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Blind Passion

Chapter 37

After dancing with Dick at the ball, Charles wanted desperately to retire with him to his quarters, but he knew such a thing would be foolhardy. One, he had already been invited by the queen to her bedchamber. And two, if he ever made the mistake of sleeping with Dick while staying in Wychowl, it would only be a matter of time before the entire court began whispering that Duke Charles Verneus not only fancied male company but the company of his sister's husband.

Such a thing would be the scandal of the year, and Dick would be barred from every social circle as "poorly bred." It was bad enough that Evelyn was now considered a flawed specimen. Throughout the ball, Charles heard the snide comments about his sister and her stay at Wychowl. Most came in the form of backhanded compliments, "He's a lovely fellow, the duke, isn't he? At least he isn't a queer like that horrid sister of his. Did you know? She was sleeping with the queen's savage and then had the gall to trot off with it when the king banished her! Good riddance, I say."

When the ball had ended, Charles bid Dick goodnight and retired to his own quarters. His Beauceron Decius was waiting for him there and was only too ready to help him prepare for his night with the sovereign. Apparently, word had been sent ahead that he should do so. He silently helped Charles undress, bathe, and dress again in proper evening wear. He even polished his spectacles for him.

Charles liked Decius. He was a handsome boy, gentle and soft-eyed. He reminded him of himself if he was six feet tall and hung like a horse. "Thank you, Decius," he said as the eager young male held the door open for him.

As Charles stepped into the corridor, it suddenly hit him that he hadn't a clue where the king and queen's bedchamber was. He was relieved to see a Beauceron had been sent to guide him. He knew the slave's name was Primus, and he was the biggest Beauceron Charles had seen on the castle grounds yet: eight feet tall, muscular and thick-necked, Primus was a prime example of centuries of flawless breeding. He was the ideal specimen that every Beauceron breeder hoped to produce when breeding their slaves.

The ideal female Beauceron, meanwhile, was just the opposite of Primus: tiny-waisted, not taller than five feet, and nothing short of buxom. Though highly prized on the market, female Beaucerons were acutely absent on the castle grounds and Charles knew exactly why: Queen Donica was, and would always remain, the loveliest bitch in her castle.

Primus clapped his big paw on Charles' shoulder with a grunt and silently steered him up the hall. As they walked along the red carpet, guards in silver armor lined the walls, watching indifferently as they passed. Charles recognized them instantly as the king's elite bodyguard. They patrolled the castle in abundance as the king slept, breastplates gleaming inside crimson jackets, proud mastiffs all. Four of these elite had been sent away with Evelyn, and Charles had to wonder how they felt about abandoning a duty they had literally spent their lives in the achievement of. Every solider of the king's elite had spent at least twenty years training for a place in the castle. To just give it up in the blink of an eye . . . Because they had decided to disobey orders and remain with Evelyn, the four mastiffs would never be able to return without fearing for their heads. Perhaps King Bastian would have pardoned them, but Queen Donica . . . never. She was mockingly called the Red Queen behind her back for a reason.

They climbed a stair, headed down two more branching corridors, and at the end of the maze, came to a pair of great sliding doors with the king's heraldry - a roaring lion - glaring down at them. Two mastiffs guarded the doors, and seeing Primus, they silently slid them open, splitting the face of the roaring lion. Charles was marched inside and looked around the bedchamber in wonder as the doors slid shut behind him.

The room was absolutely stunning and unlike anything Charles had ever expected. The balcony doors were open, and through the translucent white curtains, Charles could see two chairs and a table, a place where the king and queen no doubt took their tea each morning as they looked out upon the vast castle grounds. The room flowed with elegant furniture, couches, vanities, dressing screens, desks, and bookshelves. Wychowl Hall boasted the largest library in the kingdom, but the king had sequestered a great portion of it away in his bedroom. It was as if he and his wife had created their own little plane of existence. Charles stepped into the room and felt as if he had stepped into someone else's drawers. It was too personal a space for him to intrude, and yet Primus guided him in further.

"Charles," purred the queen. "You came. Good."

