Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 2.
Ring the bell three times for Belle.
Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
In discrete service to the royal court; My name is Lady Bathsheba, Ottoline, Lovecome; and this is my diary.
These are not the depressive scratchings of some puffball princess. I'm no dowager driven loopy by indolent indulgence. These are the erotic thoughts, experiences and stories of someone in their prime; but housebound by a self-serving patriarchy. A patriarchy who's trapped his fully adult daughter in his manor house; rather than set her free at university with her friends; while she waits, financially dependent, for a suitable suitor.
Her patriarchy is no doubt, and I hope, reading these pages. I hope you enjoy them, Father. I've been much inspired by your library's top-shelf antiquaries;
Dear Diary; (dear Father!) I'm also much inspired by my only companion in Lovecome manor, our gardener, Bill. He's my age, yet a fully independent individual making his own way in the world. Free.
I made this point to him on our first meeting.
"Free am I?" His voice is deep and honeyed. "Financial necessity isn't the same as freedom, Madam."
"You simply must call me Bash." I fear I stamped my foot when I declared this. "While we're inmates together we will address each other as equals."
"Very good, Bash." He doffed his cap!
Bill is square-jawed, twice my height and built like a tree. I hope to discover if he's treelike all over before the end of the day. (Specifically is it a log or a twig in his trousers? My investigations so far; quick glances and a delicious slide-by in the kitchen where my bum brushed his front; suggest log. Sigh.) It's a sunny morning now and I scribe this on my flimsily-dressed lap where I sit on a flowery white chair on the lawn. Bill is almost at my feet, preparing a flower bed with much shoveling and grunting. Sweat stains his straining shirt. I curl my toes in the grass. Do you think he will deduce from my bare feet that I'm naked under my dress? I will give him a flash of ass soon, and surprise him. Though he already seems; bothered.
His cheeks are slapped crimson and his pale blue eyes flit glances over my ankles. Each furtive look feels like a lick, hungry to get up my skirt. It squeezes me hotly in my hips and; let me wriggle; yes; has made me shamefully gooey down there. When I cross and re-cross my legs, the top of my thighs slip.
I wonder what he'd think if he could read these words?
Why wonder?
Tee hee.
I read you to him, Diary, and now he's smiling stiffly while smoke curls from his ears. I'm going to read every dirty thought I write to this man from now on. I told him this too. He doffed his cap again; a subservient gesture undone by a drilling stare at my hips, as if calling upon some kind of x-ray vision. Poor man, I won't show him what he wants to see until much later. Though I very much like the thought of him picturing my bits.
I know exactly what I want to tell him today. A story of someone I met in Switzerland, the head of my finishing school, a beautiful woman called Belle. I've been playing and replaying her experiences since I woke, and even though she's made me come already, she's left me needy. As you can probably tell.
Belle was an unusual head for a finishing school, being from a very humble background. We were mostly taught to be ladies by actual ladies, including duchesses and countesses. I struck up a friendship with her, perhaps because we looked similar, even if she was older and a more petite, refined version of me: Snow White to my Betty Blue.
She set up the school using her savings, and contacts, from working as a Lady's maid for the queen of a minor European state in the nineteen-sixties. Her country might have been tiny, but it was rich, or at least until King John took the reins along with his wife Queen Charlotte. They raised taxes and milked the locals dry. (Bill is tugging out a stump. How I'd love to milk him dry. Preferably with the tender grip of the milk-hungry place between my legs; I digress.)
Three Bells for Belle
By Lady Lovecome
Belle was from one of those families reduced to poverty. The idle royals taxed so them heavily that often all their crops would be confiscated in lieu of what was owed. The country's produce was internationally famous for its unparalleled quality. It used to grace royal tables all over the world. Now only one royal table enjoyed the fruits of their labor, and what wasn't eaten simply disappeared. It was left to rot for all anyone knew. Many gave up farming all together, for what they didn't have, couldn't be taken.
However poor they were, when the royal housekeeper; A sour-faced, walking whip called Madam Couteau; came looking for new palace servants, people hid. It wasn't a job anyone wanted. She was famously cruel, and people were forced to work eighteen hour shifts for food and lodging (if a straw mattress in a basement dorm counted as lodging). Also, she only chose the prettiest, to feed the king and queen's lascivious appetites. And if an unmarried girl became pregnant with an illegitimate heir, this could mean exile or imprisonment or worse.
Belle hated Madam Couteau, and in a misplaced fit of defiance she refused to hide one morning when the woman came looking for fresh meat. It was a stupid thing to do, but looking back on it, Belle wondered if she knew even then that if she could get to those in charge, somehow, then she could do something about her family's; even her country's; desperate state.
Madam Couteau gasped when she caught Belle's enormous, insolent eye. A sharp smile twitched her cheek. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Belle was gripped by two guards. As her parents wailed, Belle was marched away from her home.
