However, the King wasn’t left long in solitude. Not an hour had passed when he heard the sound of heels on the stone floor echoing through the empty halls of the dungeon. To his astonishment, it was his eldest son, Eroch. “Your highness,” the Prince announced in a clear and resonant voice.
King’s voice was thick with emotion as he called out to his son. “Why are you here?” He asked, his tone filled with both surprise and relief. He could see Eroch peering through the bars of the cell, his expression unreadable in the dim light. King’s emotions were a tumultuous mix of shame, longing, and a sense of liberation that his secret had finally been unveiled.
But the Prince did not respond. Instead, without uttering a word, he stepped closer, the dim light illuminating his face and revealing his striking features—a face the King knew so well, with his lineage’s firm nose and angular cheekbones.
Suddenly, Eroch’s mouth collided with King’s in a sudden and forceful kiss. The King gasped in shock, but his resistance began to wane as the seconds ticked by; he couldn’t deny that he was craving intimacy after being discovered. Eroch’s lips pressed firmly against his own, their warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of the cell. He could taste the faint sweetness of his breath and something deeper, something akin to desire. King’s initial stiffness melted away as Eroch’s tongue teased his lips, a gentle, insistent pressure that he couldn’t deny. He parted his lips slightly, and his son’s tongue darted into his mouth, exploring and teasing, sending shivers down his spine. As the kiss continued, his senses overwhelmed, and King felt himself becoming aroused.
He moaned softly as Eroch deepened their embrace, their tongues intertwining in a passionate dance. As the heat of their kiss grew, he began to push Eroch away, a feeble attempt at first but then more insistently. “What are you doing, my child?” King finally broke the kiss, his voice strained. His body felt alive, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
But Eroch was relentless. Without answering, he pushed King to his knees, a look of fierce determination in his eyes. The King found himself at eye level with the prominent bulge in Eroch’s trousers, the fabric straining against his growing erection. “Don’t do this, please… we are father and son…” his voice trembled in uncertainty. But the plea fell on deaf ears as the Prince unbuckled his belt slowly, deliberately. The clinking sound of the metal buckle echoed in the silent cell, sending a shiver of apprehension down King’s spine.
“No, I can’t do this…” King pleaded as Eroch grabbed his manhood, pulling his trousers down, his hard, throbbing cock sprung free. Yet, the sight of it filled him with a strange, forbidden longing that he couldn’t suppress. The large size and firmness of his manhood only made the situation more overwhelming; the Prince was not gentle as he placed the shaft onto the King’s face. He tried to resist, turning his face away from the strong scent of arousal that emanated from him.
But Eroch’s movements became more aggressive. He pulled King’s face back to his cock and rubbed it against the King’s face. As the tip of Eroch’s shaft touched the King’s lips, his instincts seemed to take control, overriding his logical mind; a moan of protest caught in his throat, and the warmth of Eroch’s cock on his lips was almost intoxicating in its temptation. His resistance started to crumble as he parted his lips to accept it into his mouth; the feeling of submission and acceptance was overwhelming.
Suddenly, there was a rustle at the cell door, and the Queen appeared. Her expression was a study of shock and anger as she beheld the scene before her. The dungeon, usually reserved for criminals and miscreants, had now become a site of a different form of transgression.
The King felt the heat in the Queen’s glare and felt ashamed of what was happening. The Prince had been relentless and had forced him into submission. His eyes glanced up to see his wife, who stood, her jaw clenched, anger in her eyes, her gaze burning into his. “My queen,” the King gasped, the Prince’s thick member slipping from his mouth with a soft pop. “Please, my Queen, help me,” he pleaded. Eroch looked over to his mother. “You’ve kept him to yourself for long enough,” Eroch growled out as his grip on the King’s head tightened. His mother’s face hardened as she stepped into the cell, her dress swishing softly about her as she stepped closer.
She moved around the room and stood in front of her son. The Prince knew his mother wasn’t happy. He knew what was about to happen and closed his eyes. He knew she had been dreaming of her chance for months. Ever since he had matured and grown, his manhood had taken on a life of its own. He was hung like the King’s prized Stallion, his shaft long and thick, a sight that any woman in their kingdom would drool over.
However, the Queen didn’t want to take her time and tease it. She didn’t wait or ease herself in. Her hands shot out and grabbed the member firmly. There was an edge to the Queen’s actions that made him feel a twinge of pain mixed in with the pleasure of her firm grasp on his throbbing member. The cold glint in her eyes as she stroked him, her gaze fixed on his face as though challenging him.