Charles followed the queen's voice and felt his cheeks get hot immediately. She was lying on an immense four poster bed, the white curtains of which were drawn back. And she was naked. She had the slight body of a girl, and the red fur that clung to her inner thighs and shoulders reminded him somewhat of a vixen. Her breasts, belly, and - Charles averted his eyes - the curly fur around her pink sex was white. She reclined on the enormous bed with her legs spread, one paw cradling a glass of wine. She set the glass on the nightstand and sat up, her incredibly long red mane tumbling around her slanted green eyes. Charles felt nothing as he looked at her, but the sudden slap against his back told him Primus certainly liked what he was seeing.

The queen giggled to see her slave's arousal, and Charles felt the sweat beading. The queen thought he was straight, and yet no bulge was rising in his trousers. He tried to think of Dick, and when nothing happened, the panic gripped him. Then the queen spoke:

"Go ahead and blindfold him, Primus."

Oh thank god.

Primus grunted and went to a small table, where a black blindfold was indeed laid out and waiting.

Charles felt the relief wash over him. But confusion hit him as well. He frowned. "Your grace?"

"You told me you did not like tennis, my dear duke," said the queen pleasantly. "I shall not force you to look at my husband's fine body, only pleasure it."

Charles gulped as his glasses were carefully removed and Primus tied the blindfold back over his eyes. Darkness consumed him, but he was suddenly aware of sound and smell more keenly than before. The queen's perfume hit him for the first time, as well as the scent of her moist sex and soft fur. It was a strange smell and reminded him of his mother. The idea of sleeping with someone who smelled like his mother repulsed him, and his heart thudded in his ears.

"Undress him, Primus. What are you waiting for?" the queen scolded.

Primus grunted again, and Charles blushed as his shirt was carefully unbuttoned and pealed off. Charles felt his belt coming loose, and it took him a moment to realize Primus was kneeling before him, doing it with his teeth. The thought of that mouth so near his penis made him swell a little in his trousers, and when his penis finally flopped free, he was a little hard.

"You are right to anticipate," the queen said huskily. "My pussy can massage you in ways no tongue ever could, my duke."

Charles hesitated, knowing he should say something to please her. "When you say such things, my queen, I feel myself tremble."

The queen sighed happily, and he heard the click of the wineglass against her teeth.

Charles' boots came off first. Primus then pulled his trousers and drawers down one after the other and helped him step out of them. He was confused when the slave retreated. He could hear his clothes being gathered up from the floor, then silence as someone else entered the room from an adjoining chamber. The mattress groaned as that someone sat on the edge on the bed.

"He is beautiful," whispered a deep voice. Charles' heart leapt: the king's voice! "Take two steps forward, Charles," he said. "I'm right here."

Charles obeyed. His heart fluttered when the king's big paws took his. He guided Charles' to knees, and when he inhaled the musky scent before him, he knew the king's erection was in his face. He felt himself harden at once, thick and strong. The king guided Charles' paws along his hard thighs, and Charles swallowed to feel them.

"Your m-majesty . . ." Charles whispered. He didn't know why he said it. The king guided his paw along his rippling belly, and from the touch alone, he knew the king's body was indeed majestic. He frowned as the pre-cum oozed from his penis. "Your m-majesty, I am unworthy to . . ."

"Hush," the king whispered.

Charles hushed. He could hear the queen moving on the bed, perhaps to better position herself so she could watch. As she drew near, the scent of her perfume whisked against Charles' nose.

"Let's see if your tongue is as skilled in bed as in flattery," the queen whispered. "My husband makes a proper mess with a finely skilled tongue." She laughed and the wineglass clinked again. Charles could hear the rush of liquid as Primus filled it for her.

"Extend your tongue," the king softly commanded.

Charles obeyed and trembled when his tongue was met with the salty taste of the king's hot shaft. He felt the king's big paw cup the back of his head, silently encouraging. He began to lick, and the sheer length and thickness of the erection flabbergasted him. He paused, and his lashes fluttered, and he could hear the queen laughing softly at his astonishment. The king whispered for him to keep licking - a plea in his voice that made Charles harder. He obeyed, licking slow and hard from scrotum to head. He was pleased with his efforts when the king grunted and whispered, "Oh god."

"Look how his tongue flexes," the queen said. "I envy the ladies that tongue has touched with its finesse. You shall have to lick me before the night is through."

