Chapter 335: Queen Kate Submits Readily

Alaric didn’t wait for her response to his whispered threat. He didn’t need one. He could feel the shift in her, the final crumbling of her defiance, the acceptance of the inevitable. He knew he’d already won her mind. Now, it was just about conquering the body. A formality, really. But one he intended to enjoy. Thoroughly.

He moved between her legs, spreading them wide with his knees. She didn’t fight him. She lay there, paralyzed by his spell, her naked body a pale offering in the dim moonlight. He could feel the heat radiating off her skin, smell the intoxicating female scent of her arousal mixed with her fear. It was a potent combination.

She braced herself. Her mind flashed back, unwanted, to her wedding night. To the King’s fumbling, painful, blessedly quick consummation. She remembered the tearing pain, the awkwardness, the crushing disappointment. She squeezed her eyes shut behind the magical darkness, expecting that same violation.

Then, she felt it.

The massive, blunt head of his cock pressing against her entrance. It felt impossibly thick. Hot. Alive.

’Gods…’ her mind whispered, a fresh wave of terror mixed with a dark, unwilling curiosity. ’It’s… it’s huge. Reginald’s… it’s like a child’s finger compared to this… This is… terrifying.’

“Ready?” he whispered, his voice a low, rough growl, his breath hot against her thigh.

“I… I don’t know…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. “It won’t… it won’t fit…”

“Oh, it’ll fit,” he chuckled, a low, dark sound. “Trust me.”

“Please… be gentle…” she begged, a last, pathetic plea.

“Gentle?” he scoffed. “Too late.”

He pushed forward.

He didn’t slam into her. Not this time. He moved slowly at first, but with a steady, unstoppable force. Like a glacier carving its way through rock.

There was no tearing pain. Just… pressure. An unbelievable stretching. Her own wetness, slick and copious from his earlier attentions, made his passage smooth, but the sheer size of him… it was breathtaking. It felt like he was filling every single inch of her.

He sank into her, inch by slow, agonizingly pleasurable inch. She felt her inner walls stretching like hot taffy, accommodating him, taking him deeper, and deeper, and deeper. It felt like he was going to touch her very womb.

“Gods…” she breathed, her breath catching in her throat. The magical darkness behind her eyelids seemed to spin. “You’re… you’re so big…”

“I know,” he said simply, his voice tight, rough, laced with his own building pleasure. He didn’t stop pushing until he was buried all the way to the hilt. He filled her completely. Utterly.

She felt… impaled. Split. Like a melon cleaved in two.

And yet… the pleasure… oh gods, the pleasure was unreal. It was a deep, aching, stretching fullness she had never, ever felt before. It wasn’t just physical; it felt like he was filling her soul. It was beyond anything she could have possibly imagined.

A loud, involuntary moan ripped from her throat. It wasn’t a sound of pain. It was a sound of pure, shocked ecstasy. A sound she had never made before in her life.

“Oh! Oh, gods…!”

Alaric stayed still inside her for a long, torturous moment. He just let her feel him. Let her adjust. Let her body accommodate the sheer, overwhelming reality of him filling her so completely. He pulsed slightly, a slow, deliberate movement that made her gasp again.

“Well?” he finally asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her body from the point where they were joined.

“Well… what?” she panted, her entire body trembling, a live wire humming with sensation. “What do you mean?”

“Was I right?” he asked. “Was it better?”

“Better…? Better than what?” she asked, confused.

“Better than your useless husband?” he clarified, his voice sharp.

“Yes! Gods, yes! A million times better!” the admission burst out of her.

“Good,” he sounded satisfied. “Now… do you want me to fuck you now?” he asked, his voice a silken, dangerous temptation. “Or do you want me to leave?”

She was shocked by the question. Leave? Now? When he was buried so deep inside her, filling that aching void she hadn’t even known existed? The thought was unbearable. It was like offering a starving woman a feast and then threatening to take it away.

“No!” The word burst out of her, desperate and raw. “Don’t leave! Please! Don’t you dare leave!”

“Then tell me what you want,” he commanded softly. “Use your words, your Majesty. Beg me.”

