Back from the dead guys. Guest what this part is about.
Let me give you a clue: is the throne big enough to handle two grown men? I say it is.
Someday, I swear, I will get to the parts I actually planned, some that won’t make me want to crawl in a dark hole and never come out.
A room this big shouldn't be this empty.
Connor understand that Washin- the king deserves to house his throne in a room worthy of his magnificence, but he feels that said room would be better used for official meetings and royal proclamations, not to host his enem- prizes. From what he was told, Haytham and he are to stay here, at Wash- King Washington's disposal. He wants them available, for him and only him, at all times.
What he wants them available for is very clear. Connor wouldn't dream of disobeying his master, but he can't say he's comfortable with the idea. He's inexperienced in such matters, and Haytham, in addition to being despicable, is his own father.
He guesses even the kindest and wisest of masters can't afford to give pleasant punishment. It wouldn't be penance in that case.
He's interrupted in his reflections by the gener- the king, who summons him to his side.
It is the first time he sees his father since he finally accepted the truth. While they were... re-educated, they were kept apart. They only met once during that period: when the king brought Haytham to him to demonstrate the extent of his might and... mercifulness.
Now, who would believe his reactions at that? Even he can't comprehend his horror, disgust and despair. He only knows that he was wrong about everything, and that tonight is but one step in the right direction if he wants to make amends.
Without being asked, he kneels in front of the throne, beside Haytham. He knows from the heat kindling in the king's gaze that he made the right choice.
Connor can't say how long they all stayed that way, the king's intent stare almost like a lover's touch as Haytham and he hold position.
The silence breaks when the king motions for Connor to join him. Tension the wait had mostly taken care of comes rushing back to him as he readies himself for what he knows is coming. It's nothing more than he deserves, and more, it will please his master.
Just because the throne is dwarfed by the vastness of the room doesn't mean it's small. From up close, it is almost as imposing as the man sitting on it.
Connor settles on his ruler's lap as best as he can, straddling him, knees caught between King Washington's powerful thighs and the arms of the throne. The position is almost unsettlingly intimate to him, who mostly shied away from human contact, but this too fades when a hand tilts his chin up and leads him to his first kiss. Instantly, a feeling of rightness overwhelms him. This is what he's for. Without thinking, he opens his lips to let his partn- his master takes everything he wants from him.
The hand shifts to the back of his head, caressing the nape tenderly, soothing him, as he's coerced, oh so gently, into more kisses, more daring touches. He shivers but does not flinch when the shirt he's wearing is opened and removed, when the king's hands discover more of him than anyone else as they travel across his chest. A surprised moan is teased out of him by the clever hands that found his nipples. He blushes and hides his face in the crook of the king's neck, startled at such a sound coming out of him. The chuckles he can hear close to his ear don't help to alleviate the inadequacy and shame he's feeling. Neither does the knowledge that Haytham is watching, a silent but unforgettable presence at his back. Still, one does what one must do.
Filled with renewed resolve, he dares to lay a hand on the king's erection. The king hisses but pushes his hand away after a few seconds. Before Connor can worry about what he did wrong, he's being thoroughly kissed and the touches that were teasing but a few moments ago turn frenzied.
The flimsy fabric of the clothes he was given rips easily when the king pulls at it, but Connor still has to rise to remove the shambles of his pants. He's never felt as exposed as he does now, naked and captive with his father at his back and his ruler staring at him, stroking himself to the sight of him.
He climbs back on the throne and tries to relax when a slick finger immediately finds his way inside of him. It hurts, it's strange and unsettling, but it's expected. Connor just takes deep breathes, bites his lips and waits until the pain passes.
King Washington's other hand is on him, apparently trying to bring him to full hardness. The pleasure helps to release the tension he feels in each muscle of his body, allowing entry for another finger without much pain. He gives out small whimpers that the king seems to enjoy and tries to lean into his touch. By now, it's almost enjoyable.
The third finger is too much. He can taste the blood from the cut on his lip where he bit himself, trying to hold back the scream.
Almost as fast as the pain overcame him, the fingers reach something. This time, he can't contain the cry. He notices the king's triumphant glance before the fingers focus on that spot, quickly rendering him incoherent.
