She washes me in her chambers, in the great bath.
As though I'm a child she scrubs and detangles, preventing me from acting of my own accord. I must've been in the cells for weeks and now I'm in the royal chambers, being cleaned by the Witch Queen herself. It would be a victory, were this not clearly some game on her behalf. The bountifully sexy Empress of Eternity washes me in the nude, standing in the deeper part of the tub.
Her enormous motherly breasts sway and sag forwards, tear-shaped and beautifully rounded. Their nipples are large and half the length of my thumb, and about as wide around. Each is surrounded by a big areola, a wide faintly bumpy circle, a delicate shade of pink that distinguishes itself from the milky pale of her skin, softly veined with blue around her bosom.
Without her crown, her serpentine black hair falls into many long braids, all of which run lower than her hips. At the back it expands into a long section of straight hair, flowing as if alive, but all the rest is braided. Her body shows peculiar agedness, that of a woman in her forties perhaps, the way it sags and shows lines here and there. An aesthetic choice, I imagine, for a being ageless and divinely powerful.
Between her legs swings that girthy long penis, and those fat bloated balls. They weirdly suit her, but their presence is ever-unnerving, a reminder of her peculiarities. Every now and then when she turns I get a look at her heavy rounded backside, and rarer still a brief glimpse of pale pink where her by all accounts perfect vagina sits, hidden by her balls.
'Would you like to see it?' she says, catching me off-guard.
'What?'
'My cunt.' The Queen smirks. 'Would you like to see?'
'I...'
Before I manage a reply, she turns her great backside to me. The huge, fat-padded, muscular cheeks droop slightly with their weight. She could engulf my head, her arse is so plump. The Witch Queen leans forwards, then spreads her cheeks with her hands. At the top, between that erotic valley, is a pale yet darker than its surroundings butthole.
Beneath it, a half-inch down, is her neat vulva. Puffy lips spread wide by her hands, its interior is pinkish and tight, the hole difficult to miss. Glistening with water, it runs down to a hooded aperture which hides her clitoris, visible as a pink pearl from this angle. Just below that (above it?) her scrotum begins, the two giant testicles hanging low with her bend.
She looks back at me, smiling. 'Nice, isn't it? Queenly, you might say.'
'Y-eah.'
'Do you want to taste me?'
I blush. 'No.'
'Unconvincing.' She moves slowly backwards, moving up the submerged steps until her arse is above my face. 'No teeth.'
The Queen sits, and my vision goes black. Her fat arse conceals the world, the great rounded cheeks smashing my face against the edge of the great basin. All I can smell is this carnal, sensual, feminine muskiness. I salivate at the taste, at the sweet, hot fragrance. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this, but instinct is mightier than reason.
'Mhm.'
'Good boy,' the Witch Queen says. 'Taste that forbidden fruit.'
It's delicious, the way she tastes. Wrong, bad, awful, because of who she is and because her warm, heavy balls are bumping against the underside of my chin, but her pussy is salty-sweet and a touch metallic, while her juices are syrupy ambrosia. I lap at first, then trace out the folds of her womanhood, tasting the divide between skin and vulva, and then bury my tongue inside of her holiest of holes.
'Oh, my. Such a good seat.' She grinds herself against me, wobbling side to side, smearing my wet face with her dirty juices. 'You're tasting a goddess, boy. You had best swallow all of my nectar, and savour it besides.'
