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(hed) P.E. “Jesus (of Nazareth)”

 

 

His Majesty requests your attendance in his chamber this dusk. You have been selected for a thorough medical examination, a full-service and Keeper gets to watch that shit unfurl. My prose shall hang around our Monarch’s mercurial majesty and this mindfuckery will lubricate the joints as his tongue circles our cerebellums and teeth gnaw away at our darkest pleasure. I’m a mere fly on the wall but fully intend on quenching the ointment (makes a rather delectable change from stomping in filth and retching noxious bile let me tell you). Don’t do that dark wash just yet, there is likely to be a pair of panties joining the detergent queue very soon and they’re going to sop.

Two knocks on the burly pine door and it creaks open a slither, revealing a banquet for the senses beyond the sturdy frame. The fragrance of incense and hemp rushes forth to your nostrils and stuffs them with yearning delectation. There is only one option at this moment and turning back is not it. So you step inside, hesitant but curiouser and curiouser…

You discern the hiss of a shower head from the en-suite but the mist is dense, a thick lustful smoke oozes through the open doorway and hangs in the air, obscuring your vista almost entirely. The bed has been made, maids’ labial excretions are spread across the divan from tucking in the silk crimson sheets whilst their quimms ached from the tepid lust felt from arrival. Best take a seat, unbutton any fastenings and slide down those slips as whatever is behind that veil of ambiguity is evidently feeling voracious.

Slap! Slap! He’s packing for sure, each time it raps against those strapping inner thighs it carries a weightiness which conveys with eye-watering accuracy the monster which swings pendulum-like at his mid-point. You glance around for some form of lubricant, fearing the wrath of his titan as those pearly peepers suggest the kind of ferocious frontal assault scheduled. A small pot of moisturizing cream over by the lampshade will do, you reach in and scoop a princely glut of goop from within, pasting it around your quim which currently teeters perilously like a long dormant volcano preparing to spew its lava.

A shadow appears in the doorway and the suggestion is that this is, indeed, our Dark King. Built to last like a vintage Chevy but with far greater sheen of  polish, his human scaffolding is a work of Greek art. Adonis-like from top to bottom, it’s all there. And it’s pacing nonchalantly before you as though simply not bothered about the ruination about to unfold. Another stride coerces a quiver deep in your most cavernous pleasure-dome and you feel a steady stream of cloying sap trickle down to your knee as a ‘come and get me’ which he fully intends on cashing in.

He has left the smog but interestingly still appears to inhabit it, swirling clouds of darkness congregating around his face blanket, with eyes cutting through like lighthouses guiding the way. He’s turning the screw with the power of suggestion and your haunch commences involuntary convulsions as it accommodates the arrival of his tremendous throbbing loin. He assumes position, by that I mean your toes are pressed against the pillow behind your head, and slides his pulsing phallus onto your kill-switch. Engage! The dam bursts and access is afforded, though the sheer girth alone causes head rushes as you bite the air like a sky-diving zombie princess.

Any attempts to insert any authority are shattered like fractured glass, any screams fall on deaf ears and his idol probes deeper… deeper still… breaking the seal in spectacular fashion. Your throes of wild abandonment are harnessed by our Dark King as he utilizes his stacked physique to fasten you in place. Deeper… deeper still. You can taste the metallic saliva swilling in the tail of your gullet, and every fiber burns as control no longer becomes an option. Fuck! It never was.

Like any good fairground ride you’re strapped in tight and, as with any thorough examination, your asshole is lasso-loose as the doctor will see you now. Three fingers in to knuckle depth are straight in dry, tilting your shit like pinball as he racks up the bonuses. As his balls bang against your frantically flapping flippers, a fourth digit enters the fray and, this alone, fashions contorted cum-faces as your bottom lip shivers with divine ecstasy.

Not content with simply mowing the lawn, the fertilizer begins to congregate around his launch pad and begins clotting as it forms its spear-headed attack. Launch is a distinctly messy affair and the taste of gunpowder is replaced by ejaculate as he facilitates reverse fellatio. You spit some, purely to keep the airwaves clear, but return to lap it from the silken sheets as it’s just too precious to waste.

You can barely see through the dizzying haze which spins like a dervish around your decidedly light head. It’s like some twisted carousel and flickers of your master’s commanding blue orbs punctuate an otherwise total lack of coherent sight in sporadic bursts. Desperate for a moments calm to halt the imminent explosion of heart in your chest, you glance to one side and hone in on a rubbery glint on the bedside dresser. Not only did he choose not to scrub before this intimate assessment of your anal health, but all gloves are off. You kind of gathered that by the knots of his knuckles as they climbed each rung in your back passage.

Taking any more is becoming a decidedly troublesome endeavor and your labored groans highlight your exhaustion ominously. Then when consciousness begins to dissipate and your lips lower to half mast, he slides free from your splintered centre and calmly rises to his feet. One last glance at that effortlessly sculpted physique and darkness comes in a swoop. Blackness, hollow mercy, distilled anguish laced with forbidden delight. All of these things… and then nothing. As you wake to the smarting sensation of having been ‘taken to the cleaners’ our Dark King has moved on, leaving devastation and cruel elation in its wake.

 

Sin for Your King as he sins unto you,

 

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014