The Queen’s Knights

GWEN

I tilt my head to the side, acknowledging Percy’s promise, then look down at my submissive pet for the evening, giving him a somber nod that he may begin. He licks his lips again, and his thighs flex as he pushes against the floor with his feet. His backrest slides up, the motion causing his stiff erection to bounce slightly when it locks into place, his face squarely beneath my spread cheeks. I suppress a gasp of surprise at the sensation of his warm breath gusting against my pussy.

This is the feeling I’ve ached for since I began this quest to reclaim my power—the anticipation of pleasure strong enough to get my blood pumping even before any contact. I’ve sought it for six months without success. That isn’t to say I haven’t enjoyed every evening spent on this throne with a submissive’s tongue buried between my thighs, but this is the first time I’ve craved the pleasure without even being touched.

I force myself into some semblance of composure befitting a queen, force my gaze up from my subject’s impressive cock, and scan the onlookers beyond the window. The audience is enthralled, even more so than usual. It seems my submissive is as fascinating to them as he is to me.

“Fucking heaven,” he murmurs, and I bite the inside of my mouth to control my reaction to the warmth of his words teasing my sensitive flesh. A deep groan emanates from his chest and his restraints creak. He grips the handholds and his biceps flex as he lifts himself closer to my exposed core, and a moment later, his hot tongue makes one long, languid swipe from my clit all the way to my ass.

I arch my back with a gasp, so surprised by the immensity of the pleasure I nearly lose track of my surroundings. I reach up to grip the carved finials at the top corners of my throne and spread my legs wider.

Behind me, Percy lets out a breath of surprise as if he’s just as invested in my pleasure as I am. I tilt my head back to look at him. Our gazes lock past our masks, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I catch a spark of true desire in his eyes. I’ve never offered an invitation for him to join in before, and he’s never expressed an interest. But tonight I throw caution to the wind.

“You have my permission to touch me, Percival,” I whisper.

His lips part and he dry-swallows, then blinks as if he’s coming out of a trance.

“Gwen…er…my queen, it would be my absolute honor to assist in giving you pleasure. May I?”

A thick lock of blond hair falls over his forehead as he looks down at me, first at my mouth before his gaze drifts to my breasts. I release the top of the throne and drop my hands to the arms, pushing my breasts up in invitation. My attention splits between the expert tongue buried in my pussy, lapping at my clit, and the lightest brush of Percy’s fingertips against my skin as he reaches over my shoulders to cup my breasts.

My throne has a low, contoured back that swoops up on either side to tall, carved posts. It’s wide enough for Percy to dip his head and brush his mouth down the column of my throat as he begins to tease my nipples. I let my head fall back against his shoulder and give into the urge to moan. My audience stares wide-eyed as I involuntarily rock my hips on my seat, wishing for closer contact with that devious tongue beneath me. I let my eyelids fall shut, picturing the wicked smile the man gave me just before his face disappeared from view, as if he knew exactly how hypnotic his tongue could be.

For the first time since taking the role of Queen Justine, I’m utterly at my subject’s mercy rather than the other way around. Even though he’s shackled to the chair, I’m powerless to control a thing.

He must sense my need for deeper contact, because he pulls himself even higher, his entire face pressed into my slit, the edge of his mask grazing my bottom. His tongue plunges deep into me again and he tilts his head, swirling the tip in teasing flicks, then pulling out again and shifting to my clit. I gasp and pivot my hips, giving him as much access as I can, and he takes the invitation, grasping my clit between his lips and sucking hard until I cry out.

“He’s the best one yet, isn’t he?” Percy murmurs, staring down at the chin between my thighs, which is all either of us can see of the man.

I can only manage a half-coherent “uh-huh” before the man shifts again, swiping his tongue back through my folds and continuing farther. He darts the quickest, lightest lick against my rear, which is just as exposed to him as the rest of me.

“Oh god. Oh, fuck!” I cry in a very un-queenly manner.

A devious chuckle comes from beneath me and his restraints creak again, his thighs flexing as he pushes himself farther below me. His tongue flicks teasingly around my asshole several times before he moves back to my pussy.

“Wish I could use my hands,” he says in a low voice. “I’d make you come so fucking hard.”

“N-No touching allowed,” I stutter, too distracted by the image now stuck in my head of doing more with this man. Of feeling that thick shaft inside me, of riding him to completion. But his tongue is doing the job well enough on its own.

“I get it,” he says, lips brushing in teasing caresses against my folds. “But I’d still be at your mercy. I would do whatever you asked me to do.”

An idea springs to mind that gives me a vicarious thrill. Something I’m not willing to do myself, but that I know Percy might enjoy.

“Would you like to come when I do?”

He pauses his lazy licking and sucking for a moment, no doubt sensing it’s a trick question. “I’d be a fool to turn down an orgasm, but I don’t see you leaving that throne to give me one. What’s the catch?”

I turn my head to face Percy, who still leans over my chair, gently cupping my breasts and pinching and rolling my nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

“My knight would do the honors, wouldn’t you, Percival?”

Percy meets my gaze, studying me for a moment. If I could see his eyebrows, I imagine they’d be raised in surprise. We don’t typically discuss our scenes after the fact, but when he was assigned as my bodyguard and assistant at the start of the year, the owner of Whitewood also provided me with a copy of his file.

He knows I know every detail about his sexual preferences. That he identifies as demisexual, someone who is only sexually aroused around partners they form an emotional bond with, but that he’s also quite open to sex with any gender if the circumstances are right. And I remember another word in his file: compersive, which I admit I had to look up after reading it. It means he gains joy and arousal from seeing someone he cares about experience the same. We’ve never been intimate until tonight, but we’ve spent every waking hour together since I began this adventure. He moved into my guest room the first night and has been my shadow ever since. I hope it’s worth the risk, but his silence makes me uncertain.

“If it’s too much to ask…” I begin, and he shakes his head.

“Anything for you, my queen,” he says, giving me a smile that assures me I haven’t overstepped. “Provided your subject consents.”

“Do you consent to allowing Percival to suck your cock?” I ask the man between my thighs.

He lowers to his headrest until all I feel are his even breaths cooling my hot, moist flesh. His cock still stands erect and weeping fluid from the tip, so the idea hasn’t turned him off, but his silence stretches almost too long for comfort.

After a tense moment, he finally takes a breath and answers.