The king is a breast man.
I look down at my own chest, which is currently wrapped in gold silk. It looks more like a toga than a dress, the strip of fabric clasped together at each shoulder and then cascading down, belted with gold loops at the waist. Gold is all I wear or touch or see.
Every single plant in this atrium that used to be fertile and green is now lifeless and metallic. The entire room, other than the clear glass of the windows, is gold. Just like the golden bedding the king is fucking on right now, gold flakes peppered into the wood grain of the bed frame. The gold marble of the floor, darker veins burnished into it like frozen, silty streams. Gold doorknobs, gleaming vines creeping up gilded walls, metallic columns holding up all the wealth as they reach for the archways.
Gold is a big theme here in King Midas’s Highbell Castle.
Gold floors. Gold window frames. Rugs, paintings, tapestries, cushions, clothing, dishes, knights’ armor, hell, even the pet bird is frozen in lifeless shine. As far as the eye can see, everything is gold, gold, gold, including the entire infrastructure of the palace itself. Every stone and rung and pillar.
The exterior of the castle must be glaring when the sun hits it. Luckily for everyone who lives outside of the palace, I don’t think the sun has actually ever come out to shine on it. If it’s not snowing, it’s sleeting, and if it’s not doing either, there’s usually a blizzard on the way.
The bell here always tolls with a warning when there’s a blizzard coming, warning people to stay indoors. And that enormous bell in the tower that sits at the highest point of the castle? Yep, that’s solid gold too. And damn, is it loud.
I hate it. Its peals are noisier than a hail storm on a glass ceiling, but with a name like Highbell Castle, I guess not having an annoying bell would be blasphemy.
I’ve heard that people can hear it ringing from miles and miles away. So with the loud bell and the dazzling gold, Highbell Castle is a bit garish from its spot perched on the side of this snow-covered, rocky mountain. King Midas doesn’t believe in subtlety. He flaunts his renowned power, and the people either bow in wonder or hunger in envy of it.
I walk over to the edge of my cage to pour myself more wine, only to find that the pitcher is empty. I frown down at it as I try to ignore the squeals and male grunts going on behind me. A different saddle—Polly—is getting ridden by the king now, her sex noises grating on me like an aching tooth scraped over ice, while jealousy cringes inside my chest.
I really wish I had more wine.
Instead, I snatch up the grapes on my cheese and fruit platter and stuff them in my mouth. Maybe they’ll ferment in my stomach, and I can get a little quasi-drunk from it? A girl can hope.
Stuffing in another mouthful for good luck, I walk back to the corner and settle down on the plush gold pillows on the floor. With one ankle crossed over the other, I watch the writhing bodies as they put on their lovely performance for the king.
Three of the saddles are new, so I don’t know their names yet. The new male is standing up on the mattress, totally naked, and great Divine, he is pretty. His body is molded to perfection. I can see why the king chose him, because with those chiseled abs and effeminate face, he’s very nice to look at. It’s clear that when he isn’t servicing Midas, he’s working out to sculpt his each and every muscle.
Right now, he has his forearms braced on the top beam of the four poster bed frame, and a female saddle is perched on it like a squirrel on a branch, her legs spread wide as he eats her out. Their balance and showmanship can’t be ignored.
The third newbie is on her knees in front of the male, sucking his length like poison from a snake bite. And...wow, she’s really good at that. Now I know why she was chosen. I tilt my head, taking mental notes. You never know when something like this can come in handy.
“Your cunt is boring me,” Midas suddenly says, making Polly quickly get out from under him. He spanks the boob girl in front of him. “You’re up. I want your ass.”
“Of course, my king,” she purrs before spinning around and dropping onto her knees, her ass high in the air. He plunges into her with the slick juices of Polly still on his cock, and the woman gives off a moan.
“Faker,” I mumble under my breath. No way that felt good.
Not that I would know firsthand. I’ve never been breached down there, thank Divine.
The sounds in the room intensify when a couple of the saddles orgasm—either faking it or real—and the king slams harshly into his female before finally spilling his seed with a grunt.
Hopefully, he’ll be well and truly done this time, because I’m tired and I’m out of wine.
No sooner does the woman collapse beneath him than he smacks her on the ass again, this time in dismissal. “All of you can go back to the harem wing. I’m done with you for the night.”
His words interrupt the rest of the saddles, cutting short their own releases. The male is still rocking his erection, but none of them complain or pout or ignore his command. To do so would be pure stupidity.
They all quickly disentangle themselves from each other and walk out naked in a single file line, some thighs still wet and sticky. It’s been a long night.
I wonder if the saddles will finish things off themselves in the harem wing. I wouldn’t know, because I’m not allowed in there, so I don’t know
