Literotic asexstories – Jocasta’s Stone by Arist0tle,Arist0tle The following is a spin on the most infamous incest tale of all. I would love feedback, and I hope you enjoy it.
Jocasta’s Stone
“The curse was a foul punishment dispensed by the Gods in lieu of fate. And though it cost the King his life, none ultimately suffered more than Her Majesty.”
The fall of Thebes, as spectacular as it was, can be condensed into one sinister truth: corruption is seductive. It can claw into the purest of hearts, shroud itself in chaos, and embed within our dormant desires. As it manifests, it infects those closest to us, leaching all good and virtue and leaving the depraved husks of its unfortunate victims with nothing to guide them but their broken moral compasses. It is humanity’s greatest weakness.
When Laius seized the crown from the same duplicitous uncles who had usurped his father, his heart was already enveloped with an anger and lust for power befitting of his royal lineage. To quell the kingdom’s unrest and improve his public perception, he swiftly arranged to marry the beautiful daughter of a prominent and distinguished nobleman. News of their nuptials circulated like wildfire, supplanting the negative gossip as travelers from all walks of life arrived to partake in the ceremonial festivities. On the day of the wedding, the streets swelled with civilians hoping to catch a glimpse of their new Queen. Those in attendance who did manage to see her grace the steps of the citadel were not disappointed.
The girl was ravishingly gorgeous. As she waved gracefully, draped in the finest midnight purple tunic, long raven hair running back over her elegant shoulders, few would have guessed that she was hardly 18. The gown did an excellent job molding to her figure, accentuating the flare of her hips and swell of her ample bosom. King Laius beamed, unable to restrain his self-satisfaction. He had plucked the child from relative obscurity and turned her into a queen. His queen. A figure for the crowd to adore, the men to desire, and the women to admire. She was a perfect fit, a modern Aphrodite. And best of all, she would forever be indebted to him.
The cocky king could not wait for the formalities to end, so he could seal their union. Little did he know that beyond the fair skin, long eyelashes, and sparkling emerald eyes of the young bride, imbued a fragile innocence that, if squandered, would provoke the heavens.
Jocasta’s heart beat rapidly. She tried hard not to concentrate on the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, or the anxious trembling of her knees, as she surveyed the massive assembly. The cacophonous cheering amplified into a deafening roar. Closing her eyes to stop the dizziness and regain some composure, she inhaled the warm summer air, catching the sweet scent of her own flowery perfume. Someone squeezed her hand, which startled her. Glancing up and meeting her husband’s gaze, she was comforted to see him grinning proudly. Allowing her shoulders to relax, and their fingers to intertwine, she returned his smile. It was all still so strange. Her whole life had been upended in a matter of weeks. With no warning, she had been plucked from relative obscurity, handed the keys to the kingdom along with a stranger with whom she was to spend the rest of her life. Though she saw it as a blessing, and genuinely wanted to help her people, she could not avoid feeling utterly unprepared. It had never been her dream to be Queen, and part of her wished she was not. She scolded herself for not trusting the Gods. This was their gift and she had to accept it.
The King’s eyes lingered on her. Jocasta pretended not to notice. She was inclined to reserve judgment for the time being. This was just the beginning to their marriage after all. He would have plenty of time to grow on her.
That night, the sovereigns consecrated their vows in the privacy of the royal chambers. While Laius slumbered, passed out with the stench of wine heavy on his breath, Jocasta laid awake, eyes open. Threads of moonlight breached the crevices of the stone walls and painted patterns across the cold floor. The forceful wheeze of the King’s snores saturated the empty air. Jocasta shuddered as a bubble of the man’s oily seed oozed from the folds of her tender hole and trickled down her inner thighs. The sheets emitted a musky scent as they absorbed the post-coital residue. The Queen consort scooted to the dry edge of the bed, her muscles stiff, her naked skin dirty and sticky. A despairing thought ruminated in her head, “Was this how it was to be?”
The days following the celebrations were turbulent, but Jocasta refused to be overwhelmed by her new responsibilities. Her home was striking, with vast halls, massive columns, and a courtyard that stretched off to the horizon. She spent hours acclimating herself to the surroundings, exploring the lush grounds, and surveying the scores of servants as they maintained the premises. Unlike most women, she would never be expected to sew, cook, or clean, except in a supervisory capacity. Her main duties were to arbitrate civil disputes, host parties, and above all, make the King happy. Propelled by youthful ambition and a conviction to give back to the people who had embraced her as their Queen, Jocasta jumped into her work, making sure that her judgements were fair and merciful and that she was kind to everyone she met, however distasteful. She took pride in memorizing the histories of every noble family in the region and frequently reached out with invitations to the palace.
The only time her life ever felt like a chore was at night. King Laius was typically busy with his own official obligations during the day, so she rarely saw him before sundown. When they were together, Jocasta attempted to connect with him but had real difficulty breaking through. His responses were gruff, and his eyes would glaze over with impatience throughout their discussions. Jocasta tried not to take his apathy personally. She knew running a kingdom wasn’t easy and remembered the vows she had made. Still, her heart yearned for a bond beyond their poor physical relationship.
Any hopes that she could chalk up their first night together as an aberration were dashed in the subsequent days. Laius was simply not a good lover. He followed the same sloppy routine whenever they settled in for bed, and that night was like any other.
Jocasta felt the mattress sag as her husband’s prowling eyes skulked over her shoulder and the heat of his breath grazed against the back of her neck. Her eyes were closed, but that did not matter. His arm snaked around her tapered waist and pulled her close, his erection nudging angrily against her ass. She bit her lower lip in pain as he groped her breasts, pawing blindly in the dark at the tender mounds of flesh. His pudgy fingers pinched and twisted her nipples. She tried conjuring pleasurable things to mind, but the shock of the King’s fat tongue running up the nape of her neck made concentration nearly impossible. She turned, preventing him from stuffing his prick into the crack of her virgin ass.
Brushing back a mane of luscious, dark hair so that it splayed out on the sheets and away from her face, Jocasta willed herself to face Laius. The pudgy-jowled ruler roughly pushed her legs apart and mounted her. A vacant emptiness washed over her every time she submitted. She ignored the tickle of his hairy knuckles smarmily running down the curve of her toned stomach, his drunk cock roughly poking the surrounding opening of her dry pussy. The coarse irritation could get so bad that recently Jocasta was reduced to fingering herself discreetly before Laius joined her in bed.
