Chapter 1: Part 2 - Arla

That evening, my father and I entered the feasting hall dressed in our finest attire, Torval announcing our arrival. The Duke inclined his head as we bowed in greeting and took our places as guests of honor.

The dining tables were arranged in a broad horseshoe shape with the open end facing the large oaken doors of the hall entrance. As with an ordinary feast, the host sat at the center apex of the arrangement; furthest from the entrance. The Duke’s highest-ranking household members would be situated to his left in strict order. First was the primary spouse, then the second, and third, and so on, followed by the firstborn or his first spouse and then the remaining adult offspring ranked in descending order.  Any invited concubines could attend at the table if so desired, but often sat in a separate arrangement as it was this night, with a table to the side.

To the host’s right would be the honored guests of the feast, following the descending status of their household.

A betrothal feast had only a slight deviation from this arrangement. With the intended pair seated as the ‘honored guests’ and then remaining members of the betrothed guest. This allowed both soon-to-be fathers-in-law to have a chance to talk with their offspring’s intended.

Because my father had taken no new wife after my mother’s death, our side of the table was small, with only he and I representing House To’Riken. The absence was noticeable and, in its way, a quiet reminder of our house’s fragility. It was a matter I knew one day would fall to me to correct.

With the empty space being anticipated, the Duke had invited his brother as well, who sat to my father’s right. He was called Baron Danver Tor’Avon, with his wife Baroness Sophon Tor’Avon and their children. We exchanged polite talk of hunts, skirmishes, and other safe subjects until the chamberlain’s voice carried across the hall. At this point in the feast, the women of the Duke’s household had not yet entered, as was the tradition with such an event. As the chamberlain spoke aloud, a procession of regal and elegant female figures entered the hall.

“Presenting Duchess Carliena Tor’Ael, Duchess Carlea Tor’Ael, Duchess Dorlea Tor’Ael, and Duchess Martilla Tor’Ael.”

The Duke’s four wives entered together, moving with practiced grace. All but Duchess Carlea bore the white hair associated with the Lion bloodline. Carliena stood close in age to her husband, despite having given him many children, she still carried herself with striking vitality, a trait often credited to those of Lion blood. The secondary spouses were younger, as custom dictated, and drawn from lesser branches of the nobility.

Where Carliena was one of the king’s sisters, Carlea and Dorlea were from the houses of other dukes.

Several of the Duke’s favored concubines followed, and took their places at a separate table along the wall. Then came the daughters of the Duke, who had not yet been married or given into other households. Then came Arla’s younger sisters, half a dozen in all, the younger than the other and all carrying the silver-white hair of a Lion Born. These were girls who had not yet reached adulthood and only invited to share in their older sister’s big day, knowing that a similar arrangement awaited them once they came of age

I was at my wits' end when Torval finally announced the arrival of my intended, “Lady Arla Tor’Ael, sixth child of Duke Travian, firstborn of Duchess Carlea Tor’Ael.”

As memorable as some of the Duke’s wives and daughters may have been, Lady Arla was, in my estimation, the jewel of his household.

She wore a shimmering blue evening gown, worn in the Ada’Lucian style. The vibrant blue fabric sat tight against her well-defined physique, covering her from neck to ankles with notable exceptions. The first was a large vertical oval-shaped opening over her considerable bosom, exposing the inner globes of her large breasts. The second was the exposure of entire back down to the swell of her backside. The final opening was a slit down the left side, exposing her long, shapely leg.

The Ada’Lucians shared many of our kingdom’s traditions, especially those around courtship and the importance of desirability. This dress was chosen to showcase several things in accordance with the betrothal traditions. Firstly, the wealth of the household, as the dress was made from the finest of imported textiles. Secondly, the desirability of the intended spouse by displaying some of her more desirable qualities. And third, the house’s connections in securing a seamstress capable of designing such an exquisite and exotic dress.

The color of her dress was deliberately chosen to contrast beautifully with her pale skin, accentuating the vibrant hue of her arctic blue eyes and the midnight black hair, done in an elegant jewelry-adorned updo. This, along with a collection of golden sapphire earrings, a delicate headband, and a striking necklace, all formed part of her dowry.