Charles paused uncertainly. "Yes, my queen." His lashes fluttered behind the blindfold when the king pried his lips open with his thumb. Still cupping the back of Charles' head, he brought his face forward - and Charles gulped on the enormous organ that filled his mouth until he drooled. His muffled cries made the queen giggle, but the king sighed as he caressed Charles' mane, a silent command that he suck.

Charles hesitated - the better to pretend he wasn't enjoying what was happening - then sucked the king off, slowly and wetly. His spit had plastered the king before long, and he knew he was enjoying every wet, hot minute of the king's royal cock prodding his throat. The guilt thrilled through him. He had never been with anyone but Dick. Evelyn thought it terribly romantic when he told her, but he thought it pathetic, and with sudden abandon, he sucked the king hungrily and eagerly. He could hear the king's sudden grunts and sighs, could feel him flinching in his mouth and knew he was drawing close. He choked when the king suddenly squirted, and as if he thought Charles might try to escape the hot blast, he grabbed his head and held his mouth on his penis as he sighed his seed free.

"A-Aahhh . . . ah."

Breathless, the king let Charles go, and Charles remained on his knees, sputtering as he struggled to swallow. Something wet slapped his thigh, and he realized it was his own pre-cum.

"What shall you do now, my love?" the queen whispered huskily. "We must awaken you again."

Charles could only imagine that the king was now soft after the load he had released. He fumbled to his feet when the king took his paws and guided him up. The king then guided him to stand with his shoulder facing the bed . . . and flipped him over his lap like a ragdoll. Charles gasped as the air was knocked out of him, and somewhere nearby, he heard the queen's squeal of delight.

"A paddle, darling?" she whispered.

"No, my paw," the king said softly.

Charles went beet red. He could feel the king's strong thighs under him and the brush of his soft sex. The king was running his big paws over Charles' body as if shaping him. He smoothed aside his tail and squeezed his soft buttocks, rubbed them and paused, as if impressed.

"Your ass is soft as a bitch's," the king whispered.

"Isn't it, though?" laughed the queen. "He won't be able to take it, I fear."

"He'll take it," the king said and without preamble, spanked Charles hard.

Charles grunted as the fist blow came. The king paused, allowed the tingling pain to spread over, then popped him again. Charles bucked on reflex, and this seemed to be what the king wanted, for he whacked Charles immediately again.

"Ah!" Charles cried.

Somewhere, the queen laughed. "Mm . . . look at his hard dick flapping everywhere. Hit him again, darling," she said.

The king obeyed, hitting Charles twice as hard. Charles bucked and struggled and knew his body was flexing, his soft buttocks were jiggling and squirming, his hard penis was flapping, and that the king and queen were watching and enjoying it all. He blushed harder as he thought of it.

"God, look at him," the king whispered and whacked again.

"Ah!"

Whack. Whack. Whack.

"A-Ahh!"

The spanking abruptly stopped. Charles lay breathless across the king's hard lap and went still when he felt the sudden slap of the king's penis as it stiffened against him. The room was silent, and then the king muttered, "He's making me so _hard._Mmm." He smoothed his paw over Charles' backside again, then pried the cheeks open. Charles bit his lip and wanted to die: they were staring at his anus.

"Here, Primus," the king said, almost as if beckoning a pet.

Charles went still as he listened to Primus moving through the room. There was a pause - and then he cried out when the slave's tongue plunged his anus. Wet, hot, and insistent, the slave's mouth devoured him, and he couldn't help moaning at the sudden pleasure.

"Touch him," the king whispered softly.

Primus obeyed, and Charles trembled when that big paw closed on his erection and caressed. He couldn't believe it. He was lying across the king's lap, having his ass eaten and his penis fondled. The pleasure was too intense. He started to buck and the king stroked his mane.

"Ah! Your m-majesty . . . I b-beg you . . ." Charles moaned. "Ahh . . . ."

"Yes," the king whispered and touched Charles' lip. "Beg some more."

Charles couldn't help himself: he curled his tongue around the king's finger. He only prayed the queen did not see. But when no comment was made, he assumed she had not. The king, meanwhile, seemed pleased by the gesture. He touched the back of his fingers to Charles' cheek and continued to stroke his mane.

"He's so pretty," the king whispered.

