Queen Camilla sighs in desperation, the silk sheets tangled around her sweaty body as she listens to the distant sound of King Charles prattling away to his precious plants. She knows the nightly ritual all too well—his tender whispers to the greenery, the gentle splash of water droplets on leaves, and the soft thud of his slippers retreating back to their chambers. The king’s once-blazing passion for her had withered faster than a forgotten bouquet, replaced by a peculiar obsession with the flora that adorned the castle.
Her Royal Highness had tried everything to regain his interest: gold and jewels, alluring lingerie, seductive whispers, even going so far as to don the scent of the rarest and most exotic flowers, hoping to pique his desire. Yet, night after night, she lay alone, her royal cunt aching with neglect while her husband cooed to his leafy companions. Camilla’s eyes flash with anger and need as she glances at the clock. It was well past the hour when she’d typically feel the warmth of his touch, and she knew what that meant — it was time to take matters into her own hands.
Summoning one of the royal guardsmen from the corridor, with a subtle nod, she beckons him closer. The young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a cock as thick as the king’s scepter, had been her secret indulgence for weeks. He knew the drill by now—his duty was to satisfy the queen’s carnal cravings, an act of service that brought him as much pleasure as it did the lonely Camilla.
As the guard, Thomas, approaches the bed, he can’t help but admire the queen’s naked form. Her breasts, full and ripe, heave with every impatient breath she takes. Her nipples, stiff with arousal, stand tall and proud, begging for his touch. Camilla’s pussy, a glistening jewel nestled between her thighs, is already wet and swollen, eagerly awaiting the attention it’s been denied for too long. The queen's cunt needed a big thick cock!
With a smirk, Thomas unbuckles his belt and lets his trousers fall to the floor, revealing his rock-hard erection. Camilla’s eyes widen in anticipation as he climbs onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. His cock, a mighty sword of lust, points straight at her swollen lips, demanding entry.
“Fuck me, Thomas,” Camilla whispers urgently, her voice a seductive purr. “Fuck me like you mean it. Make me scream louder than the king’s fucking flowers!”
Thomas doesn’t need any further encouragement. He aligns his shaft with her slick entrance and thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Camilla’s eyes roll back in ecstasy as she feels herself stretch around his girth. The queen’s moans fill the chamber, echoing off the cold stone walls and mixing with the distant sound of the king’s one-sided conversations.
“Oh, yes! Fuck me harder!” Camilla cries out, her legs wrapping around Thomas’ waist to pull him deeper inside her.
The guard’s hips piston, pounding into her with a fervor that matches the queen’s desperation. His cock stretches her, fills her, and she revels in the sensation of being used so thoroughly. Her hands roam his muscular back, nails digging in as she meets his rhythm thrust for thrust.
The door to the chamber opens, and in stumbles King Charles, his nightgown askew, a bewildered expression on his face as he takes in the lewd scene before him. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, his voice a mix of shock and outrage.
Camilla’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she looks over Thomas’ shoulder at her husband. “Your Royal Highness, it seems your flowers have distracted you again. Perhaps it’s time for you to watch how a real man pleasures his queen!”
King Charles sputters, his face reddening, as Thomas continues to plunge into Camilla’s welcoming depths. The guard’s muscles flex and bulge, his ass cheeks clenching with every powerful stroke. Camilla’s breasts bounce and jiggle with the force of his thrusts, her nipples dark and erect from the sensation.
“Guard! Leave us at once!” the king orders, his voice quivering with rage.
But Camilla is in no mood to be denied. “Oh, no, Charles. Stay. Watch how it’s done!”
The king’s eyes are drawn to the erotic sight against his will. He watches as Camilla’s pussy lips stretch around Thomas’ cock, the wet sounds of their union a stark contrast to the dry, silent nights he’s endured.
Thomas’ movements become more urgent, his breaths ragged and shallow. Camilla’s moans grow louder, her orgasm approaching like a storm on the horizon. She arches her back, her eyes squeezed shut, and then, with a scream that pierces the quiet of the night, she climaxes around Thomas’ cock.
