Elizabeth loved the feel of Hosni’s jewel pouch. A tender warmth, a comforting give, an interesting texture. The jut of his penis was another story. She wasn’t sure she’d want to touch it, to say nothing of kissing it or feeling it inside her, as she knew would happen one day, but not today, and probably not tomorrow.

She also loved the feel of Hosni’s hand, gentle on her head. She thought of the paw of a big dog, or a bear, a beloved bear, one that might growl but would never harm her, even as the big paw drew her gently, slowly towards the jutting penis.

The little slit was much too narrow, even for the tip of her tongue, but the penis head wasn’t too big for her mouth. It was surprisingly soft, and had a pleasant warmth to it. What’s more, she could feel it move—little jerks like the twitch of a dog’s tail.

The spurting surprised her. She would have pulled away, if only by reflex, but Hosni’s hand kept her head there, and she didn’t mind. She wondered how long the jolts would continue and how much stuff there would be and whether it would be rude to let it flow out, because her mouth was filled nearly to overflowing, but then the jolts abated and the penis dwindled and departed, leaving the eggy cream behind. It didn’t taste bad. It didn’t taste much of anything. It took her three swallows to get it all down.

“Oh, my darling,” Hosni said then, and he hoisted her up and set her on his shoulders and galloped around and around the room. If he went out, she’d have to duck down so as not to bang her head on the lintel, but she knew he wouldn’t go out—he didn’t have any clothes on. And she was right. He galloped round and round, and she hugged her legs tight about his neck. She hugged him tighter still, because the bouncing was making her feel trembly and tingly just beneath her bush, where that silly bump was, and her nipples started to feel that way too, so she put her hands over his eyes, just to see if he would stop or run into anything.

He stopped, but she couldn’t stop. She kept squeezing her legs and pushing forward and clenching until suddenly the clench took over as if her body had a mind of its own. “Oh, Hosni-boy,” she whispered, once she had breath enough, and the word echoed in the hall like desert wind. “Oh, Hosni-boy, ride me more.”

But it was he who mounted her, having laid her gently on the stone floor, and his penis, stiff and big again, penetrated the moistened slit of her sex like a bear’s nose burrowing into the hollow of an old tree after the beehive hidden there, and oh, did those bees buzz, and oh, did that honey flow. Hosni grunted with each thrust, and Elizabeth grunted, too, and her body jerked and jerked again, a series of sharp convulsions, her cunt caught in an uncontrollable fit of violent hiccupping, and it didn’t stop, and she didn’t want it to stop, not ever.

Then Hosni did stop, but he had her pressed hard against the stone, and his penis was still deep in her—she could feel it expanding—and then she felt the burst of it, and she knew she was being flooded with the same slippery stuff she’d swallowed earlier, and her cunt gulped greedily, wanting it, wanting more and more of it, sucking the sweet spew into the churning heat of her deliriously wanton womb.

Some time later, Elizabeth awoke. Her bottom was chilled, her breasts were sore, and there was sticky stuff between her thighs. She tried to remember what happened, but she couldn’t. These days it was so hard to keep anything in one’s head; things slipped away like water through sand. One of the servants came, bundled her into a purple robe, and carried her to bed.

“I think my horsie might have run away,” she told him. “My beautiful Arabian steed.”

“Yes, your majesty.”