The first rays of dawn painted the royal bedchamber.
Arthur Lionheart, King of Lyranth, stirred as a familiar warmth engulfed his dick, waking him up from his sleep with waves of pleasure.
"Good morning, my King," Isolde breathed before taking him deeper, her tongue working expertly along his length. The queen's crown—her crown now—glinted on the nightstand beside an overturned portrait frame.
Arthur's eyes focused on the woman who had once been his stepmother, watching her head bob eagerly between his legs. She wore nothing but the sapphire necklace Gareth had given her last winter, the gems bouncing against her full breasts with each movement.
"Eager this morning, aren't we?" Arthur's hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to take him to the base. She gagged slightly but didn't pull back, her submission absolute. "Tell me, my queen, what has you so... inspired?"