“Beg you?” The last shred of her royal pride bristled.

“Beg me,” he repeated, giving another tiny, infuriating tilt of his hips. “Or I pull out right now.”

Kate hesitated for only a second. Her pride was gone. Her fear was gone. There was only this overwhelming, primal, undeniable need. The need to feel him move inside her.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, the words a shocking confession, a surrender that felt both shameful and incredibly, liberatingly exciting.

“What was that?” he asked, pretending he couldn’t hear. “I couldn’t quite catch it.”

“Louder,” he commanded.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Fuck me!” she cried out, her voice stronger now, laced with a raw, desperate hunger. “Please! Fuck me madly!”

“Why?” he teased, his voice a low, amused purr. He gave another tiny, almost imperceptible tilt of his hips, just enough to make her gasp, to make her ache. “Why should I?”

“Because…” she panted, her mind scrambling for the words, for the right combination that would make him move. “Because I’ve never… never felt anything like this… Such a large… massive dick… inside me… It feels… amazing… I need it! I want it now!”

“You want my big cock, Queen Kate?” he whispered, his voice dripping with arrogance and raw, male lust. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes!” she screamed, shameless now. “Your big cock! Please! I need it!”

“And what about your husband?” he pushed, twisting the knife. “What about King Reginald?”

“Him?” she spat the name like a curse. “He’s useless! Pathetic! A mushroom! Please, just fuck me! Make me forget him!”

Alaric laughed, a deep, triumphant, booming sound that seemed to shake the very bed. “As your Majesty commands.”

But he didn’t start thrusting. Not yet. He was a master of torment, of building anticipation to an unbearable peak.

First, he moved up her body, hovering over her, his hands finding her breasts again. He took one large, heavy globe in both hands, his thumbs finding her nipples.

And then his mouth descended.

He attacked her nipple with his tongue and teeth. He laved it, sucked it hard, pulling the entire peak into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Then he bit down. Not hard enough to break the skin, but sharp enough to make her scream. He left a dark red mark, a love bite, a brand, on the pale flesh.

“Aaaah! Yes!” she screamed, her back arching off the bed, trying to press herself deeper onto his cock, which was still maddeningly still inside her.

He moved to the other breast, giving it the same rough, possessive attention. He marked her. Claimed her. Made sure she would remember who had done this to her.

Only then, once he was satisfied that she was thoroughly marked, thoroughly his, did he start to move his hips.

His first thrust was slow. Deep. Deliberate. He pulled almost all the way out, then slid back in, stretching her again, making her gasp.

“Like that?” he murmured against her bruised nipple.

“Yes… oh gods… yes…”

His second thrust was faster. Deeper.

His third was lightning.

He started pounding into her, his hips a blur, his power undeniable. The entire massive, royal bed started shaking violently under the force of his assault. Thump-thump-thump-thump! The heavy oak frame slammed against the stone wall with every single, powerful thrust.

Kate was lost. Her mind was just white noise. Pure sensation. She was experiencing the most blissful, earth-shattering pleasure of her entire life. It was a hurricane inside her, ripping away every thought, every inhibition, every last shred of her former self.

She climaxed almost immediately. It wasn’t a gentle wave; it was a violent explosion. A high-pitched, keening wail ripped from her throat, going on and on and on, echoing inside the soundproof room. Her whole body convulsed around him, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock like a desperate fist.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He just kept pounding into her, through her climax, his relentless rhythm driving her higher and higher, pushing her towards another climax before the first one had even begun to fade.

“More?” he grunted, his voice rough.

“Yes! More!” she screamed back, her head thrashing on the pillows.

He gave her more. He fucked her like he was trying to split her in two, his power seemingly endless.

She came again. And again. And again! She lost count. Her body was just a conduit for pure, raw, overwhelming pleasure.

“This bed,” Alaric suddenly declared between thrusts, his voice slightly breathless but still strong. “It’s boring. Too… predictable.”

Before Kate could even process what he meant, he pulled out.

The sudden emptiness was an agony. “No!” she cried out, reaching for him.

