A peasants son...

The queen, Isolde, stood tall amidst the opulent chambers of the royal palace, her emerald green eyes scanning over the vast expanse of land beyond the castle walls. Her thoughts were consumed by the pressing matter at hand - producing an heir for the aging King Eadric. With every passing day, the chances seemed slimmer, and desperation began to set in. She couldn't risk entrusting this delicate mission to anyone within the court; the whispers and treachery of nobles were too great a threat. Instead, she turned to the most unlikely candidate... a foul-mouthed, drunken commoner named Rorik.

Rorik was a sight to behold. His hair, matted and unwashed, fell haphazardly around his face, while his beard reached down to his chest, hiding a mouth filled with rotten teeth. His clothes were tattered and soaked through with God knows what, reeking of **** and sweat. But beneath this filth lay a man with a cock as thick and long as any nobleman's. And that, Isolde thought, was exactly what she needed.

She approached him in the dim light of the alleyway, her voice low and seductive. "Listen here, mate. I have a proposition for ye." Rorik looked up at her, squinting through bloodshot eyes. "Whatever it is, love, I'll bet ya it ain't legal." He chuckled darkly, clearly already half in his cups.

Isolde ignored his crudeness, focusing instead on the task at hand. "My husband is childless, and our kingdom stands on the brink of chaos. If you… assist me in conceiving a son, I shall reward you handsomely. Gold, lands, anything you desire." The promise hung heavy in the air, luring Rorik like a siren's song for the drunken lout.

He stared at her for a moment longer, weighing his options. Finally, he nodded, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Alright then, love. Thats better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Heheh... Let's get to it." Without another word, he followed Isolde back to the safety of the castle walls, eager to claim his prize.

Once inside her chamber, Isolde wasted no time undressing herself. Her breasts, full and firm, bounced slightly as she moved, her nipples hardening under Rorik's hungry gaze. She watched as he drank in the sight of her naked form, his eyes lingering on her womanhood... a moist, inviting pussy that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.

"Blime its been awhile." As Rorik approached her, his cock sprang forth from his filthy trousers, thick and pulsating peasants rod pulsing with anticipation. He grabbed hold of Isolde's hips, pulling her towards him roughly. Their bodies collided with a **** that shook the very foundations of the room, their moans echoing throughout the castle.

With each thrust, Rorik grunted like a wild beast, driving himself deeper into Isolde's welcoming core. She writhed beneath him, her nails digging into his back as she tried to keep pace with his relentless rhythm. Every stroke brought them closer to their goal, but also further from the realm of civility and decency.

Finally, after what felt like hours of savage passion, Rorik let out a primal roar, spilling his seed deep inside Isolde's waiting womb. As his climax subsided, he collapsed onto her, panting heavily. For a brief moment, they lay there, entwined and spent, the weight of their illicit deed hanging heavy in the air.

But Isolde knew that this was only the beginning. No matter the cost, she would see this through to the end. After all, the fate of the kingdom rested upon her swollen belly.