“Open wider,” Akintola growled, voice rough. I obeyed, letting him guide the king’s cock into my mouth, the head stretching my lips, tongue pressing flat beneath as I swallowed him deep. Akintola spit on the shaft, stroking what wouldn’t fit, his fist pumping, squeezing, massaging the base, his breath hot in my ear. “Take him—show him how much you want it.”
I choked, tears prickling at my eyes, jaw stretched, nose pressed to the king’s stomach, the taste of him flooding my mouth. Akintola’s hand cupped my neck, squeezing, holding me in place as the king bucked, his moans falling like prayers from above.
I pulled off, strings of spit and precome connecting my lips to the tip, gasping for air. Akintola dove in, swallowing the king down, lips sealing around the shaft, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, tongue working the slit, milking more slick from the tip. I spat into my palm, rubbing it over the king’s balls, squeezing, rolling, fingers kneading the tight skin, coaxing him closer to the edge.
We fed off each other’s hunger, passing the king’s cock back and forth, lips brushing, tongues sharing, spit everywhere—slicking the shaft, dripping onto the velvet below, smeared across faces and chins. Akintola licked a long, slow line from base to head, pausing to spit, letting it drool down until I caught it with my tongue, licking it up, swallowing him down again.
Akintola’s mouth stayed on the king’s cock, lips sealing around the thick head, tongue tracing the slit, spit running down the shaft in obscene trails. My chest heaved, mouth aching for more, body burning with the need to possess every part of the man trembling in the cuffs.
I broke away, crawling behind Alexandre, breath hot against the small of his back. My hands mapped his hips, the muscle shuddering under my grip. Nails dug in, forcing his stance wider, knees straining as I pushed his thighs apart, spreading him open for my pleasure and his humiliation.
A growl ripped out of me, half reverence, half greed. The hair at his hole was thick and dark, sweat shining on skin, the musky scent dizzying, everything about him offered up, bare and raw, no room leftfor dignity or shame. I spat between his cheeks, saliva trailing down, slicking the furrow, watching it run in slow, sticky rivers.
My tongue darted out, swiping through hair, licking up every drop, tasting sweat, salt, power. The first touch of my mouth on his rim drew a helpless sob from the king, body bowing forward, chains clanging, cock jerking deeper into Akintola’s throat. I licked again, slower, dragging my tongue over his hole, teasing it open, working spit into the skin, savoring every reaction, every tremor.
Akintola groaned approval, never losing his rhythm, one hand pumping the base of the king’s cock, the other rolling his balls, mouth working the head with steady, hungry strokes. His free hand reached back, grabbing my wrist, squeezing, then letting go, just a silent command to give everything I had.
My tongue pressed in, circling the rim, flattening against the muscle, then stabbing deep, fucking him with my mouth. I gripped his ass, spreading him wider, kneading the flesh, biting down hard enough to bruise, then soothing the sting with more spit, more worship. The taste of him—sweat, salt, need—drove me wild, made my cock leak, aching for friction.
“Filthy,” I whispered, breath ghosting over his hole. “You want to be ruined, don’t you? Want to be taken apart right here, where anyone could see.”
A broken moan tore out of him, hips rocking back against my mouth, cock surging in Akintola’s hand. I spat again, thick and slow, watching it drip into the hair, then licked it up, lips pressed tight, tongue working in and out, eating him like I’d never get another chance.
My thumb pressed against the rim, working in slow, relentless circles, spreading spit, teasing the muscle until it gave. I slipped the tip in, just enough to breach, twisting and stroking, tongue lapping at the same time, every nerve on fire.
“More,” the king begged, words slurred, almost incoherent. “Please, I need—need all of you?—”
Akintola’s mouth left his cock, lips slick with spit and precome, eyes black with hunger. “He’s begging for it,” he growled, voice thick,hand never leaving the king’s shaft. “You hear that, Viktor? He wants to be filled.”
I answered by pushing my finger deeper, tongue flicking over the rim, savoring the tightness, the heat, the sheer filth of worshipping a king brought so low. I pressed my free hand to his lower back, holding him still, then slapped his ass, the sound sharp, echoing in the dungeon. His hole clenched around my finger, body jolting forward, cock pulsing.
The next spank landed, harder, my finger sinking all the way to the knuckle. He cried out, the sound tearing out of him, hips driving back for more. Akintola’s grip tightened on the king’s cock, milking him in slow, torturous strokes, mouth pressed to the shaft, tongue swirling, spit running down to my knuckles.
I added a second finger with the next smack, twisting, spreading him, stretching the rim wide. The heat, the squeeze, the slick friction drove me wild, made my cock throb against the velvet rug. I bent to tongue his balls, licking, sucking, spitting, my fingers never stopping their ruthless work inside him.
Akintola watched, eyes devouring every movement, hand stroking his own cock in slow, tight pulls. “Give him everything, Viktor. He can take it. He was made for this.”
Another spank, another finger. Three now, working deep, scissoring, stretching, the king’s body shuddering, voice lost to pleasure. I spat down, letting it pool around my knuckles, using it to fuck him harder, deeper, tongue and lips never far from his hole, worshipping, owning, ruining.
His ass blushed dark red, the skin hot, marked by my hands. Each slap sent a ripple through his body, each finger a new invasion, a new promise. I bit the curve of his cheek, sucked a bruise into the flesh, then soothed it with a slow lick, spit glistening in the candlelight.
Akintola bent lower, mouth meeting mine over the king’s hole, tongues tangling, spit mixing, then both of us lapping at the rim, sharing the taste, feeding off each other’s hunger. Our hands worked in tandem—mine inside, his stroking the king’s cock, milking him, edging him, denying him release.
“Take it,” I commanded, voice rough, finger thrusting deep. “Open for me, for us. Beg for more.”
The king sobbed, chains rattling, thighs shaking. “Yes—please—don’t stop—want more—need to feel you—fill me—break me?—”
I spit one more time, thick and wet, watching it drip into his hole, then drove my fingers in harder, scissoring, stretching, worshipping with tongue and touch and filthy words until the king was nothing but need, nothing but surrender, nothing but ours.
Chains rattled overhead, the king’s body trembling, skin slick and marked from worship. My fingers slid free from his hole with a slick pop, knuckles glazed in spit, and I pressed a final kiss to the small of his back—a promise, a warning. Akintola reached up, strong hands working the locks, releasing first one wrist, then the other, the cuffs clattering against the stone. Alexandre slumped, shoulders dropping, head falling forward, chest heaving, every muscle on the verge of collapse.
“Down,” I commanded, gripping his hair and guiding him. “On your knees. You’re not done. You want to please, you earn it.”
He collapsed willingly, knees hitting the velvet with a dull thud, hands bracing the rug, chest still marked by the chains. The sight stole my breath: a king, hair wild, lips swollen, hole gaping and wet, trembling with need, ready to be devoured all over again.
Akintola and I circled him, bodies radiating heat, cocks heavy and leaking. I stepped in front of him, hand fisted at the base of my cock, tip glistening with precome, shaft still red from the friction of my own grip. Akintola moved to the king’s side, guiding his head so he was pinned between us, mouths and hands everywhere, his own cock fat and flushed, the scent of both of us thick in the air.
“Open up,” Akintola growled, voice dark as thunder, fingers prying Alexandre’s jaw, guiding his mouth to my cock. I pressed the head to his lips, tongue flicking out, collecting the first drop of slick. His mouth opened, taking me in, lips tight, tongue working the slit, moaning around the girth as he swallowed me down.