Her firm grip moved over the hard length of him, and a soft whimper left his lips. His eyes locked with hers as his face twisted with an overwhelming mixture of pain and intense arousal. His mother was a demanding mistress, one who would stop at nothing to satisfy her cravings, and Eroch, the strong, dominant Prince, was reduced to a quivering mass under her forceful touch. He knew he couldn’t resist her demands as his mother began stroking the beast that throbbed between his legs.
Her fingers wrapped tightly around his girth as she moved up and down his entire length, her movements growing in speed and intensity as the moment built up to the climax she so clearly sought.
The Prince couldn’t hold it back for long as her strokes quickened. “I cannot…” Eroch’s voice was breathless as he struggled to control the waves of ecstasy that coursed through him, his eyes locked on his mother’s face as her hands worked tirelessly at his engorged member. He couldn’t deny her the power she held over him at that moment, and the conflict within him seemed to fuel the building heat in his loins. He shuddered and arched, thrusting his hips forward as her pace became relentless.
The tension reached an unbearable peak as the Prince could no longer keep the sensations at bay. “I’m…I’m cumming…,” the Prince’s words came in a strained gasp, and with one last firm stroke from her hand, he surrendered to the ecstasy that crashed over him in a powerful wave. Eroch’s shaft twitched, and his mother pumped firmly on the base. He erupted, ropes of white spewing forth from the tip. It was as though his cock had burst forth from a long-awaited rain, his seed spurting out with a vigor that seemed almost unnatural; the thick, creamy white jets arced in the air before landing on the stone floor of the cell with a soft splattering sound. He threw his head back and unleashed the remainder of his load all over himself, painting his chest with white.
His mother was relentless; she pumped his shaft dry until all that remained were a few feeble dribbles of white. When finally his body went slack, a mixture of exhaustion and relief, the Queen turned to the King with her eyes fierce with resolve and unfulfilled passion. The dungeon’s air was heavy with the scent of sex, a potent mix of sweat and release hanging in the space between the two of them. In that intense gaze, he could see everything – her fury at being kept in the dark, the hunger within her, and the hurt he had been hiding. The King was panting and his heart racing, his need pulsing.
She moved forward, a predatory step that seemed to fill the confined cell. “On the ground,” the command came out in a harsh whisper, her breath tickling the King’s ear and making him shudder. The force of her will pushed him down to the floor. “Face down,” she said, the cold tone of her voice belying the heat of the moment. His eyes closed in surrender, his body shaking from the intensity of her control.
As he lay there on the stone, his body vibrating with an almost animalistic anticipation, the rustle of cloth and the clatter of falling jewelry echoed in the small cell. The Queen was stripping, letting her regal garments fall unceremoniously, symbolizing her casting off all pretenses of decorum.
The King felt the Queen’s firm hand on his rear, her nails digging into his skin, drawing out a groan of pain-tinged pleasure. She was forceful, insistent, and in control. He felt her move to stand, one foot planted firmly on the stone floor and the other, with a sense of dominance and purpose, placed squarely against the entrance to his rear, pushing with enough force to send a shockwave of sensation rippling through his body.
He cried out in a mixture of discomfort and desire. It was an unusual, taboo sensation – being dominated and controlled by this firm and assertive woman, a role reversal so stark and sudden that it was both unsettling and arousing.
Her movements were deliberate, and he could sense her raw power, feel her determination as she began to push against him, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that he hadn’t been prepared for. Her thighs pressed tightly as her body started to strain under her exertion. “Oh, my queen, no, please,” his voice barely audible above the heavy panting of his breath, a pleading mix of fear and desire, a testament to the struggle between his sense of duty and his primal urges.
Suddenly, something in her seemed to shift. With a sharp inhale, the Queen’s demeanor transformed. Instead of continuing her aggressive stance, she stopped, withdrew her foot from the King’s rear, and knelt beside him. Gently, yet confidently, she reached for him, her touch surprisingly soft and comforting. He could sense the shift in her energy, the anger dissipating, and a new, more nurturing aura taking its place.
At that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, a raw and powerful connection fueled by their deep-rooted bond and their shared past of unfulfilled desires. As he felt her hands begin to caress him, a shudder ran through his body, his need for her touch, her warmth, and her reassurance palpable. His words came out as a choked whisper, filled with the weight of his longing and vulnerability, “Please… I beg you.” The dungeon echoed with a whispered plea.
Her response was a comforting murmur, her fingers tracing circles on his skin, her voice soothing and understanding, “I am here.” The cold air in the room, thick with the tension of their earlier encounter, was gradually replaced with an aura of warmth and acceptance. In this space, their roles as ruler and Queen fell away, leaving them simply as two individuals seeking solace and fulfillment in one another.