These embellishments meant little to me in that moment; I was utterly transfixed by her gaze. Her perfectly arched eyebrows framed large, ocean-blue eyes that shimmered with passion, desire, and an unmistakable challenge. A refined nose and high cheekbones flowed seamlessly into full lips, all resting within an elegantly sculpted jaw. She embodied beauty and authority in equal measure—a woman destined to not only dazzle a court, but to also bring pride and strength to her future husband.

Fortune favored me in one respect. Arla was not the Duke’s firstborn daughter, which made a match with the son of a vassal both acceptable and advantageous. With the grace of a lady from a noble house, she strode into the semi-circle of the table arrangement, facing her father.

She gave a formal curtsey and spoke with a voice that stirred my loins, “Lord Father, I, Arla Tor’Ael, sixth-born of your daughters, stand before you in humility and honor. Do you grant your blessing to my betrothal to Dorian Tor’Riken, son and heir to your loyal vassal, Earl Garlon Tor’Riken? Do you consent that I take the name of his house, stand as his First Wife, and become Matriarch of his blood and lineage?”

The Duke’s smile was warm, but his words carried the full authority of his station.

“Before my house, before my sworn vassal, and before all gathered under my banner, I grant my blessing. Let it be known throughout my lands and the lands of our sovereign that this betrothal stands affirmed by my word.”

She then turned to my father and bowed with equal grace.

“Lord Garler Tor’Riken, loyal vassal to my father and guardian of House To’Riken, do you receive me into your house as First Wife to your son and heir? Do you grant that I shall bear your name, uphold your household, and stand as Matriarch to the blood that shall follow?”

My father rose, as custom required.

“Before my liege, Duke Travian Tor’Ael, and before those gathered in his hall, I grant my blessing. By my word and by the laws of this realm, you are received into House To’Riken as First Wife to my son and heir.”

At last, she faced me. Though her composure did not falter, a faint warmth touched her cheeks.

“Lord Dorian Tor’Riken, son and heir of House To’Riken, do you accept me as your Primary Betrothed? Will you grant me your name, your protection, and the honor of standing beside you as First Wife and future Matriarch of your house?”

I must have been transfixed by the moment, as my father elbowed me in the ribs gently, to wake me from my apparent tardiness in responding.

Clearing my throat, I spoke the traditional words with clear affirmation, “I, Dorian Tor’Riken, before my liege and before both our houses, accept you as my Primary Betrothed. I pledge you my protection, my loyalty, and all honors and rights afforded by the laws of this kingdom. You shall bear my name, and the children born of our union shall stand beneath my banner and inherit its protection.”

The Duke then announced, “So it is agreed and bound. Take your place beside your intended.”

With the same formal curtsey, she acknowledged her father and with the same grace she had shown all night, strode out of the inner area of the arrangement, taking the seat to my right.

When the ceremony concluded and the hall returned to its noise, Arla and I found ourselves seated beside one another at last, without an audience between us. For a moment, we simply looked at each other, as though confirming that the other was real.

“It has been some years,” she said first, her voice then softer, free of ritual cadence.

“I count seven,” I replied. “We were both only children then.”

She smiled at that. “I believe you and Lorell were competing to see who could strike the most arrows on target within a five count.”

I nodded, with a nostalgic smile. “I recall your persistence in participating, as well.”

She blushed and bit her lip in an adorable show of embarrassment. “It was rather foolish of me. I was convinced I could get your attention.” She lifted her chin in a mock attempt to strike a pose. “If I could hit as many as my brave brother, then surely you would notice me.” She shook her head with a smile. “I was so foolish.”

I chuckled. “Lorell was furious. I did not truly understand his frustration at the time. Having no sisters of my own, I rather admired your determination.”

She arched her brow. “If you did, I failed to see it. As I recall, you were far too busy pressing my brother’s defeat upon him.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the faint heat of embarrassment. “Ah. It seems my lessons in humility had not yet taken root.”

“Yet?” she echoed, with a soft laugh. “So the White Lion of Vel’Loren counts himself humble now?”

I exhaled through a half-smile. “I must admit, it is an absurd moniker.” I gave a small shake of my head. “Being the only child of my house made me… noticeable. None of the common folk bore silver hair, so I stood apart, whether I wished to or not.”

I glanced down the length of the table where Lion Born nobles sat in their pale array. Even Lorell, seated beside his silver-haired wife, caught my eye and offered a knowing wink. I returned the smile.

“Among so many of the blood,” I said quietly, “the title seems rather foolish.”

