Walking swiftly down the long corridor, his booted heels struck the polished stone floor with a purpose. Each tread echoed loudly in the dimly lit portrait-lined hall, rebounding off the high ceiling and rattling the hinges of the dozens of closed oak doors as he passed. The combination of resonant sounds conveyed his urgency and though he moved quickly, he took in the centuries’ worth of history in the faces of the former kings and queens as they stared out at him from their gilded frames. They seemed to scrutinize him with their narrowed-eyed disdain and haughty expressions. It bothered him not a whit, as he knew none of them were better than him, each as ruthless, whether man or woman. They had done what was necessary to attain the throne, the same as the man he now served.
Smug with satisfaction, Ervin Ives smirked as he passed King Athelmas’ portrait. The trusting fool hadn’t suspected his perfidy. And with his current benefactor’s assistance, no one ever would. A cold wave rushed up his spine, bringing him to an abrupt halt. Was that whispering he heard? He spun, scanning the long hall, seeing nothing except shadowed images of late monarchs. Could it be…
They were long since dead. Every one of them. Besides, who were they to judge? Not a one of the lying, cheating, and yes, murderous sovereigns had a heart or a conscience when it came to what they wanted most: absolute power. That hadn’t come easily, however, nor had it been accomplished alone. Each had put their faith in at least one trusted vassal. In the current monarch’s rise to the throne, Ervin was that vassal.
Continuing along his path, he thought back on the past few months, of his hard work, all the plotting and scheming, and then putting those plans into action with great risk to himself if he were caught. Through it all, he kowtowed incessantly and endured stomach-turning ass kissing, which may have been the hardest part of all. He shuddered in revulsion, trying to shake off the recollections of all the repulsive and humbling acts he’d had to carry out. Then, he focused on his goal. It was at long last within reach, as was the rich reward he’d been promised. Tired of being a mere sir, he had an earldom in mind and to rule over his home district would suit him fine. He had bent over backward to make it possible, after all.
Without the slightest nod of acknowledgement to the guards, who snapped to attention at his approach, he rounded the corner and entered the prince regent’s private wing.
Lord Ives, he thought to himself.
Better yet, Lord Ervin, earl of Lancore.
The power he would wield over the staid and righteous prigs of his community stirred his body, the heady notion causing his shaft to rouse, as well. He grinned as his would-be title resonated satisfyingly in his head. It would roll off their tongues as they bowed down before him.
Laughing aloud, he quickened his pace even more, eager to share the good tidings with the prince, a selfish, power-hungry hedonist like himself. Nordman would be more than pleased to hear that tonight the final piece of the puzzle had at last fallen into place.
At the private rooms of his royal highness, he eased open the door without knocking, one of the few who would dare to do so. As he closed it quietly behind him, he saw the evening’s entertainment was already underway. His semi-rigid cock filled and grew to full length as he regarded the three beauties lined up in the middle of the room, their jewel-toned silk robes doing little to conceal their seductive curves beneath. The alluring trio, which included a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, were giddy with laughter and seemed not to mind that the prince regent, the most powerful man in the land, had parted his robes and was stroking his prick as he overtly gawked at their charms.
The prince didn’t flinch when a door slammed on the far side of the room, as the large man who entered and strode across the vast chamber was evidently expected. Standing well over six feet tall and near twenty stone in weight, he was dressed in nothing except a leather loincloth, his massive frame and bulging muscles on blatant display. In his big, brawny arms, he carried a variety of implements. Recognizing the wrist and ankle cuffs, a multi-thonged leather scourge, and toy phalluses, Ervin shifted restlessly. This was exactly the brand of entertainment he preferred.
His attention shifted from the erotic devices the man laid down on a table, located conveniently near the center of the room, to the huge man himself. As he came up alongside the women and bowed low to his prince, Ervin recognized him. Ranulf the Endowed he was called amongst the royal guard, except it wasn’t his appointment as captain they were referring to. The man was purported to be hung as generously as the largest steed in the royal stables.
