Chapter 40: Royal Duties
The water in the bowl had grown cloudy, tinged with the evidence of their spent passion. Ira tossed the used cloth aside, leaving Arjun clean and glistening faintly in the low light. She remained as she was, a magnificent, ruined canvas painted in the whites and reds of his possession.
She looked at the three young men, their faces flushed with wine and voyeuristic satisfaction. A different kind of energy was threading through her now, a slow, deep burn that had not been extinguished by servicing him twice. It was a hungry ember in her belly, fanned by every slap, every crude compliment, every drop swallowed.
“You three look like stuffed parrots who’ve found a mango orchard,” she said, her voice a low, rich timbre. She walked back towards the bed, her hips swaying with a deliberate, undulating rhythm. The sensitive flesh between her thighs was swollen, aching, and the cool air of the chamber kissed it, making her shiver. “All that watching. Does it make your hands feel empty?”
Sanjay grinned, raising his now-empty hands. “Auntie, you fill more than just our eyes.”
“I could fill your mouths,” she said bluntly, climbing onto the vast bed. She didn’t go to Arjun immediately. Instead, she knelt near his legs, her back to his friends, presenting the rounded, full curves of her backside to them. The cheeks were pale and flawless, the cleft a dark, inviting shadow. She looked over her shoulder, a sly glint in her eye. “But I think your friend’s is the only one I crave tonight.”
Arjun watched her, his exhaustion tempered by a renewed, simmering interest. His cock, though spent, lay heavy against his thigh, already showing signs of renewed life. The sight of her like this, offering herself so brazenly, was a potent tonic. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured, not with criticism, but with awe.
“You made me this way,” she replied, crawling over to him. She straddled his hips, but not where he expected. She positioned herself higher, so her slick, glistening sex was poised above his face. She lowered herself, not onto his mouth, but until her wet folds hovered just an inch from his lips. The scent of her, musky and profound, enveloped him. “You and your endless, perfect seed. It rewired me. It hollowed me out into a vessel for you. A vessel that always needs refilling.”
She then shifted backwards, settling her weight over his groin. She reached behind herself, her fingers wrapping around his semi-erect length. She guided him, not to her dripping cunt, but lower, to the tight, furled knot of her other entrance. She pressed the broad head of him against it, a silent question.
Arjun’s breath hitched. This was not their usual order. It was a command, a request, a offering all at once.
“Yes,” he breathed, his hands coming up to grip her hips.
Ira looked past him, to his friends. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated challenge. “He’s going to take my ass now,” she announced, as if commenting on the weather. “And you’re going to watch. And you’re going to tell me what you see.”
She began to sink down.
It was a slow, breathtaking conquest. Her body resisted, then yielded, then accepted him in a gradual, breathtaking invasion. A low, guttural moan tore from Arjun’s throat as the incredible, slick tightness enveloped him. Ira’s head fell back, her neck a graceful arch. Her mouth opened in a silent ‘O’ of profound feeling.
“Gods above,” Vikram whispered, transfixed.
Ira settled fully, impaled, taking all of him into that forbidden, clenching heat. She was full, stretched in a way that was entirely different from her cunt. It was a deeper, more demanding fullness. She took a moment, letting her body adjust, letting the sharp spear of pleasure-pain blossom into pure, molten sensation.
Then, she began to move.
It was a slow, grinding roll of her hips. Up, then down, with a circular twist that made Arjun swear into the fragrant air. Her hands braced on his chest, her fingers digging into his muscles. Her breasts, heavy and marked, swayed with each deliberate motion. The dried cum crackled on her skin; fresh sweat began to bloom, mixing with it, creating pearlescent trails through the white crust.
“Look at that,” Ira gasped, her eyes finding Sanjay’s. Her voice was strained, thick with pleasure. “Look how deep he goes. You can see it, can’t you? The shape of him, inside me.”
“We can see,” Mahendra said, his voice hushed. “It’s… you’re swallowing him.”
“I am,” she groaned, lifting herself almost all the way off before sinking down again with a soft, wet sound. “This hole is his. No one else’s. It was virgin until he took it. Now it’s just… his spare sheath.” She rode him with a lazy, powerful rhythm, each descent a little faster, a little harder. “Tell me what else you see.”