The King was not morbidly obese, but he had a habit of gorging and drinking like a younger man. His age and sedentary lifestyle made him ill-equipped for endorsing such customs, and his protruding belly was proof of that.
Jocasta’s fine, narrow body was usually smothered underneath Laius’s big, clammy frame as he fucked her. Several times, as his chest pancaked her breasts, and his sweaty mass rubbed mercilessly against her, she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Where she hoped to find love and affection, she caught him glaring back with sordid lust, gritting his teeth with a demented smile.
She fought the repulsion and assured herself that, given time, he would be open to constructive suggestions. Whenever she attempted to mix things up, switching positions or guiding his hand, Laius would shake his head, push his lips onto hers, and possessively thrust his tongue into her mouth hard until she kissed him back. This bullying tactic did not charm her. She couldn’t help but shudder when tasting his boozy spittle; it made her cringe, knowing it was in her body. Of course, Laius never appeared to notice, and when he pulled back for air, he took her browbeaten silence as submission.
The sensation of him cumming was not horrible, especially when her vaginal walls were raw from friction. It also signaled the end of their intimacy, which caused her to relax. The King would wipe off his cock on her trimmed mound and then roll, or collapse, on the other side of the bed.
All in all, the whole act was usually over in less than 10 minutes. Shorter, if she moaned or contorted her face to look like his toxicity had triggered some secret arousal. The Queen did not like lying to her spouse, but she also recognized that the bad sex was taking a toll on her. Every evening, she drifted to sleep feeling soiled and numb, giving her jarring and ghastly dreams. She always waited till the next morning to bathe, because she did not want to offend her husband. By then, his germs were caked on her and, although she hid it well, she began to begrudge it.
It miffed her that her upbringing had romanticized such an ugly act of nature. Even the word lover felt disingenuous when recounting her experience with Laius. He showed no appreciation for her needs. She yearned to mesh with her partner, feel the peaks of slow-building orgasms, and fornicate in a way that didn’t leave her feeling so abused. Even if it wasn’t perfect, intercourse was supposed to be special. Yet every night she suffered at the ham-handed will of her King, she felt herself becoming lost.
True to purity, the sanguine girl resisted the vexation of her love life and remained optimistic that her future was bright and that her marriage could only improve over time. She immersed herself in the city’s politics and actively challenged any outdated policies she could not overturn on her own. To the residents of Thebes, no prior Queen’s selflessness or beauty had ever reigned as supreme. Her actions resulted in more freedoms, less taxes, and a higher standard of living for even the poorest of souls.
Her primary public appearances were by the side of King Laius as they attended high-class receptions and gatherings. She loved the parties except when it felt like she was being used as an enticing prop piece for her husband. Her gowns and jewelry were elegant and breathtaking, but she preferred mingling with friends to flaunting her affluence.
It was during one of these soirees where she learned some distressing news concerning her father’s health. Stricken with alarm, she urgently arranged a journey home. Her transport was nearly packed and ready when Laius heard of his wife’s plan and intervened. Jocasta pleaded with the stubborn monarch, but like all their conversations, no amount of reason would change his mind. He wanted her in the capital by his side.
For the first time since matched in wedlock, Jocasta gave into her anger, cursing the King and wallowing in her own hopelessness. She worried about what her father would think of her absence, how betrayed he would feel.
She numbed her pain with wine, raiding the King’s stash and quickly developed a reliance on the beverage, much like her husband. She resigned to spending her days in the private corridors, passing any work off to her advisors. Despite her mood, the King insisted on continuing their nightly ritual. She held back tears as he molested her body and soul with his prowling hands, flabby stomach, and ugly pecker; the only change was that the alcohol helped her sleep.
About a month after hearing the news of her ill father, the Queen was stumbling down a random passageway when she overheard a group of maids divulging the juicy details of their latest romantic endeavors. Peeking out from around the corner, she decided to keep her presence a secret.
“Simmias is so cute. We got lost in town last week and almost ended up wandering into a brothel,” giggled the first girl. “He kept trying to apologize as if I’ve never seen a pair of fucking tits, and his face got so red…”
“Simmias? What happened to Myron?” A plump, blonde girl pitched in.
“Shhhhh, don’t even say his name. That pig-headed jerk was way too controlling and selfish.”
A third, rather becoming, brunette spoke up. “Every man can be selfish. That doesn’t mean you can’t adjust his thinking. You simply have to remind him of how important you are.” The woman made a crass sexual gesture with her hand.
The whole cluster of maids cracked up, and Jocasta rolled her eyes at the insinuation.
“I’m not teasing,” continued the provocative, dark-haired servant when the snickering died down. “There’s no quicker way to a man’s head than through his penis. Men aren’t capable of denying me anything when I take charge.” She extended her fair arm to show off a thin gold bracelet. It would look tacky in comparison to any of the Queen’s regal gems, but for a commoner, it was quite extravagant.
“Well not all of us have the advantage of perfect cheekbones and… other assets.” The heavyset blonde frowned while staring at her co-worker’s perky teenage tits, projecting triumphantly through her tight, white robe.
“Nonsense. Get enough mead in him and a man will screw his own mother.” The brunette answered to the gasps of the others. The Queen, feeling like she had eavesdropped enough, slipped back to her chambers.
That night, as she lay catatonic on the bedspread with another of her husband’s loads seeping steadily from her pink canal, while her father might be dying back home, she contemplated what the brunette had said.
The idea of using sex to manipulate a man seemed immoral, and she seriously doubted Laius would magically start doing as she bid if she turned things up in bed. They had been shagging nightly for months and he was no more inclined to listen to her than when they first met.
For a moment, she entertained the naïve fantasy that he could still evolve into someone better. It was a lie, signified by the hollow feeling it left in the pit of her stomach. She was tired and depressed. The Gods were obviously not watching over her any longer. Even though it would probably lead nowhere, she was too desperate not to try something. She closed her eyes and mulled over a plan.
For the first time in weeks, Jocasta was up as the light of dawn illuminated the sky and spread across the city. Forgoing her morning drink, she opted to draft an invitation to one of her closest friends, Penelope, to join her for brunch.
Jocasta fiddled with her nails as she sat on the veranda overlooking the courtyard. It was a beautiful fall day, and the table in front of her was catered with ripe and delicious-looking fruit. When her friend arrived, they spoke cordially and dined on the exquisite display. Swallowing a bite of her apple, the youthful Queen suppressed her royal modesty and steered the conversation toward her darker desires, recounting the maids’ discussion from the day before and watching Penelope’s eyebrow arch with interest.