Although men were not his preference, Ervin was curious to know if the rumors could possibly be true and stepped further into the room. He settled into an empty chair to the side where he could take it all in, yet not disturb the heir to the throne who wouldn’t appreciate an interruption of his amusements. His news could wait until the erotic performance had concluded. He then settled back to watch the exchange.
“Sir Ranulf, the king’s champion,” called the prince, his hand still inside his robes, the movements leaving no question that he continued to stroke himself. “I was beginning to think that I’d have to pleasure your lovely concubines all by myself.”
The women simpered and giggled, as though his highness was funnier than the very best court jester. They were obviously well trained and didn’t show the least bit of disappointment when his velvet robes fell open with the ceaseless royal wanking to reveal the less than impressive weapon the prince was sporting. Ervin was forever amazed, as he’d seen the man’s rod more times than he cared to recall—the prince having a predilection for lounging in his rooms quite naked—that such a powerful man had a rather small prick. He suppressed a chuckle at the paradox.
“My apologies, your highness,” came the huge man’s rumbling response. “I was gathering some implements to increase your enjoyment and was hopeful that my concubines would keep you amused while you waited. Drusilla, Priscilla, Ursula,” he barked, “strip for the prince regent.”
In a whoosh of fabric, round breasts, milky-white skin, and denuded pussies were bared in triplicate. The three then postured and posed for the libidinous noble as their master prepared the scene. In only a few moments, he approached the women and ordered, “Arch.” Immediately, and in a highly provocative display, they presented their rosy-tipped breasts to him while he adorned each of their nipples with what to Ervin’s experienced eye were biting clamps. The women all hissed as they were applied, but none pulled away. To the short chain that dangled from each clamp, Ranulf added small weights that tugged their firm breasts downward, elongating their reddening nipples. He gave them each a little flick, setting them in motion, and smiling as the women groaned and murmured appreciatively in response.
What followed was a purely erotic spectacle in the form of a ménage à quatre, which like a twisted sexual stage play was apparently well planned out to indulge perfectly the regent’s voyeuristic inclinations.
With the prince looking on, Ranulf directed Priscilla, the brunette and Ursula, the redhead to lie on the floor, their thighs wide spread and aimed in Prince Nordman’s direction while they pleasured themselves with their nimble fingers. As they splayed their wet lips and began to play with their glistening folds, Ranulf bound the third wench by the wrists and ankles to the inside of a freestanding wooden frame. He then knelt before her spread and vulnerable body. Taking up one of his implements, a smooth phallic-shaped piece of polished wood, without preamble, he pushed it into her quivering cunt, filling her until she moaned loudly. He proceeded to frig her with it, pulling and twisting her clamped nipples with his free hand as he did.
Drusilla tossed her golden head, writhing in her restraints while crying out for more. The master, apparently content to do his slave’s bidding in this moment, drove the phallus up into her faster, and to Ervin’s delight, in between tugging hard on her clamps, he began slapping her bouncing breasts with his giant, bear-like paws until her skin took on a pink hue from his relentless ministrations. Her moans became breathless entreaties, begging to be allowed to come while she squirmed lustfully in her bindings. Her master didn’t consent, however, continuing to plow her vigorously with the unyielding wood. And it seemed he wasn’t satisfied with coloring only her tits because every few slaps, he’d curl his long, brawny arm around behind her and whack her ass cheeks lustily.
Ervin leaned forward with anticipation when her hips thrust forward in response, the movement allowing the still thrusting rod to enter more deeply. Her enthusiasm spurred Ranulf on so that he pumped the phallus more vigorously in and out until her cries filled the room and liquid, emanating from deep between her thighs, gushed in an outpouring that coated both the pumping rod and his hand.
Leaving her hanging limply, a well-satisfied smile on her lips, the huge man moved to Priscilla. He easily flipped her over on her hands and knees.
