Sleep to the next morning

The next morning wakes you with the first rays of sunshine tickling your nose and the feeling of a tongue gently dancing over your cock. Sleepily you look down and see Fiona, looking up at you. Without a word, she continues. The light reflects on the fancy collar around her neck.

You notice that Marissa is missing, and grab the blonde's hair, forcing her head down onto your rod. She gags and drools, and begins to bob her head up and down until you spray a healthy load down her throat. You sit up, slightly. “Did I please you, Master?” she whispers. You nod and shoo her of the bed. She kneels beside it, but only for a moment before she helps you dress.

“The Queen said to prepare you for a big day.”

A soft smile on her face.

“Where did the Queen go?”

The woman shrugs. “She would not say, milord.”

You nod. Wolf down some breakfast and ponder if you should take Fiona again. But no. You would only miss the meeting of the Council, and it would be too often in a row to do so.

The answers and informations you get from the Council make you furious and frustrated to boot. The state of affairs was even worse than expected, and the means by which to solve them seem to escape the mental spheres of the Council. The debate lasted for all of eternity, so good was the intelligence they claimed they had. You let them play away, watched their rhetoric and the feud until you weighted in with royal authority.

Later, you pound that frustration into Fiona who had come to serve your lunch. She put up a small playful struggle first but was quickly thereafter turned into a moaning, sluttish heap of lust as you fucked her up against the wall in the ante chamber until her juices and your semen dripped down onto the cold stone floor. She proceeded to lick that up too, after she had cleaned your cock. What a debauched slut!

In the evening, she was waiting for you in front of your chambers.

“Milord...”