Second part of my role reversal universe. Read the first part, be a dear and pay attention to the tags listed.
All characters are 18+.
Feedbacks are appreciated!
2. Surrender and Obedience
Elias woke up with a new resolve, sharp and feral.
He wouldn't be some plaything discarded at the end of the week. No, he craved a permanent place by the Queen's side, he craved her attention, not as a dancer, but as a man reshaped by her touch. He needed a plan and he needed to move fast, to impress her and prove himself worthy of her.
And he was going to start right away.
Of course, slumbering beside the Queen was a privilege reserved for the gods, not poor mortal dancers like him. Yet, the sheer immensity of the bed offered a sliver of solace. The night before he had positioned himself at the very edge, as far from the headboard as physically possible, his body not even brushing her feet. Despite the distance, this meager proximity sent a thrill through him. It was a start, a physical connection, however tenuous. An absurd sense of closeness bloomed in his chest. He was under the same roof, in the same bedchamber, a mere breath away from the woman who had ignited this firestorm within him. For now, it would have to suffice, it was going to be his starting point.
While the first blush of dawn crept through the drapes, the Queen continued her undisturbed slumber. He wouldn't start with grand gestures, no. He would begin subtly, etching himself into her morning routine.
With a calculated tenderness, he inched closer. He nudged her bare feet with the tip of his nose, a playful gesture that bordered on the daring. Then, lightly, he began to pepper her toes with soft, kitten licks. The touch of her skin, impossibly soft, felt warm against his rougher tongue. He traced the delicate curves of each toe, venturing between them with a barely-there pressure.
"Mmh..." a soft moan escaped his lips, barely audible.
A part of him immediately grew terrified of her disapproval, but a primal hungry voice inside of him urged him on. He continued his ministrations, his tongue now a brushstroke against the cool skin of her arch. He lingered there, swirling patterns with the wet tip of his tongue. A delicious tension coiled tighter inside him with each deliberate stroke, and with his arousal, he became more daring. His tongue abandoned the arch and dipped back between the first and second toes, creating a suction with his lips. Then it danced between her second and third toe, trying to find a hidden pressure point that would elicit some kind of reaction from his Queen, but in vain. His own breath hitched as he reached the smallest toe, the pinkie, sucking it harsher this time.
Elias continued his journey. His focus narrowed, the world dissolving into the sensation of her soft skin against his tongue. He began licking her ankles with reverence and adoration.
"What are you doing?" her voice shattered the silence of the room.
His head shot up, faster than a startled deer, his tongue withdrawing instinctively. His eyes, wide and round, met hers. She was wide awake looking at him with a hint of amusement.
His mind, momentarily scrambled by the sudden shift, stammered for a response. "I, uh," he began, his voice barely above a croak. "I just... wanted to wake you, my Queen."
Her gaze remained fixed on him, "well," she breathed, "If you want to properly wake me up you need to lick somewhere higher than that."
A challenge he couldn't ignore.
He swallowed hard, with a trembling breath, he obeyed. Abandoning the safety of her ankles, he started peppering soft kisses across the smooth skin of her calves, the thin silk of her nightgown doing little to impede his touches. He lingered at the back of her knees before climbing higher, savoring the heady perfume of her skin.
But before his tongue could venture further, her hand, strong and unforgiving, shot out and grasped him by his long ash-brown hair with a force that sent a yelp escaping his lips. He was yanked forward, his face pressed directly on her silk - covered pussy.
"I said higher," she commanded, her voice a guttural rasp laced with impatience. The raw need in her tone was a stark contrast to the composed queen he'd known.
In another swift motion, she yanked the garment upwards, underlying her needs.
"Oh!" he gasped. His eyes widened as he was so close to the raw beauty of her exposed pussy.
And then, there was the scent. Her scent. The strong musk of arousal made his head dizzy and his mouth water uncontrollably. He stared, unblinking, at her desire, laid bare and undeniable, it demanded his complete attention. A sheen of sweat formed on his forehead as he slowly inched forward and started to gently brush the outside of her folds, teasing them.
A sharp "tsk" ripped from her lips, "do you think I like it slow?" she asked, her voice dripping with a seductive sarcasm. He was about to prove himself worthy of her, and he was already failing.
"Come on, pretty boy," she drawled, the amusement in her eyes held a dangerous glint. "Are you going to be useful this morning, or are you just going to stare at my cunt all day?"
So, he shifted his tactic. Gone were the controlled exploration and the lingering soft touches, replaced by a feverish assault of hot quick licks. He used his fingers to spread her open and deepen his licks, till his tongue found her clit. His movements become frantic, each lick was a pleading touch, a fumbled attempt to please her. But the urgency felt clumsy in its desperation.
He heard her sharp exhales of frustration, a counterpoint to the frantic drumming of his own heart. Elias quickened his pace, his licks stumbling over themself, trancing a confusing path; his tongue an uncoordinated explorer, lost in a maze of heated flesh.
Another harsh "tsk" cut through the air, a sound that scraped against his already frayed nerves. Unsatisfied, frustrated, her voice held a dangerous edge when she spoke, "has Gregor taught you anything about how to eat some noble pussy?"
The movement of his tongue ceased. Panic, a cold dread, rose like bile in his throat. His mind scrambled for a coherent response, but all he could manage was a fumbled stammer.
"I-I thought..." he began, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and desperation. But the words died in his throat, choked by the weight of his inadequacy. Shame burned hot in his cheeks.
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension and humiliation. He stole a glance at her, bracing himself for a further outburst or disgust. But instead of anger, he saw something else flicker in her eyes - a flicker of the amusement that never leaved her and perhaps even a hint of pity.
"Well," she finally said, a slow, predatory smile curved her lips. "Perhaps it's time I take matters into my own hands."