“Spread,” Ranulf commanded as he selected two frigging devices from his collection this time. Having watched the carnal satisfaction the other woman had attained, the brunette urged her master on by spreading her legs vulgarly, making it easy for him as he put one false cock at the entrance to each of her holes. As he filled her cunt with one and crammed her ass full with the other, he rose up on his knees and commanded Ursula’s attention with a jerk of his head and a growled, “Suck me, wench.”
An amused laugh filled the room. A quick check of the royal spectator proved he was highly entertained. Breathing rapidly, he stared, transfixed by the carnal scene, and he hadn’t missed a beat in his self-pleasure as he continued stroking himself at an increased pace.
“From what I’ve heard, it will be an extraordinary feat if she can take more than the head of that log you call a cock, man. I have to wonder; do you lament ever being fully engulfed?”
“Nay, highness,” Ranulf replied, noticing that every male eye was rapt on the redhead who crawled over to him. “Since I usually command the attention of all three at once, either one cunt, or a tight ass, and two busy tongues, or all three sucking me off at once, I’m not left wanting from my size.”
Neither Ervin nor the prince could contain their gasps of shock as Ursula removed his loincloth. Yet she seemed unperturbed as she immediately began lapping at the end of her master’s rampant shaft. It was apparent she had done this before as she focused on wetting him completely before she stretched her mouth to its limit and took the enormous burgeoning tip between her lips. What she couldn’t fit, which was almost half of the long shaft, she encircled with her small white hands and began to pump diligently while still sucking and slurping on the head. Ranulf growled, clearly enjoying her attention as he worked the sham cocks busily into Priscilla, who by rocking back and forth on her knees, helped him fuck her to a feverish frenzy until she let out an animal-like wail as she was brought to release.
Ranulf ordered the still slurping girl off his cock and rose, his erection appearing much like a third fist and forearm where it sprang from his groin. He hauled the third and as yet unsatisfied woman to her feet, before proceeding to bind her wrists to a chain suspended from the ceiling in the center of the room. He then untied his first concubine who had by this time recovered and set her before Ursula, her face at cunt level.
“Lick her, wench,” Ranulf commanded gruffly, “and do not stop until I have found my pleasure.”
Drusilla didn’t hesitate and with a grin on her lips, buried her face between Ursula’s rounded thighs. Whimpers and moans of pleasure rose instantly from the bound concubine’s lips as Ranulf walked behind her. He hooked his hands beneath the girl’s knees and pulled them to her chest while he lifted her, exposing her entire slit and ass, and affording his audience a clear view of the creamy dew weeping from within.
“Use your tongue and make her rear hole ready for me,” he charged of the woman on her knees who obediently moved her head lower and slid her enthusiastic tongue over the small, pink, wrinkled orifice.
“’Tis impossible,” the prince uttered in awe, clearly expecting as Ervin did that his massive shaft might rend her in two.
A scream rent the air right on cue as Ranulf’s large, plum-sized cock head disappeared into the woman’s widely stretched ass. He stopped for a moment, demanding of the woman on her knees, “Keep licking, wench, spit on my rod and make it nice and slick.”
With Drusilla’s tongue preparing the way, Ranulf managed to work his vast tool deep into Ursula’s tight channel. By the time he had given her all she could possibly take, the woman’s wails had turned to moans and guttural cries. There was no denying she called out in both pleasure and pain, still she begged, “Take me, sir knight, please.”
He began to slowly fuck her, moving in and out steadily as he gradually increased speed. Before long he was using her ass as roughly as he would a pussy, ramming himself upward over and over while the mouth and tongue that aided his passage worked tirelessly between her splayed and juice-slickened thighs.
“Come, Ursula,” Ranulf commanded at length. The woman immediately complied, her climactic cries inundating the air for an instant before Ranulf’s answering roar drowned her out as he plowed lustily into her from behind and emptied himself inside of her.
After a few moments of heaving chests and satisfied whimpers, he withdrew. Releasing his impaled and incoherent beauty, he set her on all fours alongside Priscilla and Drusilla, and bade them both to lick her clean.
