ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2013
- Posts
- 1,650
((Closed for DeliciousMaiden))
King Francis VII sat on the gilded throne in the sun washed salon, his legs crossed, his brown bearded chin resting on his hand as he consider the two men that stood before him. His eyes were darker by lack of sleep and the recovery from over indulgence of wine. Whilst he still remains a young King, God does not even let royality be in excess without some punishment. If it wasn’t his duty to sit for requests and grievances this hour, he would be back in his own bed continuing to sleep this haze off or grinding into one of the maids designated to keep his room well maintained. Still a King has his duties, and seated here in the Salon he blesses them with his presence. He had to make many wait until he was ready to see anyone this day, and the room seemed filled with nobility of different heraldry whether waiting their turn or not. As painful as it was, the King only could begin and hope the end would come soon.
For the duty of the day, he looked regal with a studded top coat lined with the purple color of his nature. His powdered wig was understated, but this hall should consider itself lucky he agreed to continue with such a sober state he was in. Donning just simple riding pants and house slippers, one could say the King did as little as he could to be ready for this hall.
Francis was already growing bored with the proceedings however, and itched to move on to some other duty in some other chamber. He pulled a parchment of order straight from the Chancellor’s hands and reviewed it quickly. “Lords Lesserby and Umberton,” the king proclaimed passively, “you both come to me with the same request of coin. I have no time to be bothered by both of you, so …” He dropped the parchment at the Chancellor’s feet and waved to the lords. “Only the one who is most agreeable will have my coins. For now, you only have have my attention, but even that too is fleeting.”
“I only ask for 10 crowns so that the manor kitchen maybe grown, and in return to repaying the loan, your Majesty will be the first guest of honor to the grand ball we will have fed from the new services,” spoke the refined Duke of Lesserby.
“And I,” the Duke of Umberton nearly interrupted, “ask for 10 crowns as well, but would be to fund an aqueduct, so my vassals can farm your lands with greater yield. Tis been a horridly dry spell the Good Lord has seen us to struggle through, and yet with some water we shall prevail.”
Lesserby guffawed, “you ask for money just to feed beggars.”
“And you to feed your own fat bellies,” Umberton returned slightly louder.
“Fat bellies,” Lesserby spouted, “we are dignified, we welcome royalty; whilst you slaughter a pig in the street to feed His Magistry.”
“At the hands of your dead servants, who have none the food to feed their wee children.” Umberton turned and stood tall to the looming Lesserby, a cane raised as if soon he will strike.
The two began to bicker back and forth, growing in volume and declining in decorum. The King just pressed his fingers into his temples, and rubbed them until the latest headache began to wane. Yet the feat was near impossible as these two fat old men continued to speak.
“Enough,” the King commanded. Once silence resumed he stood, “I shall take a moment to consider.”
He stepped from the throne, wandered through the crowd to the side door. Most in the room had turned to pay their own attention or to grumble quietly to themselves. One by the door did not. At first the King noticed her stunningly beautiful smile underneath a full white wig, but it took little for him to notice more. She wore a ball proper powder blue dress accented with eggshell soft white lacing. The shoulders of which raised high to her shoulder blades before plunging deeply to present heavy, yet magnificent breasts.
The king stopped in front of her, gave her a devilish grin, and slid his hand easily into the dress until his fingers surrounded her nipple. She gave a shocked breath and raised a fan up to her chest, not as much to stop the man but to hide what he had done. Not that anyone would think to speak ill of her, or suggest she should remove his hand or stop any other advances he may make. She noticeably enjoyed his toying with her nipple, yet even that wouldn’t hurt her favor in the court.
All this simply because, he was the King. In his court, he ruled absolutely, and all were to follow his wishes.
While mauling the lusciousness of the breast his gazed turned up to hers and found eyes more wicked than his.. With a nod of the head, he slipped his hand from her dress and lead her out of the room with him.
Shortly after in his study, the lady in the blue dress bent over the harpsichord and gripped the at the far edge. Her dress was pulled down to the waist as her heavy glands ground into the instrument. The lower portion of the dress was pooled up high above her hips. As customarily unspoken terms set out by the King to any lady in his castle, she stood there without undergarments of any type except for the stockings ending well short of the treasure between her legs. And it was that treasure the King was currently plundering.
The king continued to plunge his hungry member over and over into her soft depths. She was no maiden for sure, but the youthfulness of her sex suggested she had yet to bear a child either. It took little to ready her for his needs, but once she was sprawled across the harpsichord he cared only to drive his hardness deep into her repeatedly until her repetitive climaxes made her wetness drool down to the stockings below. Quickly he rode her to his own finish, and from what was left of a long night with many fair ladies he still poured heavy seed into her spasming womb. He slowed, laid against her back, and slowly moved his hands between the wooden instrument and her breasts.
She was unknown to him. A stranger who knew only to follow her king’s orders. Yes she was nobility, but laid out over this instrument he made her into nothing more than a common whore. He chose to prove that too her simply by rewarding himself by asking his favorite after-coitus question.
“Tell me, my lady,” he said between breaths. “What is your name?”
She purred softly under him, his softening member still insider her. She turned her head and replied, “Gwendelyn, the Lady of Lesserby.”
The court was one that rumors spread, even if it was well known that such distasteful rumors were the norm in King Francis’s reign. The King returned to the salon, his wig misplaced, his hand stuffing his shirt back into his pants, and the glow on his face that all who know his court recognizes what he had been up to moments before. Behind him is the disheveled Dutchess and knowing whispers grew of what had transpired. As if there was any question left in the their minds, the King slumping satisfyingly into the throne made a declaration that removed any doubt.
“Ten Crowns to the Dutchy of Lesserby, and I shall be there for the Grand Ball if for nothing more to receive a tribute for this loan. Next business than?”
