Page 56 of The Ivory King

“It smells of the Black Sand Isles, does it not? Spicy and floral with a touch of the sea.” I gave my cock a tug, which, thankfully, got his nose out of the oil bottle. He smeared a handful on his prick before easing two fingers into me. Moaning aloud, I grabbed my knees to bring them to my chest, opening myself up for him. “Please…I need you in me.”

“And I need you ready.”

“I am ready,” I spat, just as he found that magical spot inside me. I cried out, clawed at the bed, and nearly spilled right then. “V’alor, by damn, I am desperate!”

With a grunt, he removed his fingers, found a bolster pillow with delicate embroidery, and shoved it under my ass right before he sank in, down to his balls. My spine arched as he buried himself so deeply it was hard to catch my breath.

“Yes, yes, oh yes!” I shouted, fingers knotted in the bedding. “Now…hard…I wish to travel to the moons!”

“I will do my best to take you where you wish, my love.” He began to move, his hands on my shins, his cock moving in then easing out. I placed my hands over his and gave myself over to the sensations. The pressure, the stretch, the glide of his fat cockhead over the mystical spot. The cries that filled the chamber were mine, the deep huffs were his, the words of love and adoration both of ours. When I hit the stars, my body convulsed, seed spewing over my stomach and chest, several droplets dotting my chin. V’alor tensed, his neck tight, jaw locked, as he exploded deep inside me. The pulse of his cock made my prick ooze more spend. We went thusly for ages, it seemed, my ass milking him until I could take no more.

He seemed to sense my overstimulation, for he eased out, resting on his heels, his breathing labored. I let my legs fall open and my eyes close as I struggled to find enough air to fill my lungs.

“Truly seeing you thusly is my greatest joy in life,” V’alor panted as he trailed a finger down over my balls to press some leaking seed back into me. I quaked at the feeling. “I adore you, Aelir.”

I held out my arms for him. He moved over me, between my legs, and fell atop me. The bolster squirted out from under us, his weight making me chuckle and wheeze as his mouth slanted over mine. I wrapped him up tightly in my arms and legs like a swaddled babe, my tongue sliding over his as the scent of man, sex, and blue abalone oil floated around us.

“And I love you deeply, forever.” I kissed him several times, my eyes growing misty with emotion as we melted into the bedding. “Never move from here.”

“It would be unseemly for you to meet the villagers of the realm lying here on your back with my spend oozing from your pink hole,” he said, nipped at my lower lip, and then eased his bulk from my chest. I held on tight, rolling over with him, to sit upon his sweaty thighs as my damp hair fell down over my back.

“We would wear robes,” I teased as I plucked at one of his tight nipples. He squeaked in a most unmanly way just as a soft rapping at one of the chamber doors slipped into our play. “Ugh, if that is one of the valets come to warm the sheets…”

“Aelir, it is Merrilyn,” my wife—that was a term for her that I would need some time to come to terms with—called out. “Please let me in.”

I looked down at V’alor. He smiled softly. “You had best let her enter. She is not one to put off for long. I wager she would knock the door clean from its hinges.” He was probably correct.

“Momentarily!” I shouted, stole a kiss, and eased off the bed with a tiny wince. My hole was tender, but I was not complaining. That burn would linger and I would revel in it. “We are not dressed,” I added as I found what remained of my shirt, wiped between my legs, and ran to the wardrobe for robes. I found one for myself. “You shall have to hide under the covers,” I said as I pulled the thick white and blue bathrobe over my arms.

“I hope this is not a common occurrence,” he grumbled as he kicked the tangled duvet off his long legs and stepped down to find his breeches.

“As do I,” I whispered as he tugged his trousers up over his ass. I tied my robe tightly and waddled to the doorway that led to the queen’s chambers. Opening it, I peeked out and up at Merrilyn in a demure gown of soft pink. “Is there a problem?”

She handed me an empty glass jar. I blinked at it and then at her. She rolled her eyes. “I am not sure what you wish—”

“It is time.”

I peeked around her down the dimly lit corridor. “Time for what?”

“Time to make an heir,” she flatly informed me. I caught a glimpse of a young female elf carrying a bundle of clothes down the hall.

“Come in, please,” I whispered, moving aside. This was not exactly a conversation that the castle staff should be privy to. Merrilyn moved around me to enter our chamber.

“It reeks like a brothel in here,” she commented with a long look at V’alor, trying to cover his upper half with one of my too-small shirts.

“What shall I do with this?” I asked her.

“Truly?” She seemed less than pleased with my question. “You are to fill it with seed.”

“With you in the room?!”

Her nose wrinkled. “No. I shall wait in the corridor.”

I glanced at V’alor and back at Merrilyn. “How am I to produce what is required of me under such duress?”

“Perhaps your husband can lend a hand.” I stared at her. “When you are done, I shall take it to the queen, and we shall do what needs to be done on our end.”

“Which is?” I asked as I stared at the jar. It was quite large. How was I to fill such a large container? Did these women think I am a bull ox?

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