But Belle was naïve to think she would get anywhere near the king and queen. She was made a pot girl, in charge of collecting and emptying the staff's chamber pots. The castle's plumbing was for royalty, and Madam Couteau's cohorts, alone.
It was a pissy, shitty job, yet every day Belle kept herself clean and ordered, just in case she might get a chance to elevate her position in the household. She didn't expect this opportunity to come from Madam Couteau. One cold dawn, while Belle poured pot after pot of steaming filth into the castle's drain, Madam Couteau popped up like the stench made solid. Dressed in stiff, black satin, she wore the gargantuan bunch of castle keys at her waist, permanently dangling at her front like a metal mirkin.
"It is Her Majesty's birthday tomorrow," she clipped. "You are my gift to her. When you hear the servant bell ring three times, present yourself."
"Yes, Madame."
"This is not a promotion."
"No, Madame. What will I; "
"Just; be clean."
The staff dorm sported a wall of a hundred spring-loaded bells, each marked with a room. Pulling a chord in any of the royal chambers would alert the relevant servant. A bell should only ever ring once. More rings meant the royals had been kept waiting and a beating from Madam Couteau would surely follow, administered with a flail of the monstrous palace keys to the girls' ass cheeks.
However, most nights, and some mornings, a bell would ring multiple times in quick succession, any number from two to six. At Belle's end of the dorm, a cluster of six suspiciously pretty women would jolt at a multiple bell, then one would press her lips and hurry from the dorm to answer the call.
Belle could guess where these beauties were going. The king's appetites were infamous. The queen's too, though there was never a man called to her rooms. Belle didn't know if she was relieved or not that she was gifted to the queen and not the king. She'd never been with a woman, but it was an occasional fantasy for her, and at least there'd be no risk of pregnancy.
Belle spent half the night scrubbing herself and preparing her outfit. The maid's uniforms were desperately impractical: sleeveless, but high-collared, tight bodiced but flaring into short, pleated skirts. Instead of tights they wore black woolen over-knee socks that did more to accentuate their bare thighs than keep them warm. Even their ankle boots were patent leather kitten heels.
When the other girls were called they rarely dressed, just pulled on a bathrobe, or wrapped themselves in a towel. Belle would be different. It was no surprise that the king and queen designed the maid uniform themselves, so Belle would look as good as she could for them.
It wasn't yet dawn when three bells jolted Belle from her short sleep. She rubbed her eyes and peered at the servant's board. She'd missed which bell had rung.
"Queen's bedchamber," whispered the copper-haired girl in the next bed, her brow wrinkled with a sisterly concern. Belle thanked her, dressed and scampered up the servant stairs to the queen's room, fastening the uniform's thirty tiny buttons as she went.
She stood trembling between two smirking guards at the queen's monolithic bedroom door and knocked with a bravado she didn't feel. The door immediately flew open. There, dressed in just her silken nightgown was;
A girl?
Belle had only ever seen the queen on their national coins. She supposed her to be much older. This woman couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Belle, her mid-twenties perhaps. Her hair was long and platinum, and braided to her shoulder. She had the smooth, apple-cheeked complexion of a dairy maid, not a vicious queen. She beamed at Belle, then, as if remembering her station, quickly pouted and looked down her nose.
Belle dropped to her knee in the special curtsy Madam Couteau had taught them, leaving her bowed at the woman's unshod feet. The queen had baby's toes.
"My God, Madam Couteau was right." The queen caught Belle's chin and tipped her face up. "You are exquisite. Everything you look at must feel beautiful." She stooped, peered into Belle, whistled. "Those eyes."
The queen's eyes were like polished steel. Belle felt harpooned by them.
"Bravo." The woman clapped, pirouetted and bounced away. "Come!"
Belle followed through a door into an entirely black marble room bigger than her family's cottage. In the center glimmered a polished-brass bathtub full of lemony-fragrant water frothing with bubbles. Thick steam turned the morning sunlight, filtered through filigreed shutters, into rays. Belle was so overawed she didn't notice the queen had unfastened the bow on her nightgown and dropped it to her knees.
Belle averted her eye.
"You refuse to honor me with your exquisite gaze?" The queen braced arms on her hips, and tapped her foot. Even from the corner of her eye, Belle could make out the wobble of the woman's large tits with each tap of her foot.
"I think only of Her Majesty's privacy."
"Look at me."
Belle did as she was bid.
The queen's lips parted under Belle's gaze. Was that a gasp? "I'm told I'm beautiful." The woman pirouetted. She was too, her body curvaceous and smooth as a marble figurine. Not fat, but well fed enough to smooth off her knees and elbows. There wasn't a knobbly bone on her. Her sex was shaved bald, and the top of her intimate crease glittered where a double-diamond stud pierced her clitoral hood. She might look like a girl, but she was all woman.
