White Queen, Black King
London. It had been a dream of mine to visit Great Britain ever since I was a little kid and my mom talked about my great-grandparents, who had lived in the city, but when she and my dad introduced me to the Beatles’ music, I knew I was going to make it there one day, if only to cross Abbey Road. I had studied British literature and history in between three foreign language classes through college, but the job market for European translators had faded just as I graduated. I had been working as a high school teacher since then, trying to give disinterested kids a reason to pay attention for the hour they spent with me. My success rate of about sixty percent, while personally disappointing, had my fellow teachers trying to figure out the secret of my success. Unfortunately, the district administrator had dropped into one of my classes and we were discussing... socialization skills and language in my French class. Teaching kids how to say “You wanna fuck?” and the like was surprisingly effective at getting (and keeping) their attention. He, on the other hand, was not amused, so I was now unemployed.
A trip would not have been a good idea, except that I had a profligate relative (from my father’s side, as my mother liked to point out) who had come into some money late in life (she wasn’t very forthcoming on the details, either.) He had passed away a week after I got my last paycheck. Having no children of his own, he willed it, evenly split, to his nieces and nephews. According to the will, it was so that “they would remember him more fondly than their parents,” and the only stipulation was that the money be used “to realize a dream within immediate reach. There is joy in taking instant gratification when the opportunity presents itself. This is your opportunity. Don’t waste it, because it’s the only one you may ever get.”
I had spent the first two days of my sojourn in getting settled, clearing jet lag, and visiting Liverpool (of course). Today I had visited Greenwich, crossed Abbey Road, and now I was walking along Kensington High Street, headed back to my hotel. Suddenly, I heard a shouted, “Stop! Thief!” from behind me. I turned and saw a young man running in my direction, bouncing off of startled people. While I’m not that big, I’m very solid, solid enough to have been a second-team all-State safety in high school. The thief had the advantage of surprise and momentum in the crowd, but in the few instants it took for him to get to me, instinct took over, and I crouched before driving my shoulder into his midsection as he arrived. We fell to the ground with me on top, one arm securely wrapped around his body, the other capturing his thigh. As my high school football coach would have said, I knew how to tackle. He was too dazed to be much of a threat after that, and the police quickly led both of us away in restraints. I was released in less than an hour, and greeted by a very relieved-looking gentleman who thanked me profusely for stopping the loss of an irreplaceable family heirloom. “Might I give you a ride to your hotel, sir? It is the least that I can do for now,” he inquired. I accepted, blithely saying that I didn’t need anything beyond that. “Just to let you know, sir, my employer, the Lady Airingford, will most certainly wish to reward you, and it would be bad form to refuse—if you take my meaning, sir.” I replied that I would make myself available for an evening, as my time in London was limited. “Very good, sir.”
There was a message waiting for me when I returned from sightseeing the following day. It was in a linen envelope, sealed with an elaborately embossed circle of blue wax, and handed to me by the gentleman from the previous day.
The Lady Airingford requests the honour of your presence at a dinner in appreciation of your brave and selfless act. Dinner will take place in the ballroom of Airingford Manor, tomorrow at six o’clock p. m. Dress is formal, and will be provided upon your arrival. Transport has been arranged, and you should be in the lobby of your hotel no later than four o’clock p.m.
Another wax seal was at the bottom of the letter. “Your response, sir?”
“If it’s appropriate, I will send you with my acceptance. How will they know my sizes, though?”
“Begging your pardon, sir...” He pulled out a measuring tape and efficiently obtained my measurements as I stood in the hotel lobby. “Very good, sir. I shall convey your acceptance to milady and I shall meet you here tomorrow afternoon, sir, at four. As he left, I wondered what it would take to get him to stop calling me “sir.”
