Her Royal Pet, Ch. 2

 

Chapter 2: Bathed by Her

 

She washes me in her chambers, in the great bath.

As though I’m a child she scrubs and detangles, preventing me from acting of my own accord. I must’ve been in the cells for weeks and now I’m in the royal chambers, being cleaned by the Witch Queen herself. It would be a victory, were this not clearly some game on her behalf. The bountifully sexy Empress of Eternity washes me in the nude, standing in the deeper part of the tub.

Her enormous motherly breasts sway and sag forwards, tear-shaped and beautifully rounded. Their nipples are large and half the length of my thumb, and about as wide around. Each is surrounded by a big areola, a wide faintly bumpy circle, a delicate shade of pink that distinguishes itself from the milky pale of her skin, softly veined with blue around her bosom.

Without her crown, her serpentine black hair falls into many long braids, all of which run lower than her hips. At the back it expands into a long section of straight hair, flowing as if alive, but all the rest is braided. Her body shows peculiar agedness, that of a woman in her forties perhaps, the way it sags and shows lines here and there. An aesthetic choice, I imagine, for a being ageless and divinely powerful.

Between her legs swings that girthy long penis, and those fat bloated balls. They weirdly suit her, but their presence is ever-unnerving, a reminder of her peculiarities. Every now and then when she turns I get a look at her heavy rounded backside, and rarer still a brief glimpse of pale pink where her by all accounts perfect vagina sits, hidden by her balls.

‘Would you like to see it?’ she says, catching me off-guard.

‘What?’

‘My cunt.’ The Queen smirks. ‘Would you like to see?’

‘I…’

Before I manage a reply, she turns her great backside to me. The huge, fat-padded, muscular cheeks droop slightly with their weight. She could engulf my head, her arse is so plump. The Witch Queen leans forwards, then spreads her cheeks with her hands. At the top, between that erotic valley, is a pale yet darker than its surroundings butthole.

Beneath it, a half-inch down, is her neat vulva. Puffy lips spread wide by her hands, its interior is pinkish and tight, the hole difficult to miss. Glistening with water, it runs down to a hooded aperture which hides her clitoris, visible as a pink pearl from this angle. Just below that (above it?) her scrotum begins, the two giant testicles hanging low with her bend.

She looks back at me, smiling. ‘Nice, isn’t it? Queenly, you might say.’

‘Y-eah.’

‘Do you want to taste me?’

I blush. ‘No.’

‘Unconvincing.’ She moves slowly backwards, moving up the submerged steps until her arse is above my face. ‘No teeth.’

The Queen sits, and my vision goes black. Her fat arse conceals the world, the great rounded cheeks smashing my face against the edge of the great basin. All I can smell is this carnal, sensual, feminine muskiness. I salivate at the taste, at the sweet, hot fragrance. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, but instinct is mightier than reason.

‘Mhm.’

‘Good boy,’ the Witch Queen says. ‘Taste that forbidden fruit.’

It’s delicious, the way she tastes. Wrong, bad, awful, because of who she is and because her warm, heavy balls are bumping against the underside of my chin, but her pussy is salty-sweet and a touch metallic, while her juices are syrupy ambrosia. I lap at first, then trace out the folds of her womanhood, tasting the divide between skin and vulva, and then bury my tongue inside of her holiest of holes.

‘Oh, my. Such a good seat.’ She grinds herself against me, wobbling side to side, smearing my wet face with her dirty juices. ‘You’re tasting a goddess, boy. You had best swallow all of my nectar, and savour it besides.’

‘Mhm. Slurp. Slurp.’

As I taste and inevitably swallow my cock stiffens painfully, and my mind goes to strange places. This creature, this great enemy, intrigues me beyond comprehension. If this were any other woman this might be divine, and yet this is the Witch Queen, and all part of her play.

Yet all the same I suck on her lower lips, tease them with my mouth, slurp up the copious amounts of juices that leak from her lovely, soft, hot cooch. She grinds backwards, bouncing her balls against my throat, and her engorged clitoris brushes my lips. I slide my tongue into its hood and folds, prompting her to shudder.

‘Mm. So dutiful to your queen.’

‘N-ever.’

‘Yet you are, boy. And you will continue, until I am done.’

Why argue? Why fight the inevitable? She’s right, though I hate it. I cannot stop her from taking what she wants…and some lust compels me to continue. For all the wrong of this slavish subservience it feels right, as well. Licking and sucking and slurping, licking and sucking and slurping…

Her balls, most confusingly, feel good. The way they bounce and shudder, their weight obvious, their presence unmistakeable, brings with her movements a strange tempo and a warmth I’ve never experienced. Gay, and wrong, and weird.

‘Such a good mouth.’

The Queen grinds back and forth, the slapping of her balls more noticeable when she does so. My nose brushes her butthole and the opening of her vagina, and after a few back-forth motions, she plants her arse itself above my mouth.

‘Eat my arse, pet.’

‘No!’

‘Eat it. That is a command.’

It…tastes of little. The texture is rougher, tighter, where it strains into her sphincter. What taste there is of her body, faintly salty, and not unpleasant. Before I know it, I’m licking her arsehole, teasing it with my tongue and squeezing her butt cheeks with my hands. The soft pale skin, slick with water, practically eats my finger as I dig into her cushioning buttocks.