King Francis VII sat on the gilded throne in the sun washed salon, his legs crossed, his brown bearded chin resting on his hand as he consider the two men that stood before him. His eyes were darker by lack of sleep and the recovery from over indulgence of wine. Whilst he still remains a young King, God does not even let royality be in excess without some punishment. If it wasn’t his duty to sit for requests and grievances this hour, he would be back in his own bed continuing to sleep this haze off or grinding into one of the maids designated to keep his room well maintained. Still a King has his duties, and seated here in the Salon he blesses them with his presence. He had to make many wait until he was ready to see anyone this day, and the room seemed filled with nobility of different heraldry whether waiting their turn or not. As painful as it was, the King only could begin and hope the end would come soon.
For the duty of the day, he looked regal with a studded top coat lined with the purple color of his nature. His powdered wig was understated, but this hall should consider itself lucky he agreed to continue with such a sober state he was in. Donning just simple riding pants and house slippers, one could say the King did as little as he could to be ready for this hall.
Francis was already growing bored with the proceedings however, and itched to move on to some other duty in some other chamber. He pulled a parchment of order straight from the Chancellor’s hands and reviewed it quickly. “Lords Lesserby and Umberton,” the king proclaimed passively, “you both come to me with the same request of coin. I have no time to be bothered by both of you, so …” He dropped the parchment at the Chancellor’s feet and waved to the lords. “Only the one who is most agreeable will have my coins. For now, you only have have my attention, but even that too is fleeting.”
“I only ask for 10 crowns so that the manor kitchen maybe grown, and in return to repaying the loan, your Majesty will be the first guest of honor to the grand ball we will have fed from the new services,” spoke the refined Duke of Lesserby.
“And I,” the Duke of Umberton nearly interrupted, “ask for 10 crowns as well, but would be to fund an aqueduct, so my vassals can farm your lands with greater yield. Tis been a horridly dry spell the Good Lord has seen us to struggle through, and yet with some water we shall prevail.”
Lesserby guffawed, “you ask for money just to feed beggars.”
“And you to feed your own fat bellies,” Umberton returned slightly louder.
“Fat bellies,” Lesserby spouted, “we are dignified, we welcome royalty; whilst you slaughter a pig in the street to feed His Magistry.”
“At the hands of your dead servants, who have none the food to feed their wee children.” Umberton turned and stood tall to the looming Lesserby, a cane raised as if soon he will strike.
The two began to bicker back and forth, growing in volume and declining in decorum. The King just pressed his fingers into his temples, and rubbed them until the latest headache began to wane. Yet the feat was near impossible as these two fat old men continued to speak.
“Enough,” the King commanded. Once silence resumed he stood, “I shall take a moment to consider.”
He stepped from the throne, wandered through the crowd to the side door. Most in the room had turned to pay their own attention or to grumble quietly to themselves. One by the door did not. At first the King noticed her stunningly beautiful smile underneath a full white wig, but it took little for him to notice more. She wore a ball proper powder blue dress accented with eggshell soft white lacing. The shoulders of which raised high to her shoulder blades before plunging deeply to present heavy, yet magnificent breasts.
The king stopped in front of her, gave her a devilish grin, and slid his hand easily into the dress until his fingers surrounded her nipple. She gave a shocked breath and raised a fan up to her chest, not as much to stop the man but to hide what he had done. Not that anyone would think to speak ill of her, or suggest she should remove his hand or stop any other advances he may make. She noticeably enjoyed his toying with her nipple, yet even that wouldn’t hurt her favor in the court.
All this simply because, he was the King. In his court, he ruled absolutely, and all were to follow his wishes.
While mauling the lusciousness of the breast his gazed turned up to hers and found eyes more wicked than his.. With a nod of the head, he slipped his hand from her dress and lead her out of the room with him.
Shortly after in his study, the lady in the blue dress bent over the harpsichord and gripped the at the far edge. Her dress was pulled down to the waist as her heavy glands ground into the instrument. The lower portion of the dress was pooled up high above her hips. As customarily unspoken terms set out by the King to any lady in his castle, she stood there without undergarments of any type except for the stockings ending well short of the treasure between her legs. And it was that treasure the King was currently plundering.
The king continued to plunge his hungry member over and over into her soft depths. She was no maiden for sure, but the youthfulness of her sex suggested she had yet to bear a child either. It took little to ready her for his needs, but once she was sprawled across the harpsichord he cared only to drive his hardness deep into her repeatedly until her repetitive climaxes made her wetness drool down to the stockings below. Quickly he rode her to his own finish, and from what was left of a long night with many fair ladies he still poured heavy seed into her spasming womb. He slowed, laid against her back, and slowly moved his hands between the wooden instrument and her breasts.
She was unknown to him. A stranger who knew only to follow her king’s orders. Yes she was nobility, but laid out over this instrument he made her into nothing more than a common whore. He chose to prove that too her simply by rewarding himself by asking his favorite after-coitus question.
“Tell me, my lady,” he said between breaths. “What is your name?”
She purred softly under him, his softening member still insider her. She turned her head and replied, “Gwendelyn, the Lady of Lesserby.”
The court was one that rumors spread, even if it was well known that such distasteful rumors were the norm in King Francis’s reign. The King returned to the salon, his wig misplaced, his hand stuffing his shirt back into his pants, and the glow on his face that all who know his court recognizes what he had been up to moments before. Behind him is the disheveled Dutchess and knowing whispers grew of what had transpired. As if there was any question left in the their minds, the King slumping satisfyingly into the throne made a declaration that removed any doubt.
“Ten Crowns to the Dutchy of Lesserby, and I shall be there for the Grand Ball if for nothing more to receive a tribute for this loan. Next business than?”
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