I got a little nervous riding in the back seat of a Mercedes, going to a dinner in an unknown location, with people I did not know. Until then, I hadn’t thought of the potential for danger in this. My chauffeur, although familiar to me by sight, hadn’t spoken much since we’d left the hotel, and my attempts to engage him in conversation were met with polite one- or two-word answers. However, now we were at least an hour outside of London in the middle of nondescript fields. I realized that I would have a difficult time of getting back to my hotel on my own from here. The car stopped in front of a stately English manor, large and imposing, surrounded by formal, well-tended gardens. As my driver opened the car door and conducted me to the majestic front door, the thought of having to carry off the etiquette that would be required in such a setting was a little intimidating. “Mr. Ronald Stone, the guest of honor, has arrived,” he announced to the butler.
“Welcome to Airingford Manor, Mr. Stone. My name is Harold, and I will be your personal valet this evening. Please follow me, sir.” Harold led me to a grand bedroom suite, complete with canopied bed and attached bath. “Your tuxedo is in the closet. Just ring the bell if you need my assistance, sir.” He bowed and deferentially left. I mused that if I was in danger, I would certainly be well dressed when it came.
It was almost five-thirty when I summoned Harold to help me with the bow tie and cummerbund, so if something bad was going to happen, it would happen soon.
The truth was considerably less dramatic. I found myself an object of curiosity in the middle of a largely upper-crust, very formal, British dinner gathering. The looks I was receiving made me feel like a circus sideshow freak. Yeah, go ahead. Look at the black guy from the United States. For heaven’s sake, don’t speak to him, he might do something violent. The crowd was mostly middle-aged, with the youngest seeming to be about five years older than I was. Harold found me standing somewhat defensively in a corner ten minutes before the event was to start and told me to follow him. “As the guest of honor, you will be the Lady Airingford’s escort. If she asks you a question, the proper response is, ‘yes, milady.’ When the Lady Airingford is announced, you will meet her at the bottom of the steps with a bow and take her hand. You will be introduced at that time, and then you are to lead her into the reception room. Do you have any questions?”
I apologized in advance for the insensitivity of the question before asking, “And the Lord Airingford?”
“Sadly, deceased in a boating accident four months ago,” Harold answered. “Milady has been most admirable for the duration. She is a most remarkable woman.”
Another man stepped onto the first landing and cleared his throat. All miscellaneous discussion ended, and I could feel a sense of excited anticipation begin to build, and the Lady Airingford was announced. She carried herself regally, and was dressed in a long, flowing formal gown. I gave a deep bow as she arrived on the bottom step. “Mr. Stone, correct?” she asked.
“Yes, milady.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I took her daintily-offered hand, and the man on the steps said, “Mr. Ronald Stone.” We walked to the reception line, where I met several other couples. Apparently, now that I had been presented, the people who had been aloof and distant in the reception room were eager to meet me. After the receiving line, we went to the formal reception, where I instantly became the center of attention among the women, who were cooing about how brave and strong I was to have routed a petty thief in the street. Another servant presented Lady Airingford with a small cigar in a short, exotic, and expensive-looking holder, which she accepted, but did not light. She remained at my side throughout the reception, which was somewhat surprising, given that she probably knew everybody who had been invited. Dinner was announced around seven, and she discreetly tugged on my arm to let me know that we would be waiting for the other guests to take their places. I finally got a good chance to look at the woman whose family heirloom I had rescued. She looked to be in her mid-to-early forties, with thick blonde hair that was cut and styled just above her shoulders. She wasn’t bad looking at all, a bit of a pear shape, and decently-sized and nicely-shaped boobs. “So, Mr. Stone, it would appear that you are a decisive man of action,” she regally began, interrupting my evaluation and making me blush. “Of all those on the street, you alone took the personal risk to stop the thief.”
I pointed out that I had merely been the first, to which she noted my humility with a smile. I bowed, and before we could converse further, we were told that everyone was ready. The Lady Airingford and I were conducted to the front table in a very large room, set up like a wedding reception, with one long table in front on a raised platform, and six circular tables on the floor. There were two other couples at our table, leaving ample space for at least four more people.
Each course of the dinner was announced before it was served, making this the most formal occasion I had ever attended. It was almost like a movie where the food was as decorative as the setting, and good champagne flowed freely.
