The Queening Seat

She, statuesque, lean and powerful occupies a space in my head that possess all of me. In her eyes, I am just a foot servant. For me, she is my world, my breath, my air. For her, I serve.

On her throne, her robes open, her majesty, is at her most resplendent. She sits, with her chin aloft, her nose in the air, as I crawl towards her, naked, my knees cold on her floor.

Her legs, her creamy, able, thighs open as I near. I look up. For a brief second, her eyes are cast down to me. She allows me eye contact, just for a moment.

She points, a gloved finger; she shows me where she wants me; beneath her.

Crawling, my feet dragging behind me, I find my way under her. Her gaping wetness, her smell, beckoning.

I wait.

Then, the order; “Lick”.

I begin, I savour, I devour, I taste, I breath in her delicious warmth.

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