Chapter 2: The Queen's First Taste
Marcus’s nod was less a command and more a biological reflex, the only signal his stunned nerves could manage. It was enough.
Queen Sylvaria’s plush lips, which had pronounced decrees for centuries, parted. She didn’t tease or taste. She engulfed. Her jaw strained immediately, a sharp ache registering in her eyes as the thick, musky head pressed against the back of her throat. She gagged, a wet, choked sound that vibrated through Marcus and made him twitch. Tears welled in her winter-blue eyes, but they were tears of frantic triumph.
She pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lip to his glistening skin. “More,” she rasped, her voice shredded. “Do not be gentle. This vessel has waited too long for gentleness.” Her hands gripped his bony hips, her nails digging in. “Use it. Fuck this royal mouth.”
“Whoa, okay,” Marcus breathed, the reality snapping into a surreal, electric focus. His hands, which had been limp at his sides, moved. One tangled in her platinum waterfall of hair, not gently. The other groped blindly beside him and found the soft, impossibly heavy curve of Lianara’s breast. He squeezed. The princess cried out, a sharp, delighted yelp, and arched into his touch.
He thrust upward into Sylvaria’s waiting mouth.
It was messy and brutal. She choked instantly, her throat convulsing around him, her nose buried in his coarse pubic hair. The sounds were obscene—wet gags, slobbering suction, her desperate, nasal inhales through flared nostrils. She didn’t try to control it. She let her body be overridden, her eyes rolled back, tears cutting tracks through the delicate shimmer on her cheeks. Her massive breasts heaved against his thighs with each jarring impact.
Lianara whimpered, nuzzling his hand on her tit. “The weed… your fingers taste of it,” she mumbled, then took his thumb into her mouth, sucking greedily. The two identical elf maidens, moving in perfect, mirrored synchronicity, crawled forward on their knees. With reverence, they cradled his sack, their soft elven hands lifting the weight. They didn’t hesitate. They each took a testicle into their mouths, their tongues working in slow, worshipful circles, their eyes closed in bliss.
Marcus’s head thumped back against the headrest. “Holy… holy fuck.” This wasn’t like the videos. This was raw, overwhelming sensation. The heat, the tight, struggling grip of Sylvaria’s throat, the twin sucks on his balls, the soft, pillowy weight of Lianara in his hand. He began to move in earnest, a ragged rhythm pistonning his hips from the chair. Sylvaria’s muffled, choking moans were a constant vibration.
She pulled off, gasping, strings of spit and pre-cum webbing her chin. “The daughter,” she managed, her voice a wreck. “Let her… serve the crown.”
Understanding, or just instinct, compelled him. He shoved at Lianara’s shoulder. “C’mere.”
The princess moved with eager clumsiness, her enormous tits swinging. She laid herself across his lap, perpendicular, pressing those melon-sized juggernauts together around his shaft as Sylvaria returned to the head. The sensation was dizzying—wet, hot suction above, and the velvety, crushing softness of Lianara’s cleavage below. He fucked between the tits, the slick noise joining the chorus.
Lianara turned her head, her lips finding the purple head each time it emerged from her mother’s mouth. She suckled at it like a starving creature, her emerald eyes glazed. “The taste, Mother,” she panted between licks. “It’s like the deep forest loam… and lightning.”
The twins, encouraged, shifted their attention. They each latched onto one of Lianara’s protruding, stone-hard nipples, sucking and kneading the vast mounds of breastflesh that trapped Marcus’s cock. Lianara screamed, a high, broken sound of pure ecstasy, her back arching.
It was too much. The building pressure in Marcus’s gut coiled and snapped.
“I’m gonna—” was all he got out.
Sylvaria sensed it. She plunged down, taking him deep, and held. He came with a guttural shout, his hips stuttering off the chair. Pulse after pulse emptied directly down her gullet.
She didn’t pull away. She stayed, swallowing convulsively, her throat working around him. When he was spent, she slowly rose, a final, thick strand breaking against her lip. She sat back on her heels, looking dazed, her makeup ruined, her regal bearing utterly dissolved. She swiped a finger through the mess on her chin, looked at it, then brought it to her mouth.
Her eyes flew wide.
“Lianara,” she whispered.
The princess, her tits slick with sweat and spit, leaned in. Sylvaria kissed her, deeply, sharing the taste. Lianara moaned into her mother’s mouth, her hands coming up to claw at Sylvaria’s robes.
One of the twins, her lips glistening from Lianara’s nipple, timidly touched Sylvaria’s arm. The Queen broke the kiss and offered her finger to the maiden, who sucked it clean with a whimper of gratitude. The other twin did the same, and soon they were all sharing the taste, passing it between kisses and licks, a circuit of desperate need.
Marcus watched, slumped and breathless, his mind blank. The anime loop on the monitor was the only light, casting their moving shadows against the wall of garbage.
Sylvaria finally turned back to him. She looked… peaceful. Hungrier than ever, but focused. She rested her cheek on his knee, a gesture of shocking intimacy. “A single draught,” she murmured, “from a well that has no bottom. We are yours.”
Lianara crawled up his body, nestling her head on his chest, her hand possessively stroking his softening length. “You will let us stay? In this… temple? We will keep it. We will learn its rituals.” She gestured vaguely at the bong. “We will partake of your sacred herbs.”
One of the twins, emboldened, picked up the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the coffee table. She sniffed it, coughed, then took a small sip. Her face contorted, then smoothed into wonder. “A burning sun,” she declared.
Marcus let out a slow, shaky laugh. He was sticky, surrounded, and more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. “Yeah. Sure. Just… maybe don’t drink the bong water, okay?”
Sylvaria smiled, a real, unguarded smile that lit up her ruined face. “We have much to learn, our king.” Her hand joined her daughter’s on him, a silent, claiming promise. The flickering blue light glinted off four pairs of eyes, all fixed on him, waiting for what came next. The apartment still stank, but now it was a stench they worshipped, the first sacrament of their new world.