, and I will service you at night.”

The king clapped, laughed. “And what if the queen or I have need of you in the daytime?”

Belle took his arm. “Then that’s my lucky day.”

Silently, they sauntered away from the castle toward the woods, their footsteps guided only by an instinct for privacy. Belle was glad she’d dressed lightly in one of the wardrobe’s many slip dresses, a shoulder-fastening grey silk number, because the spring afternoon was hot, and the king’s leonine presence even hotter.

She squeezed his hard bicep. “Well you’ve granted me my wish, have you considered yours, Your Majesty?”

The king smirked. “I’ve considered little else. But now you have the keys to the kingdom, I fear you’ll deny me again.”

“Sir, if I deny you, it’s only to whet your appetite. I always keep my, no.” Belle stopped walking, feigning irritation. “I won’t have you doubting me.” She looked about. They were still well within sight of the castle, and the windows busy with passing staff.

Oh let them see. Let them know her efforts.

She reached up her skirt, hooked thumbs in the lacy waist of her panties and wriggled them down. She stepped out of them, presenting him the cream silk just as he had the keys. “A token of my commitment to your wish.”

He nodded, took the garment, and put it in his pocket. “Let me show you a secret place.”

The air under her skirt felt wild and deliciously rude. As they carried on walking, he put his arm around her and rested his hand lightly on her bottom. She felt conscious of every unfettered wobble against his fingers.

The walked for some time deep into the cool dim of the pine-carpeted forest. Then a single cherry tree seemed to pop out of nowhere, heavy with blossom and lit stark white against the black and green by a single shaft of sunlight.

“This is the Love Tree. My forebearers planted it. They say five generations of kings were conceived in its shade. Even I.” The king patted the trunk. “Come. Feel.”

Belle stroked the satiny bark stretched taut over the trunk. It made her think of the king’s erection. The light in his eye suggested he knew this.

“My wish is simple.” He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out her underwear. “I want you to hold onto the Love Tree. No matter what happens.”

She slid her hands up and down it. “Like this?”

He snorted, walking around her, putting the tree between them. “I fear you may still deny me my wish.” He looped the underwear over her hands, and with a quick flourish tied them in a knot. She might’ve resisted but chose not to. The silk felt excitingly out of place on her wrists and being restrained, at the king’s mercy, made her stomach flip.

He sauntered behind her, raised her skirt, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her knee wobbled. The breeze fanned the skin of her exposed rear, while his eyes seemed to heat it. She’d only appeared naked for him in the dark. This would be his first clear sight of her. A long moment passed and she fought the urge to cross her legs.

“You have a damn fine rump.” He stroked her, slapped her lightly. Then again. He squeezed her as if testing fruit.

“Thank you, sir.”

He rumbled, pressed his front to her back. His trousers sported a bludgeon.

The king chortled. “Since I didn’t call you with our bell today, because we meet at your convenience, I decided I should, instead, ring you, Belle. Three times.”

“This sounds more my wish than yours, sir.” She wriggled her bottom at his lump. “What of your pleasure?”

“This afternoon, your pleasure is mine.” He reached his hand up the front of her skirt, and gripped her lightly between the legs. She felt cupped in a warm, leather saddle. He squeezed her like a sponge. “Christ almighty, woman, are you always wet?”

“Only in your presence, sir. And your queen’s.” She wound her hips at the thick digits skating around her sex. He lacked his wife’s accuracy but the blunt manliness of his grip compensated for grace. She melted over him. Her eyes drooped.

He pressed lips to her ear. “Look at me.”

She cast her best glassy stare over her shoulder.

He cursed, shoved his hips at her bottom. “Damn those eyes.”

The man seemed on a hair trigger, how would he “ring” her even once without exploding in his trousers, let alone three times? She prepared to fake some orgasms. It was very important he feel rewarded today.

Then he set his jaw, coiled his free arm around her waist, and got organised. Gone was his male fumbling, now he did what his wife must’ve taught him. He worked her clit with his palm and thumb while a finger explored deep inside. She’d had cocks smaller than his middle digit, and was glad for his grip on her waist as his fingers unhooked her joints. She was weightless as a doll, draped over his arm.

A fever came over her, a wave of dizziness from the cool, pine breeze, his pale grey eyes, from his woody scent and his woody limbs, from the invisible plunge and wriggle between her legs. She dug her hips at his digging and his bulge. Her eyelids were iron shutters, too heavy to hold open. When she turned imploring glances up at him, his outline fizzled. A smile tugged the corner of his lips. A fireball flared in her hips. She was too hot. Her cunt was on fire and she couldn’t cover it or fan it.