There was a reason she had reached out to this friend in particular. Though they had known each other for a long time, Penelope had a reputation with men that Jocasta suspected would be useful.
“So, are you asking me if it’s true?” Penelope surmised when Jocasta was done. The Queen nodded and took a cooling sip of her cider.
“Oh, you precious darling,” Penelope chuckled, placing her hand on Jocasta’s. She was only a handful of years older, yet she found the Queen’s innocence charming.
“Of course, it’s true. I don’t know how I would survive in a world where we couldn’t use sex to our advantage. Can you imagine what men do when left to their own devices?
Penelope registered the gleeful twinkle in her friend’s eyes and grinned.
“You little minx. Out with it! Why am I really here?”
When King Laius returned late that night, soused and irritable, he was incensed to discover his Queen not waiting in their chamber, as was customary. Pounding his fist and knocking a vase from its stand, sending it shattering to the ground, he turned heel and prepared to stomp through the castle in a rage. No sooner had he spun around; his attention was drawn to a silhouette in the doorway.
“Where have y…” Words clogged in his throat as Jocasta stepped out from the darkness.
The raven-haired beauty had spent hours preparing for this moment. Her ribs ached from sampling and squeezing into, what felt like, every racy outfit in the kingdom. Penelope had insisted on picking out the tightest, skimpiest pieces, which suffocated her figure, but left little to the imagination. The results were impressive. Jocasta’s body practically blossomed out of her raspberry-pink silk gown, which cut off right below the hips and cinched around her waist with a subtle black ribbon. Her boobs, jutting out in all their feminine glory, swelled and exposed a ripe amount of sun-kissed cleavage. Her glistening oiled legs rubbed together as she sauntered forward, a pair of strappy, nude sandals completing the risqué ensemble.
Her wavy locks fashioned into a messy bun with fringes that framed her face, and drew focus to her mesmerizing green eyes, which had been shaded with kohl eyeliner to give a sexy flair to her naturally long lashes. Gone was the naïve girl who had been thrust into the regal limelight. In her place was a woman. She was the Queen. And as she stared down the most powerful man in the kingdom, her determination washed away any residue of timidity keeping her back.
The silk material slipped down her slender arms. She beckoned his hands to mold her perfect tits. The warmth of her lush skin tempered the biting chill of Laius’ fingers as he caressed the heft of cushy flesh. Unable to pull his eyes away, he pinched her nipples, testing their resiliency between his calloused fingers. Jocasta leaned in, holding his wrists and slanting her neck to kiss the side of his mouth. It was a simple demonstration, but she kept her lips to his face, feeling the pointy stubble of his majesty’s day-old beard and tasting the mead on his lips. She kissed his neck and chin before opening her mouth wide and letting him jam his tongue into her oral cavity. For the first time, she heartily sucked and embraced the intrusive muscle as it wriggled deep in her throat. She slackened her jaw to give him full access and Laius hesitated, unaccustomed to such eagerness from a sexual companion. Jocasta did not waver. Ignoring the taste of stale breath and rank saliva, she pressed her full lips against his and clutched the back of his head. The fiery passion of their kisses grew, and soon her back was pushed up against a pillar while she kicked off her sandals and desperately cupped and squeezed the King’s groin through his tunic. She felt his hardness pulsing anxiously.
“Let me serve you, my King,” she whispered, dropping to her knees as if awaiting a boon.
She had never gone down on a man before. Her pussy had been violated and sullied daily, but no penis had ever passed between her proud lips.
Despite the newfound confidence blazing through her veins, her heart thundered wildly as she deftly loosened the strap around her husband’s waist. As the royal tunic opened, Laius’s excited knob sprang out and brushed the Queen’s chin. A rank, dark forest of pubic hair encircled the thick mushroom dick like a shaggy lion’s mane. It was clear the King had skipped his last few bathing sessions. A fishy odor emanated from the entire region and the dizzying aroma would have made Jocasta swoon had the pressure from a pair of weighty palms, coaxing the back of her head, not forced her forward. The inevitable salty foul taste of dirty cock being rammed several inches into her cute, unprepared mouth caused her lashes to flutter as she blinked rapidly. Before the teen bride even knew what was happening, Laius was pumping her face with his veiny prick, driving inch after inch deeper into her throat with each downward thrust. Her petite frame and spindly arms flailed and tried to regain control.
She feebly stroked the trunk of his shaft for leverage. The wrinkled skin was hot and sticky, but the faster her head bobbed back and forth, the harder it was to stay balanced. Her calves ached. She felt drool coating her chin as his girth protruded from her cheeks. Laius’s hands played with and pulled her hair, unfurling her bun so that her curls rained over her face and shoulders. She swept them back and squeezed his cock, milking out her first taste of pre-cum. Tilting her face up, she noticed the tightening vein in his forehead above his fat wobbling chin.
Laius drove forward once again burying his cock to the hilt in her throat. Fighting back the urge to gag, she didn’t dare move, her head was being kept in place by a set of thick, sausage fingers. He leered at the youthful creature beneath him, hypnotized by the contrast of her supple and unblemished skin, emboldened by the power he had over her. The veins in his neck jutted out as he grunted like a deranged animal and Jocasta felt the root in her mouth expand.
His balls contracted and began pumping a furious load of hot jism into her stomach. A few spurts of his man-seed and tears streamed from her eyes. She felt like a blubbering mess, a whore with a belly full of cum sloshing around like a thirsty bitch.
Laius’ grip slackened and finally released her. He sighed and stumbled back to their bed, spent and ready to snore the rest of the night away. Jocasta sagged on her hands and knees over the tiles of the floor, nearly retching. Her tits cast a sensual shadow beneath her pink form. She knew it would take more than a single blow job to sway the inflexible King. The more she exhausted him the more vulnerable he would become.
Lifting herself with surprising elegance and shedding the rest of her outfit, she walked across the room, blowing out some candles, flushed her mouth with a swig of wine, and turned to bed.
It was going to be a long night, she thought crawling over the idle body of the bloated King. Her hands slid through the hair of his doughy torso as she straddled him. She undulated her pelvis and wiggled her tight ass grinding it against his crotch. Laius raised his eyebrows, but his flaccid cock was still. Leaning forward, she pushed her supple lips to his and French kissed while his arms wrapped around her back, meshing their bodies together. The minutes passed. Their bodies entangled in a heavy heat.
