Question everything

Confused and almost frightened by the additional presence in your private chambers, your heart races against your ribs. "What’s going on?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, out of fear that any loader my bring more people into your room. In response, Beatrice's slender hand with its perfectly manicured nails slides deliberately up your trembling leg to your pants, finding the growing bulge beneath the fabric.

"I know neither of us planned on this," she purrs, her voice like honey dripping from a silver spoon, “but now there is no helping it; we are candidates now, and there is no turning back.” Her emerald eyes lock with yours as she continues,” My life would be much better if I retained the title of queen instead of becoming a mere mistress. If by any chance, it is not to be me who gains your favor and the right to sit by your side on the throne, I would prefer it to be someone from our beloved country. Or even better yet, ”her voice drops to a seductive whisper, ”I would prefer it to be someone in my own bloodline who is to be the wife of the man I'm **** to be mistress of, so my daughter and I agreed to double our chances at conception and share you during our turns."

"Isn't that cheating?" You question, your mouth suddenly dry as parchment.

Beatrice slowly crawls on top of you, her movements fluid and purposeful like a lioness stalking her prey. With her warm, perfumed body completely hovering over yours, the silk of her gown brushing against your chest, she steals your first sexual kiss. Her full lips taste of sweet wine as they press against yours while her daughter's cool fingers expertly free your throbbing manhood from your pants. "Didn't I say ALL candidates cheat?" Beatrice whispers against your mouth as she gently tickles the sensitive tip of your cock with feather-light touches that send electric currents up your spine. All you can do is nod weakly in response. "And aren't we candidates?" You suddenly realize that Beatrice's shimmering silver nightgown is draped across your lap like a lustful curtain, and she has adjusted your cock so it is resting against her smooth, shaven, underwear-less pussy. The heat from her core radiates against you as she rubs your swollen head against her slick, wet lips. Her eyes, half-lidded with desire, bore into yours as she asked again, "So are we candidates?"