All she could do was burst.

Her cry scattered crows from the trees. She grunted and ground on the king’s deft, insistent fingers, her weight entirely, easily, held in his one arm while he drew more and more pleasure from her like a magician tugging trick scarves from his hat.

Dimly she became aware of her feet dangling. She found this hilarious. She laughed as he put her down and removed his hand. She settled into his solid, but tender embrace.

He offered her his fingers. “One, my lady.”

She sucked her familiar taste from him. He licked his fingers with her, causing illicit, electric clashes of their tongues, and a pull to their lips. She inhaled his sigh, and he inhaled hers, the ghosts of forbidden kisses floating from mouth to mouth. Her lips nibbled at his. He pulled back.

His breath billowed hot on her neck and she was glad she’d tied her hair up this morning. He unfastened the bows on her shoulders and her dress slipped to her feet. He removed it, stepped away, and outside his embrace, her vulnerability was complete. Every millimetre of her body was exposed to the sun and air and the king’s scrutiny.

He hung her dress on a branch like a battle banner, and prowled about her naked form. His features were implacable, eyes slits. She was familiar with the serious, almost cruel, expressions of aroused men. Their eyes darkened and retreated as they ate the sight of her. Usually she relished the supremacy she felt, teasing their hunger with intimate glimpses, and she’d felt all-powerful in the moonlight the night before, but here in the stark sun and the cool breeze, tied to a tree in front of a king, her confidence waned.

A life of one meal a day had left her limbs thinner than the queen’s creamy form. Next to Charlotte’s kittenish curves, Belle was a gazelle. When the king unabashedly took in her tight little breasts, it was as if he compared them to Charlotte’s bouncing abundancy. The queen’s ribs didn’t protrude, and Belle’s belly was used to emptiness and flat as a board, not sensually soft. Then his wandering eye snagged at the pubic hair atop her pronounced mound and Belle wanted to hide. He tilted his head and stared at it. She kept her curls neat, and lips bare, but now Belle worried he preferred his waxed-bald queen. The king cleared his throat, mesmerized by her lower half, and suddenly her wet thighs were shameful. She rested one foot on the other, drew her knees tight and curled her hips back to tuck her sex away. She slid her hands down the tree trunk to settle in front of her and fought the urge to slip from the shackles’ silky hold and cover herself properly.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Was he enjoying intimidating her? This would not do.

Fortified by irritation, she regarded him back, coolly, from his smirk to his ridiculously tented trousers. She bit her lip and pictured his erection bursting free of its cage, plundering her salivating mouth and hole. Her dirty thoughts were so vivid she must have projected them. He shifted awkwardly.

“See what you do to me, woman?” He approached the tree until his bulge rested against her wrists. “I’ve known many, many lovers. None make me this hard.” She fanned her hands to cup him. Jesus, he was like a length of scaffold. She squeezed. His eyes widened and he jerked back.

Belle shrugged. “No more gawping, your majesty. Ring me again.” She smiled. “With that hammer, ”

He puffed out a long, growly breath, folded his arms.

“Please.” Swallowing all her inhibitions, she willed one leg to wrap around the satiny-rough bark. She rocked her hips at the tree trunk like some kind of wood nymph pole dancer. It felt quite nice, but not as nice as her faked sigh made it seem.

The king blinked slowly. She could almost hear him screaming inside, “Calm!”

He strolled behind her, but his torment made her brave. She had nothing to hide. She stood proud under his inspection, sensing now that her lithe nakedness, her blushed skin, her tight nipples and dripping sex made him dizzy with lust. This man worshipped her, and she could burst him without even touching him, without even looking at him. She joggled her bottom. He groaned. She chuckled even though her skin tingled, every hair on end, straining for the touch that was sure to come.

His kiss hit her neck like a soft explosion.

However it was his whisper, “Perfection!” that threatened to undo her on the spot. Everyone should have this said to them once or twice, preferably while naked and tied to a tree.

He kissed along the dip of her spine and she found herself gripping the trunk for support. His mouth moved down her body and she placed her feet wider. She was wet to her knees and didn’t even know that was possible. Far from shame, now this brought expectancy, and then even more liquid. The king’s shadow knelt behind her. She stood on tip-toes, tipped up her hips, displaying her need.

“My God,” he burst. He gripped her bottom, pulled it to his face.