"Like his sister?" the queen hissed somewhere in the room. Charles was startled by just how far away she sounded.

"I didn't say that," the king returned, and he sounded a little hurt.

"Enough!" the queen snapped. She sounded irritable now. "He's been a good boy. . . . let's give him his reward." She laughed.

"Enough, Primus," the king confirmed.

Charles sagged as the slave drew away, but the pleasure still tingled on his anus and penis. In the wake of the slave's absence, the air slapped his backside and the spit there felt cold.

Charles fumbled to his feet as Primus' strong paw guided him up. He could hear the king and queen settling on the bed, heard the smack of their kiss, and then Primus was guiding him to the mattress. Charles hesitantly pressed his knee, then fumbled blindly to find the sheets. Primus pressed the small of his back, encouraging him on.

"Crawl to me, my duke," the queen whispered directly in front of Charles.

Charles flared his nostrils and caught the whiff of her sex. It was moist for him. He crawled on top of her and felt the brush of her sharp breasts against his chest. With convincing passion, he kissed her, and her little nails curled in his back as she melted under him. He slowly eased his hips down, trying blindly to slide himself in. The head of his penis found her clitoris instead and caressed it. She trembled with pleasure, so he continued, rubbing himself against that silky softness as he moaned through a kiss with her.

The king's heavy weight shifted the bed, and Charles trembled when that weight was on top of him. He felt the press of the king's rippling belly on his back, the nudge of his erect phallus. His big paw reached around, and after fondling Charles to sighing, he slipped him carefully inside his wife. Charles moaned as his penis was enclosed in the warm wetness of the queen. She snapped her hips to admit him further and he slid in tighter with a gasp.

"Oh . . . oh duke," the queen whispered huskily. "I never before imagined with what generosity you could please a lady . . . oh."

Charles licked his lips, knowing he was supposed to flatter her. "You feel as good as you taste, my queen," he whispered against her lips and kissed her again. She pressed his face in her breasts, whispering for him to suck them, and as he obeyed, he grunted to feel the sudden intrusion of the king's hungry erection.

"Ahhh! Your m-majesty! Oh . . . your majesty," Charles moaned.

The queen moaned as Charles in turn was forced deep inside her. She clutched Charles' backside in fistfuls, groping him even as she held him open for her king. "Fuck him, Bastian," she whispered. "Oh, darling . . . fuck him. . . . oh yes. . . . god yes!" She arched her back, pressing her breasts against Charles. Charles showered her neck and breasts with kisses, pretending she was Dick . . . she was Dick under him and the king was riding him, slow and deep.

They rocked slowly, sighing and gasping with each careful thrust. The king squeezed Charles' shoulder and kissed his neck, licked his ear, pinched his nipple as he made careful love to him. His hard body was all consuming, enfolding both Charles and the queen and quietly conquering them with the strength of his passion. His big paw slipped between to squeeze the queen's breasts and massage her nipples, even as he rode Charles.

Charles was horrified when he eventually came inside the queen, but he reminded himself that she was probably barren, even as he showered her neck and breasts with apologetic kisses. "I beg . . . I beg your mercy, your grace," Charles whispered breathlessly. "The strength of your love, your grace . . . has undone me," he added, and that much was true: the queen's greedy sex clenched so hard on him throughout, it was no wonder that he had simply lost control and exploded inside of her. A part of him wondered if she hadn't done it on purpose. In the wake of his passion, he felt weak. His arms were trembling when he gathered the queen without thinking and held her, letting his nose drop in her thick mane. He closed his eyes and felt the queen rubbing his back as his penis softened inside her. He didn't want to pull out of her heat. He didn't want the king to pull out of him, and was saddened when he did, carefully and gently.

The king's weight shifted the bed again as he lay down. Charles was surprised when he was pulled into the king's arm. The blindfold was pried off, and he looked around to find himself lying beside the king, his cheek on his chest. The queen lay on the king's other side, hugging him as she yawned, her red mane in her face. She looked happy and tired as she dragged a lazy paw up and down the king's rippling belly. She fondled his soft penis idly as she looked at Charles, blinking her slanted eyes slowly.

"Would you like to live here, my lord duke?" the queen said.

Charles stared at her, taken aback. "Your grace?"