As the dessert course ended, Lady Airingford called for attention, and the room became silent. I thought that she was going to make yet another toast in my honor, and frankly, I was getting uncomfortable with the hero treatment. The man who had given me the invitation and had chauffeured me to the party came to the dais and placed an ornate wooden box with an intricately carved “H” on the top. I recognized it immediately: it was what the would-be thief was trying to get away with. “I believe that it is time for Mr. Stone to see what he has rescued,” she announced, and excited murmurs broke out. That would be kinda cool, I thought. She produced a key from her bodice and opened the wooden case, which, despite its obvious age, opened soundlessly.
“Behold the Airingford sapphire!” she proclaimed. I gasped in amazement at the biggest gemstone of any type that I had ever seen in my life. Oval-shaped and having the purest, deepest blue color, it was at least an inch and a half wide at its center, and was set into very intricately engraved gold. It hung from a thick gold chain, obviously designed to be worn as a pendant. This was considerably more than the gem I had envisioned having saved. No wonder they’re making such a big deal out of this. That thing must be worth an incredible fortune! Had I realized at the time that the gem was unknown outside the Airingford circle of closest friends, and the reason why it was virtually unknown, I might have fled the estate on foot.
“This sapphire has belonged to the Airingford heir for nearly three centuries,” declared Lady Airingford. “It insures our wealth, our station, and our privacy.” She turned to me. “Mr. Stone’s brave actions have preserved this jewel, this family, and this august assembled group.” I blushed again and prepared to give a humble appreciation speech. “Therefore,” she continued before I could stand up, “I submit that he has earned the right of standing in this group. Who opposeth acceptance of my submission?”
A man in his mid-fifties stood. “He is not one of us. He will never be one of us,” he snobbishly clipped, regarding me with distaste bordering on enmity.
“Your objection is noted,” the Lady Airingford replied. She put the pendant on. “It has been considered, and overruled on the basis of lack of proof of such a requirement. Sit down.”
To my shock, he fawningly answered, “Yes, milady,” and took his seat.
Well, I appreciate the gesture, milady, but he didn’t have to worry. I can’t join, I live four thousand miles away. “Your ladyship,” I softly began with every intention of politely declining the apparent offer.
“Silence,” she regally interrupted, and that’s when it first happened. I call it, “The Gray,” and it is the strangest sensation. Imagine that all of your senses are enormously dulled in an instant, and your ability to think coherently enough to form words has all but disappeared. Now imagine that the only thing that is clear is this gigantic cue card with super-bold and large letters—to me, it’s as big as one of the mega-screens in Times Square, and the only thing that it says is, “Yes, milady.” By far the most dominant object of anything you can perceive, it literally fills your immediate thoughts. So, I found myself saying, “Yes, milady,” and in my head I reasoned that I had agreed to her request for my silence, and so I didn’t say anything more. It all seemed so—logical—that I didn’t feel anything was wrong.
“The petition of Ronald James Stone to the Hellions is hereby approved.” Cool, I thought, my mind still clouded, I’m a Hellion. Whatever that is. Lady Airingford was not finished, however. “The Lord Airingford is a man possessing great bravery. Ronald James Stone has demonstrated his own bravery by acting when others stood by, exposing himself to unknown danger. We know this to be truth.” Everyone in the room chanted, “Aye,” in unison. She continued, “The Lord Airingford is a stout and strong man of physical ability. The ease with which Ronald James Stone deterred and detained the would-be usurper of the Airingford sapphire stands as open testament to his qualification on this point.”
Once again, the response was a unanimous, “Aye.” My mind was beginning to clear as the gray receded; I was now aware that the Lady Airingford was comparing me to her late husband. I had no idea why, but it was apparent that she wasn’t finished. “Lastly,” Lady Airingford announced, “the Lord Airingford is a man of great virility, potency, and of immense and diverse appetites. Shall we put Ronald James Stone to this final test, to determine if he is worthy to assume the vacant title of Lord—” WHAT?