“Mmmmmm, don’t make me beg for that cock of yours,” Jocasta praised. Her hand guided his semi-erect penis over the mouth of her pussy.
“Ungh, anything for you, my dear.” Laius watched as the naked black-haired stunner arched her back before thrusting forward and impaling herself on his manhood. His palms fastened to her glowing ass.
“You are the King. The one and only. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to show you how much I care.” The walls of her pussy clamped down and milked him.
The King’s eyes shone with the glory of his conquest. “I knew it was only a matter of time… most girls… need time to break in,” he puffed.
Jocasta threw back her head so Laius would not catch her massive eye roll. Her ass bounced and slapped his thighs. She rubbed her clit. Talking seemed to excite him more.
“Oh, Yes… harder… so big!” she spouted between Laius’s groans.
“I wish you could be inside me all the time.” Her muscles burned as she ratcheted up the pace, expending an enormous amount of adolescent energy bucking and driving her lover’s twitching cock into her tiny snatch. Laius’s limbs dangled lifelessly as he marveled at the pretty face of his spirited partner. He had never wanted anyone more than her. It was more than innocent desire. Her body was made for him. A beautiful pixie with portly boobs, raspberry tits, and a hungry hole to store all his loads.
His balls contracted again, as he imagined her flat stomach swelling with life. She would produce him the finest heir. He smiled as she bent to kiss him. The ejaculate from his climax exploded and doused her cunt. Jocasta continued to pepper her husband’s face with kisses and compliments until his mind clouded and he lost consciousness.
Twice more throughout the night, the king awoke to Jocasta stroking his cock, ready for another round of hot sex. Her insatiable appetite overwhelmed him, and as she writhed beneath him spread eagle, their banter became dirtier and more obscene.
“FuuuuCK Me! Give me that COCK! AHH!” her piercing scream echoed into the darkness.
The next morning Laius awoke to the warm sensation of his wife’s mouth clamped around the crown of his dick. Their soiled bedding was still damp from, and smelled heavily of, musk. The sheets were strewn to the floor. Jocasta looked at him with doe eyes, specks of dried jizz matted in her hair. She finished her breakfast with a lecherous smack of her lips. She winked before scampering off to bathe.
Though exhausted, breasts swollen, back hurting, knees scuffed and eyes bleary, Jocasta felt from the bottom of her heart that the night had been a success. There was no way the king could refuse her now, and their relationship was probably stronger for it.
She was nonetheless disappointed when the King returned that evening and immediately dropped his pants expectantly. She tried not to focus on the shriveled member.
“I was thinking…,” she said in an innocent whisper, “this week would be a great time for me to visit my family for a couple days.”
Laius’s thick eyebrows knotted, and he looked stern. Jocasta rushed close to him and kneeled. “I’d be so grateful, and it would make me so happy,” she said, biting her lip and giving him a sultry look.
The king pondered her suggestion. “We can speak of it tomorrow.” He thrust out his pelvis. His cock bobbled, signaling that the discussion was over. Jocasta bit her tongue. Penelope had warned her that some men take time to wear down.
That evening went much like the last. She did everything she could think of to pleasure her husband, ignoring how disgusting it made her feel. She realized the more she shut off her mind, the easier the chore became. Although she was sore, she clung to Laius till he couldn’t ejaculate more than a mere few drops.
The next day she brought up her family again to no avail. By the fifth day of constant sex, she was practically a night owl, sleeping through the day to recover. She was becoming an expert on the King’s kinks, but it was evident that he had no intention of honoring her request. So, after scrawling a bitter letter home, she decided she would give up and stop trying. She was trapped in his castle.
Laius did not respond well to the Queen’s change in attitude. He had tasted the illicit fruit of what she was capable of, and when her enthusiasm waned, he became less gentle.
“You’re… hurting… me,” Jocasta squealed as the cruel barbarian took her from behind, jerking her arms back, and plowing her like a ragdoll. Her tits sprang buoyantly, smacking against one another as she was violently defiled. He spanked her like a child. The assault was painful and humiliating. She had awoken a monster, a pompous ogre with the same callous convictions of conceited old men that deemed women as property and assumed their base desire was to be subjugated and used mercilessly. His gruff hand covered her mouth, muting her at the slightest sign of resistance so all she could do was blow hot steam from her nose.
“Shut up, slut! You think dressing like a courtesan wench is going to make me respect you? I am King. Be grateful. Do you know how many would kill to be in your place? Gods know I’ve been patient with your incessant whining.”
Jocasta’s knees gave out as her husband thrust his thighs against her ass. The weight of him power fucking her rattled body was too much. “You have one job and that’s to give me an heir. I want that belly bloating with offspring.”
He came, squeezing her breasts from under her like they were meant to be popped. The coarse hair of his chest left a painful itch on her back. She flailed beneath him, tears streaming down her knotted face. Her pussy was raw, and she felt a rash developing between her inner thighs.
“Please stop,” she whimpered as he fired another dose of spunk into her fragile vaginal canal.
How could she have been gullible enough to think she could tame a King’s vanity? Her plan had backfired. There was no seducing such a selfish oaf of a man.
The sexual exploitation dragged her depression down another level. The once bright and pure soul was spiraled in a whirlpool of defilement. She soured, loathing anything that reminded her of happiness. Paranoid of being judged, she developed a reputation for lashing out and firing house maidens over trivial things.
Laius, though sexually satisfied, impatiently demanded a son. It was unheard of for a King not to have an heir in waiting, especially when married to a young and fertile host.
Privately, several respected seers and priests were ushered to the capital to offer insight. Their varying degrees of wisdom on conception usually centered on a performance of ritual, prayer, and incantation, with the promise that time would gift a child. Several senior members were overzealous in their requests for the Queen to disrobe so they could examine her body in full. She shuddered as a set of cold, skeleton fingers caressed her breasts, prodded her stomach, and scrutinized her now 19-year-old vagina.
Not all meetings were so unbearable. A famed fortune teller from the West made her introduction in front of the royal sovereigns of Thebes. Unlike many of the other orators, who were mostly men looking to impress the King, this woman carried herself in high regard. Her free-flowing silver hair appeared to float behind her as she glided across the polished stone floor. Though time had scarred her with lines of age, sunken cheekbones, and a gravelly voice, there was something truly powerful within her dazzling gray-eyed glare. The chamber went silent as she raised a weathered hand in the air, addressing the court with solemn affectation.