Arla leaned closer. A warm, delicate finger brushed a stray lock of silver from my brow. When I met her gaze, her blue eyes held mine with quiet intensity.

“Oh, I do not know,” she murmured. “I suspect it is a name that will be spoken often… and perhaps with admiration. Possibly even a touch of fear.”

I laughed softly. “I would wager my people will forget me entirely once they lay eyes upon the new lady of Harvest Hall.”

A coy smile curved her lips. With an arched brow, she replied, “Have so few ladies graced the halls of Val’Loren that my presence would astonish them so?”

My gaze betrayed me, drifting for a moment to the gentle curve of her mouth as she spoke. Her voice lingered like sweet wine.

“My lady Arla,” I said, more quietly, “the most beautiful women from every nation could fill this hall, and still my eyes would choose to rest only on you.”

Her only reply was the faintest blush and a graceful incline of her head, accepting both the compliment and the confession without dwelling on either. Then, with effortless composure, she shifted the subject.

She asked about my lands — about Val’Loren itself. She wished to know of its people, of the character of my household, of the customs kept at Harvest Hall. She inquired about the harvests, the forests, the rivers. Even my favored pursuits did not escape her curiosity.

It struck me then that she was not merely passing the time with polite conversation. She was studying the life she would soon help govern.

As I answered, I found myself speaking with more pride than I had intended. I described the golden fields at the height of summer, the low mists that gathered in the valleys at dawn, the hunts I favored in the western woodlands. She listened with quiet focus, asking small, deliberate questions that revealed both intelligence and care.

By the end of the night, our betrothal was secured by the undeniable attraction we shared and the joy we found in each other’s company. Over the following days, we enjoyed pleasant conversations, leisurely walks, shared meals, horseback rides, and secret kisses. The announcement of our wedding soon followed, set to take place just weeks later.

The more time I spent with Arla, the clearer it became that she was a queen in all but title. Her poise, elegance, knowledge, and wisdom shone through, complemented by her astounding beauty. Her sharp intellect and natural charm disarmed even the most formidable members of the court, making her an invaluable ally for my future rule as Earl of Val’Loren.

With rule of our lands not yet my responsibility, I had a singular priority. To secure the family’s bloodline, with an heir.

When the wedding day finally arrived, it was attended by earls, barons, and other nobles from across the Duke’s lands. The details of the ceremony were lengthy and, at times, tedious, but one thing remained unforgettable— Lady Arla and the breathtaking dress she wore.

The silvery-white gown accentuated her elegant shoulders and the tops of her incredible breasts, with the two pearly mounds standing proud like ripe grapefruit fresh from the harvest. Designed in a southern style, with wide slits on either side of her hem, exposing her amazing legs. It was both arousing and stylish, embodying the dual power of femininity; the ability to create life, while showcasing her elegance.

Unlike many other kingdoms, there was no bedding ceremony with members of both houses gawking at the married couple as we copulated; instead, tradition required only the presence of a witness from each house to observe the marriage’s consummation. As per custom, it was the duty of the Mistresses of Pleasure for both parties. Their role was solely to witness the consummation and the taking of the maidenhead.

As the wedding festivities drew to a close, I carried my bride to our consummation bed. Casandra and Arla’s own teacher in the arts of pleasure, Mistress Elora Caspian, sat on either side of the large guest room, discreetly positioned behind a semi-transparent silk screen. Their presence was not an intrusion, but rather a necessary formality in this sacred rite.

At this point, we were both impatient and filled with arousal. While kissing my wife furiously, I placed her down to stand in my embrace; she clung to me with a firm but delicate grip, her heavenly body pressed tightly into mine. Her scent filled my nostrils, and my ardor was nearly bursting. It took complete control not to rip off her dress and claim her immediately. Fortunately, I had trained from a young age to master my urges and to control my emotions.

Instead, I delicately unclasped her gorgeous dress and gently pulled down her decorative straps that were hanging inconsequential on the middle of her upper arm. Breaking our kiss, I stood back, admiring the dress drop away from her then-exposed breasts. They were large and firm, resting high on her chest, the slight coolness of the castle causing gentle gooseflesh to form on the smooth skin of her perfect orbs. Her coin-sized areolas protruded ever so slightly, while her pebble-sized nipples stood firm. They were breathtaking.

