...so you take it.

It's right there, so why wouldn't you take it? There's no one to stop you, least of all her. Your hand reaches out even as you contemplate the idea, and your fingers close around the cold metal. You lift the crown from her brow even as she eats you out, eyes lowered demurely as if she's still a lady and not just your personal whore.

But without her crown, she's not even a princess anymore. Not really. It's the symbol of everything you've done and all you've accomplished, and a shudder of pleasure runs through your body as you hold the crown in your hand. It's heavy, cold, perfect.

And now it's yours. So you slip it on your own head, where it fits perfectly. Better than it ever did on her. It feels good, doesn't it? You wish there were a mirror so you could see yourself in it now. But you know it looks perfect on you.

You run your fingers through her hair and tilt her head up, forcing her to make eye contact with you. You see her eyes widen at the sight of her crown on your head, her mistress, her goddess. But she keeps licking, even you watch her expression fill with shame and lust and instilled obedience. Obedience that you know she will never, ever be able to shake off now.

The kingdom is yours.

And as your personal royal whore keeps licking, you feel the tide of an orgasm beginning to crash over you...