I heard her last words all too clearly as they cut through the receding gray. “But—but—I’m not royalty!” I protested, getting to my feet.
“Sit down, Mr. Stone,” the Lady Airingford commanded, fingering the pendant around her neck, and I immediately heard myself respond, “Yes, milady.” The “Gray” had returned in full. I sat in my chair at the dinner table and smiled beatifically at the assembled gathering. “Now then,” she calmly resumed, “shall we put Ronald James Stone to this final test, to qualify him on all accounts. If successful, he will become the next Lord Airingford.” The room responded, “Aye” yet another time. In spite of “The Gray,” I was able to note that the man who had objected earlier merely sat with his arms crossed and an extremely sour expression on his face. “Are the examiners ready to accept their charge?”
This time, the response was different. Instead of the entire room replying, a chorus of female voices replied, “Aye.” One woman from each of the tables stood up, as well as the two women at my table. One of the women was with Mr. Sourpuss, and I remembered her from the reception. She had made a big fuss over what I had done, and it was obvious that she was attracted to me, so I knew what part of his problem was, but I couldn’t exactly blame him. If I had a wife like her, I wouldn’t want her to—whatever she was going to do—with me, either. “Mr. Stone, prepare to undergo your trial,” Lady Airingford declared. I didn’t know what preparation I needed or what the trial was, but I answered, “yes, milady,” and calmly waited for it to begin. “Step back from the table, stand up, and undress.”
“Yes, milady.” I followed her orders perfectly, and I was soon naked, quite incongruous with everyone else’s formal attire. It wasn’t exactly what I would call an arousing situation, but I had no reason to worry; I’d told her that I would undress, and so I did. Lady Airingford picked up the cigar that had been ignored to this point and lit it. My dick twitched. She took a big drag, and I was half-hard, but the women who were standing up began to take off their clothes, and were rubbing themselves, evidently in heat, and I was getting hornier by the second, under the same spell, and my thoughts were slowly changing: I was no longer trying to analyze the situation and comprehend what was going on. Instead, I was busy ranking the masturbating women, evaluating their desirability, potential sexual talents, and the actions I would take with each one. The Lady Airingford dragged again on her cigar, and the two women at the front table finished taking their clothes off in a big hurry.
One was a matronly brunette, the other a blonde, and I was sure that both of them were in their mid-to-late forties. I also didn’t care, because my cock was standing out from my body like a divining rod. I was genetically gifted in terms of endowment, but when I looked down as the women approached, I was bigger—kind of like Lex Steele or some similar male porno star in length and girth. The matronly brunette reached me first, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me hungrily before sinking to her knees and taking my cock into her mouth. She sucked at the head of my cock while stroking the base. The blonde simply kissed me constantly while her friend was occupied, while my hand found its way between her legs. Her eyes widened, and she shifted position, parting her legs more. She moaned into my mouth in her growing lust, hips thrusting at my ministrations.
Pulling my incredibly rigid cock free of the brunette’s grasp, I moved enough to get a firm hold of my middle-aged blonde nymph’s ass, and easily picked her up. Her protest at no longer being fingered turned into a howl of pleasure as I impaled her with my dick. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and supported only by that grasp and my arms, she bounced vigorously on my cock. Her blue eyes were wide in shock, yet her gaze registered her full attention on me, causing me to bounce her even more violently, my arms and back not feeling her weight in the least. She threw her head back and climaxed with a long, loud, deep, moan, melting around me, unable to keep her legs from going slack. I popped out, covered in her cream, supporting her long enough to pour her into a chair. The still-kneeling brunette was regarding me with awe, but as soon as I signaled for her, the desire instantly returned to her eyes. I made her clean my cock with her mouth, and then, holding her head in place, fucked it, not allowing her to choose the depth of each stroke, but never going deeply enough to do more than alert her gag reflex. I’d never been so sexually dominant and forceful in my life, preferring to be the sensitive, caring lover in bed. I felt my orgasm approach and savagely, demandingly growled, “You will swallow,” something I never dreamed I’d ever tell a woman to do, much less in that fashion. Even more unusual was her reaction: eyes sparkling, she hummed affirmatively, and set her hands to work around the base, actively aiding my mouth fucking by bobbing her head. I sighed, “Ohhhhhh, yessssss, Mrs. Elliott,” and began to cum, holding her head in place, filling her mouth until she could take no more, and then I coated her lips and chest with the remainder. My blonde lover had recovered enough to sit up, so I told her to clean her friend—with her mouth. She gave me a brief, deferential curtsy, and proceeded to comply. I returned to my seat, unmindful of my nakedness, feeling satisfied, but not sated. My cock had shrunk, but was still quarter-hard.