“This house of crowns and the city it lords over are in grave jeopardy. The Gods have been forsaken, and as is their right, they have damned the progeny of King Laius to a terrible fate. One that could impact the very future of humankind.”
Whispers scattered across the room. Jocasta swore the Oracle met her eyes and shivered at the bitter detriment they reflected.
“Sire, you cannot accept the ravings of a mad woman with ominous threats!” interrupted a rival advisor who had sworn that only his elixir could help induce pregnancy.
Laius stroked his grizzled beard and squinted his beady eyes on the old Oracle.
“What tribute do you suggest we make to the Gods to win back their favor?”
The mysterious woman bowed her head.
“No offering can undo the slight that has been done. Continue your quest to produce a successor and Thebes will fall; you will perish, and the future will be thrown into chaos.”
There were gasps. A maiden swooned near the doorway. Laius sneered and bashed a fist on the bench beside him.
“Horse shit. I have no time to listen to this witch. Get her out of my sight before I have her thrown into the dungeons!”
Jocasta watched as the elderly woman was escorted out of the castle and the next consultant was whisked forward.
That night, afraid of angering the Gods, Jocasta refused to lay with her husband. Astonishingly, Laius didn’t push her. In fact, he was amenable to spend that evening sitting back and sharing a bottle of wine. They talked for a little while, looking out at the stars while she drank freely. In her inebriated state, Jocasta took solace in the idea that despite the bluster, maybe the King had taken the Oracle’s words seriously. Perhaps, he was not the brainless ghoul he pretended to be? For the first time in a long time, Jocasta genuinely smiled to herself. The concept of childbirth had frightened her as a kid. She succumbed to her dreams, relieved that she would never have to endure such trauma.
Still drunk, her eyelids opened slits in the middle of the night. She was jostled awake. The familiar slither of a cock plugging her oozing cunt. She began to drift off again, but through the fog, her mind processed what was happening, and her eyes popped open.
“What are you…” she attempted to say, but the words came out garbled.
Laius had her pinned on the bed; legs propped over his shoulders. As her eyes refused to adjust to the blurry night, she could barely make out the looming figure of her brute husband. He was plowing into her, flexing his cock and sweating over her nipples. No, that was saliva. He must have sucked them while she was sleeping. How had she not woken up? The wine.
“Y-you drugged me,” she slurred horrified.
She was too weak to even fight, let alone scramble away. Her legs limply drooped over his back, giving Laius full access to her unprotected pussy. Maybe he didn’t hear her, or maybe he was too busy lusting over her naked body, but his primal groans made her scream out.
“Shhhhhh.” He grabbed her waist and buried his throbbing cock as far as it could go.
“No-no-no-no no nooo!” Jocasta mewed, feeling his balls contract. It was too late.
Gob after gob of thick spunk coursed through his manhood, into her exposed pussy, past her cervix, completely inseminating her.
Jocasta felt the drugs taking control again as the adrenaline ebbed from her system. In the morning she woke up with a huge headache. Her knees were elevated on a pair of pillows. It took a few minutes before her brain sharpened enough to hone in on what had happened. She kicked the pillows away, knowing it was far too late to stop the sperm from making the journey to her womb. The sickness of her husband’s rape caused her to keel over and spit up some of last night’s drink into a potted plant.
Something felt truly off. Laius had spiked the wine with the elixir the snarky apothecary had presented under the guise of a childbearing cure. Her head was splitting and her throat sore. She was too numb to move. One of the servant girls discovered Jocasta slumped on the floor an hour later, unconscious and feverish. She was diagnosed with a stomach bug and remained bedridden for the better part of a week. Despite being sapped of strength and dealing with frequent nausea, it was good to have a respite from her abuser. He only came to visit her once when she was too feeble to quarrel with him, and the sight of his grotesque smugness turned her stomach.
Her recovery was gradual and dreary. The strangest part of the sickness was the recurring dreams, which left her in a sweat. Morbid and foreboding, she would be trapped in a dank cellar or deep well. The booming echo of two hearts beating in rapid conjunction deafened her dream thoughts. She was not alone, she could feel another presence in the shadows, just outside her reach. Then, outside the prison, she would see fire in the distance and know intuitively that Thebes was burning.
Even as she regained her health something ebbed. She felt… different. While studying her reflection in the outdoor pond she touched her stomach.
“No…” She bit her lip nervously. Unlike her husband, Jocasta feared that one could not defy fate without repercussion.
Her blood didn’t come that month. Nor the following week. She felt bloated and dreaded the obvious affliction.
When she informed the King that she was pregnant, his face lit up. It scared her to think what plans he had for the innocent life growing inside her.
At the same time, a drought was just starting to affect the citizens of Thebes. The rate of street crime had skyrocketed from the prior year, and those with knowledge and experience knew that without water, there would eventually be a shortage of food.
The traders and merchants from other lands saw the opportunity and tried to supplement the economy, but it was a losing battle. As Jocasta’s belly distended and boobs swelled in preparation for the burgeoning life inside her, she slowly forgot about the Oracle’s warning. It was easier to ignore the unorganized protests in the streets and enjoy being waited on hand and foot. She hardly even noticed when Laius called his militia to guard the castle.
Maybe it was the activation of her maternal hormones, but the more her body changed the happier she felt. Finally, there was more purpose in her life than being a sexual bimbo. Despite the father, she would love and raise her precious baby until it was ready to take the mantle. She rubbed her stomach fondly and daydreamed about the day she would get to hold it in her arms and kiss it on the head. She felt a connection and bond developing with every little kick.
The day of the birth quickly approached, but Laius was scarce. His fits of anger were worse than ever, but he could not take it out on her in such condition. Another set of crops had died from an uncommon summer cold rush, and he was running out of excuses. The day the baby was born was bittersweet. Seeing the bright-eyed newborn for the first time stole Jocasta’s heart. When it began to whimper, the midwife passed the heir of the kingdom into his mother’s waiting arms. She trembled, cradling the fragile infant to keep it warm, her doubts undone by the miracle of her own making. She inspected every inch of it with loving fascination. Its fingers, toes, and wisps of dark hair. She found a little birthmark on the back of its left shoulder. The flat marking resembled a star. Her star, she thought and hugged the baby tighter.