Allowing her dress to fall to the floor, I took another step back and admired the naked beauty before me— tall, with flawless, cream-colored skin that covered her well-proportioned hourglass physique. If purely interested in breeding, there was no finer specimen. Large, alluring eyes for comfort, proud ample breasts for feeding, and wide hips for bearing children. Yet her strong thighs, flat stomach, and firm backside spoke of years of riding. Her well-defined yet feminine arms described a life of activity. She was a pleasure to behold, a goddess in living flesh and all mine to discover.

She smiled at me and cocked her left eyebrow, “What now, my husband, I never took you for hesitant?”

I smiled back at her. “No hesitation, my love, only admiration.”

She gave an arousing giggle. “As much as I appreciate it, husband, I would like to do some admiring of my own.” She said the last part as a challenge, with her eyes roaming my still-dressed body.

I smiled, “Patience, my love. For now, lie on the bed and allow your husband to taste you.”

She licked her lips and moved to pass by me, but then grabbed my cock through my trousers, squeezing it gently, while giving me a deep and sensual kiss. Her hand slid over the full length of my rock-hard erection. A thrill ran through me as a moan escaped her mouth.

She pulled from our kiss. “Taste to your heart’s delight, my husband, but only as long as I get to taste you, as well.”

I chuckled and pulled her right leg up towards me, gently spun her around, and laid her down on the bed. Her breasts, jiggling enticingly, as they listed slightly to one side. She moaned in anticipation and stretched out before me, her body a canvas of undiscovered pleasure. I move beside her, taking her into another deep kiss, my one hand cupping her right breast, massaging and gently pinching her nipples. Another moan escaped her lips. My other hand slid over her body and caressed her thigh. I broke away from our kiss and gave her a wicked smile before kissing her neck and slowly moving down her body. My lips explored every curve of her naked form.

I moved to the breast in my hand and took her erect nipple into my mouth. I massaged it with my tongue and, to my intense satisfaction, felt her arch her back, pushing her chest up towards me. Smiling, I took her other perfect globe in hand, while continuing to stimulate the departed nipple with my expert fingers.

Again, she moaned, “Mmmm, so gentle, so… so good... take them, my lord, they are yours.”

Saying nothing, I gave her left nipple the slightest nip with my teeth; her breath shuddered in pleasure at the shock to her system. Her nipples were, indeed, a powerful erogenous zone for her. I treated her to more arousal until I felt her hips push up towards me. Reading the movement of her body, I moved down, as I kissed along her stomach, around her hips and inner thighs. My eyes then fixated on her bare womanhood.

Her lips were that of a virgin, untouched and pure, but glistening with slick arousal. I gently slid my thumb over her moist lips and felt her wetness as she moaned, her hands gripping the exotic silk sheets. The hood of her engorged little nub was pulled back, revealing the most sensitive part of her being. It was a part of a woman’s body that could bring great pleasure to a woman, if handled correctly. If this was a symphony, that little nub was the finale.

Bringing my mouth towards her sex, I gently licked the outside of her lips.

Another moan escaped her mouth, followed by a plea, “Please… I need you… I need you to release me, my love. I cannot take it.”

I released a deep, short laugh. “You will need to be specific, my dear, “I replied, as I oh-so-gently flicked her nub.

She gasped and moaned, “Devour me, my lord. I need you to devour me. Only you can release— aaah.”

Her words cut off as I did as she asked. I expertly, as I was trained, unraveled the pleasures of her sex, first with my tongue and then with my fingers. I worked my tongue into the various folds of her quim. When I felt her arousal reach a high point, I would suck on her nub, while plunging my fingers into her depths.

I was rewarded by a flood of her juices and the clamping of her walls around my meaty digits, as she exclaimed, “Yes, yes, oh gods, yes.” Her legs and sex quivered, as she experienced release for the first time at the hands of a man.

I did not allow it to dissipate, however. As I was taught, I held my finger deeply within her and pressed up towards her stomach; if applied correctly, the climax could be extended. I was able to extend my wife’s release for long moments before she begged me to stop. Her quim had then soaked the sheets with her nectar. Without overwhelming her just yet, I released her, and her shaking and exclamations quieted.

I took a last long taste of her cunt before standing up and removing my own clothes. My bride’s sweaty breasts heaved, her intense climax leaving her out of breath. With the rustle of clothes falling from my muscular frame, her eyes fluttered open, and she turned to observe me, her eyes widening at the sight of my fully engorged member.