The Lady Airingford turned to the two women behind us on the dais and questioned, “First Examiners, how do you find?”
The two women looked up, startled at the interruption of what apparently had been a blossoming lesbian tryst. The blonde looked hungrily at me first, and then my cock, causing it to twitch before standing up and declaring, “He has fulfilled the requirement,” with a broad, lascivious smile. Her partner looked disappointed, casting a longing glance at the blonde’s ass, but she also stood and concurred that she, too, had found me—equal to the task.
“Excellent,” the Lady Airingford noted. She then turned to me. “Mr. Stone, you now have earned the right of choice of an examiner or, should you desire, examiners. You shall have that right only once; upon your selection, your fellow Hellions and I shall select the remainder of your examiners.”
I knew who I was going to pick; the only question was when. Almost psychically, Mr. Sourpuss’ companion locked eyes with me, and began to rub her pussy with increased vigor. I smiled at her, and she threw her head back in seeming ecstasy. Judging by his body language and the expression on his face, he was really pissed. Good. Don’t know why an old fart like you would have a hot babe like her anyway. Then it suddenly dawned on me that more than a few of the couples had distinctly younger partners; and it wasn’t just restricted to the men. There were a few women who were probably in their fifties, and they had escorts in their thirties; there was even one woman who was with a guy not too much older than I was—maybe even in his late twenties.
During my musing, servants had brought a bed into the room and were setting it up in front of the dais.
“Milady,” I began, noticing that all the attention in the room had focused on me, “I will reserve my choice until later.” If I’m lucky, somebody’s going to pick her for me just to piss him off. Then I can have her twice.
The Lady Airingford nodded once, and said, “Very well.” The unhappiest man in the room almost shouted, “Ophelia!” He stood up and excitedly said, “By right of proxy, I call on Ophelia as examiner in place of—”
“I will remind you that Hellions may never reserve their own partners. In any situation,” Lady Airingford icily interrupted, and he looked frustrated. “You have agreed to accept these terms, and you will abide by them.”
“Yes, milady,” he assented, sounding quite happy about it. I would have bet the worth of the sapphire around Lady Airingford’s neck that he was feeling “the Gray.”
I got the feeling that Lady Airingford did not seem terribly pleased over this turn of events. “Harold,” she sighed, “summon Ophelia from the kitchen, please.” it wasn’t long before a corpulent, brown-haired woman appeared in the doorway, wearing glasses and a uniform. She stopped there and curtsied, looking frightened. “Ophelia,” Lady Airingford said, “I have need of your unfulfilled sexual desires. Undress, and come to the bed, and await satisfaction.”
“Yes, milady.” Ophelia removed her uniform, her undergarments, and then casually walked to the bed as if she were in the privacy of her room, and not in a room full of formally attired people. She lay on the bed and began a gentle masturbation. My cock had gone flaccid: there was round, there was fat, but Ophelia was—an SSBBW lover’s fantasy. Not mine.
“Your charge is to raise Ophelia beyond the peak of ecstasy, and in so doing, make her beg to serve you. Will you accept?”