When he's loose-limbed and ready for what will come, the king asks more of him. It'll be hard, but he can do it. He repositions himself to facilitate the penetration, and, with support from guiding hands, impales himself on his master's erection.
Even if he thought he was prepared for it, it still hurts unlike anything he has known before. He wants to move, to get it over with, but the king holds him steady, forcing him to take time to adjust to that new reality.
His breath slows down as the pain diminishes. After a while, he's freed to start a rhythm. He begins slowly, using all his practised strength to hold said rhythm, taking note of what makes the king shudders or moans.
A particular thrust jostles him and reaches his prostate. He grabs King Washington's shoulders and keens softly: once again, his reactions don’t go unremarked. He's ordered to keep that angle and quicken the rhythm. He obeys, even if the order itself makes obedience much more complicated. His thighs burn with the effort of riding his master as he wishes it. Connor does what he can to ignore this and the ecstasy that every brush there creates. He uses the arms, cold and solid under his fingers, to get leverage.
The digits still cradling his now fully hard erection speed up, making him falter, and then disappear. Connor can't help but whine at the lost. As good as the king feels as he fills him, he doesn't think he'll attain orgasm without more direct stimulation. He has realised by now that his owner delights in seeing him loving what is being done to him, and so doesn't think that he will be denied a heartfelt request. He starts begging for the hand back; his demand is swiftly answered, with even more vigour than before. It's doesn't take long for him to come all over his king's hand, shouting his name.
He hasn't fulfilled his duties and he knows it. Keeping up the pace when every move causes him to whimper and trash because of overstimulation is quite the task, but he will be found worthy. He endures.
When he hears a growl of what he thinks is his name and he feels the telltale heat burst inside of him, he collapse on the king's lap. He rests his brow against the cool material of the throne, right beside King Washington's head, and let praises and endearments fly over his head, secure in his knowledge that he did all he could have done and did not disappoint. He doesn't even mind his father's presence anymore.
He does fight his lethargy to fulfill one more task: cleaning the king's soiled fingers, stained from his orgasm.
All things considered, this wasn't so terrible. Connor thinks he might grow to like serving his king in such a way.
Connor & Haytham, pleasuring the King (part 5)
Let me give you a clue: is the throne big enough to handle two grown men? I say it is.
Someday, I swear, I will get to the parts I actually planned, some that won’t make me want to crawl in a dark hole and never come out.
A room this big shouldn't be this empty.
Connor understand that Washin- the king deserves to house his throne in a room worthy of his magnificence, but he feels that said room would be better used for official meetings and royal proclamations, not to host his enem- prizes. From what he was told, Haytham and he are to stay here, at Wash- King Washington's disposal. He wants them available, for him and only him, at all times.
What he wants them available for is very clear. Connor wouldn't dream of disobeying his master, but he can't say he's comfortable with the idea. He's inexperienced in such matters, and Haytham, in addition to being despicable, is his own father.
He guesses even the kindest and wisest of masters can't afford to give pleasant punishment. It wouldn't be penance in that case.
He's interrupted in his reflections by the gener- the king, who summons him to his side.
It is the first time he sees his father since he finally accepted the truth. While they were... re-educated, they were kept apart. They only met once during that period: when the king brought Haytham to him to demonstrate the extent of his might and... mercifulness.
Now, who would believe his reactions at that? Even he can't comprehend his horror, disgust and despair. He only knows that he was wrong about everything, and that tonight is but one step in the right direction if he wants to make amends.
Without being asked, he kneels in front of the throne, beside Haytham. He knows from the heat kindling in the king's gaze that he made the right choice.
Connor can't say how long they all stayed that way, the king's intent stare almost like a lover's touch as Haytham and he hold position.
The silence breaks when the king motions for Connor to join him. Tension the wait had mostly taken care of comes rushing back to him as he readies himself for what he knows is coming. It's nothing more than he deserves, and more, it will please his master.
Just because the throne is dwarfed by the vastness of the room doesn't mean it's small. From up close, it is almost as imposing as the man sitting on it.
Connor settles on his ruler's lap as best as he can, straddling him, knees caught between King Washington's powerful thighs and the arms of the throne. The position is almost unsettlingly intimate to him, who mostly shied away from human contact, but this too fades when a hand tilts his chin up and leads him to his first kiss. Instantly, a feeling of rightness overwhelms him. This is what he's for. Without thinking, he opens his lips to let his partn- his master takes everything he wants from him.
