Akintola grinned, dark and filthy, hands running down my chest, fingers digging into my hips, pulling me flush. “Let’s make him beg for it. Let’s make him wish he was here, on his knees between us.”
Our mouths crashed together again, frantic and unrestrained. Hegrabbed my throat, thumb pressing into the pulse at my neck, holding me in place as he licked into my mouth, tongue sliding over mine, thick spit dripping down our chins. I bit his lip, tasted blood and groaned, hips grinding against his, the friction just shy of enough.
He shoved his hand between us, grabbed my cock through the briefs, squeezing hard enough to make me see stars. I moaned into his mouth, reaching down to return the favor, palming his length, marveling at the sheer size of him—thick and heavy, head leaking through damp cotton. My thumb pressed over the wet spot, dragging slick down the shaft, rolling my wrist to tease him mercilessly.
“Strip for me,” I commanded, voice guttural. “Let him see what you are. What you could do to him.”
Akintola stepped back, eyes never leaving mine, never leaving the king’s. He peeled his briefs down just far enough to let his cock bounce free, fat and flushed, veins bulging, obscene and perfect. I dragged my own briefs down, baring myself, cock hard and dripping, balls tight against my body. For a long moment, we just stared, drinking each other in, letting the king watch, letting him ache for what he couldn’t have.
I grabbed Akintola by the hips, pulled him close, our cocks sliding against each other, slick and hot, precum mixing between us. He spat into his palm, grabbed both our shafts, stroking them together, slow and deliberate, grinding his forehead into mine, eyes locked.
The king moaned, chains creaking as he strained to get closer. “You’re killing me. Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”
I looked over my shoulder, caught the king’s gaze, watched the desperate hunger flicker and burn in his eyes. Akintola spat again, thick and wet, coating his fist, stroking us harder, faster, until I was shaking, my hips jerking into his grip.
Akintola’s fist worked both our cocks, slow at first, then ruthless, his spit slicking the length of us, hips rocking in time with every pull. My body shook, nerves sparking under his touch. The chain creaked, the king’s moans filling the dungeon, desperate, hungry, lost in the sight of two men stripping each other bare for him.
I broke away, tearing myself from Akintola’s grip, breath tearingout of me in ragged bursts. My hand wrapped around my own cock, the head purple and shining, veins standing in relief. Akintola followed my lead, fist tightening at the base of his own, his eyes locked on mine, challenge burning between us. We stood side by side, a few feet from the king, bare but for sweat, muscles tensed and flexing under the candlelight.
The king’s chest heaved, cheeks flushed, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched us, wild and undone.
My hand moved with slow precision, twisting at the head, thumb pressing hard just under the ridge. I made a show of it, pumping long and slow, rolling my hips for the king’s benefit. Muscles flexed along my arms, abs tightening, sweat breaking over my chest. Every movement was for him, every sound pulled from his mouth like a tribute.
Akintola stood close enough for his heat to radiate against my skin, his own fist working his cock in steady, hungry pulls. The size of him was obscene, thick and heavy, shaft curving up toward his navel, each stroke making his hips twitch. He dragged his free hand over his chest, pinching a nipple, the muscle beneath his skin jumping at the touch. His jaw clenched, eyes slitted, every breath a low, dangerous growl.
The king strained against the cuffs, chains groaning overhead. “Please. Please, I can’t take it—need to see you come for me. Want you to lose control. Want to drown in it.”
Akintola met my gaze, that wolf’s grin curling at his lips. “He’s begging. I say we give him a show he’ll never forget.” His voice rumbled, vibrating through me, feeding the ache that had been burning between my legs since the moment his hands touched me.
I spat into my palm, slicking my cock, working myself harder, my other hand dragging down my body, over the arch of my hip, up my chest. I twisted a nipple, squeezed, made myself shudder, wanting him to see just how badly I needed it. Akintola mirrored me, pinching his own nipple, groaning, then running his palm up the length of his cock, squeezing at the tip, letting a bead of slick drip onto the floor.