I was getting ready to decline when I heard myself say, “Yes, milady.” I immediately left the dais and met Ophelia at the bed. In spite of having no attraction, I tentatively reached for her. She rolled and made it to her feet, and eagerly kissed me, hot and wanton, the need diffusing from her every pore. Her hand grasped my dick, and she began to stroke me, paying special attention to lighten her touch around the sensitive corona, while using more pressure along the stalk. While I still wasn’t attracted to her in the least, she was very good at kissing, and incredible at handjobs, so I slowly began to get hard. Unbidden, Ophelia knelt and began to fellate me. Her mouth was warm butter sliding along my length, and when she came up for air, would slide her balled fist along my slowly-expanding cock with the same practiced touch as earlier. I looked down at my soon-to-be sex object, who was dutifully preparing me. I reached to lightly touch her hair, causing her to stop sucking. She grinned, her eyes sparkling through her glasses. I leaned over and kissed her fiercely. Blood surged into my cock when I felt her respond with a muffled “MMMMFF!", and she arched her back as her body shivered in excitement. Tugging gently on her shoulders as an encouragement to get off her knees, I removed her glasses, and had her sit on the bed. She smiled again, earning another kiss before she shifted and enthusiastically engulfed my cock again, which quickly grew to its new maximum size. I could sense Ophelia’s excitement at the approach of the inevitable. I found her clit and started playing with it, as well as her hardened nipples, but my efforts seemed not to distract her at all. Finally, I stepped back from her and lifted her chin for one more kiss before spreading her legs.
It took me a moment to find Ophelia’s pussy, but it was sopping wet and warm and it wrapped itself around me. Her thighs served to caress the part of my dick that wasn’t in her. My hips pumped rhythmically, without hurry, and she quickly started whimpering and turned red. Suddenly, her voice rose in pitch, she almost turned purple, and her insides clutched spastically around me. She relaxed with a long, throaty sigh as her eyes refocused.
Only then did I speak, softly demanding, “What do you want, Ophelia?”
A little girl’s voice eagerly replied, “Fuckme!” and I continued my steady thrusting, and she came again... and again... and yet again. After her fourth orgasm, she started to exhort me to cum, repeating, “Oh please sir, cum in me. Cum in me. Please cum in me, I want you to cum in me. Please...”
The tingle started, my breathing became ragged and loud, and I granted her request, stabbing her with my entire length, and groaning quietly as my cock burned. “Oh, thank you, sir!” she squealed. I withdrew my cock, still hard, not shrinking very much.
I turned, and it pointed directly at another middle-aged blonde, who slid her dress off without a word, revealing a shaved pussy. She efficiently removed her bra, and bending over, braced herself against her escort, presenting her ass to me. No words were necessary.
By the time my cock stopped being hard, I had fucked one woman from each table, including the sourpuss’ lithe blonde wife, who took all of me repeatedly, and then invited me to finish in her ass. With a lewd smile on her face, and while her husband watched us from close range, close enough that I could see the anger, the frustration, the loathing—and the envy as he looked at my dick while I waited for his wife to reposition herself so that I could do her anally.
I collapsed onto the bed, feeling for the first time all night, the exhaustion of what had transpired in the dining room after dessert. I was so tired that I barely noticed the variety of stains on the sheet, some of them still wet. I was getting ready to fall...
“Ronald James Stone.” Lady Airingford’s voice startled me to full wakefulness, and I wearily sat up. “You have admirably proven yourself in the crucible of endurance, stamina, and virility as affirmed by your examiners. You have previously demonstrated both bravery and strength in equal measure. All of these are important qualities for the Lord Airingford. Are you married?”
“No, milady,” I answered with more than a trace of fatigue. I knew what she was leading up to, but I was too tired to care. I’d argue in the morning. Speaking of morning, what time is it?
“Ronald James Stone, as certified by this group, and according to family tradition, you have been selected as the next Lord Airingford, with all the duties and rights pertaining to the title, and its inheritances to your heirs. Do you accept?”
That now-familiar feeling flooded through my entire being, and the gigantic billboard was all I could see or sense. “Yes, milady.” There was an explosion of applause and I distinctly remember being pissed because it was keeping me awake.
