The day draws on

Despite being locked in your study all day, the mountain of distractions ensures your only accomplishment is signing the guild’s loan authorization. By the time you leave for dinner, the pile of paperwork remains as daunting as when you started. You join twenty-three hopeful women for the meal, all seated according to the proximity of their noble blood. As dinner concludes, Sir Dietrich makes an announcement: “Hear all! King Thomas’s eldest daughter shall accompany the King to his chambers tonight.”

Queen Beatrice slams her fist onto the table, standing abruptly. “I will not have it! The plan you provided states that I am to accompany the King tonight. I will not suffer the insult of being skipped!”

Sir Dietrich grins despite her fury. “I mean no insult, but it has come to my attention that you and your daughter took your turns last night and this morning; unless you are calling these fair ladies and the King’s daughters liars.”

Even as a Queen, Beatrice knows better than to cross that line. She slips silently back into her seat as Dietrich’s smile grows. “Now that the matter is settled: King Thomas’s middle daughter shall see the King from dawn until noon tomorrow. Then, his youngest daughter shall see him to bed tomorrow night.”

The eldest daughter of King Thomas raises her hand. “With all respect... we wonder if the three of us might share our turns? Since the Queen and Princess did so together.”

“What!” Beatrice grumbles. “That would give them three turns!”

Ignoring her, Sir Dietrich answers, “The original plan avoided this to prevent larger families from gaining an advantage. However, since the Queen and Princess have set the precedent, I cannot deny the request.”

Later, the doors to your chambers swing open and the three daughters glide inside. For a brief moment, they move as one. They exchange a nod of shared confidence before each deposits a small pill onto her tongue and swallows.

“What was that, my fair ladies?” you ask, surprised by the hoarseness in your own voice.

The eldest, her skin bronzed by the southern sun, speaks with a self-assured, diplomatic clarity. “Nothing to concern yourself with, good King. It is a supplement our father’s physician suggested we take; it has no effect on you.” Her tone is soft, designed to reassure.

You open your mouth to demand a clearer answer, but the words die in your throat. With practiced, seductive skill, the sisters begin to shimmy out of their gowns. You watch, mesmerized and powerless, as they strip. They are perfectly tanned without a single line; a testament to a life spent nude under the unrelenting southern sun.

Mechanically, the eldest strides toward you. Her hips roll with intent, but her eyes remain blank, staring at the wall above your head. Without looking down, she straddles you and lowers herself onto your prick. The only sound she makes is a slightly strained exhale as you claim her virginity.

She rides you with the clinical precision of a mare in dressage, her hands flat on your chest for balance. She seeks no connection, no rush, and no comfort; fucking you with the express intention of getting pregnant. Every time you thrust upward to find a spark of feeling, she shifts her hips to neutralize the sensation, never breaking her rhythm. When you reach for her thighs, she captures your wrist.

“Please, sire,” she says sternly but softly. “Let me do the work.”

She directs your hands to her breasts. You try to move them toward her center, but she holds them in place, grinding against you. You eventually give in and knead her chest, but her body betrays no arousal, no arch, no shudder, not even a change in breathing.

The two sisters stand at the foot of the bed like anxious understudies. When the eldest feels you swell, she increases her pace. Her face remains impassive as you fill her. She waits for you to finish, then slides off. A bead of semen follows her like the tail of a comet; she wipes it away with a sheet and gestures for her sister to take her place.

The middle sister mounts you immediately, plunging down to take your virginity without a word. She rides with less rhythm and more ****, her hair tumbling around her face as she grinds against you. She ignores your hands and your voice. When you try to steady her, she swats you away, intent only on the friction. There is a wildness in her, but it is born of resentment and duty, not passion. She reaches a silent, shuddering climax, then immediately lifts her hips and makes room for the youngest.

When the ritual is complete, they dress quickly and depart.

You wake the next morning to the sensation of the youngest sister bouncing on you.

“Cum already,” she whispers. It is the first thing she has said to you. You look to your left and realize the middle and eldest sisters have already received their loads while you slept. Once you finish inside the youngest, they leave again.

The following night is more of the same. As soon as the act is finished, the three of them vanish into the shadows, leaving you alone in the dark.