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He pulls up the last layer of fabric and reveals a huge cock, weeping with precum.
My mouth waters, and I scramble onto his face.
“You are exquisite from all angles.” King Henry grabs my ass with both hands, his thumbs spreading open my cheeks.
Heat blooms across my skin at the thought of him inspecting my asshole. Maybe he could rim me later?
I lower myself onto his face and shiver at how his fevered breaths gust over the length of my pussy. Once fully seated, I wriggle from side to side to make myself more comfortable.
King Henry’s nose lies flush against my asshole, his nostrils exhaling sharp puffs of air that make my sphincter muscles tremble. I try not to think about that and concentrate on the tongue running up-and-down strokes along the length of my slit.
As I settle all my weight on his face, he makes a muffled sound.
“What’s that?” I ask with a smirk. “Use your words.”
His response is to lash his tongue back and forth over my clit.
The muscles of my core clench, and I wish his nose was a little longer, so I could fuck that, too.
King Henry builds up a steady rhythm of strokes, and I lean forward, placing my weight on my legs. He reaches up to stroke my thighs, my belly, and even my breasts.
I wrap my fingers around his and make him squeeze my nipples. He gets the hint and pinches them between his fingertips with a pressure that borders on pain.
The sensation races straight to my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I say with a moan.
He does it again, and I circle my hips, rubbing my sex against his lips and tongue and teeth.
Yes.
This is exactly what I need.
King Henry is exactly what I need.
Grinding my pussy over his face, I take pleasure at my own pace. King Henry makes several muffled sounds, his fingers rolling my nipples.
I’m so close…
Sparks of sensation dance around my clit, igniting a fire that spins faster than a fire whirl. I move harder, faster, using King Henry’s face like my own personal sex toy.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” I groan, my hips picking up speed.
The pulse behind my clit pounds so hard that I feel it echo between my ears. Shit. This is more intense than anything I’ve ever achieved on my own. It’s even more pleasurable than when the Boogie Man had me on my knees while I stroked my clit.
Pressure builds around my core, an incessant ache that drives me to ride the king to the finish line. Every inch of my skin tingles as though I’ve been set alight by invisible flames.
My orgasm hovers in sight just as King Henry’s hands drop to his side and he stops moving.
I can’t see if his chest still rises and falls because it’s covered in so much fabric.
Dread tumbles through my gut.
Why is he lying still?
A little voice in the back of my head screams at me to stop, to get off him, and administer mouth to mouth. My hips continue their relentless sprint toward orgasm.
Fuck. What if I just suffocated the King of England? What if this is real, and I just changed the course of history? My guilty conscience wants me to check that he’s alright, but the furnace in my pussy forces me to continue.