The guard groans, feeling the queen’s muscles clench around him, and with one final, powerful thrust, he empties his seed into her. Camilla’s pussy pulses with the intensity of her release, her body shuddering beneath him.
King Charles’ eyes are glued to the sight before him. He can’t deny the stirring in his own loins, the long-dormant lust that’s been roused by the raw, carnality of the act. His hand moves to his own cock, stroking it softly as he watches Thomas withdraw, his cum leaking out of Camilla’s well-fucked pussy.
“Now, my love,” Camilla says, her voice a siren’s call, “you may clean up the mess this real man has made of me. After all, you do enjoy the taste of your precious plants, don’t you?”
The king’s eyes widen in shock and arousal. He can’t believe his own body’s response to the humiliation. Camilla spreads her legs wide, offering herself to her husband, her pussy gaping and dripping with the guard’s seed.
With trembling hands, King Charles lowers his face to the apex of her thighs. He licks his dry lips and then, with a tentative stroke of his tongue, tastes the salty tang of Thomas’ cum. Camilla’s eyes never leave his as she watches him devour the evidence of her infidelity.
The queen’s body responds to the new sensation, her pussy quivering as her husband laps at her, his tongue delving into her depths. She gasps as he finds her clit, swollen and sensitive from her orgasm, and begins to suck and nibble at it.
The king’s hand works his own cock, his strokes growing more frantic as he watches Camilla’s face contort in pleasure. Yet, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot find his own release. The sight of the guard’s cum in her pussy, the memory of his massive cock stretching her, is too much. It fills him with a strange mix of anger, arousal, and inadequacy.
“Look at him, Charles!” Camilla says, her voice dripping with lust. “Look at how much he enjoyed fucking me! Can’t you see how much more of a man he is than you?”
The king’s hand moves faster, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Camilla’s hips rise to meet his mouth, her legs shaking as she nears another climax.
Thomas, still standing by the bed, watches the scene unfold with a smug grin. He knows he’s just a pawn in the queen’s game, but he’s more than happy to be the one bringing her the pleasure she craves.
Finally, Camilla’s body goes rigid, and she cries out in ecstasy. Her pussy clamps down on the king’s tongue as she cums once more. King Charles pulls back, his face wet with her juices and Thomas’ cum.
“Swallow it, Charles,” Camilla commands. “Swallow every last drop of what a real man has filled your queen with!”
The king obeys, his cheeks flushed with humiliation and arousal. He swallows, the taste of Thomas’ semen coating his throat, and his own cock finally releases. The king’s cum spurts onto the bed, a pitiful display compared to the thick ropes that had filled Camilla’s pussy moments before.
The queen laughs, a throaty, satisfied sound. “Good boy, Charles. Now, go back to your plants. I’ll be needing Thomas’ services again tomorrow night. And perhaps the night after that. And the night after that. After all, a queen must be well-tended to, even if her husband would rather talk to flowers!”
King Charles nods meekly and retreats to his side of the bed, his eyes downcast. Camilla’s eyes never leave the guard’s cock as it slowly softens, a silent promise of the nights to come.
From that evening on, the king’s nightly visits to the garden room are accompanied by the muffled sounds of passion echoing through the castle corridors. Camilla’s moans, the slap of flesh on flesh, and the occasional grunt of satisfaction from her ever-changing lovers.
The queen’s appetite for the royal guardsmen becomes insatiable. Each night, she selects a new man to pleasure her, each one more endowed than the last. The king is forced to listen, his own cock hardening with every sound, knowing he can never measure up.
The guardsmen come and go, each one leaving a piece of themselves behind. Camilla’s pussy is a battleground of lust, conquered and claimed by the most virile men in the kingdom. Yet she remains cold and untouchable to her husband, whose only solace is the silent company of his plants followed only by eating out virile young guardsman's cum from his queen's pussy. |
