King Sized
Britta nods against my back and I relax, feeling like I just walked through a minefield. Why? I have no idea. She could probably care less about the whole situation. She’s just making small talk.
She adds a second finger inside my waistband. A third and a forth.
They push lower, her fingertips brushing my cock.
“Now, Britta…” I swallow hard, looking down and marveling at the sight of her graceful hand lodged inside my pants, my bulge nearly bursting the seams. “We’re going to be there soon. I can’t arrive like this.”
Her fist curls around me, and I choke on a groan. And then I feel her lips kissing up my spine and flames engulf me. “I don’t like thinking of you with women,” she says quietly, still planting kisses in the middle of my back, her fist beginning to stroke me. “I hate it. Is that…terribly improper?”
“No,” I say raggedly. “But it’s unnecessary. I…”
“What?” she whispers.
Oh God, I can’t hold back. The truth is scaling the sides of my throat, desperate to be out in the open. “My cock has belonged to you, my queen, since the day I saw you.”
Her gasp mingles with the loud rapping of my heart. Waiting for her response to my—probably ill-advised—confession, my hands twist in the reins.
“Good,” she whispers, finally, squeezing me tightly in her grip.
That single word, combined with her possessive hold, nearly makes me come. I have to concentrate and bite my lip to stop the semen from spewing out. I’ve never experienced this part of myself. There was never even a hint that I might wish to be…obedient for a woman.
It’s all Britta.
She releases my cock only to trace the seam of my balls with a fingertip. Then she slowly scoops them up and tests them in her soft palm. “Are these mine, too?”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“Yes,” I say raggedly. “Yours.”
How is this really happening? This tiny slip of a girl has a giant by the balls. Literally. She could ask me for anything in the world and I would agree to it. I burn for the chance to please her. Her happiness is the only way to be fulfilled. It makes no sense that she is touching me, an ugly bastard, with her unsoiled hand, but I am too enthralled to stop her.
Too hot. Too grateful. Too desperate.
Her soft hand massages my heavy balls, shooting sparks down to my toes. My cock is engorged to the point of agony, sweat beginning to arrive in embarrassing places. Someone approaches from the opposite direction on the road and I hastily cover my lap with the flap of my unbuttoned uniform jacket. The man waves on his way past us and I nod back. No big deal. I’m just being jacked off by the queen on our way to a party. Happens every day.
She finishes exploring my sack and slips that sweet hand around my dick again, pumping it quickly now. So quickly the air bursts out of me. “I’m going to disgrace myself, Britta.”
“I would like to kiss you here. The way you did to me this afternoon.”
Lust rips into me at the very thought.
I’ve never had a female’s mouth there.
Let alone a mouth as sweet and pure as this girl’s. This girl I worship. It would be the very death of me. “No, love. No.” Using the cuff of my jacket, I swipe sweat from my upper lip, painfully aware that my thighs are beginning to shake, my loins seizing up. And oh Christ, her touch is the perfect torture. Soft and inexperienced, but determined. “You will not serve the servant.”
She leans up and whispers against my neck, her grip flying up and down my throbbing staff. “I can do whatever I want with this,” she murmurs innocently. “It’s mine.”
I erupt.
My come spills into her palm, into my pants, some of it splashing onto the saddle. Relief like I’ve never known courses through my veins, nearly making me dizzy. And it’s not just the pressure in my balls that is lessened, it’s the packed feeling in my chest, because here come the words. Sentiments I try so hard to keep to myself, but in the throes, I have no control. “I’ll do anything for you. I’ll lick that royal little pussy every second of the fucking day. I’ll make you come when you’re horny. When you command it. I will serve you any way you allow. I will…” I thrust my hips into her grip and release my final drops, the consuming tension finally deserting me. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I rasp, dizzy, shocked at the fortune she’s granted me. “Thank you.”
She kisses me on the shoulder and the center of my back, removing her hand from my pants, wiping my spend on the corner of her shawl. Then she wraps her arms around me from behind, as far as they’ll go. “I can’t seem to stop touching you,” she whispers. “If it begins to vex you, do tell me so I can try to stop.”