“And now, lord Airingford,” Lady Airingford said, immediately dampening the cheers, “it is time for your first duty.” She stood up and slowly descended from the dais, stopping in front of me on the bed. “Harold, cigar please.” She began to disrobe. Oh no, I thought, I can’t. I don’t have any energy left. “It is time for the Lady’s pleasure at the Lord’s hands.”
It wasn’t that she was unattractive; compared to some of the women I’d fucked tonight, she was smoking hot, but I looked at my dick which seemed to be shrinking with every second—or maybe cowering was a more appropriate term. If a brainless organ could cower.
Lady Airingford stood naked in front of me, except for the pendant around her neck and regarded me with amusement and desire. “Kneel before me. I desire oral pleasure, Lord.”
“Yes, milady.” Fatigue notwithstanding, I knelt in front of her as she sat, regally poised on the side of the bed. I began to lick her pussy, something I hadn’t done all night, caringly, gently, with a genuine desire to pleasure my Lady.
She sighed dreamily, “Yes, you will make for an excellent Lord Airingford.” As I happily licked, fingered, and sucked at her lower lips and clit, her hips began to move in waves, her throaty moans became louder, and she cried out in her release.
I settled back onto my ass, my cock not the least bit involved, or showing the tiniest bit of life. I don’t know how long Lady Airingford lay there, but I heard the click of a lighter, smelled cigar smoke, and impossibly, my cock rose. “Make yourself hard for me, Lord Airingford so that we may join in the most intimate of embraces.”
My hand went to my groin as it formed an open fist, and I began to stroke myself to full hardness, in spite of all of the intercourse I’d already had. The physical impossibility of everything that had passed that evening faded to less than insignificance with two little words. “Yes, milady.”
As soon as I was hard again, I climbed on top of Lady Airingford, positioned myself, and sank into her, going all the way in. She throatily responded, “Ohhhhhh, yes!” and the fatigue vanished. I started thrusting slowly at her, my full length captured inside her with each downward stroke, the Lady’s moans marking our rhythm until she cried out sharply with another orgasm.
She relaxed enough for me to resume pumping at her and as I did, she gazed at me with that post-orgasmic smile. She wrapped her arms around me and it didn’t take very long before I felt my balls tighten.
“AAAARRRRGGGHHH!” Cum spewed from my dick in pulsed rivulets of delicious fire through the ridge on the bottom. I was frozen, completely buried inside of Lady Airingford, back arched and my toes curled, for what seemed an eternity of nirvana. And then all the tension left my body, I groaned with satisfaction and I resumed thrusting weakly at her.
“S-s-stop for a moment,” she panted. “Let us change positions.”
I denoted my acquiescence with the now-standard “Yes, milady,” and pulled my dick, covered in thick white cream, out of her. “Lie on your back.”
“Yes, milady,” I said as I complied. She relit the cigar, took a long draw, and my dick stopped receding. She began to masturbate me with one hand while drawing again on the holder and cigar, and I was on my way back to full erection. Somehow, the sensations she caused were still pleasurable and arousing, but I had little time to think about how that was possible because a few moments later, she swung a leg across me and shimmied onto my pole, settling on my hips while leaning slightly forward. The Airingford sapphire danced in front of my eyes as Lady Airingford vigorously fucked me with rolling hips. Her breathing quickly became erratic, as did her motions, and she threw her head back with a deep moan. Half of my cock came out as she arched backwards, singing “OH!” loud and long. The Lady Airingford pitched forward, causing me to pop out. After a feverish kiss, she resettled herself, pointed my dick at her pussy, and ran the tip along her outer lips. The lightning bolt I felt made me buck, and I was inside her. Two strokes later, I was cumming again. Reality twisted around me, and I regained awareness just as she was lifting herself off of my cock with cum dripping from her into my pubic hair. My dick was, thankfully, collapsing, I was beyond tired, and my eyes closed of their own volition.
