Chapter 2: The Queen's Command
The words hung between them, a warm whisper against his skin. The Anna voice was gone, shed like the last veil of performance.What remained was Tina, her eyes dark and full of intent. He saw her hands slide from his neck to his chest, felt the deliberate pressure as she pushed.
He let himself fall backwards, the world tilting, catching himself on his elbows as he landed softly on the rug. The crushed petals released a final, heady perfume. She stood over him, a vision in shimmering blue and white cotton, backlit by the fairy lights. Her smile was no longer playful; it was predatory, possessive.“My turn,” she said, her voice low.She didn’t kneel. She placed one knee on the rug beside his shoulder, then the other, straddling his chest. He stared up, captivated by the magnificent, impossible curve of her backside outlined against the amber glow. She shifted her weight, her hands braced on his abdomen, and lowered herself.
Not to his lips.Past them. The soft, full swell of her ass pressed against his mouth, the clean cotton of her panties a faint, laundry-scented veil over warm skin. He could feel the heat of her through the fabric.He opened his mouth instinctively, breathing her in.
“You liked the show,” she murmured, looking down over her shoulder at him. “Now eat your birthday cake.”
She rolled her hips, a slow, grinding circle. The cotton grew damp under his hot breath.He surged upward, his tongue tracing the seam of the fabric, finding the dampening center. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His hands came up, gripping the glorious handfuls of her ass, holding her to him as he licked and kissed through the cotton. The taste was simple—fabric, soap, and underneath, the essential, musky signature of her.
She gasped, her head falling forward, the Anna braids swinging.“Yeah,” she breathed. “Just like that. Get it messy for me.”
He devoured her with a single-minded hunger, the fabric soon soaked and clinging. With a sudden, fluid movement, she pushed herself up and off him. Before he could protest the loss, she was pivoting, turning one hundred and eighty degrees on her knees.Now she was facing his feet, her own knees bracketing his head.
Her face hovered over the straining bulge in his pants. She made quick, efficient work of his belt and zipper, her fingers expert. He lifted his hips to help her, and she freed him into the cool air. She looked at him, then back at his cock, her expression one of focused appreciation.“Happy birthday,” she whispered, and took him into her mouth in one smooth, deep swallow.
The sensation was electric, overwhelming.He cried out, his back arching off the petals. Above him, presented in perfect, exquisite detail, was the sight he’d been worshiping moments before: her ass, the soaked white cotton plastered to her skin, the blue skirt a ruffled frame. The invitation was clear, intoxicating.He didn’t hesitate. He lifted his head, his tongue finding the wet patch immediately, pushing the sodden fabric aside this time to find bare skin, slick and responsive.He licked into her, a deeper, more intimate caress. She moaned around him, the vibration traveling straight to his core, and her rhythm on him became more urgent, more chaotic.The dual sensation was unsustainable, a feedback loop of pleasure. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above the stockings. “Tina,” he gasped, pulling his mouth away.“Wait.I need to be inside you. Now.”
She released him with a soft pop and straightened up.Without a word, she moved backwards, positioning herself over him. She reached back, hooked her thumbs into the sides of her soaked panties, and peeled them down, kicking them aside.The tiny blue skirt was pushed up, a useless frill around her waist.
"Do you wanna tongue-fuck my asshole while I jerk you off? Anna asked."
The raw heat of her words punched through him, a desperate groan torn from his chest. “God, yes,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
He obeyed, his tongue delving into the tight, musky heat of her as her hand worked his length in a tight, twisting rhythm. “Just like that,” she sighed, the Anna voice completely shattered into breathy, real gasps. Her other hand braced against his thigh, nails digging in as his mouth devoured her. The world narrowed to taste, to sound, to the desperate slick friction of her palm. Then she rose up suddenly, turning to face him, her eyes glazed and fierce.
Then she rose up suddenly, turning to face him, her eyes glazed and fierce. “My turn for the main event,” she panted, positioning herself over him, the soaked skirt a ruffle around her waist. She guided him inside her with a sharp, gasp-soaked sigh, taking him deep as she sank down. Leaning forward, she planted her hands on his chest for leverage, her braids brushing his skin. “Watch,” she commanded, nodding toward the full-length mirror leaning against the far wall where their reflection moved—a tangled, gleaming figure in blue—as she began to ride him with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips.