The Empress' New Clothes Read online

  “Good morn,” Cam said affably, “I came to congratulate you on the hatching of the High Princesses and to escort you to…to…” Noticing the High Queen’s chest for the first time, Cam swallowed—roughly. “By the sands,” he groaned.

  Flushing scarlet, Kyra pretended not to notice his regard, or his fierce erection. “Thank you,” she replied brightly. “Shall we go?” When the warrior only stood there, gawking at her breasts and making no move to escort her, she tapped him on the arm. “Cam?”

  “What? Oh, aye.” Shaking his head to clear it, Cam forced his gaze from Kyra’s chest to her face. “We, uh, should go. I, uh...” He sighed, taking her by the arm. “Let us go,” he groaned.

  Kyra, Cam, and her gargantuan breasts walked down the black crystal corridor that led to the great hall. Kyra held her head high, her spine erect, even as she wanted to shrivel up and die from the wide-eyed, aroused looks the warriors they passed by were throwing her way.

  When finally they made it into the great hall, the first one to spot her was Kil. Kyra grimaced as she watched her brother-in-law do a double take, and then, eyes round with disbelief, awe, or both, he mumbled something that made Zor and Dak turn their heads to look at her.

  Kyra was infuriated by their open-jawed, glazed-eyed expressions, but said nothing. Sniffing regally, she sauntered toward the table, Cam and her breasts in tow.

  * * * * *

  “What’s for breakfast?” Kyra asked the question as nonchalantly as she could manage, hoping to discourage her husband and his two brothers from staring at her like some sort of an erotic arts performer. “Anything good?”

  They merely continued to gape. Flushing, she picked up a crystal dish and served herself from a selection of sweet breads and fruits. “It’s a beautiful day today,” she said in the way of conversation. “Isn’t it?”

  They said nothing.

  Her nostrils flaring, Kyra arched a brow and scowled at her husband. “Isn’t it?” she shrieked.

  “What?” Zor asked thickly. The glow of his eyes said without words that he wanted to couple. “Oh aye, pani, uh, I mean—aye, mani.”

  “I’m not your pani anymore?” she teased, hoping to change the topic.

  “A mani is much better,” he said hoarsely. “By the goddess, ‘tis better for a certainty.”

  “I must go.” Dak surged to his feet, his eyes never straying from Kyra’s chest. Ever the brother to come straight to the point, he bluntly confessed, “I needs take my nee’ka to the vesha hides to work on our hatchlings.”

  Kyra rolled her eyes—not than anyone noticed.

  Ten minutes after Dak departed, not a single word had yet been spoken at the raised table. Furious, Kyra threw down her crystal fork-spoon, crossed her arms under her behemoth breasts, and scowled. “Stop it!”

  Kil had the decency to look chagrined, but Zor tried to play it off. “Stop what, my hearts? I was but admiring your lovely qi’ka. ‘Tis new, aye?”

  Kil snorted.

  “You were not!” Kyra fumed, slapping her hand on the table. “You were staring at my hideous breasts!”

  “Hideous?” Kil repeated incredulously. He shook his head. “Many words do come to mind to describe them, yet ‘hideous’ is not amongst them.”

  “They are filled with sweet juice to feed your babies,” Kyra charged, shaking her finger at her husband. “How dare you two make me feel like I’m on display!” Surging to her feet, she placed her hands on her hips, glowering at the odious men. “I’m going to my rooms!”

  And with that, Kyra and her breasts bounced away.

  Zor and Kil groaned.

  * * * * *

  “Come in.” Kil inclined his head to Cam, Mik, and Gio, letting them into his rooms. “You may pick one servant apiece from any amongst them,” he called out over his shoulder as he led them down a corridor. “I have them situated within the parlor according to how many years of Yessat service they have left. On the left side of the chamber are wenches owing five, in the middle four, and on the right three.” He threw them a wry look as he continued to walk. “None owe less than three.”

  The younger warriors glanced at each other, grinning from ear to ear. “You even let us pick of your own stock?” Cam asked.

  “Aye.” Kil shrugged. “I have too many to care.”