I awoke to the sight of Lady Airingford standing over the bed with a fresh cigar in the holder. “And now, with dawn nigh, it is time for the final act!” what was strange was that she wasn’t speaking to me, but addressing the whole room. I knew that I hadn’t been asleep for very long because the mess in my groin was still wet, but I was wide-awake again—and horny. Still naked save for the pendant and holdered cigar, Lady Airingford knelt on the bed and with amazing efficiency, fellated me to full erection, pausing only once to puff on her smoke. “Come, Lord Airingford,” she commanded, and led me by my erection back to the dais, where the other two couples who had sat with us were no longer there. The Lady Airingford sat in a chair and resumed her blowjob, now wet and sloppy.
My mind had cleared and I could more or less think, at least as much as one can think when one is horny beyond belief and getting a sloppy, fantastic blowjob. Distracted to such an extreme, I managed to conclude that there was something clearly supernatural at work here. Once again, before I could think my way through it, Lady Airingford stopped, bent over the table, and issued a command. “Fuck me in the arse, Lord Airingford.” she dragged on the holder.
Feeling hornier than at any time during the night, I responded, “Yes, milady,” and immediately began working my cock into her ass. She spread her cheeks while puffing on the cigar clenched between her teeth. It took a bit of patient manipulation, but I finally got most of me into her ass. She puffed on the cigar, removed it from her mouth, and managed to proclaim, “And now let it begin!”
I started moving inside of her deliciously tight ass, slowly at first but all she did was to puff on her cigar some more. My thrusts remained slow, but became more fluid, the strokes longer as her sphincter relaxed around my dick. I hadn’t felt this huge, nor had I felt anything this good all night. I maintained this easy pace, wanting the feeling going through my body to last—forever, but a noise began to fight its way to my consciousness. It was a murmur—no—a chant, and as much as I wanted every fiber of my being focused on fucking Lady Airingford’s ass, the noise and the distraction became too great to ignore, and at that exact moment, it seemed as if I had just opened my eyes, and I gasped in shock.
Everyone in the room was fucking. Everyone was also in the same position, a couple doing it doggy-style or anal, I couldn’t tell. The sight sent an extra jolt of sexual energy through me, and I got even bigger. The chant soon became loud enough for me to discern over the passionate gasps and moans Lady Airingford and I were making as we fucked. “All hail the Black King, All hail the Black King,” went the chant, and I began fucking her ass harder as the chants grew louder.
Lady Airingford continued puffing on her cigar, the couples in the room were chanting and her ass made my cock feel so good... Suddenly, the sun burst through the stained glass window, and my most intense, soul-wrenching, mind-altering, body-draining orgasm of the entire night tore through me, making me feel as if every atom of my being were drowning in sexual bliss. I didn’t scream, I roared while I filled Lady Airingford’s ass with more cum and it overflowed with ugly noises and I didn’t care still fucking her, greedily urging more sensation through my body and my dick surged again, firing more cum and again...
I heard a soft hiss and saw that Lady Airingford had extinguished the cigar. My orgasm ended, the blood left my cock, and my legs turned rubbery. I half-leaned, half-lay on top of her, panting and gasping for air. Little sparkly lights were floating throughout my field of vision. She gently moved so that she was looking directly at me, smiled, and said, “All hail the Black King,” to which the room replied with a rousing, “All hail the Black King!”
The sparkly lights started to go out, my legs went from rubber to water, and I again awoke to the sight of a naked Lady Airingford and the Airingford pendant hovering over me. “Come to your bedchamber, Lord Airingford.”
My legs regained enough strength for me to stand as I replied, “yes, milady.” I followed her docilely as we left the dais, walking through the crowd of naked people applauding as we passed. I remember going up stairs, but had no concept of how many, and we eventually entered a room with a canopied bed. I climbed onto the bed naked, not even bothering to pull back the bedspread. “Good night, Lord Airingford,” said Lady Airingford, with a gentle brush of her lips. I realized that the light coming through the window meant that it was morning, and then everything went dark.