“Don’t come until I say,” Akintola ordered, hand gripping the king’s hip, holding him in place. “Want you begging, ruined, bred by both of us, filled so deep you’ll leak for days.”
I knelt in front of the king, rubbing the head of my cock against his lips, smearing precome across his face, watching spit and drool drip down his chin, soaking the rug. The sight undid me—a king brought to his knees, body stretched, hole slick and open, mouth gagged and messy, owned by two men who wanted nothing more than to fill him, break him, claim him for our own.
Akintola pressed in, just the tip, holding there, letting the king feel the stretch, the pressure, the promise of what was to come. I fed the king the head of my cock, letting him suck around the gag, tongue swirling, drool running down, making a mess of us all.
Akintola pressed the head of his cock against the king’s hole, pausing just long enough for all three of us to savor the moment—the stretch, the slick promise of what was about to happen. The king arched, hands braced against the velvet, ass high, drool and sweat running down his chest, thighs trembling as Akintola pushed in, inch by inch, working past the tightness until his hips pressed flush to the king’s ass.
A shudder ran through the king’s body, every muscle quivering with the effort to take it, to open, to surrender completely. Akintola’s hands gripped his hips, powerful and sure, pulling him back, grinding deeper, every movement deliberate—staking his claim, making sure the king felt every thick, aching inch.
My hand worked my cock, slicked up to the wrist with lube and spit, pressing the head to the king’s lips, dragging it over his face. The gag forced him to suck, eyes wide, drool and precome painting his chin. I watched the way his gaze flicked up—pleading, hungry, desperate for more.
“Take him,” Akintola growled, hips rolling in slow, punishing thrusts, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the stone. “Let him ruinyou from the inside, Majesty. Let us both fill you, over and over, until you’re dripping for days.”
Lube spilled over my knuckles, slippery and cool, mixing with the heat of our bodies, the scent of sex filling the room—sharp and heavy, impossible to mistake for anything but pure, hungry need. Akintola spit down the king’s back, working it over the arch of his spine, letting it pool at the base, then using it to slide in deeper, twisting his hips, grinding against the king’s sweet spot until his whole body trembled.
We worked him, two bodies pressed to his, hands and cocks and mouths everywhere, feeding off each other’s need, every movement a promise, a threat, a declaration of war and worship. The king writhed between us, ass stretched wide, hole fluttering around Akintola’s cock, lips slick and swollen around mine, lost to everything but sensation.
Akintola pulled out slow, letting the king feel every ridge, every pulse, then slammed back in, harder, making the king grunt, the sound raw and perfect. I pulled out of his mouth, cupping his jaw, tilting his head up so he could see the hunger in my eyes.
“Ready to ride, Majesty?” I asked, voice low and rough, breath ragged with want. “You want to take us both? Want to show us how filthy you can be?”
He nodded, frantic, body begging for more, every muscle straining for release.
We manhandled him upright, hands gripping his arms, his hips, his ass, hauling him onto my lap, guiding the slick head of my cock to his spit-and-lube-soaked hole. Akintola knelt behind, hands steadying the king’s waist, palms splayed across sweat-slick skin.
I lined up, pressing in, letting him sink onto me, slow and relentless, inch by inch, feeling the tight heat swallow me whole. His head dropped to my shoulder, breath ragged, gag muffling the cries as I filled him, hips rocking up, grinding deep, holding him there, locked together.
Akintola moved in behind, hands sliding down to the king’s thighs, spreading them wider, steadying him, guiding his body to take us both. We took turns—Akintola thrusting deep while I held the king open, then switching, me pulling out while Akintola filled him, ourhands never leaving his body, never letting him rest, always keeping him on edge.
Lube pooled between us, slicking every thrust, every grind, every desperate push for more. We let the king ride us, his own hips rolling, working himself onto each cock, ass stretched wide, hole gaping and dripping, mouth gagged and drooling, body used and cherished and ruined for anything but this.