Queen Charlotte dropped into the hot water with a sigh. She nodded at the soap, sponge and a silver jug on a table set by the tub. "You may wash me."
Belle preferred men, but was young and open minded and the queen's beauty did funny things to her midriff. But mostly Belle was sharp and, even as she awkwardly upended a jug of warm water over the queen's shoulders, she wondered how she might bend the queen's desire to her own advantage.
She lathered the woman's back then, taking a deep breath, her tits. The queen hummed and lay back. Her chest heaved under Belle's soaping.
Belle lost herself in the pliable slippery flesh sliding through her fingers. The queen's nipples turned to bullets under her palm. She circled them, forgetting for a second that they belonged to someone else and weren't her own.
She was so lost she jumped when the queen purred, "I don't know what's more arousing, being in your hands, or in your gaze."
Belle washed downward, toward opening knees, and hips pushed up to Belle's soapy hands. The queen bit her lip.
Belle swallowed. When the village men were in this state they were suggestable and eager to please. Now was her time to exert some influence. She let her hand reach the woman's abdomen, then stopped.
"Perhaps Your Majesty might stand up?"
Queen Charlotte should find this impertinent, no one should address her unless addressed first, let alone make a request. If the woman accepted this, then Belle had some power over her.
Without missing a beat, the needy queen stood. Belle's head spun. That was too easy. She should see how far she could go. She soaped the proffered hips, bottom cheeks and legs and put aside a swelling heat in her own lower half. Queen Charlotte lifted a foot onto the edge of the bath to offer herself explicitly. Her belly trembled.
Gathering all her nerve, Belle offered the soap to her queen. "I fear I'm not worthy, Madam. You must do that part yourself."
The queen's jaw rippled. Her eyelids drooped. "I insist. If you value your position."
Belle bit her lip. "I like how you feel Madam, very much, and I'm honored, but it's not proper to wash you there. I will watch you; wash yourself, if that helps?"
Belle knelt at the bath side, dropping her face a little lower than her queen's hips. She mustered a blinking, innocent gaze up into Queen Charlotte's engorged flower.
As if hypnotized by Belle's eyes, Queen Charlotte soaped herself. "You make; me feel; angelic." After a brief stir, the soap plopped into the water, then the queen followed, crouched, yelping on digging fingers.
While her queen writhed in a crisis so strong it slopped water out of the bath, Belle took the sponge, soaked it and offered it the woman's still shuddering shoulders.
"Get out," Queen Charlotte spat, her head still buried between her knees.
The three bells didn't call Belle again the next day and Belle was morose, fearing she'd blown her only chance to save her family. But the day after the bells called her once more to the bathroom. Then the fifth day and the seventh, in fact every other day from then on. Madam Couteau was delighted that the gift she gave the queen should be so popular.
So Belle worked her small power. Every morning the queen would try to get Belle to "wash" her and every morning, at least at first, Belle would decline and watch her queen disport herself. She relished the adoration of the vampire who fed off her country, and her squirm when denied.
A sleazy drug dealer in Belle's village kept offering "free samples" to her and her friends as she grew up. He got a couple of girls hooked, who then disappeared to the brothels of London, Paris and Amsterdam. This was Belle's plan now. She declined all requests to pleasure her queen, but gave away titbits, under certain conditions, to keep the woman hooked, and so advance Belle's cause.
She offered to remove her underwear, and let the queen glimpse what she may up Belle's short skirt; but only if Belle could be excused all duties but for serving the queen. After a few days of this, when the queen grew frustrated, Belle offered to strip and join her mistress in the bath; if the woman found meaningful palace work for her mother, father and sisters. That morning the queen came twice, even though Belle kept her legs closed and below the bath's bubbles. More importantly, Belle's family were no longer unemployed.
But toying with the queen's crush on her was a dangerous game. The woman could withdraw what she offered in a fit of pique. Belle had to keep her sweet, and wanting more. How she wished her queen was a man. They were much easier to beguile once you had them hard.
She wished it was the king she bathed.
This was her exact thought the morning before the queen's grand tour of Europe's major cities, hoping to woo back the mysteriously lost buyers of the kingdom's produce.
The queen threw her robe across the room and barked, "Take off your clothes." She stamped into her bath.
No doubt she was angry about having to do some work, but Belle worried she'd be in the firing line of any frustrated tantrums. And sure enough, as Belle shrugged off her dress, and plopped chilly feet into the hot water; covering her recently waxed, clipped triangle of fur; Queen Charlotte scowled and pouted. "Girl you will release me today or I will sack your entire family."
Belle dipped the silver jug into the bath and poured warm water over the queen's shoulders. "Of course, Madam."
The queen blinked at her. "Is that a; yes?"
"Madam."
"You will; touch me?"
Belle soaped the woman's tits. Made a show of biting back her smile.
"Here?" The queen stood, water sloshing off her, raising her leg.
