Do nothing and something

The maid stands frozen as she was watches her mistress, currently, is in bed with another man. scent of a brewing scandal. Abigail turns toward the maid and makes a shooting gesture. "Leave us."

The maid quickly leaves.

"Abigail," you murmur, your voice thick with the remnants of sleep. "Do you mind that she’s seen us? I imagine the sight of your King in bed with his own aunt might be too delicious to keep quiet about."

Abigail blinks the sleep from her eyes, turning her gaze toward the trembling girl. A slow, languid smile spreads across her lips, "Not in the least, My Lord," she answers. "The girl is new to my service. She hasn't yet learned that the indiscretions of the high-born are simply part of the architecture of the palace. Besides," she adds, her hand sliding beneath the furs to find your thigh, "We are leaving today. It wouldn't matter."

Despite the awkwardness of the discovery and the biological tangle of your lineage, the proximity of Abigail’s warmth works its magic. The conversation of scandal does nothing to dampen your spirits; in fact, the danger seems to embolden you. Beneath the sheets, your morning vigor asserts itself once more, a stubborn reminder of your youth.

Abigail’s eyes drop to the shifting fabric of the duvet, her eyebrows arching in amusement. She reaches out, her fingers grazing the proof of your arousal. "It seems the King’s duties are never truly finished,"

You don't need further invitation. With a firm movement, you roll over, pinning Abigail into the mattress and enter your aunt's pussy her pussy with a slow, deliberate thrust that draws a sharp, needy gasp from her throat.

You set a rhythm that is both punishing and worshipful, building the pleasure with agonizing slowness. Every slide of skin against skin feels amplified in the quiet morning light. Abigail wraps her legs tightly around your waist, her fingers digging into the muscles of your shoulders as she matches your pace. The layers of pleasures continue to pile up until the world narrows down to the point of contact between your bodies.

As the tension reaches its breaking point, you drive deep, anchoring yourself within her as you climax. You feel the your seed filling her womb.

Panting, you collapse against her chest, the rhythmic thumping of her heart slowing against your ear. Abigail strokes your hair, a musing expression appearing as she catches her breath.

"You know," she whispers, her tone dripping with a wicked sort of irony, "the rumors of adultery will eventually fade. But once I start to show, the scandal will be replaced by something far more delicious. People will start talking about whether the king has allegedly fathered his own cousin."