Its mouth, so slight and gentle, instinctively sought out her engorged nipple. Jocasta tensed, surprised as its tiny lips latched around her teat like a magnet. Her enlarged boobs had been rock-hard for days, protruding uncomfortably and straining her back. She couldn’t even roll over at night, for fear of accidentally squirting milk over the bed and waking up in a puddle. Her eyes widened as her son gently tugged at the dry spout triggering a sudden tingle deep in her breast. A couple drops dribbled from her nipple, and then the dam broke releasing a flash flood of warm milk. Her ducts exploded with pressure. Milk ushered forth as visceral relief washed over her. The Queen blinked to clear her vision. Under her nose, her baby suckled out the warm milk and gulped it down. As the minutes passed, the hardness of her breasts finally receded, and the calming, moist rhythm of his suckling started to make her and her child drowsy.
As her eyelids drooped, he continued to feed from her soul. Before she drifted off, she made a promise. She knew her baby was perfect. That he would grow into a strong and powerful man. A king. But not one like Laius, no. He would make a good King. She would make sure of it.
Unfortunately, Jocasta never got the chance to shape her son. For as she had gone through the stages of pregnancy, Laius had come to a realization.
He had not wanted to believe the old hag. He had callously denounced her warning for the sake of his own selfish whims. Why would the Gods punish him for wanting a son? It was preposterous… And yet the city was tearing itself apart. Tragedy followed by more disaster. His foreign allies were turning on him, his enemies growing stronger, and the people were starving.
“Thebes will fall, you will perish, and the future will be thrown into chaos.”
The old crone’s words repeatedly whispered in the back of his mind. The night his son was born a bell rang as the citizens attempted to lay siege to the castle. Laius could waver no longer. He instructed one of his personal guards to seek out the Queen, take the baby far away, and destroy it.
When Jocasta awoke, a member of the King’s guard was walking out of the room holding her crying baby.
“STOP!” she yelled and was surprised when he did.
“King’s orders, Your Highness,” he stated from the doorway. She could sense the nervousness in his voice.
“Please, that’s my son. He needs me.” The baby stopped wailing as soon as his mother spoke.
“I’m sorry,” the man said solemnly, “If I don’t take him, the King will just send someone else.”
“Where are you taking him?” Jocasta pressured.
He paused and lowered his voice. “Somewhere safe. I promise. But you must never tell him I said that.”
Jocasta froze as the implication of his words sunk in. It took everything in her not to lurch out for her son. Her mind scattered. She felt frozen and dehydrated. The guard nodded curtly and left. Jocasta chewed on her lip, debating insanity, debating death, but ultimately losing out to slumber.
**********************************************************
18 years later
Word of the King’s death ratcheted up the capital, ensuing panic of another impending power struggle. With no direct heir to claim the throne, the Queen held temporary reign over Thebes until such time as another suitor could be named. Emissaries from other lands vultured the citadel, offering riches and security in exchange for an alliance with the Greek diva.
Despite a superfluous number of generous gifts and tempting partnerships, Jocasta was in no rush to remarry or give up control of the kingdom. She relished the opportunity to lead after years with limited authority and secretly delighted in rejecting the princes that pursued her. Most were ugly, smug, and cruel with their advances. Many reminded her of Laius. They’d have had little chance wooing a common wench let alone bagging the Queen consort.
Jocasta’s subjects were rewarded for their trust in her. The Queen, blessed with supreme beauty, quickly demonstrated her ingenuity as a competent ruler who would not sacrifice her sincere and benevolent nature. By the time the winter solstice festivities rolled around, her popularity had surpassed that of the previous King.
A raucous energy spilled through the crowded banquet hall of the castle as partygoers gorged and drank to indulgence. The prosperous fall harvest had left a surplus that could satisfy the most gluttonous masses. The ruckus of a hundred conversations bounced off the walls, drowning out the band and its music.
Inclined leisurely on the armrest of her chair in the center table facing the festivities, sat Queen Jocasta. Legs crossed, with a glass of red wine tilted sophisticatedly in her left hand, she surveyed her people. The once bright adolescent turned consort then widow, looked striking in her gold belted sleek black dress. Fluffed out lustrous raven tresses framed her naturally sensual face. Time had not sullied the high cheekbones and soft, golden complexion of her royal highness. If anything, age had worked to fill out her curves, plumping her breasts and flaring the matronly hips of her natural hourglass figure. maturing her desirability and accentuating her softest features. Her specially designed outfit deviated from the formal attire customary to regal women. Opting for chic simplicity over volumes of heavy layers and excessive jewelry, her dress complemented her in all the right places, splitting down the middle so her extended cleavage dually exposed the inner half and underside of her protruding breasts. By keeping her sexuality in the limelight, Jocasta knew she held a certain leverage. Even the effect of her smoky eye makeup and wine-stained lips, highlighting her radiant smile, worked to maximize her womanly allure. Attractiveness was a rare resource, and as she cordially schmoozed with the guests, she would often catch men staring at her from across the room.
She ignored them unless they were particularly cute and caught her fancy. The side tables were lined with a comical bevy of would-be royals chomping at the bit for an uninterrupted moment with her. Outfitted in expensive robes, surrounded by a posse of personal servants, and spitting out half their food as they jabbered drunkenly, she viewed the frat of nobles with dissatisfaction.
“Who is the heavyset bearded one choking down that entire roast?”
“That would be Crotapus of House Atreus. He holds much land to our East and was on good terms with your late husband before he passed. Would you like to make his acquaintance?”
Jocasta shook her head. “Just make sure he doesn’t spoil the evening by suffocating before dessert.”
Her eyes gravitated to a group of men clustered near the end of the table. They were younger and healthier with youthful hair and charming bright smiles. Their common garb stood in contrast to the norm, which piqued her interest. Only those in elevated standing were permitted seats in such proximity. Perhaps they were distinguished warriors or foreigners.
“Oedipus and his brigade,” stated her advisor, reading her mind.
“It’s said that he defeated the Sphinx which preyed on the outskirts of the city.”
Jocasta rolled her eyes. She had never seen the monster of lore but doubted any man, especially one who was so recently a boy, could kill an immortal beast.
“Which is the so-called hero?” She scanned the handsome faces, all with chiseled jawlines and fit, lean frames.
“There, in the middle, the tall, charismatic one with dark hair.”