"Um-hmm." Belle treated Queen Charlotte's sex to a long stare. "Did you know many women enjoy a tongue in there too?"
The queen tremored. "I; they do."
Belle reached behind to soap the woman's bottom, down the sides of her legs, all the while regarding that puffy pudenda. "And many enjoy the taste of another woman."
Queen Charlotte swayed a little. "Do you?"
Belle nodded. She curled out the tip of her tongue and worked her queen's standing leg up and down from ankle to knees, possessed of the notion of soapily wanking an enormous cock.
The queen swallowed. Belle's sudsy hands slid up the woman's hard, horse-riding thigh. "I hear the King will remain while you tour, Madam."
"The buffoon is a liability; oh;”
Her hand grazed the woman's labia, stringing the juices gathered there. A drip collected on Belle's knuckle and without a thought, she licked it off. The queen tasted just like her. She laughed as Queen Charlotte growled at her rudeness and Belle had to steady her by the hips.
She swapped to the queen's raised leg, soaped it all at once from bottom to top. "It's impressive you can trust the King here alone. Many men play while their cat is away."
The queen scoffed. "We both know that's not true, darling. Without me to see to him every day he will fuck everything that; oh yes."
Belle's thumb ventured under the woman's fleshy folds. She'd never pleasured another woman, and queen Charlotte's sex was much fleshier than her own, but her fingers knew this dance by heart. She stroked the woman lightly from slot to diamond-studded clitoris. "If only there was a way you could see to his needs, even while she was away?" She rubbed a small circle around Queen Charlotte's hard nub.
The queen's eyes drooped and a smile played on her lips. She croaked a hum.
Belle picked her speed up to an itching rhythm. "Or if, while you were away, you could leave your right hand here. Keep a good hold on him?"
The queen laughed brightly, rocked her hips at Belle's thumb. "Indeed. No don't stop!"
Belle had sat back. She contrived a giggle. "Madam this is exciting me too much. Feel." Belle stood, took her queen's hand and pressed it between her legs. She knew she was wet inside, increasingly her morning duties turned her on, partly the sex, partly the power, but she was surprised as Queen Charlotte at how wet. The royal fingers felt eelish.
The queen's eyes widened. "I arouse you this much?" She withdrew her fingers, licked them.
Belle nodded. "Do you like how I taste, Madam?" Belle underlined her need by raising her own foot to the bath edge, matching the queen's pose.
Queen Charlotte, beguiled, dropped to her knees. Belle pushed her hips forward. The queen's mouth opened, leant toward Belle's mound.
Belle covered herself. "Is there something Your Majesty needs?"
"You know what I want, bitch."
Belle stayed put, proud over her queen, her fingers locked between thighs. She stirred. Hummed. "I may just release myself, if you don't mind, Madam. Or would you rather eat me?"
Queen Charlotte grasped Belle's hips. "Please."
Belle curled two fingers inside herself, shuddered, offered them. Queen Charlotte gobbled Belle's wet fingers like a dog at a sausage.
"Have you considered introducing me to the King, Madam?"
Belle placed her hands on her hips. The queen lunged, suckered her mouth to Belle's bits. Something hot and hard, yet infinitely tender, probed her most private place. Belle gulped. She'd never been licked by a woman, let alone a woman of the queen's experience. It felt; too good. She reigned herself in.
"If you introduce me; to His Majesty, Madam. Show me what you do for him; I could be your; right hand;”
Belle's clitoris seemed drawn into a hot, irresistible whirlpool. She moaned, nudged at the queen's beautiful mouth. She reached down to open herself wide and hoped she was dripping.
"God." Queen Charlotte gawped up at her maid's cunt. "And I thought your eyes were irresistible."
Belle chuckled. "I'm sorry Madam. But I need to come on you."
"God." The queen burrowed up into her. "Please."
Belle rocked, stroked the queen's silky hair. "Shall we see the king after this, then?" She pulled the woman harder to her cunt. "So I can help you?"
"Thank you," said her queen. "Thank; Yum."
Ten minutes later, Belle's legs were still trembling. Dressed but still damp from the bath, in more ways than one, the queen led them through a mirrored-lined dressing room linking the royal bathrooms to the royal wardrobe. In the kaleidoscopic multitude of reflections Belle was shocked by her crimson cheeks. She hadn't climaxed, but had pretended to please the queen. This wasn't because she couldn't, Queen Charlotte's tongue was extraordinary, but if Belle's orgasm was to be on display, she'd rather display it to the more stupid of the two, where it might earn her more. So she pretended to come when Queen Charlotte orgasmed, Belle grinding on her mouth while the woman finger-fucked herself with not two, but three fingers.
The queen was so grateful after their "shared" bliss, she said from now on Belle should call her Charlotte when they were alone. As they dressed, the queen was giggly and conspiratorial. "Let's never wear knickers, and only you and I shall know!" She clasped Belle's hands like they were best friends. "My husband will have no clue how I will use you to control him." She kissed Belle's fingers. "I wish I wasn't going on my frightful tour. I want to eat you all day. Will you eat me too, Belle? Say you will?"