He nibbled and kissed her buttocks. She bent lower, to show him where that mouth was needed, but he avoided her buzzing clit. Annoyingly, he seemed most fascinated with her juices, slipping his fingers up and down the tracks on her legs. She guessed Charlotte was never this aroused by him. Perhaps none of his concubines were. This suited her plan well, so she indulged him, and tried to sigh off the jangling little alarm bell between her legs. However, when he ran a rough tongue up her inner thigh, she groaned.

“Steady, woman.” His voice was all grin. “You cleaned me, remember? A gentleman always returns a favour.”

She sagged against the tree, wedged her shoulder to it, and opened her legs as wide as she could. This elicited a bouldery snigger, then a bristly chin shoved between her thighs to press his lips to her vulva.

Damn the silk shackles. She wanted to spread to him, see to her itchy spot herself. The man was in no hurry. He played with her lips, stroking, kissing, holding back his tongue, nipping at her labia and clit hood. She bent over deeper, and he nuzzled under, hunching his massive form to fit beneath her. She felt her cunt lips slip open around his tongue as he probed and tasted, but only his bottom lip grazed her clit, leaving it to hum for now.

“Please, your majesty.” Goodness, she sounded like a bleating lamb. “Eat me.”

Another tectonic chortle. The heat of his mouth disappeared, and he opened her lips like a book. Studied her. Unfortunately, it seemed she was a riveting read. He opened and closed her, rubbed her labia together, it seemed to persuade more juice from her judging by his occasional hot snorts of approval.

She wriggled her hips and cursed, her tied wrists around the tree’s roots. Perhaps the king deliberately mistook her body language, because instead of giving her what she wanted, he parted her bottom cheeks. A slippery fairy danced circles around her anus. She yelped, wriggled a hand loose from her shackles to cover herself, then paused. The dirty, wet tickle seemed to unhook something in her. Some last tension or inhibition, released. She melted, groaned, and gave over to him, to her body, completely.

As if someone had finally found the right key for the right lock, at long last her clit was bathed in warmth. He lapped at her without his wife’s skill, but with a firm, steady rhythm. She bent double, folded to manoeuvre her clit into his mouth, but he was still too big to fit between her thighs. He turned over to sit, leaning back on his hands between her feet. She could see him now. He sparkled up at her, eating like she was a juice-laden monster cherry he’d plucked from the tree, his cheeks and chin a mess, lapping and sucking her clit with his single-speed incessant lick. She wound on his face, as if eating him, not vice versa.

She enjoyed this notion of consuming him. She bore down, crouching lower, until he was completely on his back and she was indecently spread on him, queening his face.

That was better. Now she could control where his tireless tongue stimulated. She shut her eyes and relaxed, squatting on his warm mouth, possessed with the image of some silky sea creature slipping about her hyper-sensitive nooks and crannies.

He groaned first.

She sighed off her swelling bliss and opened her eyes to find his shut below her, lost in his own animal pleasure. He groaned again, louder. It thrummed her like a violin. She looked over her shoulder to check his trousers, which looked comically like a woodland creature had got in there. She wished she could release it. As if reading her mind, he unzipped his fly and hauled his hard meat into the fresh air.

His excitement doubled hers. A gorgeous tension flared in her core, sucked bigger and wider by the king’s hungry mouth. His cock rocked, dripped, and his hips thrust at the air. He rumbled under her. Would he spurt there and then, just like that, just from licking her?

The image tore through her: his lovely spunk shooting all over his elegant, laundered shirt, splattering hot up her back, uncontrollable in his desire for her. Her hips spasmed and she was glad of the tree to hang onto. He sucked her clit, tugging it deeper into wet heat, and even the king’s big, dumb tongue worked with a fluidity nothing else could match. It felt like a flickering, wet flame. She juddered again, then suddenly that’s all she was, a bloom of fire, petalling inside out and inside out and inside out again. A vixen screeched somewhere deep in the woods, or perhaps that was her, primally splayed and shaking on the king’s mouth, on his deep, bone shaking, hums of pleasure.

She wiped herself around his slimy chin, puffing tremoring breaths, then stubbed out the last of her orgasm, splodging his face while they giggled.

He winked. “Two, my lady.”

There was only one thing she needed now. She heaved to her feet, slid her tied-up tree hug along the trunk, and tipped up her bottom. “Fuck me, your majesty.”

He wiped his wrist across his face, but lay where he was, between her feet, his cock dancing and his brow wrinkled. “Belle, ”

“You promised me three orgasms. Fuck me.”

“No. You will come sucking me.”

