Kings will demand that young girls go down.
For a female subject to the Royal Crown
Must kneel nude before him
While she fingers her wet quim
And gives him blow-jobs of regal renown.

Today but nine maidens attended King Roberts’ afternoon blowjob session. Claudia considered the odds of her getting the King’s ejaculate. One divided by nine is ... Hopeless.

In the antechamber earlier the girls had speculated and theorized about the taste and texture of the Royal Seed. One had heard it was sweet and fizzy. Another had it on good authority that the semen had a distinct mushroom flavor. “Hope not toadstool,” another joked. “Hush,” warned another. “I’m told it calls to mind nothing so much as blood.”

They agreed that a minute wasn’t nearly enough time. They agreed that the sixth or seventh interval was most likely to reap the reward. Eight had an outside shot. If not by then, whichever lucky girl remained would continue, they understood, until the end. And they knew it essential to swallow every drop. Spill and your life was lost.

But if you were the lucky one, the one who coaxed the King to coming, you’d share King’s bed that night, and should the Royal Fuck result in offspring, and should that offspring be male, a Queen for Life you’d be.

One thing for sure if it’s me, Claudia thought to herself, as she moved up a position, first thing I’d do is get plusher carpeting and change this hideous wallpaper.

Claudia in the seven spot barely got Roberts’ Royal Rod between her lips when the spew began. Lucky Day, Callooh Callay! Heartily Claudia sucked and swallowed and spilled not a drop. She beamed with unabashed pride, and it mattered not a jot that Roberts’ cum was flat.

Poem by Ashley
Illustration by Mat