Cockswords & Berries: a tale of kings and maidens by The Royal Scribe

 In my dream, I became suspect, then certain that I was being followed. It was late at night. The cobbles were bare. As I neared my dwell, the feeling went away. I remained still, listening, sensing. Yes, ‘twas gone, just like that. I resumed my walk toward home. I entered through Sanyam’s gate and walked toward my quarters to the side. As I touched the door, I was pulled back with frightening force, my arms were held behind me. I felt as though I wert between two walls, one of my dwell in front of me, and a solid wall of flesh behind me. An arm encircled my body, keeping me pinned, while the other ran the length of me, pulling my garments away, stopping at times to caress my exposed flesh. The sensation was maddening. My body responded and yielded to those hands. When sound finally escaped my throat, ‘twas more a gasp, a grunt of desire, than a cry for help. My captor laughed—it was a laugh of victory.
     He released my hands. His came around and under my hips, lifting me, spreading me open, and forcing me to hang onto the wall before me. He hesitated for one excruciating second, then plunged into me with such force and depth that my cry this time was one of pure, raw release: “my Lord!”
     He sheathed himself over and over again with my body, his hands directing my hips up and down onto his pulsing, thick cocksword. His fingers ran over my berry, and with his every thrust making me slick, he spread and kneaded my juices over my pebble, up and over my bunch such that I was all wetness. His gallop increased and his stretch of me widened as he buried more and more of his engorged meat into me. He spread his legs further, widening mine even more, making me feel open and consumed at the same time. My hands could barely grip the wall in front of me. I reached back and found myself holding onto his wrists, my thighs wide on his, while he filled me again and again. His thickness sliding in and out me made my hips undulate and writhe, arching and swinging back onto him in search of deeper stretching. He squeezed my hips and ground me down on him, and moved me up and down on his shaft, hard and fast until I exploded in screams and spasms around him inside me. As my muscles began to contract from my release, he pushed further into me and I could feel his every inch on my walls. We were still for a moment. Then, he resumed, ever so slightly, pushing up, up, up into me. My body responded. My hungry fench widened, granting him further access, slicking for him, expanding. I felt my muscles cede to him, wrap themselves around him and caress his hardness and suddenly, a release began deep in me that squeezed his trunk. He shifted quickly, placed my feet on the ground, and with his hands spreading the halves of my bunch open, he drove himself into me, stroke after deep stroke, pushing aside my flesh to plunge deeper, each thrust harder than the last. One hand gripped my shoulder, and the other kept my bunch open as he plunged his thick, wide shaft into me. Soon, I felt his kreem gushing into me and the wet and hard of him made me fly with a long scream of pure, utter surrender.
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