“The Queen is expecting you.”

“Milord.” She curties. “This way, milord. The Queen is expecting you.”

You follow her through a secret passage into the torch-lit belly of the castle, through narrow hidden passageways and down stairs that seem to spiral on forever.

Finally, she stops in front of a door and carefully opens it. “In here, your majesty!” a familiar voice calls out as you enter the candle-lit room. The air is heavy with the scent of exotic spices and perfumed oils, perhaps some sort of magic or expensive import from somewhere beyond the kingdom. It is hot in here, very hot. You feel a familiar stirring in your loins.

You see the redhead and the brunette clad in nothing but the collars standing left and right to a pile of red cushions in which your wife lounges, a silver goblet in her right hand. The redhead carries an amphora of wine while the brunette holds a plate with grapes. After having served your wife, they turn to you as you enter, showing their respect with a sensual curtsies. Their bare, oiled curves oozing femininity in the glittering, flickering light. You take mug of wine and nod.

“My virile, proud King...” purrs Marissa, and you turn your attention to the centre piece of the tableau. There lies your beautiful wife, clad in nothing but her jewellery, the wine in one hand. Her other is clutching the black leash, that ends on a collar around the women to the feet of your wife, who is busying herself with lapping the Queen's juices from between her supple calves. Head shaved bald, the woman has the pointy ears of someone of elvish blood. You feel a heavy urge surging in you, from deep within, as you correctly guess the identity of the **** pet.

Your wife smiles and presses the half-elf's head deeper between her legs, biting her lips in a sudden moment of pleasure. “Please, undress my husband so you may worship his beauty, my handmaidens.”

The redhead and the brunette rest the wine and plate near the pile of cushions and approach you. You marvel at the sensuous movement of their hips and legs, the gaps between them glittering with their desire. Behind you, you hear Fiona disrobe.

Gently and methodically, six hands begin to disrobe you and soon you are naked. The women caress you with their hands and tits, shower you neck, shoulders and legs with kisses.

Marissa devours you with her eyes, ablaze with an insatiable hunger while her handmaidens whisper profanities in your ear.

“Use us like the good sluts we are, Master.”

“I've been a good girl all week, Master, please give me your cock.”

“Please Master, use my pussy, it's so wet and tight...”

You flex your muscles and look down on yourself for a moment. Does it just seem like it, or is your half-aroused cock bigger than you remembered it? You stroke it lazily with one hand and approach your wife, followed by the cooing and whispering of the maids.

“My King, it seems your balls are quite full and heavy. May I suggest to break in this fine piece of fuckmeat instead of me?” Marissa says, stroking her big belly. “I trained her myself, and she is quite the expert at fulfilling all your needs, Milord. Nadu!”

She yanks on the leash, and the half-elf woman staggers away from her to sit down next to her on her haunches, her hands resting palms upward on her legs. She avoids your gaze. Instead, you inspect her.

Her breasts are as you remembered her, yet the inking on her belly and curling down to her pussy is new. You suspect something of magical origin. Marissa smiles. “Pleasure your new Master with your lips.” Her voice is cold, calculating. She looks at you and gives you a subtle wink. The **** does not answer. Instead, she takes your manhood in one hand, rolling back the foreskin gently and giving the head a lick. The other hand cups your balls, rolling them between her fingers. A groan escapes your lips as you feel her mouth engulfing you, sucking you expertly.

“My, aren't you a little cockslut.” You grin. She pops your cock out of her mouth, drawing droplets of her saliva and your precum to small strands. “Yes, Master. This one desires to be Master's cockslut, his cumdump and little whore. Please, let this one be by Master side as a pleasure ****.” She looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Use this one thoroughly, make use of this ones body.” She squeals in delight as you **** her head back onto your cock. “Less talking. Show me your skills, slut, and I might consider.”

You can feel the boobs of the handmaidens pressed against your back and side as they watch you, enraptured in the scene unfolding before them. You notice their breathing and their shivering. Fiona whispers into your ear. “We love your voice, Master. Oh, please, fuck us too. We're so much better than this half-breed strumpet.” For a moment, you consider their offer and smirk vaguely. Perhaps there was time later. Perhaps. You look down at what was once the proud Lady Vessa, now nothing but a lowly whore, her head bobbing back and forth as she takes your rod deep into her throat. You feel a primal surge of power rushing through you, and with a smirk you look at Marissa who had spread her legs and was now busying her elegant fingers between them.