The air was thick with the sound of bodies, wet and obscene, with the slap of skin on skin, the sharp gasp of breath, the growl of command and the whimper of surrender. My hands gripped the king’s hips, lifting him, bouncing him on my cock, feeling the way he clenched and loosened, taking every inch, every demand.
Akintola spat again, letting it run down the king’s back, massaging it into his skin, then sliding his fingers around to stroke the king’s cock, working him in time with our thrusts, pushing him closer and closer to the edge, never letting him fall.
We kept him there, manhandled and worshipped, plugged and gagged and taken, every inch of him a canvas for our desire—a masterpiece of filth, of power, of surrender.
Akintola’s hand gripped the king’s jaw, angling his head to meet my gaze—a silent order passing between us, hunger and challenge swirling beneath the surface. My own pulse throbbed in my ears, drowning out everything but the press of our bodies, the slick slide of flesh and heat and spit. My thighs shook from restraint, every muscle locked in anticipation, knowing what was coming next.
Akintola’s chest pressed to the king’s back, hands moving over trembling hips, staking his place behind the throne. I felt the shudder run through the king, raw and helpless, muscles fluttering with every inch he took. My palms spread his cheeks, the curve of his ass blazing with heat, and my cock flexed at the sight—Akintola’s thick length nudging, teasing, demanding entrance alongside mine.
“Open up for us,” I rasped against his ear, teeth scraping the shell, voice nothing but gravel and threat. “Show us you can take it. Show us how greedy you are for your own ruin.” My spit dripped from his jaw to his chest, mingling with sweat and the drool leaking past the gag.The king’s body bowed, hips rolling, surrendering completely to our will.
Akintola lined himself up, fist wrapped tight around the base of both our cocks, squeezing us together, pressing the blunt heat of his shaft to the king’s stretched entrance. My hips surged forward, burying myself deep, feeling the king’s body quake around me, fluttering, desperate, raw with anticipation.
“Ready for both?” Akintola rumbled, voice vibrating against my spine, eyes locked with mine over the king’s shoulder. “You want to be fucked open, stuffed so full you’ll never forget it?”
A wild, choked sound tore from the king’s throat, every inch of him begging, pleading, surrendering. His legs trembled, toes digging into the velvet rug, head thrown back onto my shoulder, hair damp with sweat.
“Hold him steady,” Akintola ordered. My arms locked around the king’s chest, muscles straining as I pulled him back, chest to chest, his heart hammering wild and frantic beneath my palm. My cock pulsed inside him, aching for more, for the filthy, perfect stretch of another body joining mine.
Akintola pressed forward, slow and relentless, spit and lube making the impossible slick, the tight heat parting for us both. The first push made the king sob, hips rocking, thighs clamping tight around my waist. Akintola paused, one hand stroking the king’s hip, the other guiding his cock alongside mine, pushing, twisting, working both of us into that greedy, desperate heat.
The pressure built, relentless, fire racing up my spine, the king’s body spasming with each inch we claimed. I whispered filth into his ear, words tumbling out ragged and true—promises of ownership, ruin, devotion, threats that landed like prayers. “You were made for this. You were made to be taken, to be stretched and filled, to have two cocks splitting you open until you beg for mercy.”
Akintola pushed deeper, sweat slicking his chest, the veins standing out in his forearms as he forced his way in, relentless, pitiless, a low growl vibrating in his throat. Together, we filled the king, inch by inch, our cocks grinding together inside his body, every pulseand tremor magnified by the friction and pressure. The king arched, head thrown back, a wordless scream ripped from his chest, muffled by the gag, body shaking, almost convulsing with sensation.
Now we were locked together, bodies pressed so close there was no space for breath or thought—only sensation, only the hunger that clawed through all three of us. Akintola thrust, hips driving forward, forcing us deeper, grinding our cocks together inside the king’s stretched, trembling body. My own hips moved in counterpoint, rocking up, grinding back, every thrust a demand, every grind a declaration of worship and power.
