My time with Daisha and Mafalda had left me exhausted and sated. I slept soundly until a morning breeze stirred the curtains at my window. Sunlight poured onto my closed eyelids, and I stirred.

Dragging myself from the bed, I slipped into a robe and stepped onto the terrace. The tiles were cool beneath my feet as I crossed toward the communal baths. From within came the sound of playful laughter and splashes.

I entered to find the other four royal wives immersed in their morning ritual. None flinched at my presence—graceful in their nudity, they were wholly unconcerned. I paused, taking in the sight in reverent silence, admiring their ebony skin.

Fatima noticed me first, her eyes sparkling as she gently nudged Daisha. Daisha turned, her face lighting up with delight. She reached out, palms open, welcoming me. "Good morning, Moira," her voice a lilting melody, "come and join us."

I slipped off my robe and hung it on a brass hook fixed to the wall, the cool air caressing my bare skin as I moved toward the washing area. Daisha greeted me with a warm smile, took my hand, and pulled me into a soft embrace, her body slick and warm from the water.

The bathing space was simple; no tub or shower, just stone basins filled from iron buckets. I lifted one and tilted it over my head. The water was refreshing, cascading down my neck and spine, rinsing away the residues of the night before.

Daisha lathered a bar of soap between her palms until it foamed, then began washing my front with slow, deliberate strokes. Her touch was both practical and tender. A moment later, I felt more hands, firm but gentle, working over my back. I turned my head and caught Fatima and Mafalda grinning, their eyes playful as they joined in.

It became a moment of shared intimacy. Hands glided over every curve and hollow, exploring, soaping and soothing. Even my secret places were attended to as if cleansing were a ritual.

I lifted another bucket of water, feeling the soap washing off my skin, and then another, just for its refreshing charge. I lifted my hands, pushed strands of hair away from my eyelids, and then turned to face the wives, enjoying the pleasure on their faces. I mumbled my thanks, donned the robe and left them there.

._.

Mid-afternoon, I was sitting on the terrace reading one of the books I had taken from the ship when Daisha came to sit with me. She had a serious look about her, and when she spoke, it was hesitantly, "Moira. You will be presented to Sire this evening," I looked up, startled by the suddenness, "and I will prepare you. There will be three of us, Mafalda has been summoned too."

The next few hours blurred into a whirlwind of bathing, dressing, and preparation. I slipped into a slinky maroon dress with a low décolletage that drew my breasts together alluringly. Gold earrings caught the light with every movement of my head, and a delicate chain necklace, adorned with a filigree brooch pendant, rested just above my breasts. Dark grey silk stockings adorned my legs, attached to a pretty lacy suspender belt, and high-heeled shoes completed the ensemble. There was no underwear. I felt that when my dress came off, my body should be ready for his immediate pleasure.

His Majesty had given me every piece of clothing and jewellery I wore, and I was determined to present myself at my best as a tribute to his generosity and my desire to impress him.

When I stepped out onto the terrace, Fatima and Carla were seated at a table, halfway through their dinner. Their heads turned in unison, eyes widening, and radiant smiles spread across their faces. I felt ready, at least outwardly, but the anticipation of my imminent audience with Sire sent a tremor through me that no amount of preparation could quell.

Daisha and Mafalda arrived moments later, stunning in their own right. I clapped my hands in admiration, unable to contain my delight. They flanked me, one on each side, then leaned in and enveloped me in a firm, affectionate embrace. Their hands began to roam, stroking my arms, my back, my hips and my breasts — an intimate ritual of preparation that mirrored the warm-up Fatima and Carla had offered the day before, and I surrendered to it, letting their touch melt away my tension. Pleasure rippled through me, soft and growing.

The three of us set off together—Daisha leading, Mafalda just behind me. We left our annexe and passed through a guarded gate into the palace proper, heels clicking sharply against marble as we wound through endless corridors and climbed flight after flight of polished stone steps. As we walked, Daisha spoke gently, explaining the protocols we would need to follow in Sire's presence. Again and again, she urged me to mirror her if I felt uncertain, calm and steady, soothing my nerves.

At last, we reached the threshold of the king's private apartment, and the butterflies in my stomach erupted into frantic flight. A man seated at a desk beside the ornate door glanced up and gave us a knowing smile. Then he gestured for us to wait as he slipped inside. While we stood there, Mafalda and Daisha each gave my hands a quiet squeeze as my thoughts spun.

When the man returned and beckoned us forward, my feet refused to obey. I felt I was gliding, not walking—carried forward by the strength of the two women flanking me.

As we stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind us. There was no retreat. I stood frozen, suddenly and acutely aware that I was in the presence of sovereign power. Awe gripped me.

Sire stood at the foot of his great bed, impossibly tall, crowned in gold. The rim glittered with embedded gemstones, each glistening in the light. His robe flowed around him in rich folds edged in gilt, open at the front to reveal a patterned undergarment. Around his neck hung multiple strands of glazed beads that cascaded to his waist.

But it was his face that held me. The most handsome man I had ever seen—his features framed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, regal and composed. Our eyes met, and his gaze pierced through me, as if reading the thoughts in my mind.

