Travel Plans Slash Menage a Huit

Understandably, no one is in any particular rush to move on after Roan's giving birth and impregnation double feature. Both of you want to spend some more time with your growing family before moving on with the quest, after all. The princess doesn't seem to mind at all, having instantly struck up a rapport with your oldest son Phillip. Somehow Roan manages to keep her composure when Matilda gushes that Phillip knows her name; 'Tidda' was the prince's first word, and you're all pretty sure he's saying 'Titty'. Roan thinks it's hysterical. She is an awful and incredible and truly awful mother.

Even beyond that, though, Princess Matilda just seems delighted to be somewhere outside of the constraints of her own castle. You would swear she's looking brighter and healthier every day, if Phillip hadn't caught a little cold and immediately lain Matilda out with it._ _Even if her servants and advisors were too overbearing, they weren't wrong: she is quite fragile. You haven't forgotten you promised to try and do something about that.

When Roan suggests that you pick Matilda up a gift to apologize for your child being a plague factory, you heartily agree. She really can be very thoughtful! When Roan suggests that that gift be a hat, you remember that Roan always has an ulterior motive, and it usually involves your dick.

Again. So thoughtful.

Sure enough, the shortest path between your dick and a pregnant woman is a flirty wink and a horribly overacted bit of patter from Roan, and before long wouldn't you know it you're balls deep in a rapturously moaning seamstress. She screws her eyes shit and tightly clutches her gravid stomach as you thrust into her swollen, hormone-flooded pussy, almost as if she's trying to will herself even more knocked up. Normally, this sort of thing would have driven you into a primal rut, but the addition of her two shop girls means you really have to focus here. This is Game Time. Your brow is furrowed in concentration as the two girls press their bulging bellies into your side, shuddering as your thick fingers toy and tease their increasingly drenched folds.

Fuck, this is tough. How's Roan doing?

Ugh, better than you, though in all fairness she's taking a much less active role. Your valet is splayed out in a chair as one of the seamstress's daughters eats her out, the middle and youngest daughters caressing her as she weighs a big tit in either hand. Wow, you don't think you've ever seen such a serious expression on her face; she is really giving this the gravity it deserves. At length she gives a dignified nod. "It's official Sera: you're as big as your sister is!"

The youngest daughter cheers as her older sister pouts, both reactions devolving into warbling moans as Roan gives a undulating yank on either nipple. She sprays herself with streamers of milk from the sisters' fat teats, cackling like an insane woman as she orgasms into the eldest daughter's face. This is the woman you love dammit.

You've already blown your first load into the seamstress, the older woman now draped over your shoulder to coo in your ear and whimper when you take long pulls of milk from the throbbing nipple she keeps offering to you. The shop girls lie intertwined on a pile of probably ruined dresses, lips passionately locked and a leg each propped up on your chest, their hands exploring each others ripe bodies as you alternate your pumps between them. Man, this is hard. This is like trying to keep a bunch of plates spinning at the same time, only sexy plates and also you're fucking the plates and, um......man, this is so hard that it's totally fucked your ability to make cogent analogies! This is awesome, don't get it twisted, but definitely a once in a while thing. It's like Sesame Street taught you: A Cookie is a Sometime Food.

It gets even harder when Roan decides this is the right time for a conversation. "So hey, I think you and Matilda should start off without me."

"Yeah?"

One of the daughters groans, which you're choosing to interpret as Roan nodding. "I'll catch up after a week or so, but, yeah. If you keep putting off your quest, everyone will say you're a lazy prince. That's the worst!"

Lazy? Tell that to this marathon fuckstravaganza theoretical naysayers! You pick up the pace of your thrusts, delighting the shop girls and proving those imaginary bastards wrong forever. "I see."

"Nan says Matilda should be over her cold in a few days so, how about you start off then?" Roan raises her voice, calling out to the dressing room in the back of the dress shop. "Does that sound good, Matilda?!"

There is a pause, the room quiet besides the faint sounds of six women being loudly fucked, before an embarrassed cough sounds out. "Um, yes; that sounds fine!"

You don't need to see Roan's face to picture her devilish grin. "Matilllda~, have you finished trying on your hat yet? Come out and let me seeee~!"

"Ah, no, I'm, um...still trying it on! It's...tricky! It...has a clasp!"

That does sound tricky. Though admittedly, you've been cheating a bit. Matilda doesn't seem to be aware that the posing mirror in angled in front of you provides a clear sightline to her dressing room. Or that you can clearly see the way the princess has been spectating your herculean sexual antics with wide-eyed awe. Or that, while the gap in the curtain she's looking through is thin, you still get the full impression of the hand she's carefully slid down her skirt, almost absentmindedly stroking herself. She has come a long way from the princess in the baby dress who was totally unable to speak in full sentences before a crowd of more than one. Not a particularly proper way, but hell. This place was definitely sex-obsessed before you got anywhere _near _it.

By now Roan has sashayed up to press herself against your back as well, the three satisfied daughters crowding your front to kiss their way up your chest. Fuck, gotta keep this moving. You let out a grunt as you pause deep inside a shop girl, shooting a thick rope of cum into her overfilled womb. You allow yourself a moment of self-satisfaction when you're able to pull out between your first and second, equally huge shot, depositing it expertly into the other writhing girl. That's the sort of shit that wins you a Nobel Prize for Fuck Stuff.

The ladies of the dress shop are utterly spent at this point, panting happily as they lounge about. They've squeezed themselves back into at least some clothing by the time Matilda sheepishly emerges in a flowery bonnet, embarrassed but unable to hide the flush in her cheeks. Still though....ehhhh.

"I don't think Matilda is a 'hat' person."

Roan makes a thoughtful noise, nodding gravely. "You know what? When you're right, you're right. Oh well, such is life!" She carelessly whips the bonnet off of Matilda's head before looping an arm through hers and starting to lead the bewildered princess away. "Goodbye ladies~!"

The six women manage drowsy waves as you follow Roan and Matilda, your massive groin rumbling at you in blissful contentment. So it takes a dress shop's worth of women to get your monster dick to settle down for a nap, then? Good to know the exact measurements. You don't want to set out for your quest unprepared.