The hand shifts to the back of his head, caressing the nape tenderly, soothing him, as he's coerced, oh so gently, into more kisses, more daring touches. He shivers but does not flinch when the shirt he's wearing is opened and removed, when the king's hands discover more of him than anyone else as they travel across his chest. A surprised moan is teased out of him by the clever hands that found his nipples. He blushes and hides his face in the crook of the king's neck, startled at such a sound coming out of him. The chuckles he can hear close to his ear don't help to alleviate the inadequacy and shame he's feeling. Neither does the knowledge that Haytham is watching, a silent but unforgettable presence at his back. Still, one does what one must do.
Filled with renewed resolve, he dares to lay a hand on the king's erection. The king hisses but pushes his hand away after a few seconds. Before Connor can worry about what he did wrong, he's being thoroughly kissed and the touches that were teasing but a few moments ago turn frenzied.
The flimsy fabric of the clothes he was given rips easily when the king pulls at it, but Connor still has to rise to remove the shambles of his pants. He's never felt as exposed as he does now, naked and captive with his father at his back and his ruler staring at him, stroking himself to the sight of him.
He climbs back on the throne and tries to relax when a slick finger immediately finds his way inside of him. It hurts, it's strange and unsettling, but it's expected. Connor just takes deep breathes, bites his lips and waits until the pain passes.
King Washington's other hand is on him, apparently trying to bring him to full hardness. The pleasure helps to release the tension he feels in each muscle of his body, allowing entry for another finger without much pain. He gives out small whimpers that the king seems to enjoy and tries to lean into his touch. By now, it's almost enjoyable.
The third finger is too much. He can taste the blood from the cut on his lip where he bit himself, trying to hold back the scream.
Almost as fast as the pain overcame him, the fingers reach something. This time, he can't contain the cry. He notices the king's triumphant glance before the fingers focus on that spot, quickly rendering him incoherent.
When he's loose-limbed and ready for what will come, the king asks more of him. It'll be hard, but he can do it. He repositions himself to facilitate the penetration, and, with support from guiding hands, impales himself on his master's erection.
Even if he thought he was prepared for it, it still hurts unlike anything he has known before. He wants to move, to get it over with, but the king holds him steady, forcing him to take time to adjust to that new reality.
His breath slows down as the pain diminishes. After a while, he's freed to start a rhythm. He begins slowly, using all his practised strength to hold said rhythm, taking note of what makes the king shudders or moans.
A particular thrust jostles him and reaches his prostate. He grabs King Washington's shoulders and keens softly: once again, his reactions don’t go unremarked. He's ordered to keep that angle and quicken the rhythm. He obeys, even if the order itself makes obedience much more complicated. His thighs burn with the effort of riding his master as he wishes it. Connor does what he can to ignore this and the ecstasy that every brush there creates. He uses the arms, cold and solid under his fingers, to get leverage.
The digits still cradling his now fully hard erection speed up, making him falter, and then disappear. Connor can't help but whine at the lost. As good as the king feels as he fills him, he doesn't think he'll attain orgasm without more direct stimulation. He has realised by now that his owner delights in seeing him loving what is being done to him, and so doesn't think that he will be denied a heartfelt request. He starts begging for the hand back; his demand is swiftly answered, with even more vigour than before. It's doesn't take long for him to come all over his king's hand, shouting his name.
He hasn't fulfilled his duties and he knows it. Keeping up the pace when every move causes him to whimper and trash because of overstimulation is quite the task, but he will be found worthy. He endures.
When he hears a growl of what he thinks is his name and he feels the telltale heat burst inside of him, he collapse on the king's lap. He rests his brow against the cool material of the throne, right beside King Washington's head, and let praises and endearments fly over his head, secure in his knowledge that he did all he could have done and did not disappoint. He doesn't even mind his father's presence anymore.
He does fight his lethargy to fulfill one more task: cleaning the king's soiled fingers, stained from his orgasm.
All things considered, this wasn't so terrible. Connor thinks he might grow to like serving his king in such a way.