Daisha tugged gently on my hand, breaking the spell. It was the signal to kneel. I dropped to my knees, then stretched out flat, arms extended past my head, prostrated.

His voice came deep and resonant, "Kneel, Moira."

I rose onto my arms, then settled back on my haunches, hands folded in my lap, just as Daisha had instructed.

"We are pleased to have you with us," he said. "We hope the method has not been too distressing."

His accent was unfamiliar, his phrasing formal, almost archaic. Yet his measured tone soothed something in me, and I found my voice. "No, Sire. I am happy to be in your service."

He clapped once.

Daisha and Mafalda, still prostrated beside me, began to move—slithering forward like twin serpents. As they approached Sire, he lifted his robe to reveal his feet, never breaking eye contact with me. I watched, transfixed, as my companions kissed and licked his toes, their gestures slow and reverent.

A second clap.

They rose, each grasping the robe at his chest. Gracefully, they peeled it back and let it fall to the floor. Daisha lifted the crown, placing it on a velvet cushion atop a cabinet. Mafalda removed the bead necklace and laid it beside the crown.

Then, standing once more at his sides, they began to undo the ties and buttons of his undergarment. When the final one was released, they drew it apart. He stepped forward, fully naked, and beckoned me.

I crawled the few feet separating me from Sire, my gaze fixed on his beautiful cock standing erect against his stomach. Not just a beauty; it was huge. Nothing had prepared me for his size, at least a foot long, its circumcised ebony head looked as if it could never fit my mouth or cunny.

Kneeling in front of him, I lifted my body until my face was in line with his weapon, then kissed the root and ran my tongue the whole length up to the tip. It was a new taste, and one that defined my new life.

I lifted a hand, grasped the shaft and pulled it down to my waiting lips. My mouth opened, just like it used to do for my master, but only half of his great helmet fitted inside the hole. I stretched wider and wider, pushing against the monster member. Suddenly, it slipped in and filled my mouth. I wanted to lick him, but my tongue, pinned against the roof of my mouth, was unable to move. So I sucked hard, pulling him deeper until the tip lodged in the entrance to my throat. My master's cock used to reach the same place, and I had learned to control my reflexes with him, but Sires was so much bigger that I started to retch and pulled back, letting his shaft spring back to its original vertical position.

The girls grasped my arms and helped pull me to my feet. I stood before Sire, my head tilted back, gazing at his regal visage, as Daisha pulled me to one side. She led me to the bedside and made me lie with my head dangling over the foot. She leaned over me and kissed me on my lips, while her fingers played in my wet slit, dancing over my hard bud. Her whispered words were a warning, "We will be here for you."

Daisha moved out of my sight to be replaced by the tip of Sire's erect cock. I realised he was kneeling, his loins were directly in line with my tilted face. He pushed the helmet against my lips, and I opened wide to let him in, wanting to lick the bead of his juice that hung from his slit. Then the shock. He pushed in hard, instantly breaching my defences, and in a trice, he was embedded deep in my throat. My body rebelled, but there was no escape. The girls held my arms tight against the bedding, while their fingers explored my bud and cunny. He withdrew completely, and I was able to gasp for air for a second before he plunged in again. In, out, he set a rhythm while delicate fingers aroused me below. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this, a juxtaposition of terror and pleasure. The fingers on my bud raised me closer and closer to completion, while the longest and thickest cock I had ever known assaulted my throat.

Inevitably, I spent, my body flailing around under the relenting pressure of fingers in my cunny and on my bud. Finally, there was relief when Sire withdrew, and I could draw breath again.

My relief was short-lived. I felt hands pulling my legs apart, then the weight of a body on mine. Something pressed into the folds of my slit, and I lifted my head to see Sire above me. Then he entered me, and I felt split asunder. Oh, it was incredible, stretched further than ever before, and every time Sire plunged deep inside me, I felt a thrilling jolt, as if he had touched my innermost place. I let my head drop, finding myself looking into Mafalda's eyes. Her inverted lips met mine, our first kiss, tongues flicking together while somewhere above Sire pounded my cunny.

I felt delicious things happening around my groin, my body started to jerk beneath him as I burbled and whimpered into Mafalda's mouth. Then I climaxed in a huge uncontrollable welter of pleasure that created blinding flashes of light in my head. And in the midst, I heard a leonine roar and felt the surge of Sire's seed hitting the walls of my cunny, a pulsating flame that spread through me to meet with the fires in my head.

But, he did not linger on me, and I felt the weight of his body disappear, even though I craved him inside me forever, and the feeling of emptiness crushed my soul.

I did not remember much after that, just a hazy recollection of being dressed by the other wives and the long walk back to our annexe with his fluids running down my legs. Later, they took me to our washing room and gently cleaned my body before leading me to bed. Images of the king and his giant member flashed in my mind seconds before I fell into a deep slumber.

._.

The following morning, when I tottered onto the terrace, the four wives laughed raucously at my ungainly gait. I glared at them, not enjoying the joke, "I'm sore, it's not funny." But in my head, the memory of his shaft in my cunny was beautiful.