  Gio blew out a breath, throwing a glimpse toward his comrades that clearly said he hoped to be so wealthy one day. “I hope ‘tis not too difficult a decision,” he muttered. “I imagine you would like us to take leave of your suites the soonest, Your Majesty.”

  When the group made it to the doors of the parlor, Kil turned around to regard the younger warriors. His lips kicked up into a knowing half-grin, the scar on his face twisting. “’Twill be difficult for a certainty, but I am giving you the rest of the moon-rising to choose.” He inclined his head, then turned to stroll into his own bedchamber where his favorites awaited him. “Sample of their charms and enjoy,” he called from over his shoulder.

  “Praise the goddess,” Mik whispered enthusiastically, rubbing his palms together. “Let us see how many we’ve to choose from.”

  Gio clapped him on the back. “’Twill be nigh unto bliss if there are mayhap ten or twenty.”

  “Aye,” Cam confirmed, grinning. “Let us go in and sample away.”

  Opening the parlor doors, the jaws of the three warriors went slack as their eyes feasted on the bounty before them. There had to be a hundred bound servants within—all of them beautiful, all of them busty, all of them completely divested of their qi’ka skirts, and all of them lying down with their legs spread wide for a sampling.

  “By the sands,” Gio murmured. “By the holy sands.”

  For the next five hours, the warriors had the time of their lives. Gio ended up choosing Myn for himself, having been blown away—literally—by her charms. And Mik chose Frey, a freshly broken in brunette who proved herself voraciously accommodating to his desires. Cam was the only one who hadn’t yet decided.

  Laying naked, stretched out on his back to ponder the matter, Cam was stunned when he felt yet another hand wrap around his jutting staff. Glancing down, he studied the face of the gorgeous servant as if remembering her from somewhere. “Have we met?”

  “Aye.” Propping herself up on an elbow, the blonde beauty stroked up and down the length of his cock. Cam sucked in his breath. “My name is Mara. ‘Twas I who brought Muta to you as a gift from the High Queen.”

  Cam’s breathing grew choppier and choppier. “Are you not bound to the High King?”

  “Aye,” she answered softly, her eyelashes fluttering coyly, “but I was given permission to come here today. If you want me, I will call you master.”

  Cam’s hand reached out to cup one of Mara’s large breasts. He bent his head and drew from her nipple, causing the servant to groan. Enjoying the feel of the turgid bulb in his mouth, he tasted of it awhile before lifting his head to regard her. “I’ve seen you many times in passing,” he whispered thickly, “and always are you watching me. Why?”

  “I’ve wanted to couple with you forever,” Mara admitted, grinning. “And I would that I could couple with you now.”

  Cam smiled back. “You would like to prove your desire to pleasure me?”

  “Aye.” Mara climbed up on top of the warrior’s massive frame and impaled herself in one fluid stroke on his long, thick penis. Cam groaned, inhaling sharply. “Do you choose me for your own,” Mara whispered, “I would spend my every moment thinking of new ways to pleasure you.” She rode up and down the length of him, her breasts jiggling deliciously. “When you return from the training fields, tired and in need, I would suckle from your staff until you fall asleep, then be ready for your thrusts when you wake lusty.”

  Cam groaned, thrusting his hips upward for deeper access of her channel. “You would desire this above all things, Mara?” He grabbed her hips and embedded himself further, causing her to moan wantonly.

  “Aye,” she admitted on a climax, “Oh—aye.”
r />   Cam thrust harder, gritting his teeth. “You would not give access of your channel to another without my permission whilst I train or escort the High Queen about?”

  “Nay.”

  “How many Yessat years do you owe?”

  Mara closed her eyes, welcoming his deep thrusts. “Four.”

  “Oh?” Cam flipped her onto her back and plunged into her again, pounding Mara’s pussy relentlessly toward climax. “And why should I choose a servant owing but four years when I can have another owing five?”

  Mara’s eyes rolled back into her head as she peaked once, twice, three times more under Cam. “Because I am willing to pledge five more years to you, giving you nine Yessat years of service.”

  Cam’s eyes went wide as he pummeled mercilessly into her flooded cunt. “You are that lusty for my cock?” he growled.

  “Aye. Oh—aye.”