Aroused beyond measure from the overt lust sweeping the room, Ervin reached for his own rod, fisting it through his hose as he watched the still aroused trio on the floor. They seemed insatiable, sustaining their passion as they stroked and kissed each other, caressing up-thrust breasts, sucking hard nipples, and lapping at the glistening lips of one another’s weeping pussy.
“Would you like to pleasure his highness, my lovelies?” Ranulf asked of them. They nodded, smiles gracing their lips as they beckoning to the regent with outstretched arms and parted thighs.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Prince Nordman stand and shrug off his robes. “Ervin,” he said, moving with intent toward the three naked writhing bodies, “won’t you join us? We will discuss your business after we see to our pleasure.”
At least two hours passed before the prince had found satisfaction and the room had emptied. As was his habit, when done with a wench—or wenches, which was often the case—his royal highness slept alone with guards at the door out of fear of treachery, which considering his own betrayals, wasn’t completely unhinged. Only Ervin still remained.
Thinking to return later to share his good news, he rose from the floor, where he’d enjoyed one of the three women, and searched for his clothing, preparing to leave quietly.
Once his doublet and hose were put to rights, he stealthily moved toward the door.
“What of great import did you rush in to tell me earlier?” his highness called from the vast bed.
“Pardon the disturbance.” With a deferential tone, he chose his words deliberately. “I thought I used greater furtiveness. When I saw you were entertaining, I intended to leave, but I thought your majesty would wish to be apprised of developments as soon as possible.”
Linens rustled as the new king sat bolt upright in bed.
“’Tis done, then?” he demanded. “My father is dead?”
“Indeed, sire. Only moments before I entered, he passed, leaving no further barriers between you and the throne.”
King Nordman stared at him for a long silent moment, then whooped gleefully. “At last, at long, long last,” he cried, practically leaping from the bed in all his naked royal splendor.
Ervin suppressed a grimace as he averted his eyes from the flopping flaccid display and still managed to say evenly, “Congratulations, my gracious king.”
King Nordman slipped on a robe and rushed across the room. “There is so much to do, Ervin. We have a coronation to plan.”
“Excuse me saying so, your majesty, but word has spread throughout the palace and will soon ripple across the kingdom. Your father was well loved by the people, and on the heels of your brothers’ deaths, might I suggest a subdued period of mourning before the celebration?”
“Yes, yes,” the king agreed, deflating somewhat, his hand coming up to stroke his jaw in concentration. “I suppose I must put on black and wail about with the others.” He pulled a face briefly, then slapped Ervin heartily on the shoulder. “Only you and I will be the wiser.”
King Nordman eyed him up and down for a moment. The two men were of an age. Where Ervin was tall and sturdy, the new king was a shorter man, rounder, and already going to fat from overindulgence.
“You helped me attain this, Ervin, and I shan’t forget that it was your poison that took Athelmas the Altruistic.” He practically spat his father’s moniker given to him by his grateful people. “Nor will I disremember it was your knife that cut the bindings of the Crown Prince Ardman’s saddle or your hands that loosened the railing that conveniently gave way and sent Hermann, his next heir, and a pain in my royal ass, tumbling to his death. I have you to thank and also to blame for all of these treasonous acts. What say you about that?”
“I say we both have each other over the proverbial barrel, my king, but add respectfully that I live only to please you.”
Nordman eyed him at length, both men clear in the understanding that each had the other by the ballocks. A slow grin transformed the king’s pudgy face. “Such a circumspect answer, Ervin; you always were a sly one. I shall endeavor to keep you on my side. You shall have Lancore as you’ve wanted, my friend, both in reward and as a reminder that if word ever gets out, both of us will topple from our lofty positions.”
“I understand, sire, and will take the knowledge of how this night was arrived at to my grave, as I know you will as well.”
Nordman chuckled, covering his mouth to muffle the growing sound as his joy bubbled. Ervin, as pleased as the king, joined him in silent celebration.