"My mouth's watering, Madam; Charlotte." Belle curtseyed. But instead of rising again she opened Charlotte's robe and planted a kiss to the woman's still-flushed sex. Goodness, she was hornier than she thought. Especially now, with the intimate kiss reflected from every angle all around her. What fun she'd have in this room.
But as ever, Belle's instincts served her well. That surprise kiss sealed their relationship. When Belle rose, there were tears in Charlotte's eyes.
The queen knocked on her husband's bathroom door, then immediately marched in.
"Ah ha!" The king bellowed. "I was just thinking about you!"
"So I see."
Belle entered to find the king naked in his bath, or half out of it; he was massive; with his massive erect phallus gripped in his massive fist. The room was heady with an earthy, sandalwood scent.
"Good lord!" He didn't cover himself. "Is it my birthday?"
Charlotte laughed. "Your Royal Highness, I'd like to present my hand-maiden. Belle."
Belle curtseyed. King John was a storybook king, large of frame and manner, but what looked like fat when he was clothed, at least according to his portraits, was in fact all muscle. Even his belly sported the dips and knots of a working man. He was like a heroic statue of Samson or Hercules come to life. He was handsome too, a Marlon Brando for the queen's Monroe. This might not be so bad. Though she wished she asked Charlotte what the king's preferences were. She didn't relish doing anything; bottomy.
She also wished her cheeks didn't blaze so.
King John laughed as if reading her mind. "Hello Belle. You are astonishing. Is this your new friend dear?"
Charlotte kissed her king. Not on the cheek, but on the head of his cock. He smiled and leant back. She gestured to a couple of velvet-topped stools set beside the bath, adjacent to the king's hips, and knelt on one of them. That this was an occurrence common enough to warrant two stools gave Belle a pang of doubt. Perhaps she wasn't as clever as she thought.
Still, Belle knelt beside the royal erection.
King John peered at her, idly stroking his veiny rod like a falcon.
"Darling I'm going away as you know." Queen Charlotte addressed his cock. They all eyed it in fact, like it ruled the room. "And I know I promised you our special treat before I left, but I've had a better idea. In fact;” She stroked Belle's cheek. "It was my sweet girl's idea. She finds you very handsome"; she winked at Belle; "and wants to perform my duties for me while I'm gone. Well. One of them."
"I see. Does she know what to do?"
"She will. Take a hold, girl." Charlotte slapped her husband's hand away so Belle could grip his firm meat. It was hot as a poker, and so wide she couldn't close her fist around it.
"Two hands," he rumbled. "And;"
Charlotte held up a finger. He shut up.
Belle gripped him in two hands, and stroked up and down. She'd wanked many cocks, there was little else to do in a poor, unemployed village. An orgasm was the only happiness they could freely give each other. She'd even sucked a few dicks, if they were polite, handsome and clean. This one felt so thick and hard, and so rumblingly appreciative, she wished she'd climaxed earlier. With each pull, and each bulging reveal of his great bell in her fist, she felt an echoing pull inside her. She wondered how much cum could spurt from a beast like this, from balls like those. She couldn't wait to;
"Too quick, darling." Charlotte settled a hand on hers. "You're not milking him. Now. Watch." Charlotte stooped to kiss him from his bulb down his shaft. In a practiced dance, he heaved his hips from the water and tucked his feet under his bottom so she could bury her face in his balls. Queen Charlotte's lips were very full and plump, and she used them sensually, slowly pressing them to his cock. When it was Belle's turn, she was worried she couldn't compete with how soft Charlotte must feel. She tried her best, opening her mouth a little and softening her lips as much as she could. God, she wanted this inside her so;
"Slowly," the royals said.
Belle's heartbeat pummeled her ribcage, then Charlotte squeezed her ass, digging her claws in like a needy cat, and Belle's heart threatened to burst out and splash into the bath. She tried to go slow, but felt too; hungry.
While she lingered kisses around the king's balls, Charlotte curled out a flat tongue and slid it around her husband's end, while, with practiced boldness, she reached under Belle's bottom. Belle copied her queen, lapping at the king's scrotum, swirling a figure of eight to encompass each testicle. The king shuddered against them and made a noise like an earthquake building deep underground.
Charlotte settled back to watch Belle repeat her licking around the king's end, up and down his staff. Belle wanted to suck this man. Wanted the head of the head of state lodged in her mouth. She wanted to wrap her lips around that power, have it pulsing against;
"Calm down." Charlotte had the nerve to say this, even as the woman's fingers stirred at Belle's tingling cunt!