With each touch and whisper, the Queen restored something lost between them, the warmth of their shared intimacy. The King lay there, feeling the tenuous grip of his control start to loosen, the walls he had carefully erected around his feelings beginning to crumble. He could no longer resist her gentle yet insistent coaxing, the heat and wetness that waited for him just within reach, an invitation he found himself unable and unwilling to decline.
As the Queen continued her intimate exploration, the King’s world narrowed down to her fingers as they found their mark; the gentle intrusion at the tight entrance to his rear was an overwhelming yet delicious sensation, the kind that he had only imagined in the most secret, unspoken recesses of his mind. Her fingers circled his entrance, a tantalizing precursor before the first finger slid into him, the initial resistance of his body quickly giving way to acceptance. The penetration, while new and disconcerting, also brought about an unfamiliar but undeniable sense of pleasure.
While initially hesitant, her touch became increasingly confident with his positive responses, adding another digit as he slowly opened up to her, the feeling of fullness increasing along with the tempo of his heartbeat. As her movements quickened, he began to moan softly, the sounds escaping from deep within him and filling the silent cell, the act of submission adding to his arousal, making his body react in unexpected ways. His shaft started to harden and throb as her fingers stretched and teased, a reaction both to her touch and to his own surrender.
The King was in a heightened state of pleasure and arousal, his body reacting to every movement and caress. His cock, hard and throbbing, betrayed his words from moments before, “Please… not like this… not… not here,” he gasped out, but the conviction was no longer there, the resistance crumbling in the face of his overwhelming desire. He was losing himself in her, his hips starting to push back against her movements, the boundaries of his own control blurring with every passing second.
His words were lost to her, though. She was lost in the moment and started pumping her hand into him. Her fingers plunged deeper and deeper into him, and the King could feel the slick fingers driving him to new heights. As he arched his back and surrendered fully to her touch, the Queen responded by picking up her pace, her fingers curling and pressing against the sensitive area within him that sent sparks of ecstasy throughout his entire body.
She leaned forward then, her breasts, now free from their restraints, hung just above his head. The feeling was almost too much for the King – her strong hand was pressing deeply inside his ass, and she was leaning her large chest over him. She knew exactly what to say to her submissive lover.
She began to lean further until her breast was level with the King’s head, and she pushed it gently to the side of his face. “What a big boy…” She muttered softly, and she guided her breast to the King’s lips. With her other arm, she continued to finger-fuck his rear, all the while pushing her breast into his mouth.
The King moaned as his lips made contact with her supple mound, and, at that moment, the Queen took her opportunity to thrust the pert nipple into the waiting mouth. The King could not resist her – the taste of her skin, the softness of her breast, and the strength of her hand all worked in unison to force the King to his knees.
The King opened his mouth, accepting her offering, his lips wrapping around the hard nub of her nipple as the Queen positioned herself so that her other breast dangled tantalizingly just above him, its large, inviting mass swaying gently with her every movement. His eyes widened in anticipation, knowing that it too would soon meet the same fate as its companion, the act of nursing at her bosom a surrender of his control, his kingship, his very being to her.
The Queen’s hand, the instrument of his submission, didn’t let up as he suckled at her, the rhythm of her fingers plunging into him synchronizing with the movement of her breast against his tongue, each inward thrust matched with a surge of her warm, soft flesh into his eager mouth. He moaned around her, the vibration of his voice sending ripples of pleasure throughout her body as his lips sealed tightly around her nipple, his tongue lashing and flicking the sensitive tip, his own need and desire driving him forward into a fervent, desperate pace. The act was raw, visceral, and all-consuming, a demonstration of her absolute authority over him, an assertion of her unchallenged power over both his mind and body.
But she was not content to stop there. As he nursed at her, his eyes hooded with pleasure and surrender, her other breast hovered, an invitation too enticing to be ignored. With his hands, now shaking with the intensity of his arousal, he grasped her other breast, his palm barely covering the whole, generous curve, the weight of her ample flesh a delicious burden he was only too willing to bear.
He guided the other breast to his mouth, his lips, and tongue already wet with her taste from its counterpart, the movement as natural and inevitable as the rising sun. As his lips locked around the second nipple, she was transported. The sensation of him, so willing, desperate, and utterly his, was intoxicating. Her eyes rolled back as a deep groan emanated from her chest, a primal expression of her dominance and his submission. His mouth and tongue worked their magic; the sensation of his suckling, so powerful and so complete, consumed her entirely. The King, the once indomitable and proud ruler, was now reduced to this, a mere subject of her desires and a slave to her will.
