Pleasing Her Majesty (Lesbian FFF Threesome Fisting): Part Nine of the Erotic Adventures of Heraklea by Roxie Noir Page B
Authors: Roxie Noir
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what was happening: the king was walking her back to her rooms. The king, who by all accounts was very interested in her sex life, was escorting her to her bedchambers.
Klea perked up a little, and squeezed the king’s forearm in her hand. It was thick and hard, like a man’s forearm should be.
At her door, he dismissed the guards who walked around the corner to stand, invisibly.
“Here we are,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said. She turned to face him. They were inches apart, and Klea could feel the heat coming off of his body as he looked her up and down in her flimsy linen garment. She lowered her eyes, demurely, she hoped, as her heart beat faster. He leaned one heavily-muscled arm against the door frame.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked, looking up at him. Not many men were taller than she, but he was one of them.
Her nipples had hardened under her dress, visible through the thin fabric. His eyes flicked down to them, lingered a moment, then looked back up at her.
“No, thank you,” he said.
Klea reddened and looked down. What had she been thinking, propositioning the king? What kind of idiot was she?
He put one finger under her chin and tilted it up, leaning his face close. Klea’s heart hammered again, and she parted her lips, waiting for his to touch hers.
“Just get the belt,” he whispered.
Then, he walked away. Klea was in the chambers and slammed the door before he was even out of sight.
She hated him, hated the way he made her feels, alternately excited and then furious, flattered and horny and then crushed. The penis-icon—who the fuck did he think he was kidding, this was obviously a dildo—was heavy in her hand, and she stomped over to her bed and sat there, turning it over and over.
Her rage wasn’t going away, but neither was her arousal.
Klea ran one thumb along the underside of the icon’s ridge—shaped exactly like the head of a cock. It was cool and hard, not warm and soft, but otherwise, it was a dead ringer for a beautiful, girthy cock. She thought it looked a little like the king’s cock, which, admittedly, she’d only seen once, flaccid and in low light, but had been nice to look at nevertheless. Would he be this wide, this long, when he was erect?
Almost without meaning to, Klea had started touching herself, sliding one hand up her skirt to play with her clit. She rubbed it softly, touching the folds around it, only brushing her fingers across it every so often, feeling the delicious jolt it gave her when she did. She laid back on her bed and ran her hand along her lips, not surprised to find them slick and engorged. Well, she hadn’t been getting much in the way of sex, lately; it turned out that a sexy look from the king and a stone dildo were all she needed to get excited.
The icon was so smooth it almost felt wet, and even handling it made her ache intensify. She touched her clit again and felt the jolt, but she felt something else: the hunger for something in her cunt, something to satisfy the deep longing there.
She glanced at the door and the windows: closed, curtains. No one would ever need to know she fucked an icon.
Klea pulled herself up firmly onto the bed and lay there, one hand on her cunt, the other holding the icon, legs wide open, and placed at her wet, waiting entrance. For a moment she worried that putting stone inside herself might cause some sort of damage, since it was so hard, but pure desire took over her hand and she eased it in, rubbing her clit harder and harder.
The stone dildo was strange: cold, and utterly solid. While a cock or even a fist had some give to them, being made of flesh, this had none at all, no ability to curve with her vagina. If she moved it at all the effect was instantaneous. She moved the stone cock in slowly, letting it warm up, until she couldn’t take any more of it.
Klea took a moment to stop rubbing herself and feel her cunt with the stone in it: her pussy lips, spread around the hard rock,
Klea perked up a little, and squeezed the king’s forearm in her hand. It was thick and hard, like a man’s forearm should be.
At her door, he dismissed the guards who walked around the corner to stand, invisibly.
“Here we are,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said. She turned to face him. They were inches apart, and Klea could feel the heat coming off of his body as he looked her up and down in her flimsy linen garment. She lowered her eyes, demurely, she hoped, as her heart beat faster. He leaned one heavily-muscled arm against the door frame.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked, looking up at him. Not many men were taller than she, but he was one of them.
Her nipples had hardened under her dress, visible through the thin fabric. His eyes flicked down to them, lingered a moment, then looked back up at her.
“No, thank you,” he said.
Klea reddened and looked down. What had she been thinking, propositioning the king? What kind of idiot was she?
He put one finger under her chin and tilted it up, leaning his face close. Klea’s heart hammered again, and she parted her lips, waiting for his to touch hers.
“Just get the belt,” he whispered.
Then, he walked away. Klea was in the chambers and slammed the door before he was even out of sight.
She hated him, hated the way he made her feels, alternately excited and then furious, flattered and horny and then crushed. The penis-icon—who the fuck did he think he was kidding, this was obviously a dildo—was heavy in her hand, and she stomped over to her bed and sat there, turning it over and over.
Her rage wasn’t going away, but neither was her arousal.
Klea ran one thumb along the underside of the icon’s ridge—shaped exactly like the head of a cock. It was cool and hard, not warm and soft, but otherwise, it was a dead ringer for a beautiful, girthy cock. She thought it looked a little like the king’s cock, which, admittedly, she’d only seen once, flaccid and in low light, but had been nice to look at nevertheless. Would he be this wide, this long, when he was erect?
Almost without meaning to, Klea had started touching herself, sliding one hand up her skirt to play with her clit. She rubbed it softly, touching the folds around it, only brushing her fingers across it every so often, feeling the delicious jolt it gave her when she did. She laid back on her bed and ran her hand along her lips, not surprised to find them slick and engorged. Well, she hadn’t been getting much in the way of sex, lately; it turned out that a sexy look from the king and a stone dildo were all she needed to get excited.
The icon was so smooth it almost felt wet, and even handling it made her ache intensify. She touched her clit again and felt the jolt, but she felt something else: the hunger for something in her cunt, something to satisfy the deep longing there.
She glanced at the door and the windows: closed, curtains. No one would ever need to know she fucked an icon.
Klea pulled herself up firmly onto the bed and lay there, one hand on her cunt, the other holding the icon, legs wide open, and placed at her wet, waiting entrance. For a moment she worried that putting stone inside herself might cause some sort of damage, since it was so hard, but pure desire took over her hand and she eased it in, rubbing her clit harder and harder.
The stone dildo was strange: cold, and utterly solid. While a cock or even a fist had some give to them, being made of flesh, this had none at all, no ability to curve with her vagina. If she moved it at all the effect was instantaneous. She moved the stone cock in slowly, letting it warm up, until she couldn’t take any more of it.
Klea took a moment to stop rubbing herself and feel her cunt with the stone in it: her pussy lips, spread around the hard rock,
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