He ignored her. He scooped her up in his arms, her naked, sweat-slick body trembling violently. He carried her, still gasping and shuddering from her multiple orgasms, out of the bedchamber.

“Where… where are we going?” she panted, clinging to his neck like a drowning woman.

“A tour,” he grinned, his eyes gleaming with a wicked light. “Let’s see the rest of your lovely pavilion. Find a more… creative… spot.”

He carried her into the main sitting room, the scene of her earlier, furious argument with her husband. He didn’t set her down gently. He unceremoniously dumped her onto the large, ornate table in the center of the room. Scatter cushions, remnants of her cushion wall, went flying.

The cold, polished wood was a shock against her bare back.

He was between her legs in an instant, spreading them wide again. “Hold on,” he commanded.

He entered her again, hard and fast, his cock sliding easily into her now thoroughly used wetness. “How’s this?” he asked, gesturing around the room with a smirk. “A better view?”

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” she screamed, not even caring anymore about the impropriety, the sheer scandal of it. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He fucked her right there, on the table, under the cold, disapproving gaze of her ancestors’ portraits hanging on the walls. He fucked her until she climaxed again, her screams bouncing off the high, vaulted ceiling.

Then he pulled her off the table and pushed her down onto the thick, expensive carpet. It felt surprisingly soft against her knees.

“Doggy style,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

She obeyed instantly. There was no thought of refusal. She got on her hands and knees, her magnificent ass high in the air, presenting herself to him like a mare in heat.

He took her from behind, his hands clamping onto her hips, his thrusts deep and animalistic. His palms started leaving stinging, red handprints on her pale buttocks.

“You like being my bitch, don’t you?” he growled, pulling her hair back, forcing her to look up at him over her shoulder.

“Yes! Yes, I do!” she sobbed, her voice muffled by the carpet. “Slap me!” she begged, the words shocking even herself. “Slap my ass! Harder!”

“You sure?” he taunted.

“Yes! Please!”

He obliged.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

The sound was obscene. Loud. Sharp. And she loved it. It sent jolts of pure, raw, animalistic pleasure shooting through her. Having rough sex was something Alaric clearly loved to do! And she was discovering, to her horror and delight, that she loved it too.

He pulled out, leaving her panting on the carpet. “Crawl,” he commanded.

“What?”

“Crawl. Towards the entrance flap. Like a good little pet.”

Humiliation warred with excitement. The excitement won. She started crawling, her magnificent breasts swaying, her ass high in the air.

He followed her, and fucked her again right there, near the entrance, her moans potentially audible to anyone just outside (though she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that they were still soundproofed). The sheer humiliation of it, the risk, was intense. And it just made her hotter.

He kept going for hours.

He used the chairs, bending her over them, lifting one of her legs onto his shoulder.

He used the walls, pinning her against the cool stone, fucking her standing up until her legs gave out.

He picked her up and carried her while he was still inside her, walking around the room, his thrusts jarring her with every step.

She wasn’t even resisting anymore. She wasn’t just participating; she was initiating. She was purposely shaking her hips, grinding back against him, whispering filthy things in his ear, begging him for more, begging him to be rougher, faster, deeper.

Sometime during the fourth hour, as he was fucking her bent over a low chaise lounge, her face pressed into the velvet cushions, a shocking realization hit her.

She wasn’t just enjoying this. She wasn’t just submitting. She was… charmed by him. His power. His skill. His sheer, unapologetic arrogance. His attentiveness to her pleasure, even amidst the brutality… it was addictive. It was like a drug.

He climaxed inside her again, his seed hot and thick, spilling out of her onto the expensive upholstery. He pulled out, leaving her draped over the furniture, a boneless, sated, gloriously wrecked mess.

He walked back towards the bedchamber, stretching his shoulders, seemingly completely unaffected by the hours of exertion.

Kate watched him go, her body humming like a struck bell, her mind a confusing, chaotic mess of guilt, shame, lingering pleasure, and an overwhelming, desperate desire for more.

She didn’t even know his name yet.

But she knew, with an absolute, terrifying certainty, that she needed him to come back.