Belle's breath was ragged as the queen joined her, licking the king's lucky loins; more like a tree limb wrapped in satin than a body part. The king chuckled, and locked his hands behind his head as two beautiful woman adored him. Then his wife dipped her head over his end and, urging Belle to watch, nodded up and down, twisting her head, her tongue curling out like a cow collecting grass. The Queen nudged Belle's hands and she jumped back to work, rubbing the king into his wife's mouth.
Charlotte released her husband and nodded at the glossy phallus. "Your turn."
Belle gobbled. She could only just get him in. The king groaned. Charlotte laughed. "Easy tiger!" And the woman's thumb slid into her hole. Belle shuddered and moaned loudly over the king's erection. It came out of his mouth deepened and amplified. He wouldn't know Belle's appreciative sounds were for his wife.
Belle took deep, calming breaths. She focused on matching the queen's technique, curling her tongue out as she sucked. A salty taste thrilled her. The king's precum. She had the greatest power in the land melting in her mouth. She rubbed faster. She wanted more. They all did, because no one stopped her now. She spread her knees wide to the queen and devoured the king.
"Lord almighty," he blustered. "Good lord."
Charlotte purred.
Belle's hips shook. A warm fizzing rolled in her abdomen. She might come before the king and guessed that wouldn't be allowed.
Perhaps sensing Belle's tension, Charlotte's cheek nudged her off her husband and took him, much deeper, into her own mouth. The king rested his hands on his wife's head, and his cock kicked in Belle's joggling palms. A jolt ran up his torso, popping every vein and muscle on him. He arched from the water. Charlotte hummed, still suckered and sucking, her thumb stiffening in Belle. Belle rubbed the king furiously into Charlotte while squirming on a hand that ground to a halt in her hole.
The king tapped the top of his wife's head three times and she gasped off his cock. He roared so loud the windows rattled. A jet of cum shot a foot into the air, then another, and another, landing in white ropes along his belly and chest.
Now Belle milked him. She milked the king as he writhed and thrust and soaked their clothes with bath water.
Charlotte sat back, grinning, her fingers resuming their play between Belle's legs. Belle tipped her hips back at the lovely intrusion, her interior tingles frothing up at the sight of the king's thick fountain.
He calmed, and smiled at his wife, but it was polite, almost strained. His wife had made this king feel like a man, but there was only one way to make a man feel like a king.
In a kind of fever, and surprising herself as ever, Belle leant over the king's spilling bulb and gently licked it clean. He juddered against her, and silenced. Charlotte's fingers faltered inside her, then picked up an urgent pace. Belle took this as encouragement. She ran her tongue along the cum-guttering grooves of the king's belly, up his chest, lapping his warm semen with a flat tongue. She'd never done this before. Like the queen, she preferred to watch the fountain rather than drink from it. The salty slime was oddly irresistible, like a primal delicacy, and even though she debased herself cleaning this man, to take his lifeblood into her was also to claim him. Her dirtiness thrilled her, but she sensed it thrilled the king even more. Each messy lick and gulp lit Belle up but, glancing up at him with contrived innocence while she worked, it set his hooded gaze smoldering. This gaze didn't make her feel small, it made her gigantic.
The royals were silent. The only sound were Belle's hums and the distant sticky noises of Charlotte tickling her clit while her finger wriggled in her slot. Belle moaned, and licked on. Her hips bloomed. She squeezed a pearl of cum to the king's tip, even as her body spasmed like a cracked whip. She whimpered and sucked him in, dropping her hips to swallow the queen's digit deep into her other end. How she loved that filthy word. Swallow. She'd swallow them both whole, swallow the kingdom, swallow every;
Lightning shot through her, mouth to cunt, dancing between the queen's thumb and the kings cock. She screamed into the king, ground on the queen, caught between them, gushing diamonds in all directions.
She came down from her high with sparkles lingering in her vision, the king stuffed in her mouth, the queen stuffed in her cunt. Someone was cackling insanely.
Oh. That was her.
Sharing Queen Charlotte’s Duties.
The king seemed excited about Belle looking after him while Charlotte was away. A fact that relieved the queen rather than made her jealous. She even suggested, as they left her dazed husband sagged in his bath, that she might delegate her "morning duties" from now on. "I'll be honest with you sweet Belle," she whispered. "I love my husband, but I do wish he was a woman. His manhood is just so; bothersome."
"In which case, Your Majesty." Belle sucked yet another royal splash from the back of her wrist. "Perhaps I need a bed closer to you and the king?"
Queen Charlotte patted her bottom. "We don't deserve you, darling."
That's how Belle ended up with her own chamber, albeit the royal dressing room, nestled between their private bathrooms. Her bed was a pile of fur coats, and she had a little window with a view of the village.
However, Madam Couteau's pride in giving the queen such a beloved gift soured when the housekeeper was asked to fit a private bell for her pot girl.
