Down stone steps, damp and old, the air thickened, full of old secrets. The king pushed open another heavy door. The scent of leather, sweat, and old wood filled my lungs—a private world, untouched by daylight. Candlelight flickered over racks of polished restraints, padded benches, and a sprawling bed draped in wine-dark velvet. Chains hung from the ceiling, rings bolted to stone. The marks of memory lingered—worn cuffs, faded bruises, ghosts of pleasure and pain. The king’s eyes glistened, mouth trembling.
“I haven’t opened this room since my wife died,” he confessed, voice almost lost in the hush. “We built it together. All those nights… I want new memories. Take me apart.”
I stepped closer, chest to chest. “You want to be worshipped?” My lips grazed his throat, tongue tasting salt and need. “You want to be ruined?”
“By both of you,” he breathed, gaze darting to Akintola. “Don’t make me beg.”
Akintola’s hands found the king’s belt, unfastening the silk robe in one smooth motion. Fabric pooled at Alexandre’s feet. My own hands skated beneath the pyjama top, palms gliding over heated skin, nails dragging lines down his ribs, the fine hair at his stomach. Akintola’smouth claimed his collarbone, teeth scraping, tongue painting a wet line to the hollow at his throat. Alexandre shuddered between us, cock twitching under silk, arms reaching for my shoulders, then Akintola’s, caught between command and surrender.
“Let us see you, Majesty.” My voice rumbled in his ear as I yanked the shirt wide, baring his chest. Akintola sank to his knees, hands curling under the king’s pyjamas, pushing them down just enough to expose hips, thighs, that aching length trapped by nothing but want.
Our mouths devoured him—mine at his jaw, tongue tracing his pulse, Akintola’s lips at his navel, teeth biting the soft skin above his cock. Alexandre moaned, helpless, clinging to my arms as we stripped him, leaving him in nothing but silk pyjama pants twisted low, every inch of him trembling.
I caught Akintola’s eye. No words needed. We moved in tandem—Akintola crossing behind, taking Alexandre’s wrists in those broad, careful hands, lifting them overhead. I unhooked leather cuffs from the chain dangling from a ceiling beam, securing one wrist, then the other, leaving the king stretched, bare, back arched, toes barely brushing the stone floor.
Alexandre’s breath came in jagged bursts. “Don’t hold back. I want all of it. I want to remember this every time I close my eyes.”
Akintola kissed his shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, and murmured, “You’ll feel this for days.” His hands slid down, gripping Alexandre’s waist, dragging him back against his own chest. My mouth found a nipple, sucking, biting, lavishing every inch with tongue and teeth. The king arched into my mouth, moaning, body writhing, cock straining under silk.
Akintola’s hands mapped him—palms gliding over abs, hips, down to the waistband, fingers dipping under, teasing the line of dark hair, stroking the king’s cock through silk. My teeth grazed the peak of his nipple, lips slick with spit, tongue swirling as I fed on the sounds he made, those desperate, broken noises echoing off stone.
“Fuck,” Alexandre gasped, head falling back, chains rattling above. “More. Take more.”
I pressed my lips to his belly, tongue circling his navel, tastingsweat and longing. Akintola gripped the king’s jaw, forcing his mouth open, then spit into it—long, slow, a filthy offering. Alexandre swallowed greedily, eyes fluttering, begging for more.
“Beautiful like this,” I muttered, kissing the hollow of his throat, licking up to his jaw. “You need us to use you.”
He nodded, voice gone, body shivering as Akintola pinched a nipple, twisting, making him gasp. My tongue slid down, teeth scraping his stomach, pausing at the waistband. Akintola’s hands pinned the king’s hips, grinding against his ass, his own cock already hard behind dark trousers.
“We could keep you like this all night,” Akintola whispered, low and dangerous. “Tied up, worshipped, begging for release. You’d take it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” Alexandre sobbed, writhing in the cuffs, cock leaking through silk, thighs shaking with the effort to stay upright.
I bit the curve of his hip, tongue tracing the waistband, soaking the thin fabric. My hands squeezed his ass, spreading him for Akintola’s roaming touch. Akintola leaned in, mouth at the king’s ear. “Beg for it.”
Alexandre whimpered, voice hoarse, “Please. Touch me. Please, God, I need it?—”
“Good,” I growled. “You’ll get what you deserve.”
Akintola’s hand slid beside mine, both of us working the king. My lips feasted at his stomach, tasting the salt of his sweat, Akintola’s mouth painting bruises along the king’s shoulder, marking him for days. Alexandre shuddered between us, legs trembling, body wracked, nothing left but need and surrender.
I glanced at Akintola, hunger mirrored in his eyes. Wordless agreement sparked between us. My hand dropped away, his lips left the king’s skin, and together we stepped back, letting the king hang from the chains, wrecked, desperate, desperate to be touched but denied. His cock stood hard and wet, twitching, begging for more.
I turned to Akintola. He faced me square, chest rising and falling with the same brutal hunger that thundered in my veins. Our eyes locked. No words. I grabbed the back of his neck, slammed ourmouths together. His lips were hot, mouth all tongue and threat and power. He tasted of leather, sweat, and the forbidden promise of something wild.
His hands found my jaw, gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling me deeper, closer, until I could taste the ragged edge of his control. Our teeth clashed, tongues tangling, spit running down my chin. I broke away, gasping, and spat into his mouth. He swallowed it, eyes gone black, then spat back, thick and slick, coating my tongue.
His hands clawed at my jacket, shoving it off my shoulders, buttons flying. I ripped at his shirt, tearing fabric, fingers desperate to get at his skin. We staggered back, stripping each other in violent, hungry motions, belts dropping, shirts ripped open, skin revealed in flashes—muscle, heat, scars.
The king groaned behind us, chains rattling, cock jerking at the show. “Fuck. God, yes. Don’t stop. Let me see you.”
I shoved Akintola’s shirt off, dragging my mouth down his throat, biting the salt from his skin. My hands traced his chest, thick muscle under smooth skin, tight hair curling against my palms. I pinched a nipple, rolling it until he gasped, biting my shoulder in retaliation.
His hands went to my trousers, yanking the fly open, shoving the fabric down to my thighs, leaving me in black briefs stretched tight over my cock. My own hands stripped his pants down, revealing pale briefs beneath—thick cock already swelling, straining at the cotton, a dark, obscene outline that made my mouth water.
We pressed together, cock to cock, fabric damp with precome, heat radiating where our thighs tangled. Akintola gripped my ass, pulling me closer, grinding against me until my knees almost buckled. His teeth scraped my jaw, tongue licking into my mouth, spit and hunger and something darker passed between us.
“You want to show him how it’s done?” I whispered, low and dangerous. “Let him see what real need looks like?”