"What is keeping you in Howlester?" the queen demanded and waved a paw. "Duke Richard has inherited your sister's wealth. And your sister has run off."

Charles stared at her and didn't know what to say. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

"Let him be, Donica," moaned the king tiredly. "And let that be as well," he said, nodding at his penis. "You make me hard again and I'll make you scream for it."

The queen laughed. She pecked her husband on the lips and closed her eyes.

Primus appeared at the bedside, and as he pulled the sheets over them, Charles realized he was to sleep here, with the king and queen. With his cheek still on the king's chest, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. After some time, he felt the king's fingers on his cheek and opened his eyes again. The king's gentle gray eyes regarded him softly.

"Why did you come?" the king whispered. "My invitation was to Richard. You have never come to my court before. And with good reason."

Charles glanced nervously at the queen, who was sleeping peacefully on the other side of the king. The king removed his arm from around her and she turned her back to them, frowning and dream-absorbed. "No, Mother . . . I won't wear those shoes to the party! I hate you!" she muttered.

The king looked steadily at Charles and waited.

"It's . . . it's about my sister, your majesty," Charles answered.

"Bastian," the king corrected.

"Your majesty?"

"We have been intimate," the king said and pinched Charles' chin, his eyes on his lips as if he wanted to kiss him. "And feelings have moved beyond formalities. At least . . ." he laughed softly. "They have for me."

"As your wish, your . . . Bastian."

The king smiled.

"But it were best discussed . . . in private." Charles glanced at the queen.

The king nodded. "On the balcony then."

"Yes."

Charles and the king rose from the bed. Charles tried not to look as the king wrapped himself in a sheet and without hesitating, went to the balcony. Feeling awkward, Charles wrapped himself likewise and followed.

Out on the balcony, the moon was large in the sky, and the night breeze was cold. The king sat in one of the chairs at the little table and bid Charles to sit. Charles started past him and was startled when he was grabbed and pulled onto the king's lap. The king's calm gray eyes appraised Charles and his big paw massaged the back of his neck. Charles blushed a little, willing arousal at bay as he stared at the king's hard chest, his thick neck, the square line of his jaw.

"Now," the king said, his lips twisted in the smallest hint of a smile, "what brings you to my court, Charles? To my court and to my bed no less." He lifted his brows and plucked a grape from the bowl on the table. He offered the grape to Charles, and trembling slightly, Charles accepted it on his tongue. He chewed as he watched the king pluck a grape for himself.

"My sister," Charles answered at last. "I fear . . . she has come to your bed as well." His face darkened as he suddenly remembered: the king had had his way with Evelyn!

The king noted Charles' sudden anger in calm amusement. "And what? You have come here to slap me with a glove? Challenge me to a duel? As I recall, Evelyn quite enjoyed herself. She even called out the same as you: 'Oh, your majesty!' 'Don't stop, your majesty!' etcetera." He waved an idle paw, his eyes dragging over Charles chest as he popped another grape in his mouth. He laughed softly. "I suppose a few things run in the family."

Charles' nostrils flared. "I came here to beg her pardon, your majesty --"

"Bastian."

"Bastian," relented Charles, looking wearily at the king from the white fringe of mussed curls in his eyes.

"Hmm." The king gazed off, lost in thought. He frowned. "Truly? You came all this way to beg her pardon? Has she run into some trouble out in the boondocks with my renegade bodyguards?"

Charles was surprised by the genuine concern in the king's eyes. "N-No, your majesty," he said, still taken aback. "In fact, she said she was . . . happy," he admitted dismally.

The king smiled. "Good. So what is it? You simply . . . miss her? Why not go and visit her? I hear Homyn Willow Wood is lovely this time of year."

Charles' brows went up. "His majesty knows where she is?"

"As does her majesty my queen," the king answered with a shrug of his powerful shoulders. "I didn't send four of my elite away without other elite keeping track of them. I have always known where she is." He popped another grape nonchalantly in his mouth and regarded Charles calmly.

Without thinking, Charles squeezed his arm. "Well then, your grace, we must bring her home! _You_must."

The king stared at him. ". . . why must I again? Exactly."

Charles swallowed hard. "Your majesty . . . she is pregnant."

King Bastian froze.

And over on the bed with her ears pricked forward, Queen Donica scowled.