She discreetly eased forward, nursing her wine, and spying on the man in question. He appeared to be comfortably holding the attention of a pair of fair maidens. The tipsy ladies giggled and squirmed in their chairs, as the dashing fighter with muscular arms entertained their eyes and ears. His brown hair swept casually over his forehead, and though she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, she saw the genial outline of dimples when he grinned.
Studying his broad shoulders and pleasant face, Jocasta scolded the indecent thoughts flooding into her consciousness. He’s but a boy. Yet she indulged in fantasy for a few seconds, before finishing off her drink and tearing her eyes away. It was not the first time her pussy had acted up. She hated the feeling. Laius was dead and gone, but his stain on her soul remained. Her dependency on alcohol, cynicism of authority, and mistrust of men were all lasting consequences of their abusive relationship. But the absolute worst scar of marriage was the way he had polluted her sex drive. After years of rape, her mind and body had become so misled as to accept the perverted intimacy. Naturally, her pussy had adapted to a raunchier lifestyle. Her nerves became more sensitive to his nasty pecker, and she discovered her orgasms came quicker, the lewder her thoughts or naughtier the situation. Since he died, her nipples were hard as diamonds, and the hormonal backup made her hornier than ever. She was reduced to fingering herself twice a night or risk losing sleep, but even that did not quell the itch for long. It was as if her ovulation cycle was never-ending, turning her on at inappropriate times.
Sure enough, as the evening matured, glasses were refilled, and the division between right and wrong blurred; Jocasta found her attention gravitating toward the little party led by Oedipus. She rationalized that there was no shame in admiring the peak physical male specimen from a distance. It was only natural. She snuck a glance at one of the maidens, who had pulled their dress down so far that her tits were practically spilling out. The Queen took another swig and peered back at Oedipus.
He was looking right at her. Jocasta felt her heart double-step like a teenager. She froze, unable to swallow as her face flushed and butterflies paraded in her stomach. She was embarrassed, and suddenly aware of how hot the room was. No, not the room, her. She fidgeted and felt the growing moistness between her legs and beneath her ass. Her clit was on fire. She scooted her chair back and forced herself to her feet. Her head spun with wooziness and fog. She had imbibed too much and needed some time to recover.
All went quiet, including the band; an unintended consequence of being Queen and standing, with her cup still in hand. The enormous crowd stared expectantly.
She clenched her legs together, ovaries screaming, and tried to ad-lib a short toast.
“Um.” She searched desperately to find sensible words. Her eyes met with Oedipus’ again. “I… I hear we are hosting a champion tonight.”
Murmurs tremor throughout the hall.
“Stand, Oedipus. Make your presence known. For you are slayer of beasts, friend of Thebes, and for that you shall always be welcome anywhere in my kingdom.”
A loud cheer accompanied by more celebration followed, giving the Queen opportune time to make an exit and privately rush to her room. The moment she was alone she kicked off her heels and peeled off the constricting material.
“Fuck me,” she groaned, flouncing onto the bed so her round posterior mooned the ceiling. The remainder of her dress still tangled around one leg, but she had long since given up modesty when it came to indulging her bad habits. She wanted to cum. Shoving a hand under her tummy and between her thighs, she moaned and rubbed her aching, needy slit. Her cheek smushed against the mattress as she imagined being dominated. Two fingers… Then three. Her pussy muscles gripped against the knuckles of her probing digits, while her thumb fiddled her clit. She played out a fantasy of being kidnapped and tied up, seduced by a deranged knight with a delicious cock. She could fight and squirm, but her traitorous pussy stood no match as he held her down tightly with one hand and rolled her nipples between the fingers of the other.
Ass jutted out, she wriggled in vain, willing her fingers to move faster and deeper. Her face screwed and contorted as she visualized her assailant’s face for the first time. Her drunken brain pinged to the dinner party, toward Oedipus. Her upper lip curled, and she bared her teeth, grafting the hero to her imagination. She ignored the part of her that said it was wrong to focus on someone so juvenile, that he was closer to peasant than knight, too overcome with lust to care. She replayed the moment their eyes met. His attention had been on her, not the floozies gushing over him. His natural confidence, knowing smirk, sexy dimples… She gasped heavily as her pussy clamped and squirted over her fingers. Back muscles straining, behind rocking back and humping the air, she held the breath until her climax subsided, leaving her slumped over prone. She resolved not to return to the party and continued lazily playing and caressing herself. Combing her hair away from her face, she blushed at the mess she had made. The sheets were crumpled up into a ball and scrunched up against her privates, sopping her juices up like a mop.
She moved to kick them off the bed only to realize she was not alone in the room.
“My lady…” His voice trailed off.
Jocasta shuddered, hoping against hopes that she was experiencing an elaborate hallucination. No man was allowed into her chambers. What she was seeing could not be true. She scrambled to hug the dirty sheets to her chest, wincing as the cloth grazed her hypersensitive tits.
“I’m so sorry. When you left early, I figured you may have fallen ill, and I was afraid I’d never get to thank you for the praise you bestowed upon me. It was gracious of you and-”
“And you thought sneaking into my room past my guards was a fitting way to thank me?” Jocasta’s tone was vehement and assertive, but there was no understating the vulnerability of her position. Still hammered, naked, and lightheaded from orgasm, she momentarily entertained the concept that her demented fantasy was coming to fruition.
“I…” Oedipus’ ears turned red. “I definitely did not intend to offend Your Majesty or invade your privacy.” His eyes remained on the floor modestly.
Jocasta deliberated her options. She was beyond mortified. The brashness of this boy to intrude upon a Queen. How much had he witnessed? Her heart palpitated in panic. If he told his companions, how soon before they gabbed to everyone about the slutty whore who reigned over Thebes? Her reputation would be tarnished.
“How old are you?”
“Almost 19.”
Keeping her eyes on him to make sure he didn’t peek, she slid off the bed and wrapped the white sheet around her like a towel. She considered calling the guards, but that would lead to more spectators. Besides, if anyone were to blame, it was probably her own security for lapsing and letting a teenager skip past. The cold, damp fabric glued itself to her belly as she walked up to the trespasser. The scent of her womanly sap fogged the air. He stood half a foot taller than her even with his head bowed. Bare arms, thicker than her thighs and defined with rigid muscle, remained tucked to his sides. Youthful, shaggy locks shrouded his face. A frazzled hemp rope knotted his sleeveless tunic by the waist. It was clearly tied by an amateur, which for some inexplicable reason annoyed Jocasta and tempted her to adjust it.