“By the gods, my husband… that was incredible.” Spreading her legs, she rubbed her entrance gently. “Will you take me now, will you make me yours, forever?”

I smiled. “I will, my love.”

I picked up the maidenhead cloth— a pure white silk sheet with a stitched hole in the center. The sigils of both our houses were stenciled on opposite corners. I pushed my cock through the prepared hole in the sheet, and then slowly leaned forward, and gently lifting my wife’s gorgeous legs, looping my arms under her knees and gripping the tops of her thighs. Spreading her wide and, with practiced ease, I dipped my hips and placed my bulging cock at her entrance.

The head of my shaft kissed the opening of her drenched quim, as I cocked an eye at my then-recovered bride. “Beg for it,” I commanded.

She blushed. “Please, my love. Take me. I have waited for this for so long. Make me yours.”

“Yes, my love, you are mine,” I said, as I gently pushed my manhood into her.

The warmth of her tight virgin tunnel engulfed my shaft, bit by bit, until I reached her maidenhead. As I was taught in my training, I pushed through gently but firmly, relying on the climax she so recently experienced to dull the pain, reducing it to the mildest of discomfort that would be replaced by the pleasure of my large cock filling an eager and well-prepared quim.

She grunted, more in surprise than pain, and then moaned as my full-length impaled her.

She was every bit of a woman as she appeared. My diligent preparation and attention made her inner tunnel pliable, the soft interior stretching easily until the tip of my manhood kissed her womb. Her maidenhead was taken; she was, indeed, my wife and mine alone. She looked up at me, her mouth agape, her bosom heaving, and her eyes filled with desire. I pulled back my robust manhood to where the tip almost exited her virgin tunnel no more, and then firmly drove back in.

She exhaled in a deep, throaty moan and exclaimed with closed eyes, “Oh gods, yes, so big!”

I did not wait for more; I continued my slow, rhythmic thrusting; the girth of my cock spreading her wide and reaching deep. With every plunge, the tip of my shaft kissed her womb. 

Her moans and verbal exclamations increased with new, profanity-induced pleading, “Oh gods, don’t fucking stop. Oh fuck, it’s so good. It feels so full. Oh, gods, yes.”

The vulgarity of bedroom talk was, in itself, a delicate thing. Some women loved it; others gave only their moans, gasps, and grunts of pleasure as their only communication. My wife was not such a creature; she loved to converse in dirty ways. I reciprocated her verbal barrage with my own.

“You love my cock, don’t you! You love it when your lord fucks you!”

Looking at me in pleading ecstasy, she nodded furiously. “Yes, I love your big cock. Take my pussy, my lord. It is yours; take me, harder… please, harder.”

I could not refuse her. I thrust into her, harder and harder, my muscles driving me into a rutting frenzy as I claimed her for my own. Not letting her get too comfortable, I yanked her right leg up against my chest.

She yelped, “Oh fuck,” as I continued to ram her from the side.

Holding her leg with my right hand, I grabbed a handful of her breast. With an expert twerk of her nipple, her quim soaked with even more of her nectar and clamped on my cock, as her eyes rolled back in a glorious scream of ecstasy.

“Oh fuck, again… oh my gods, it’s so fucking… aaah.” Her last words were lost into a cry of pleasure.

My own arousal and pleasure had built up, and her second climax allowed me to release. I drove my cock deep and flooded her womb with my seed. Her pussy milked my cock with powerful, spasming waves.

“Ahhhh, gods, yes. Take my seed! Take it!” I exclaimed at my release. After hours of envisioning this moment, my ardor was finally at least partially sated.

She grabbed my hand on her breast, squeezing it. “Yes. Fill me, fill me with your precious seed.”

I pushed my manhood even deeper as more of my essence flooded her core. “I will, and not just tonight. Every night until you bear us an heir, and even then, I will fill you with my seed if only to claim you as my own, again and again.” I said the last part with grunts and equal parts thrusting.

She took my thrusts, never breaking eye contact but for a few eye-rolling moans. “Yes, my lord, my love… I am yours. Take me as often as you want.”

In answer, I rutted into her a few more times to more moans before my cock started to soften. I pulled out, gently placing her leg back with the other. Removing the virgin blood-stained maiden cloth, I wiped my cock clean of both the small amount of maiden’s blood and the excess fluids of our union.