Her fingers continued to plunge into his rear, her rhythm never wavering, every inward thrust matched with his own movements upon her breast. She moaned again, her body shuddering with pleasure, and he felt it. He felt her joy, her control, and it heightened his own desire even more; the act of submitting to her was his most incredible, most shameful pleasure. His mouth was unrelenting, his tongue dancing across her nipple in a wild and fervent dance of desire. He could not stop, he would not stop, for this was his submission, his pleasure, his downfall, and his ascension, all at once.
But the act was not one-sided, nor was the Queen’s control so easily won. The power of his nursing was undeniable; the force and need with which he clung to her breasts sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her. Her moans, once controlled and dominant, now began to betray a more profound, more primal need, a need to be fulfilled and sated.
The King’s eyes flickered, a spark of understanding ignited in their depths, and his mouth, hands, and body responded. He pushed against her harder, his mouth working more frantically, his desire fueling hers in a relentless, circular feedback of need and satisfaction, submission and dominance, a cycle that was both empowering and consuming. This was not just his surrender to her; it was their union, a convergence of two powerful beings in a mutual act of self-discovery, a journey towards an unknown, shared destiny.
Her moans grew louder, her breath more ragged, the tempo of their union quickening as they both spiraled toward the pinnacle of pleasure. She was in control, she was being served, she was dominating and dominated, the lines of power blurring into insignificance in the face of their shared ecstasy.
“Here…” she groaned as his mouth tugged fiercely on her teat, and his fingers dug into the soft, malleable skin. Her grip on his shaft, once a firm and confident assertion of power, now trembled, shaken by the storm of sensations that raged within her, “Take it…” She could feel the climax, her orgasm building with unstoppable momentum.
The Queen threw her head back as she let go of his shaft. “I…” Her eyes widened, and her jaw clenched tightly as her muscles tensed.
She let out a guttural groan. The King could see her sex contracting, pulsing, and releasing her climax as she cried out. The force of her orgasm shook her to her core. He was amazed by how beautiful she was in her moment.
She leaned back, pulled herself out of the King’s mouth, and stood back on shaky legs, her knees almost giving in with each step.
“Oh God…” She moaned as her orgasm slowly subsided.
Her legs were weak, and she felt herself sinking to the ground, her knees buckling as she sat on the cold, damp dungeon floor. “I am yours…” she whispered as her own climax began to ebb. She was exhausted but contented. Their mutual pleasure, the height of ecstasy, the ultimate surrender was now their shared destiny, forever entwined, a tale as old as time, yet as fresh and vibrant as the morning dew upon a virgin bloom.
She looked over at the King and said, “Come.” He rose from the floor, still reeling from the intense, intimate act they had just shared. She beckoned him, and he came closer, unable to resist, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of their shared intimacy, and he crawled towards her, like a servant to his mistress, eager and willing to please.
As the King moved towards her, he felt a sense of surrender and anticipation mingling within him, the weight of his kingship momentarily forgotten in the wake of his overwhelming desire. The dungeon was no longer a cold and harsh space; it was their sanctuary, the witness of their most private and profound moments.
The Queen’s voice was a soft command, laced with her unyielding authority and a hint of her lingering arousal. “I want you in my mouth…” her eyes were fixed on him, a mixture of hunger and love evident in their depths.
His face flushed with heat, his body reacting to her words in a manner he could no longer conceal, “Oh… yes…” he could only whisper in response, the power of his voice lost to his desire. Her request, or her demand, sent shivers down his spine and reignited the flame threatening to engulf him again.
As if in a trance, the King positioned himself before her, the epitome of obedience to her wishes. Intense and unwavering, her gaze remained on him as he lowered himself onto her face. The sight of her beneath him, her mouth open and inviting, was a scene of beauty and power, her strength and vulnerability coexisting in a delicate balance that mirrored their very relationship.
The Queen didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait for any signal from him. She wanted him, and she would take him, her own desires paramount. Her hands reached up, pulling his hips downwards, her movements confident and sure, a reflection of her unwavering resolve and unquenchable hunger. The act was raw, visceral, and immediate. She took his manhood, guiding it towards her open mouth, the warm, wet heat of her cavern enveloping him completely. There was a moment of exquisite relief, the sensation of being fully embraced by her overwhelming him.
The feeling was indescribable. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged, his vocal cords frozen in disbelief and awe at the sheer sensation of being taken like this, of being swallowed by her. His mind reeled, trying to grapple with the reality of his kingship being temporarily eclipsed, supplanted by this new role of the subservient and the submissive.
