Camille, the princess of the land, the patron of the tournament, the symbol of hope, the joy of the faithful, sat upon a plush throne on the edge of a cold, dark room. The stone floor and walls stood in stark contrast to her royal grandeur.
Her golden locks cascaded down in waves onto rich furs and exquisite silks. Her radiant cheeks were stained with deep crimson and her bone-white fingers trembled as they gripped the chair. Before her, there was a kneeling man whose features were entirely concealed by the thick pleats of her dress. Faint lapping was barely audible through the layers.
However, her attention was somewhere else entirely. One of her emerald eyes was squeezed shut so that the other may peer through a hole in the adjacent wall. Through this tiny and very intentional opening, she watched a raven-haired slut sucking cock.
Though she only wore barely enough for the weather, her clothing crushed down upon her. Every breath was a herculean effort, made even harder still by her vain effort to maintain an air of dignity. Her heart felt like it was going to explode, but she barely noticed between the riveting sights beyond and the dutiful consolation between her legs.
From time to time, his rhythm fell out of sync with the facefucking in the next room, but he could not be blamed. After all, he could not see what was going on. It was up to her to reach down with a hand and apply gentle pressure until his bobbing was corrected. That stiff tongue parted those pleading lips perfectly.
Beyond, the slut began to gag and choke. She was desperately holding onto his legs to keep her throat full, even as every urge in her body begged for air. Camille's endless envy was without equal, but her unadulterated lust came far closer than anything else.
The tightness in her chest forced itself out in a whining moan. With both hands, she grasped the head and held him in place. He responded appropriately and devoured her pussy. What was once resolute and hard became the frenzied tongue of the parched. Every lash drank deep within her, painting the walls.
Through the waves of intensity, she gently tapped with her fingers, yet still held his head firmly with her palms. He slowed and withdrew, but only his tongue. His lips pressed upon hers. Sliding kisses traveled down and then up again.
Through fluttering eyelids, she returned her attention to the peephole. The princess cursed in mild irritation as she noted that the knight was gone. All that remained was the slut, lying on the floor in all of her glory, greedily sucking her fingers and enjoying his glory.
Camille closed her eyes and fought down the urge to pound on the wall. There was nothing to be done about it now. She wanted to finish to the sight of this thick spurts, but there was always later.
She absently withdrew her hands and tapped a rhythm upon her makeshift throne. Should she go again? Was there enough time? A playful possibility crossed her mind and she flashed her perfect teeth between pale lips.
"Hair, now."
In a flash, the temporary object of her desire had extricated himself from the folds of her gown. He knelt before her, face down and desperately wiping with a handkerchief before facing her. Ostensibly done, he pocketed the wet cloth and stood. Camille was more than a little aroused to see that his efforts had not been entirely successful. He fumbled for a moment, searching for his tools.
She stood up and reveled in the surprise on his face. He had expected to come around behind the chair and prepare her hair, as he always did. Such was his confusion that he did not resist as she pulled him forward and then shoved him down into the chair.
She dropped to her knees before him. He awkwardly fidgeted with his pouch of pins and needles, clearly unsure as to what he was supposed to do. Was he to address her whims from this position?
But Camille's mind was elsewhere entirely. She couldn't make out the outline of his cock. She couldn't tell if he was aroused and that vexed her. If not, then this might take entirely too long. Without another thought, she reached out and grabbed it.
Oh, this will do nicely.
With only the slightest care for her nails, she set to work with both hands, frantically searching for the opening. She completely ignored his shocked and incomprehensible babbling. After what felt like an eternity, her hands closed upon flesh. She snaked it out and held it in her hands. It was not particularly large, but that was of little concern.
She glanced up beneath the jagged shadows of her eyelashes. He was shaking.
