Chapter XXXIII: Alone
As Isabella rose to her feet and shed her linen coverings, the king's eyes lingered on her exposed form, a sense of familiarity washing over him. Her graceful movements as she entered the water stirred memories of their previous encounter.
With a deliberate yet effortless motion, the king detangled himself from the embrace of the other concubines, his focus now solely on Isabella. Closing the distance between them, he leaned forward, his body pressed tantalizingly close to hers.
With a gentle yet firm touch, the king pulled Isabella towards him, positioning her between his legs. As she settled into place, the sensation of her skin against his sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.
As the king's hands traced tantalizing patterns across Isabella's body, a rush of nervousness and embarrassment initially swept over her. The presence of the other concubines weighed heavily on her mind, casting a shadow over the intimate moment they shared.
But as the king's touch deepened, a transformation washed over Isabella. With each caress, each whisper of pleasure, she found herself consumed by a newfound sense of abandon. In his embrace, the world around them faded into insignificance, and she felt as though they were the only two souls in existence.
In that moment, all fears and inhibitions melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of connection and desire. As the king continued to touch her, Isabella surrendered herself completely to the intoxicating ecstasy of her passion, the presence of the other concubines fading into obscurity as she lost herself in his embrace.
As Isabella reached the pinnacle of her pleasure, coming under the water on the king’s hand, he held her close, his arms a sanctuary amidst the whirlwind of sensation. The king issued a firm command to the other concubines. "Leave, the three of you," he ordered.
The concubines exchanged glances, a mixture of frustration and sadness clouding their expressions as they reluctantly obeyed the king's command. Lady Dara, however, stood apart from the others, her eyes flashing with resentment as she prepared to depart.
"Why her?" Lady Dara demanded, her voice tinged with bitterness. "What makes her so special?"
The king's gaze remained fixed on Isabella, his expression unreadable. "Enough, Dara. Just go," he said.
With a frustrated huff, Lady Dara turned on her heel and stormed out of the bathing house, her anger simmering beneath the surface. As the door closed behind her, a tense silence descended upon the room, punctuated only by the sound of Isabella's ragged breaths as she clung to the king, lost in the aftermath of the peak of her pleasure.
As the king commanded Isabella to look at him, she obediently turned her gaze towards him, her face flushed with desire and her eyes shimmering with the remnants of pleasure. With a tender smile, the king gently caressed her face, his touch sending shivers down her spine as he made his request.
"Please me with your mouth," he murmured, his voice low and husky. Isabella hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
Sensing her hesitation, the king's smile widened. "Do you know how to do it?" he asked, his tone teasing yet encouraging. "You've seen the other girls do it, haven't you?"
With a gentle yet firm touch, the king guided a couple of his fingers into Isabella's mouth, watching intently as she obediently sucked on them. Satisfied with her response, he gently nudged her head towards his cock, a silent command for her to fulfill his desires.
As Isabella began to suck his cock lavished the king with pleasure, her ministrations eliciting a chorus of praise and degradation from his lips, she found herself immersed in the vulgar act she was performing. At first, the idea felt jarring, immoral and wrong, but as she continued, a sense of exhilaration coursed through her veins, giving her some sort of pleasure as well.
With each passing moment, Isabella's fervor grew, her determination to please the king unwavering as she moved her head fervorously and licked, sucked and stroked his cock. The king's moans and grunts of pleasure spurred her on, making her feel powerful as she worked tirelessly to satisfy him with her mouth.
Meanwhile, the king found himself consumed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure, his senses ablaze with the intensity of the moment. He wondered many times how good her mouth would feel on his cock, but that was even better. As his climax approached, he seized Isabella's head with one hand, his grip firm as he guided her movements, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He took his cock out of her mouth with his free hand and began to jerk it himselfWith a final, powerful stroke, the king reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his release washing over him in a torrent of sensation. As he came and spilled himself all over Isabella's face, his pleasure mingled with a sense of possessiveness, his grip on her hair a silent declaration of ownership in the heat of the moment.
As the king caught his breath, a satisfied smile graced his lips as he admired Isabella's flushed visage. "Perhaps I should've kept your father alive just so he could witness the obedient whore I made out of his precious daughter," he remarked, his tone tinged with arrogance.
But Isabella, still with semen dripping down her face, refused to yield to his taunts, her defiance burning brightly in her eyes. "I am no whore," she countered, her voice laced with defiance.
The king's smile widened, his amusement evident. "Oh, you’re right, Isabella," he insisted, his tone dripping with superiority. "You're not a whore. You’re my whore. My sweet little whore. Just like all the others behind that door."
Isabella's defiance only grew stronger as she challenged his assertion. "If I'm just like the others, then why am I the only one whose cunt you graced with your seed, your Majesty?" she shot back, her voice tinged with defiance.
In response, the king's grip on her hair tightened, a warning of the consequences of her defiance. "Watch your tone, girl" he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
Caught between defiance and surrender, Isabella's face betrayed a complex mix of emotions, her resolve warring with an undeniable sense of survival. The king found the juxtaposition intoxicating. He pushed her head to the side and rose from the bathtub in silence.
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