The Queen wasted no time. Her mouth, once a conduit of power and authority, now wrapped tightly around him, the wetness of her lips, the heat of her breath enveloping his length in an all-encompassing warmth that rendered him mute. She moved with a purpose, her mouth working on him, drawing him in deeper and deeper with each movement, the motion of her lips a testament to her own desires, her own need, a need that she now fulfilled unabashedly.
She began sucking him, and the King gasped, his body jerking with the shockwave of pleasure her movements wrought, her tongue swirling around the tip of his member as her mouth worked tirelessly, pulling him deeper into her, the sensation almost too much to bear, and yet, he couldn’t, wouldn’t dream of asking her to stop.
Her movements grew bolder, more fervent, the wet, slurping sound of her mouth on him echoing in the cold dungeon, a stark contrast to the heat they shared. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked him in, the intensity of her actions a direct mirror of her authority over him, her power absolute, and her control undeniable.
As he gasped and shivered under the force of her desire, she paused briefly, her lips releasing him for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her to issue her following command. Her tone was commanding, leaving no room for debate or defiance, “Come inside me… give me what I want,” undeniable power in her voice. And with that, she enveloped him again, her pace increasing, her tongue dancing circles around his shaft as she pushed him closer and closer to his inevitable climax.
She sucked and sucked, her hands wrapped firmly around him, and her lips sealed tightly, forming an irresistible suction that pulled and teased at him relentlessly, each motion a testament to her mastery of him and his body. Her movements were strong, insistent, and demanding, pushing him towards a crescendo that he knew would be swift, powerful, and beyond his control.
He groaned loudly, his voice echoing off the walls, but was drowned out by the sounds of her insistent suckling, and as he reached his climax, the release was explosive, “Yes, yes, yes…” He could only murmur in surrender as she drew his climax out from him, his essence filling her mouth, a hot, thick torrent of his desire, of his submission. The orgasm was intense, a culmination of his surrender to her and the fulfillment of his passion, as her mouth continued to suck and slurp until he was utterly spent and shivering from the aftermath of their intense encounter.
But the act was far from complete, and the scene of his submission was not entirely set. She withdrew from him, his softening manhood leaving her mouth with an almost comical pop, her eyes meeting his with an intense, daring look. With a movement both gentle and insistent, she pushed him back. His body, still reeling from his recent climax, was pliant in her hands as she flipped their positions, and he was now beneath her, the weight of his body pressed against the cold, hard ground, her mouth hovering just above him.
The anticipation was palpable as she held his seed, the proof of his pleasure, within her mouth. She was deliberate and methodical in her movements as she slowly lowered her lips, and when they touched his, the kiss that followed was unlike any other. He was hers, completely and unequivocally. The act was an exchange of power and pleasure, an admission of her control, and a seal of his submission. As the warm liquid exchanged from her mouth to his, the very essence of him returning to him in a manner both surreal and sensual, he swallowed.
The taste of his own seed on her tongue was salty and bitter, yet strangely satisfying, a symbol of his complete surrender. He drank of it, not because he was compelled to, but because he consciously decided to embrace his desire and fulfill her every command. The act of submission was total and unreserved as he accepted her, her wishes, and her desires, and in doing so, accepted himself, his own passions and needs.
He swallowed again, his throat moving, his eyes locked on her, and as he felt the last drops of his essence slip down, a shiver ran through his body, an echo of the intimacy and power they had just shared, a testament of his love, respect, and unending submission to the one he had pledged to forever. As they lay in the dim dungeon, the sounds of their mutual submission echoing around them, nothing remained to be said. Words, after all, would have been redundant in the wake of their actions.
A short while had passed while the King recovered; the Queen
stood over him, his body still shuddering with the afterglow of their shared intimacy.
A thought crossed the King’s mind. What if he were to use the situation to his advantage? He thought briefly before saying, “Would you untie me…?”
But the Queen was too bright. She shook her head. “You need more training,” she replied as she reached down and grasped his shaft once more, the firm, demanding touch eliciting a groan of surrender from his lips. As the Queen began her expert caressing and stroking, she was resolute and firm, a force of nature in her dominance, each movement calculated to extract his surrender from his core. With every motion, he felt himself succumb to her will, his body responding with a readiness that betrayed his attempts at resistance.
“I… no… not like…,” his voice was weak, barely audible. His will crumbled with each stroke of her hand. But as she continued, something changed within him. Instead of fighting, he gave in, surrendering to her control.
The room was silent, save the sounds of her stroking and his muffled moans of pleasure and defeat. Then, she withdrew her hand from his member, and a small sigh escaped his lips, the absence of her touch a momentary reprieve. The dungeon’s cold stone floor beneath him was a stark reminder of their roles in this intimate power exchange, his vulnerability heightened by the icy chill that seemed to envelop him.