  Cam thrust deeper, harder, faster—rewarding Mara for her answer. “Then call me master, lusty wench, for you are mine.”

  Chapter 26

  After feeding the babies their dinner, Kyra fell onto the bed, exhausted. It had been a long day.

  Zor was currently in the nursery tucking the girls in, something he planned to do each night. “’Tis for a certainty my face is the last my hatchlings will desire to see each moon-rising,” he had boasted.

  Yawning, Kyra threw her arms above her head and closed her eyes. Thinking back on the day’s events, she let herself smile. It was amusing indeed to see Mr. Tough Guy brought to heel by two little sweetpeas. From the way he’d held Zora and Zara in his thickly muscled arms, rocking back and forth to soothe them, to the way he’d smiled down at them crooning, “hello ty’kas, papa loves you,” Zor was making her fall in love with him all the harder.

  Kyra must have briefly fallen asleep while waiting on her husband to come to bed, because she awoke not much later to the feel of her nipples being suckled. Only this time there were no panis drinking from her, but a warrior. Her warrior. It gave the experience a new, erotic twist. “Zor?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Shh, nee’ka,” he murmured, stroking his tongue soothingly across her swollen pink nipples. Taking one erect bud into his mouth, he sipped from it, then groaned. “’Tis my time now, mani.” Settling his body between her legs and his head between her breasts, he took turns kissing each nipple. “’Tis my right as your High King and Sacred Mate to relieve your swelling each moon-rising.”

  Kyra groaned, arching into him. “I wish we could couple,” she admitted between gasps. “Oh Zor, that feels so good. Do I taste good?” she asked wickedly.

  “Mmm, never have I tasted of anything better, wee one.” He closed his eyes, curling his tongue around a tight peak and drawing from it. Kyra inhaled deeply, rotating her hips under him. “Kyra my hearts,” Zor whispered gruffly, “‘tis naught better to a warrior than the taste of his mani’s gorged breasts.”

  “I’m not your mommy,” she teased.

  Zor looked up from his work long enough to grin down at her. “’Tis an interchangeable word and well you know it, nefarious wench.”

  She giggled.

  “You are my hatchlings’ mommy,” he said reverently as he bent to lick her nipples, “but you are my possession.”

  “Hmm. That seems a little demeaning,” Kyra said, “to use the same word for mommy and possession.”

  Zor grunted. “’Tis an injustice of the galaxies to be pondered over later.”

  Kyra scowled, slapping him on the back. “So I’m your possession, am I?”

  “Mmm.” He bent his head, tasting of her sweet juice. “Always. Never would I allow your absence.”

  She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes on a moan. The way Zor drew from her chest was liable to send her flying through the roof. “I love you,” she sighed out.

  “Ah nee’ka.” Zor raised his head from her breasts long enough to place a sweet kiss on her lips. “I love you more than words can say, my hearts.”

  Lowering his head to Kyra’s chest, he then gorged.

  * * * * *

  Zor didn’t know how much longer he could go on without joining with Kyra’s body, but ‘twas for a certainty he would be atop her, sliding into her luscious cunt the very moment a fortnight was over. Gorging upon her sweet juice during the moon-risings was making his ever-plaguing erection naught but worse.

  Even taking to the bathing chamber was fast losing its ability to relieve the agony of his lust. Zor wanted, nay needed, to have his staff attended to inside of a hot, lusty channel. But of course, not just any channel. No passage appealed to him save Kyra’s and the ecstasy their joining produced.

  A few of the more brazen servants had tried him, hoping to tempt him into the vesha hides whilst Kyra’s body recuperated. They had all accepted his answer gracefully, though, when he’d gently set them away from him, denying them.

  Zor needed Kyra, only his nee’ka. She had three days left of her confinement and he all but feared he’d be as daft as a crazed heeka-beast by the time she spread her legs and invited him to sample of her charms.

  So when Zor let himself into Kil’s apartments to speak to him, ‘twas not the sight he had desired to see, watching his brother rut atop a servant the way he needed to rut atop his wife.