“I’ll come with you in me, but this end.” She jiggled. “And you won’t come until I say.”

“Woman! I am your king, ”

“You are a beautiful cock. Fuck me.” She stamped her foot. “Now.”

He rolled to his feet. His shadow loomed over her, departed, returned. He grumbled. Something like a hot lemon wedged against her slot, rested there. She pushed back against it, lodged the tip at her entrance. It didn’t retreat. She eased onto it with a lascivious shock at how much she needed to stretch, and keep stretching, to accommodate him.

Once she had a grip on his hard bell, she smiled over her shoulder. “I’ll tap you three times, then you can come.” She took more of him in, glad she was wet and loose from her last two orgasms, he filled her so completely it forced her breath out.

The king stood to attention, neither pushing nor pulling away, and Belle understood. Let the betrayal be hers. She rocked back at him until she was stuffed to the brink and, mercifully, his hips met her bottom. They moaned together. So this was how a man was supposed to feel. She felt more worn than penetrated, stretched over him like a perfectly fitting dress. She writhed, relishing every cell of her softness gloved to every cell of his hardness. The king cursed and could stay still no longer. He gripped her hips and slid out, and for a sinking moment she thought he would leave, but he plunged back in, forcing a squeak from her. Then again, and again and she braced and each powerful thrust pumped more joy into her. His perfect dick lit her up brighter with each stroke, fizzing along her skin to her fingertips and toes, then back again to be doubled up by the next thrust.

She turned to him, grinned through tousled hair, but could hardly form a smile for panting. His face was stoic. Serious. She grunted, shuddered to a halt. He moved her hips for her, his power and control jamming hard and deep but never too deep. And even though she was too full of him, she still cried out, “Yes, yes, yes, ” He pumped her lungs, her heart, to bursting and then crammed more joy in, and more and it doubled and redoubled and she yelped, thrust back greedily, a feeding frenzy, even though it was too much, too delicious, and she was tight as a drum and still more came and more and more,

She lifted onto her toes, squealed.

And burst into a billion tiny stars.

But her juggernaut king drove on, rammed her off her feet, shoved gasp after gasp from her. He tossed her from her own skin, like there was no room for her ghost now. Too much. Too good. Too,

Oblivion.

She roused bouncing, cackling, every joint slack, every muscle warm and floppy as the king rammed her up and down on his cock. His movements grew spasmodic. His hips slapped her bottom and for a delirious, dreamy blink she wanted him to come in her, but her instinct intervened. She slipped her hands from her shackles, and slipped off his cock. He carried on shoving, unable to stop. She swivelled, dropped to her knees, stuffed his slippery meat into her mouth.

He stiffened, gnashed his teeth. Placed his hands on her head.

A wickedness tickled her. She unsuckered from him. “No. Wait.”

He snarled, screwed his eyes shut.

“Wait, ” She said as if to a dog. While his perineum fluttered like a bird’s heart, and he made strangled noises, she calmly licked her drooling juices from his balls, running a flat, cleaning tongue up his quivering rod. She sniggered, lapped under his bulb, fluttered her eyelashes. “What do you say?”

He juddered. His fists clenched, every muscle, every vein on his body flexed to bursting point. “Please. My Lady. Please.”

She tipped her mouth over his end, and slapped his arse three times.

Then braced for the gorgeous flood of power.

The queen returned to a new kingdom. When her Rolls Royce rolled through the streets, people gathered to throw petals over her, a band played, and children sang songs.

Queen Charlotte stepped from the car and into her king’s arms looking visibly shaken. The new palace staff formed a circle about them and cheered.

He explained Belle’s discovery. Madame Couteau’s keys revealed many secret rooms, including storerooms crammed with produce, filing cabinets crammed with orders and a safe crammed with gold. Madame Couteau and her cohort had been increasing the taxes behind their backs. If the taxes were paid, Couteau paid the monarchs what they expected and pocketed the difference. When the taxes increasingly couldn’t be paid, Couteau took the villagers’ produce and sold it on to the kingdom’s old buyers.

By royal decree (Though the queen guessed it was more likely Belle’s decree) the stockpiled produce and stolen profits were divided amongst the townspeople, who were re-united with their old buyers. The king was happy with the same royal taxes he always received, as none of Madame Couteau’s profit every reached the royals anyway.

Queen Charlotte hugged Belle hard, clasped her face and covered her cheeks in kisses. The king wrapped them both in his big arms and Belle felt like the filling in a very expensive sandwich.

To be continued.

By  ABigCat for Literotica