I took the cloth, heavy with the musky smell of sex, and placed it unto an ornate dish that stood on a table by the chamber door. Both witnesses stood from their veiled seats. As was tradition, they would return the cloth to the feasting hall and display it to the wedding guests. The cloth, having been soaked with my seed and her maiden’s blood, would be evidence of our consummation of the marriage— concluding the wedding formalities and allowing the guests to depart, or feast even harder.

This was of little concern to me, however, and was a mere formality. Washing my groin with the provided water and cloth on the washstand, I turned back to my wife. Arla, whose glorious body was covered in sweat, stood from the bed. With eyes hooded in lust, she slowly knelt down in front of the bed. 

“You see, my husband, I have not forgotten your promise. I will have my tasting now, " she said, with an expectant smile.

Smiling, I walked over to the nightstand and poured us both a cup of water. Moving to my kneeling wife, I handed her a cup; she smiled gratefully. “So thoughtful.” 

My slowly stiffening prick was hanging expectantly in front of her face. Looking up at me, she placed the empty cup on the ground as she gently grasped my manhood; even deflated, it looked large in her feminine hands. Without breaking eye contact, she kissed and licked my shaft, while messaging my sack. I stroked my hand through her clammy hair, admiring this queen of a woman, who was pleasuring me with her mouth.

“So, how does it taste, my love?” I asked.

“Mmmm, I love the taste of your cock!” she said, with a wicked grin.

She expertly massaged my testicles as she stroked, kissed, and licked my manhood to hardness. As it grew stiff enough, she took me into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head of my shaft. Her hooded deep blue eyes looked up at me, as her full lips engulfed my thick cock. 

I took a silent moment to thank Mistress Elora Caspian, for her dedication towards Arla’s instruction in the art of pleasure. 

Just as I had done, my bride took her time, unraveling layer upon layer of pleasure one at a time— massaging, stroking, kissing, licking, and sucking on my ever-engorged manhood. Soon, my tool was as hard as forged steel.

After building up my pleasure to a peak, she took my thick prick deeper into her mouth. I felt her throat caress the head of my shaft and engulf it. Repressing her gag reflex, she took me fully, her lips reaching my base.

With watery eyes, she looked up at me, placing my hand on the back of her head and gently resting hers on my thighs.

Her intent was clear. Placing both my hands on either side of her head, I started thrusting in a slow and purposeful rhythm. Fully in control of her own reflexes and understanding the cues I would follow; she would take several thrusts before gently squeezing my thigh; a sign for me to pull back, allowing her to swallow and breath, before opening her mouth wide for me to push in once again.

The feeling of her tight, spasming throat around my huge cock was glorious. I moaned and praised her efforts, “Oh fuck, just like that, my love. Take every inch.”

It was after several such rotations that she grew bold, and ,she cocked an eyebrow, challenging me to go faster.

“Oh, you want it faster?” I said, mockingly.

She moaned and nodded pleadingly. I honored her requests. I started to thrust in and out of her mouth with an increased rhythm. With every thrust, my cock went deep into her mouth, stimulating me with the tightness of her throat. The sensation was driving me mad.

“I’m close, “I said through clenched teeth.

She moaned in acquiescence and squeezed my thigh in a way that signaled her desire to take control. Letting go of her head, she grabbed my shaft and sucked on the head greedily before pulling me out with only my tip on her lips. She then rapidly stimulated the small hole at the tip of my cock with her tongue.

“Oh gods! Don’t stop!” I shouted as her ministrations drove me over the edge. 

“Oh fuck, here it comes, my love!”

As my cock twitched violently, she half-moaned and half-laughed in eager desire; she seemed to suck the cum from my tip. Wave after wave of pleasure overrode my senses, as I unleashed load after load of my seed unto her tongue and down her throat. 

Not once did she release my cock from her lips. She drained all of my seed and ardor. She continued to massage my testicles while sucking me. Her technique was so well performed that even before my cock had time to go flaccid, it was engorging once more.

I stroked her head, marveling at the beauty of my wife, her lips wrapped around my thick manhood. “That was incredible, Arla.”

She popped my cock from her mouth, stroking it gently and smiling in delight. “Thank you, my lord.” She looked back at my hardening shaft. “I see my lord is eager for more,” she said with a teasing smile, rising gracefully to her feet and playfully pushing me onto the bed.