“Tell me truthfully. They say you are a champion, a beast slayer. I have my doubts.” She wrinkled her nose with disdain. “I see no wounds of combat, no scars to speak.”
“I did not fight the Sphinx.” Oedipus cleared his throat and looked up for the first time, acknowledging the radiant Queen who stood less than a pace away. His dark, emerald eyes could see she welcomed having her skepticism confirmed; her pretentious smirk disqualifying his worth as a person.
“The only way to conquer it was to solve its riddle. Once I did that, it killed itself,” he added.
Jocasta’s eyes narrowed. “A riddle.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I am the Queen. You will address me as such.” Jocasta said, perturbed she had overlooked correcting him earlier.
“Forgive me.” Oedipus registered the impatience in her voice, “You just seem young for a Queen.”
Jocasta scoffed but had to squeeze her legs to stop her throbbing clit from making her wet herself. How could she accept flattery from someone of such standing? She rejected men of higher class daily. She had to stop staring at his arms. The fuzzy sensation of wanting to be touched and filled was returning with a vengeance. She needed to be alone before her mind clouded further.
“Go now. Forget what you’ve seen. This never happened,” she issued the dismissal abruptly, but Oedipus did not move.
“I shall not speak of what I’ve seen, but I cannot lie; I will not forget. Seeing you… You are beyond the beauty of which people speak. I am at a loss. I pity the men who see you each day. They must be ruined, their wives an afterthought. My Queen, fuck the Sphinx… I would take down a dragon for you. Even just for a kiss.”
“Excuse me?” Jocasta’s lips went dry as the butterflies in her stomach plunged south to tickle her drooling cunt. Her clit thrummed in rhythm with her heart. The more he talked, the less steady her knees felt. She snuck a glance downward and pictured the boy’s manhood growing hard as steel while spying on her. How long had his turgid pink snake remained erect, camouflaged by the folds of his garb? She took a small step closer. It was probably big, but how big? She wondered salaciously.
Tilting her chin back up, Oedipus’ nose was now an inch away from hers. She gasped as his hands clamped to the sides of her face and he pressed his mouth to hers. Her thoughts sputtered and her mind went blank, all problems vanishing into the ether: the bruises of a terrible marriage, the strains of running a kingdom, the weight of losing a son. All she knew was the softness of his lips, which parted instinctively to welcome her tongue. He was no beginner. The smoldering smacking of their hot kisses was the only sound in the room. Bathed in the balmy glow of candlelight, her face flushed as the heat intensified. She licked the roof of his mouth as his delicious tongue slid against her inner cheeks. Her eyelids hovered and then shut, forfeiting her grip on the sheets that segregated them.
Jocasta was putty in his hands. Blame the hour, the drink, the circumstance, but her resistance was torched. Her palms braced the back of his head, enjoying the feel of thick, bountiful hair under her fingertips. When she came up for air, his mouth continued its journey down her neck. Jocasta moaned as his lips persisted to plant kisses against her caramelized olive skin. She breathed a command into his ear, and Oedipus’ hands fastened onto the heavenly globes of her chest. His fingers melted her tender skin, as he squeezed.
The Queen had endured countless nights with only her hand to service her perversions. She desperately needed this. Her vagina ached for meat. While he fondled her boobs, her svelte fingers made short work of his belt knot. Oedipus begrudgingly released her tits to remove his tunic.
Jocasta knew it was impolite to comment on the size of a man’s package for fear of offending his ego. She understood it to be the secret reason sculptors cast their male statues with tiny cocks. Turning toward the bed, she strolled over leisurely, trusting the lure of her feminine curves and posh posterior to entice Oedipus further into her web. She deliberately waited for the muffled thud of his clothes hitting the floor, before looking back.
The boy stood naked, unabashedly presenting the lean body of a warrior. His muscled abdomen would have been enough to salivate over if Jocasta had not been so distracted by the rock-hard erection swaying between his legs. It was so much larger than the half-chub the King had fucked her with. Her mind grappled with the possibilities. Oh, the damage it could do and the places it could reach, she speculated. Her pussy was a furnace of arousal. She squeezed the bedpost to stop her ovaries from bursting and beckoned him forward.
His brawny body dwarfed hers. She was no longer in her thirties; she was sixteen again, alone with her crush, soliciting him to take her before anyone caught them.
“It’s one thing to possess such a weapon, it’s another to be proficient with it,” she said, unable to pry her eyes off the dense rod of flesh. It twitched and expanded another centimeter. Unable to tolerate it any longer, her hand shot out and grasped the trunk of his shaft.
Oedipus moaned, his balls contracting as she stroked his penis. He had witnessed her enamored expression on girls before but had never been at risk of losing control so early. There was something special about this queen, beyond looking like a goddess. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was intoxicated with her. And, as much as she fancied his cock, watching her full breasts bobble made him hunger with lust.
Jocasta released the smooth sword. It was the first dick she had touched since Laius died and technically that was a sin. Royalty was beholden to their matrimonial vows, even if widowed, until remarriage. Her dignity would be called into question if anyone suspected infidelity, but she was too turned on to resist. She wiped the sweat from her brow. The aroma emitting from her hand radiated masculinity. Her soul succumbed to his virile energy. It was what every woman desired.
Stretching out on the bed, she splayed out her legs for Oedipus. Any remaining reservations were quashed by the gentle touch of sweet hands securing her thighs and dragging her ass up to the edge. After years of following the rules, she deserved to be happy. She had earned a night without responsibilities. A night of indulgence. She needed to be taken across that line and confidently fucked senseless by a benevolent stranger.
“What are you waiting for?” Jocasta sounded off. Oedipus appeared transfixed by her gleaming slit. The tip of his rigid cock loomed over the thin gash, hips bowed and ready to thrust. Jocasta nudged his side with her foot.
His eyes broke from her womanhood and he smiled apologetically. Then, with a swift and spirited thrust, he propelled his lance past the squishy gates of her labia deep into the trench of her inner cathedral. Jocasta’s head snapped up and her hands clenched into fists as she grappled with the sudden fullness. This was not what she remembered. His cock impaled her with no resistance, like a hot knife slicing through butter. Yet now that it was planted in her, it felt stuck. Shuddering, her body reacted with the turmoil normally reserved for an allergic reaction. Her nipples popped out to their fullest, skin set aflame, and her pussy locked to the entrenched unit, as it twitched restlessly within her.
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