Vikram found his voice first. “I see your tits. They’re bouncing like they’re trying to get free. The handprints are all jumbled up now. They’re a mess.”
“Good,” Ira panted. A smile touched her lips. “I want to be a mess. I want to be his mess.”
“The cum on your face is flaking off,” Sanjay added, leaning forward. “Little white flakes are falling onto his chest when you lean forward.”
Ira laughed, a breathless, joyous sound. She deliberately shook her head, like a dog shaking off water. A spray of tiny, dried flakes scattered through the air. “Is that better? Now it’s snowing in the royal bedchamber.”
Arjun’s hands tightened on her hips, his own hips rising to meet her downward strokes. The slap of their bodies was a damp, steady rhythm. “They’re right,” he grunted. “You’re a spectacle.”
“I’m your spectacle,” she corrected, leaning forward to brace her hands on either side of his head. This new angle drove him even deeper. She cried out, the sound sharp and bright. From this position, her breasts hung directly above his face. “Do you like watching, my prince? Do you like seeing your friends see how thoroughly your whore mother can be fucked?”
“Yes,” Arjun hissed, his eyes blazing up at her. He was fully hard again now, a steel rod within the incredible soft, tight heat of her.
“Then hear them,” she commanded, turning her head to the side, addressing the three young men directly even as she continued to ride their friend. “Tell him. Tell him what you see.”
Sanjay didn’t need more encouragement. “I see the best fuck in the kingdom taking a dick in the ass like it’s her job. Which I guess it is now.”
Ira’s laugh was a gasp. “It is! State policy. Keeping the Yuvaraj’s morale high. It’s my most important duty.” She arched her back, emphasizing the sway of her hips.
Vikram jumped in. “I see your ass swallowing his cock. I see it stretching you wide. I see the little wink of it when you come up. It looks desperate, Auntie. It looks hungry.”
“It’s starving!” she moaned, increasing her pace. The bed began to creak a soft, persistent accompaniment. “It’s been empty since yesterday! It needs to be fed! It needs to be packed full of his come until it’s leaking for hours!”
Mahendra, emboldened, spoke up. “I see the sluttiest queen in history. I see a woman who gets off on being watched. I see you dripping from your other hole, Auntie. You’re so wet for this it’s running down your thighs and onto his balls.”
“Because it feels so good!” she shouted, the words tearing from her. Her composure was unraveling, thread by thread, under the dual assault of Arjun’s cock and their filthy commentary. “Because my son’s big cock in my ass is the closest thing to heaven I will ever know! Tell him! Tell him how wet his slut mother is for his ass-fucking!”
“She’s dripping!” Vikram confirmed, yelling now over the sound of skin on skin. “She’s making a mess all over you, Arjun! Her cunt is crying because it’s not the one being fucked!”
Arjun’s control was fraying. The visual, the tactile sensation, the auditory feast of her debased proclamations and his friends’ encouragement was pushing him towards a precipice far too quickly. He wanted to savor this, to let her use him until she was a babbling, shuddering wreck. He grabbed her hips, stilling her for a moment.
“Slow,” he commanded, his voice rough with strain.
Ira obeyed, her body trembling with the effort of pausing. She looked down at him, her eyes clouded with need. Sweat dripped from her chin, landing on his chest.
“You love this, don’t you?” he asked, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her rear. “You love them talking about you like you’re a common tavern whore.”
“I love it because I am your common tavern whore,” she breathed. “Yours alone. Let them look. Let them talk. Let the whole kingdom talk. They all know. They blessed it. The priests chanted as you first took me. Now let your friends chant while you take my ass.” She began to move again, a slow, torturous grind. “Sanjay. What would you do if you were the one fucking me right now?”
Sanjay choked on his wine. He hadn’t expected to be drafted into the scene so directly. He recovered, a dark, eager light in his eyes. “I’d hold those hips and I’d pound that ass until you forgot your own name. I’d make you scream a different god’s name with every thrust.”
“But you’re not,” Ira sighed, a mock pout in her voice. “Only he is. Because only he can. Only he has the right. And only he has a cock this perfect for wrecking a queen’s ass.” She rose up and sank down with a solid, weighty impact. Arjun groaned.
“Vikram,” she continued, her speech becoming more broken as the pleasure built. “Do you think… ah!… do you think I’m prettier like this? With a cock in my ass and my face covered in last round’s load?”