I chuckled as she crawled on top of me, kissing me deeply. My hands arrived at the globes of her glorious full ass and squeezed them. Breaking off our kiss, she leaned forward and fed me her amazing tits. I sucked on her swollen nipples eagerly, as she grabbed my cock with her free hand and guided it to her pussy. I felt cum from our previous lovemaking drip unto my shaft before my head entered her once more.

She crooned as the thick flesh spread her wide and the wet lips of her quim reached my base. For a moment, she just sat there, contentment on her face as a meaty cock filled her cunt for the second time that evening and as my mouth eagerly sucked on her gorgeous tits. 

She started to rock her hips in smooth, rhythmic motions before she pulled herself upright, and started to rut on my pole. Her large breasts swung enticingly as she did so. I grabbed them, squeezing their wondrous flesh, twirling her dark pink nipples in between my fingers. She moaned as she whipped her midnight black hair backward.

Staring at me, she asked, with a wicked smile, “How do you like my cunt, my lord? Is it to your liking?”

“Oh fuck, that feels good. Your pussy is so fucking tight. To my liking? I love it. Every night, I will claim it anew. I will feed it with my seed. When it’s filled up, I will unleash my seed into your mouth.” I grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her down to me; at this angle, I took over the thrusting, ramming my cock up into her squelching quim.

“Oh yes, my love. That’s it, fuck me harder, yes, yes, yes!”

I pounded up into her until her pussy convulsed on my cock.

“Oh fuck!” she exclaimed.

I halted my thrusts to allow her to experience the waves of pleasure riding up her body from her core. She giggled as she raised herself upright and stretched out, her arms lifted above her head— her glorious body on full display.

“Wow, that was… mmmm,” she moaned as she started to ride me in a slow rhythm. 

I grabbed her full breasts. “You are so beautiful! I love your tits!”

She moaned, “Yes, my lord. My body is yours; my heart is yours; my mind is yours, and my soul is yours! Even in death, my soul will seek you out and fuck you into forever in the afterlife.”

Filled with wild desire and love, I sat up and brought her to me, suckling on those amazing orbs, as she bounced her wondrous body on my cock. This was incredible, but I felt a need to be in control. Using my strength and agility, I spun us around to her squeal of surprise, and I was on top. Grabbing her thin waist like an animal in heat, I started hammering into her. She bit her lip with pleasure as her tits bounced violently from my aggressive thrusts. Her cries of pleasure mirrored my loud grunts.

“Oh gods, yes! Fuck me, Dorian, fuck me, my lord. Take me, I’m yours, yes, yes… aheee.”

Again, her quim clamped tightly on my cock; this time, I kept plowing into her. Twice, my seed had been unleashed, and my build-up of arousal had much longer to go. I kept thrusting, unleashing my lust into this goddess of a woman, who would bear my children, rule alongside me, and take my seed whenever I wanted.

Our fucking went on for long moments. We changed positions multiple times, from the back, where I slapped her ass cheeks until she climaxed once more; then, I let her ride me in reverse, where I rubbed her nub with one hand and pinched her nipple with the other until she climaxed. Up against the wall, standing, sitting, bent over, and lying down. I could not sate my desire.

I was rutting in her from behind, both of us covered in a thick sheen of sweat, when I grunted, “I am close.”

My bride pleaded, “Fill me again, I want your seed inside me.”

“As you wish,” I replied, pumping my cock furiously into her.

With a final thrust, I buried myself deeply inside her and cried out, “Ahhh fuck, yes! Take my seed!”

Burst after a burst of my cream filled her womb once more, the sticky fluid filling her so much that it squirted out of the opening of her pussy, covering my balls with the excess cum. I collapsed on top of her chest, my cock still twitching inside her; our heaving chests beating frantically from our intense lovemaking. When I turned to look at her, tears were streaming down the sides of her face.

Shocked, I asked, “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and cupped my face with her hand. “I am just happy.”

I smiled in relief. “Me too.”

Shortly after, at our request, the servants brought in a copper tub and filled it with rose-scented hot water. My wife and I shared a languid bath together, talking until the bath cooled and more hot water had to be brought in. Soon enough, however, we exited the bath, dried off and collapsed onto the bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

The following morning, we left for Harvest Hall, my wife riding beside me as we left Reaper’s Rock. In the years to come, we would return to the impressive fortress. I ways I would never have imagined.