When Madam Couteau left with the carpenter who'd installed a re-purposed doorbell into the royal wardrobe, she deliberately, slowly stepped on Belle's foot. "Do not get too comfortable, girl." She grasped her pendulous bunch of keys and hefted them like a man displaying his cock and balls. "This is the real royal power. And it belongs to me."
Belle smiled, pretending not to notice the cruel foot. As far as she could see, the only evil in the castle surrounded the royal couple. The king and queen were surprisingly gentle, guileless even, not the maniacal despots Belle expected. They were adult children, utterly unaware of the real world, as much to blame for how they were raised as Belle was responsible for her big eyes and rosebud lips.
Belle wondered what treasure chests those keys opened. She vowed to find out.
After draining the king in his bath that morning, Belle was so sure she wouldn't be required for a while that when the bell rang three times in the middle of the night she was fast asleep, naked as a babe wrapped in her furs.
Her first thought was, "Already?" quickly followed by a surge of pride. Her performance that morning had set out her stall for this man; showed him what she was prepared to do. No, what she liked to do. That he couldn't wait wasn't just an ego-trip, it was kind of a turn-on.
It rang again. Belle hopped up and darted into the king's bathroom. Finding it empty, she carried on through into his bed chamber.
The room was big as a train station, and the king's bed set between two triple-height windows, both open to the night and a moon that seemed twice the size of a commoner's moon. Silver light sliced across the bed and the swathed the king's naked torso, but left his face dark.
He was so silent, she wondered if she'd dreamt the bell and he'd wake to find her rudely stood naked in his bedchamber watching him sleep. Then she adjusted to the dim and found the glint in his eye. His erection flexed as if to beckon her. She approached his bedside and stroked him from chest down to hips. He was warm and smelled still of his sandalwood bath, but also of smoke, leather and musk. She grasped his thick rod. He made a sound like boulders in a bag and she couldn't tell if this was a growl or a chuckle.
Trying to recall the queen's advice, she stroked him slowly with two hands but needy hips pushed back quicker. She kissed his tip and found it wet already. It seemed like he'd done half her job for her. She plucked her lips over his hot cock and balls, then followed with her lapping tongue. No complaints about moving too quick now. A draught from the window chilled a wet patch her between her legs. Something about this relative stranger and his proud phallus got to her. Having her mouth pressed to the very epicenter of the kingdom made her feel woozy, but there was also a physical scale and power to him that pulled her insides. Even his silence was magnetic.
She licked him and tugged his length quickly. His breathing hitched. She took what she could of his shaft into her mouth, and the profound plug of him already seemed familiar, almost comforting. She'd treated this man just a few hours ago, but still found herself relishing the chance to do so again.
She hummed. No, moaned. It wasn't even contrived, it just came out of her. Like the arousal trickling down her inner thigh. The primal bluntness of walking into a room and wordlessly sucking a man off, the kingdom's most powerful man, turned her liquid. Or maybe it was the anticipation. She'd always fantasized pleasing a man so thoroughly it left him empty but infatuated and irrepressibly hard, but she'd never had the nerve to try. Yes. she intended to leave this man very pleased indeed. Then she might please herself with him.
She nodded on his cock and rubbed him into her, trying to express eagerness with every dip and tug. Large hands rested on her head. She tensed, thinking he might force her down, but his pressure was light, almost adoring. Sure enough, he stroked her like a favored pet, down her hair, her back, over her bottom. She planted her feet wider, encouraging his caresses between her legs. Her knees trembled.
She sucked and rubbed briskly but was unprepared for what happened when the king discovered the slickness of her inner thighs. His cock quivered on her tongue and stiffened. He made a strangled grunt and tapped her head three times, just as he had for Charlotte. He arched. Tapped again, almost desperately.
Belle giggled, sucked on.
A stifled roar, and thick, hot jets filled her mouth so frantically she couldn't swallow quickly enough. So she let him spill; men loved that anyway. She angled into the moonbeam so he might see, caught his eye, and blinked with all the dirty innocence she could muster. He glowed, all-powerful, but with each jerk and each pump of his essence, with each salty, silky gulp of it, she felt his power move from him, into her. How much would he crave her now? And more importantly, what would he give for it? She laughed again, drunk on him; no, drunk on herself. Her hips warmed, her clit tingled.
The king spasmed under her like a dying pigeon in the jaws of a cat. She sucked him past his over-sensitized twitching, until he flagged, then didn't stop until he swelled against her palate once more. It was actually happening. She was sucking his spent cock hard again. Having her deepest fantasy manifested, especially with such a fantasy man, made her feel lost in a dream. Still, the very second he moaned and rocked needily at her mouth, she reigned herself in. She kissed his taut bulb and, even as her hole clamored for satisfaction, turned to leave.
The Demise of Madam Coutreau.
He grabbed her hand. "Thank you, Belle."
She curtseyed.
He still had her hand. "You're very wet."