We circled each other, orbiting, always just a breath away from touching again. I flexed my abs, rolling my shoulders, showing theking every inch of strength, every ripple of muscle working under my skin. Akintola did the same, arms raised behind his head for a moment, chest thrust out, every line on display, cock bobbing heavy between his legs.
The king whimpered, eyes glazed, hips rolling helplessly, the soaked silk of his pyjamas gluing itself to his skin. His cock jutted through the open fly, flushed and leaking, thighs shaking as he tried to fuck the air, desperate for friction.
Akintola circled around the king’s side, meeting my gaze with a glint of mischief. I prowled in close from the other, knees sinking into the velvet rug, the two of us like wolves closing in on the prize. The king’s thighs trembled above us, feet braced, toes curling against the cold stone floor, chains overhead groaning as his weight shifted, skin shining with sweat, silk twisted around those strong legs.
We made him wait, hands sliding up his calves, nails scratching a path up to his knees. My palms flattened against the damp silk, feeling the heat of his cock pressed beneath, twitching and straining to be freed. Akintola mirrored me, his broad hands cupping the king’s quads, squeezing, working higher, higher, until his knuckles brushed mine at the hem of those ruined pyjamas.
“Patience, Majesty,” I murmured, my breath hot against his thigh, tongue darting out to taste the salt from his skin. My teeth grazed the inside of his knee, leaving a crescent of red. Akintola licked a stripe up the other, slow and possessive, spitting just below the fabric, rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb.
The king groaned, hands flexing against the cuffs. “God—please?—”
Both of us hooked our fingers into the waistband, dragging the sodden silk down inch by inch. The fabric clung to his skin, plastered by sweat and slick, peeling away only with effort, revealing the thick base of his cock, heavy and flushed, leaking a glistening trail down the shaft. I dragged my mouth along the exposed skin, tongue tracing veins, breathing in musk and power.
Akintola took the other side, mouthing at his hip, lips moving in wet kisses, jaw scraping against the king’s stomach. We worked in concert, rolling the pyjamas down to the floor, baring him, the lengthof his cock slapping heavy against his thigh. I pressed my tongue to the shaft, licking up a drop of precome, humming approval as I tasted him, savoring the mix of salt, need, and something unmistakably royal.
The king’s cock was a masterpiece—broad at the base, curving up, the head blushed dark and slick, every inch pulsing with life. My lips brushed the tip, tongue flicking out to gather the wetness, then I leaned back, spitting thick and slow down the shaft, letting it drip and run, glistening as Akintola’s hand joined mine.
Akintola bent low, sucked one of the king’s balls into his mouth, rolling it, tongue lapping at the soft skin, spit pooling and dripping down to his thighs. I pressed open-mouthed kisses to the other side, nipping and licking, hands roaming up the king’s stomach, fingers splayed wide as I worshipped every inch within reach.
The king’s hips jerked, desperate for friction, desperate for more. “Please,” he gasped, breath ragged, voice unraveling. “Need your mouths—need both of you?—”
I grinned, lips slick, then spat again, letting it trail from my tongue to the head of his cock, mixing with the precome already leaking down his shaft. Akintola did the same, spit stringing from his lips, drenching the length, working it into the skin with slow, reverent strokes. Together we slicked him up, two mouths, four hands, spit and hunger turning worship into something holy and profane.
I kissed the head, lips parting, tongue circling the ridge, teasing, tasting. Akintola pressed in from the other side, lips joining mine around the tip, our tongues meeting, sliding over each other as we shared him, spit mixing, breath mingling. The taste of him filled my mouth, thick and overwhelming, the heat of Akintola’s tongue sliding against mine, making my cock ache, my body vibrate with need.
We took turns, passing the head between us, lips and tongues laving every inch, mouths moving in filthy tandem. I sucked the crown deep, moaning around the girth, feeling the king’s body seize above me, muscles quaking. Akintola’s lips trailed down the shaft, sucking a bruise into the base, then returning to share the head, mouths pressing together, spit shining on our chins.