“It’s the prettiest you’ve ever looked,” Vikram said without hesitation. “The crown jewels are nothing compared to you right now. A used, fucked queen is the best kind of queen.”
“Mahendra,” she gasped, her rhythm becoming erratic, losing its lazy cadence. “Tell your friend… tell him what a good… what a good whore he has for a mother.”
Mahendra looked at Arjun, whose eyes were locked on Ira’s face. “She’s the best, Arjun. She’s perfect. Look at her. She was born to take your cock. Anywhere. Everywhere.”
That did it. The last vestige of Arjun’s restraint shattered. With a growl that seemed to come from the core of the earth, he flipped her. It was a swift, powerful motion. One moment she was on top, riding him; the next, she was on her hands and knees, her back arched, her ass still speared by him. He knelt behind her, his hands gripping the flare of her hips.
He fucked her then.
It was not slow. It was not lazy. It was a relentless, pounding drive, each thrust a declaration of ownership. The sound in the room changed—it became a sharp, wet slapping, a drumbeat of pure carnality.
Ira screamed. Not in pain, but in a sublime surrender to the force of him. Her arms gave way and she collapsed onto her elbows, her face pressed into the silks. Her breasts swung wildly beneath her with each powerful impact. The crackling mask of dried cum shattered completely, falling away in patches.
“YES! LIKE THAT! FUCK YOUR MOTHER’S ASS! RUIN IT! CLAIM IT!” she bellowed into the bedding, her voice muffled but ferocious.
His friends were on their feet now, crowded closer, unable to look away from the raw, brutal poetry of the act.
“Look at her take it!” Sanjay roared.
“She’s born for it!” Vikram echoed.
“Fuck her, Arjun! Fill her ass up!” Mahendra encouraged, his fist pumping the air.
Arjun was beyond words. His world had narrowed to the feeling of her incredible tightness, the sight of her reddening skin under his hands, the sound of her unabashed, filthy joy. He was a piston, driving into her, over and over, each stroke stoking a fire in his loins that was about to explode.
Ira felt the change in him, the tightening of his grip, the shortening of his thrusts. She pushed herself up onto her hands again, tossing her head back. Her hair, half-freed from its braid, stuck to her sweat-slicked back. “On my face!” she shrieked, a final, desperate command. “Not inside! On my FACE! Mark me! Let them see you mark me again!”
With a final, animalistic roar, Arjun pulled out of her clutching, convulsing heat. He surged forward, dragging her up by her hair. He turned her onto her back, her body sprawling across the silks, and straddled her chest.
He was there, at the summit, his cock a rigid, purple-headed tower weeping pre-cum. He fisted himself, his strokes furious, urgent, his eyes locked on her upturned, eagerly waiting face.
The first spurt was a thick, arcing rope that landed with a wet slap across her forehead and closed eyelids. It was warm, shockingly so.
The second painted her cheek and the bridge of her nose.
The third splashed across her parted lips and chin.
And then the dam truly broke. It was not a few shots. It was a torrent, a geyser, a seemingly endless eruption of white. It covered her. It plastered her hair to her temples. It filled the hollows of her eyes. It pooled in the cup of her collarbone and surged over the slopes of her breasts, adding a fresh, glistening layer to the old, cracked one. It kept coming, wave after warm, viscous wave, until her face was an indistinguishable mask of pure seed, and her chest was a swamp of it, dripping down her sides onto the bed.
Arjun shuddered through the entire cataclysm, his body bowing with the force of each expulsion. It went on for a long, breathtaking minute, a testament to his youth and the ferocity of his climax.
When it was finally over, he collapsed to his knees beside her, spent, gasping.
The room was silent except for the ragged sound of their breathing. The three friends stood in a stunned circle, staring at the masterpiece of debauchery before them.
Ira lay perfectly still. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes. The cum coating her lashes made the motion sticky, slow. She blinked, white droplets clinging to her lower lids. She turned her head, a slow, deliberate swivel, and looked at each of the young men in turn. A smile, impossibly, spread across her slick, white-coated lips.
Her tongue emerged, a pink intruder in the white landscape, and licked a thick dollop from the corner of her mouth. She swallowed.
“Well, beta?” she said to Sanjay, her voice hoarse but clear. “Does this improve the view?”