She sucked cum off her bottom lip and relished the flick of his eye, watching her. She shrugged. "I love my job."
The boulders-in-a-bag-noise. So that was a laugh, then. "None of my staff ever say that."
"Then you have the wrong staff."
No response. She'd gone too far. She cleared her throat, still thick with his taste. "And I can't help it, Your Majesty is very sexy. I'm only human."
His phallus bobbed graciously at the compliment. "Is there; something else I might do for you?"
She might have thought this a dismissal, but the king squeezed her hand. His gaze latched to her hips, his cock bucked. The rumors about this man were true. He was insatiable. She'd push her luck again, see where it led.
Belle stepped close to where his movie-star head lay on the pillow, as if his gaze reeled her sex toward him, when it was the reverse. She'd use her dripping cunt to lure and net this glamorous leviathan.
She set her hips so close to his reclined face, his sigh heated her folds. She placed a foot on his bedside table, or rather on the large, leather book there: his bible. Her bare toes looked debauched on the embossed gold cross. "I think you'd like to lick me, sire."
His eyes widened, yet softened. Puppy dog eyes. He swallowed. Belle bit down on the urge to laugh omnipotently. She opened her pussy lips to him instead, one slavering beast to another.
He leant toward her. She swung her hips away from him. He flicked a scowl.
"You've made me very horny, sire. I'll burst quickly. Would you like me to come on your mouth?"
Rumble.
"I'd like to." Belle dug a finger into her sopping hole, slid out and stirred at her clit. She shivered showily. Chuckled.
The king leant toward her again, and she dodged again. He grumbled. She surveyed his muscular, animal form laid below her. Naked, he was more carthorse than king. She gathered her juices and slid slippery fingers over his cock until it glistened in the moonlight. "I'd love to come on this. Would you like to sire me, sire?"
The king seemed to collapse into a lascivious silence. His wife had made them promise to: "eat each other senseless, but neither kiss nor fuck." His dick nodded at her fingertips, secretly answering for him.
He slid his face closer to her cunt. She rubbed herself quickly over him.
He glowered. "You want me or not, woman?"
Belle sighed. "Very much, Your Majesty." She dug two fingers in and out of herself in a way that always pleased the viewer more than her hole. She pretended to take herself to the brink, took a deep breath and withdrew her fingers. "Yet I resist." She wiped her wetness across the king's lips. His basey hum vibrated the room.
"I bet you'd like all your staff to enjoy working for you as much as I." She watched his tongue slide over her fingers, suckle on them. Good boy. "Hmm?"
"Um-hmm."
"If I was your housekeeper, I would;” She dragged her hand from his mouth, stirred her bud. "Fix it for you."
He grabbed her hips. "Enough, woman. Give me your cunt." He tried to nuzzle past her busy hands, but she was in full flow, her sex caged by self-pleasuring fingers. She whimpered, tremored.
"Ok, Ok," he blustered. "I'll consider it."
Belle grasped his head, yanked it to her mound.
"Good." He covered her sex in hot kisses. "When I'm done; you may receive; my seed; again."
"Thank you, Your Majesty, I would love that." Which, of course was not an actual agreement.
"Really?" He buried his face in her wet cunt. "Oh God; thank you. Thank; Yum."
Belle let the king finish her, then left him alone in his bed even more rigid than when he'd called her. She deferred the offer to "receive" him one more time. Not because she didn't want to, but because he wanted it much more than she and that suited her better. Instead, she suggested he take the air with her the next day, and that, if he brought Madam Couteau's palace keys, she would grant his heart's desire. She even sealed it with a promise. "I would empty a man who trusted me. Drain him twice. Three times. Even that might not be enough to satisfy me. I'd make a king feel like a god. Your Majesty will need his rest tonight."
Belle woke to a commotion amongst the palace staff. It looked like the king had kept his word. From her little window on the village she watched Madam Couteau stride away, alone and bagless. She looked pitiful and small and that made Belle want to cheer. The woman left a curious energy in the household. A few trudged about as if preparing a funeral, but for most it was Christmas. When Belle left to meet the king for their picnic, cook gave her a basket of sandwiches and a bottle of wine, and then kissed Belle's cheek.
As the king sauntered into the rose garden to meet her, he looked dressed for a date: a pristine white shirt, mirror polished shoes, and linen trousers much distorted at the crotch. But his Brando smolder, cracked by a hopeful smirk, was what weakened Belle's knees.
"My Lady." He produced the hoop of keys from behind him, bowed and presented them like the heart of a dragon he'd slayed in her honor. "I hope you won't be too busy to answer my call from now on?"
Belle grabbed the keys as if they were to heaven itself. Which they were. She dropped them into the picnic basket. "My mother and I will share duties, sire. She'll be at your service during the day, and I will service you at night."
The king clapped, laughed. "And what if the queen or I have need of you in the daytime?"
Belle took his arm. "Then that's my lucky day."