The Queen moans, her sultry voice a dark, mature, tempered pleasure. Something about her noises, her shudders, eggs me on. I shouldn’t, but I want to do a good job. The one true enemy, and I’m eating her butthole. I’m rimming her, lapping at her sphincter, massaging her cheeks with eager hands. This is so virulently wrong, and yet feels so disgustingly right.

‘Oh, so–ugh–dutiful with that tongue,’ the Witch Queen says. ‘I’m getting–mm–really, really close.’

She grinds backwards again, forcing her vulva against my mouth. Pussy is much better than arsehole, and I find myself weirdly grateful to taste anew her sweet, salty, feminine nectar. For one so evil, she certainly tastes good. ‘Mhm.’ I bury my tongue into her snatch, grip her hips to really eat from her womanhood, and then suddenly she tears away from me.

Light returns and I pant, inhaling the steam of the bath. The Witch Queen turns to me, turns about, and pokes a weapon towards me. Her snow-white cock, more than a foot in length, spears the air inches from my face. The Queen frantically strokes it with one hand, in the process tugging back her foreskin to reveal a pretty pink glans, a fat apple of a thing, with an ominous-looking aperture in its glistening pearlescent crown.

‘Eyes and mouth shut, boy. Quickly now!’

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. The last thing I see is her immense erection shudder, and her great heavy balls jiggle beneath it. Then the world goes dark and the Witch Queen groans, moans, and screams ecstatically. ‘Yes! Yes–ughn–fucking yes!’

She must bring her member to my face, or so close that its radiant heat is unmistakeable. It brushes my cheek, a hot, slick, pulsating heaviness. Then a fat rope of royal seed splashes across my right cheek, covering my eye. Another crosses my mouth, a third my nose, a fourth my forehead and other eye.

It would be degrading, shameful, if only I could think straight. Instead, something in her ejaculate, that evil potent seed, reverberates through my being. An orgasm instantly hits, bringing a shudder to my loins, and I shoot a load into the bath waters. The urge to moan is supressed, thankfully, by the presence of that hot heaviness around my lips. Her semen stinks muskily, powerfully, a dirty smell that belies her beauty.

With its presence comes, however, a pleasant warmth that spreads like a drug through my flesh. It brings an orgasm, yes, but also a feeling of…simple purpose. To be marked by the Queen of Queens, the Eternal Empress, is to have a purpose. Her blessing is on my face, my skin, hot and fresh and sublime through its filth.

And as her last two shots add to the heavy load already painted upon my features, the Witch Queen cackles with pleasure. She squeezes out the last dregs of her orgasm then splashes through the water, dropping onto her knees above me. Her tongue, wild with passion, cleans my mouth first, then my eyes.

‘Mhm-hm.’

I open my eyes to the sensation of that perfect tongue, sweeping and washing, removing her potent mind-shattering seed. The Queen is smirking, beaming at me, her lips glazed with her own white produce. She kisses my cheek, laps it at, swallows her own semen. I should despise this, and yet to be licked clean by her is something terrible in its perverse glories.

‘So few have had the pleasure of tasting my essence,’ she says, moving to playfully bite my ear. ‘Were I to offer, to those crowds of sycophants, the opportunity to fellate me, to taste the milk of my testes…how many would refuse, Daniel? Can you imagine?’

I shut my eyes and stifle the powerful urge to groan as she laps at the contours of my face, tasting my skin beyond her seed, a mother cat and her kitten. The question itself is dangerous, and all answers trouble me. Is it even a question? Why would I know the answer?

The Witch Queen presses her great matronly bosom against my chest, rising and falling, kissing my forehead at the bottom of her stroke. She massages my shoulders, tussles my hair, treats me with alien, dangerous affectation. Her bumpy areolae tickle, while her nipples practically stab with the soft hardness.

‘Are you scared of the answer, boy? Or do you simply not know it?’

‘All of them,’ I say, shuddering.

The Queen cups my face, and runs her thumbs beneath my eyes. I slowly open them, finding her proud, perfect, smiling visage. ‘Call me contrarian, perhaps to a fault, but what joy is there in such mindless dolts? They worship me, beg of me, would kiss the ground I walk on even had I trodden through dog shit.’

She leans in, leans down, until her lips brush mine. My cheeks flush, and I cowardly shut my eyes. Her breath is hot, sweet, alluring. If that musky scent of her seed is present, I cannot detect it on my nose.

‘I do not grow bored of my pets, boy. They are rarely so interesting as you, but they never bore me.’ The Queen bites my lower lip, teasing it between her teeth. ‘One day you will adore me, and I will be your queen.’

‘Never.’

She giggles and kisses my mouth. ‘How sweet, that you resist. You, who would spit at my face. You, who would be lavished with attention and not thank me.’ The Witch Queen scratches the underside of my chin through my beard with her taloned nails. ‘Stay this way, please. It keeps you highly entertaining.’

And with that she rises, splashing, from the water. The Queen climbs the steps and descends the other side, instantly drying.

‘We must groom you, and then you’ll need to eat.’

‘And if I should drown myself instead?’

She chuckles. ‘Oh, silly boy. You would sooner die than live in luxury?’

‘Every moment here is a betrayal of my friends.’

‘Good, then you are enjoying yourself.’ She rolls her eyes, and beckons. ‘Come, boy. You cannot sit and mope in the waters until time ends.’