He smirked. The expression, the small, knowing, satisfied smirk of a being who had just earned a system reward for fucking his rival's mother, was there.
He slapped the queen's ass. His hand, large and pale, the palm flat, came down. The thick, royal cheek, the heavy flesh, was hit. The sound, the sharp, meaty, resonant clap of flesh on flesh, echoed.
PAAAH!
The ass, the thick flesh, jiggled. The cheeks, the heavy, royal mounds, rippled under the impact.
"Queen," he said. His voice was calm. Conversational. The tone of a man giving instructions while mid-coitus. "Come on. Tighten. Milk my cock faster. I need to leave. Your body would decide the fate of your Purple Kingdom."
The words, the political, transactional, imperial words delivered while his cock was twelve inches deep in the queen's pussy, were there. The fate of the kingdom, the policy, the political decision — all of it, tied to how well the queen fucked.