  Sighing, Zor shook his head. For the first time in all of his forty-two Yessat years, he was beginning to believe that Trystonni warriors availed themselves of hot channels far too often. Of course, he was intelligent enough to realize that he would probably not be feeling this way had he been getting any channel himself.

  Kil was currently thrusting his staff into a whimpering, moaning Leha whilst licking at the cunt of another bound servant. Zor allowed him the release of his life-force into Leha’s passage before making his presence known. “I would that I could speak with you, brother.”

  Kil’s gaze shot over to where Zor stood. “For a certainty.” The muscles in his arms and back flexing, he hoisted himself up from between Leha’s splayed thighs. “’Twas an excellent fuck you gave me, sweetling,” he murmured in a low tone. “Stay spread and ready for me whilst I speak to my brother.”

  Kil alighted from the bed, but not before tickling the giggling Leha’s pussy lips with a lap of his tongue. “What can I do for you?” One black brow rose up a notch as he crossed to the side of his bedchamber where Zor stood. “And why in the sands do you look so grim?”

  Zor grunted. Hands placed arrogantly at either hip, he frowned at Kil. “Why do you think, dunce? I cannot share of the vesha hides for three more moon-risings.” He groaned, shaking his head. “One-hundred-thirty-five Yessat hours, ten nuba-minutes, and two nuba-seconds, to be precise.”

  Kil didn’t smile, but his eyes were dancing with amusement. “Is it as they say? Does gorging of the sweet juice make it worse?”

  “By the sands, aye.” Zor closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain—which he was, at least in the lower region of his anatomy. “’Tis a foul trick of the goddess Aparna,” he said wearily, “a foul trick indeed.”

  Zor groaned, removing one hand from his hip to clutch it into a fist. “Every time I turn around, Kyra and her breasts are there to bedevil me. They go bouncing around the palace as if they had not a care in the world, whilst I am left to suffer the agonies of a tortured man.” His teeth clenched as his fist balled tighter. “Those pink nipples laugh up at me from their wicked big perch, luring me in to suckle of them, offering all the temptations of a thousand Kefas, yet allowing for no release.”

  Kil’s lips curled into a half-grin. “You speak of your nee’ka’s breasts as though they are an entity separate from her.”

  “They are, I tell you.” Zor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Leastways I believe them to be enchanted, like a sand muse luring an unsuspecting traveler to his death.”

  Kil shook his head. That was the most ridiculous analogy he had ever had to endure the telling of. Praise the goddess he had no nee’ka to torment himself with. He had always been, as he was now, a man who walked
alone, able to find his pleasures between any number of thighs.

  Still, he doubted ‘twas Kyra’s intention to bedevil the poor lout. His brother was apparently given to the dramatic whilst forced into celibacy.

  “I believe I am dying.” Zor clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. “Feel my head, brother. Tell me do I have the feel of a man coming down with a life-threatening ague.”

  Kil rolled his eyes, but clapped his hand to Zor’s forehead anyway. “Nay. You have the feel of a man not getting any channel.”

  “’Tis true,” he answered grimly. “I remember a warrior from our childhood who went by the name Old Og. Og died of this very condition, his staff erupting from lack of use. ‘Tis an omen to be repeated, for a certainty.”

  Kil closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took two deep breaths before answering Zor. “Og died because his high-born mistress found him coupling with ten of her bound servants. She blew his staff to pieces with a zykif.”

  Zor grimaced. “For a certainty?”

  “Aye.”

  He grunted. “Never mind.” Zor made an impatient gesture with his hand. “I have not come here this morn to speak of coupling. I came to inform you that our brother Rem and his nee’ka are here.”

  Kil frowned. “He brought Jera with him?”

  “Aye.” Zor sighed, shaking his head. “And my nee’ka does not like her for a certainty.”

  Kil crossed his arms over his chest. “I fear I already know the answer, yet will I ask. Why?”

  “Jera is acting the rabid she-beast she is infamous for being. She made insinuations to Kyra at the morning repast, informing her without words of our past dalliances together before she mated with Rem.”

  Kil rolled his eyes. “The bitch never changes.” His thoughts switching to Rem, he grimaced. “Has our brother seen Zora and Zara yet?”

  “Nay.” Zor’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you ask?”