Liquid Gold [fantasy, femdom, cbt, prostate milking]

My former husband ruined these lands. He was a miserly, stubborn old man who let his people starve and succumb to disease for years as madness clouded the end of his reign. Most wicked of all was that he had the audacity to use his authority to force me to marry him, then to die, leaving me without an heir to retain control of the crown yet shouldering the responsibility of it.

I have done things I shouldn’t. Made deals with beings whose names couldn’t be uttered by human tongue. Entities who it would be called mad to commune with, much less bargain. The Inquisitor would see me burn for what I have done…

…if he wasn’t currently on his knees at the foot of my bed.

I have entertained many lovers in these bedchambers since my husband passed. Men who offered a young woman comfort only to act like beasts behind closed doors. Others who offered aid and guidance, at the price of letting their obese, sweaty forms gyrate between my legs. I’ve had…many lovers, yes.

It’s late. The fireplace crackles lazily as I observe tonight’s quarry. He was a fine man, perhaps even a good man, but a man all the same. He was muscular. His body was firm and bulged in all the right places – especially between his thighs. The lazy, orange light from the fireplace danced across his skin, revealing several scars across his arms and back. He was a fine man, indeed. He was also my slave.

I extend my leg and use just the tip of my toe to lift his chin towards me. He was blindfolded. His arms were bound behind his back, shackled by the wrists with heavy chains of rusted iron. I was wearing his favorite stockings and as I pressed my sole against his chest, his already-erect cock twitched. So excited was he that it smacked into his stomach.

His manhood was short, but thick. Powerful veins bulged as it throbbed with desire. I moved my toes down over his heart and raked them through the silver-grey fur that covered his belly. I can hear him stifling his groans.

The source of his discomfort was the swollen, heavy testicles that were nestled in his low-hanging balls. I can only imagine the pain he felt. I used the same foot I had been teasing him with to coax his knees apart, then stroke his inner thigh until I cradled his gemstones against the top of my toes. “My poor Inquisitor,” I said in an innocent yet sultry tone, “just a few moments and I will take good care of you. Don’t you worry.”

I press my big toe into his balls and gently massage the base of his cock. He leans back and gasps. It’s the first sexual pleasure his groin had experienced since he took his vow of chastity. So devout a man. A powerful man with a pious spirit. And such pure, virgin seed.

I can see a clear bead of precum form at the tip of his cock. The fluid swells and the drips slowly, oozing down the length of his shaft into the wild tangle that sprouts from his groin. I move my foot from where it was cradling his swollen balls and press the sole of my foot against the underside of his cock, crushing it against his pelvis as I use my toe to cover the leak. “Not until midnight!” I shout.

His chest heaves. He’s scared of me. Terrified. I don’t care. With a brandish of my fingers, the silver ring attached to the base of his cock constricts magically. His groans are enough to let me know he won’t spill his essence again. I just need to make sure, though. It’s just a few minutes to midnight – a glance out the window at the positioning of the moon lets me know – so he doesn’t have to wait long. Still, I can’t be too safe. Even if his cock is turning my most interesting shade of purple.

I stand up and begin undressing. First my gown, then my undergarments. My stockings are last and I double them, wrapping them around the Inquisitor’s neck before pulling him towards me. “Prostrate yourself,” I whisper.

He is quick to obey. Knees together, he moves to press his forehead to the floor. I step away before his face comes close to my bare feet and I can hear the most subtle sound of disappointment. It makes me smirk. Just a little.

I circle around, crouching behind the Inquisitor. My nails rake at his flank and over his bare backside. “You are familiar with torture, aren’t you? With the tools required…”

As I speak, one of my heavy bracelets uncurls and snakes off my wrist. It forms itself into the facsimile of the Inquisitor’s manhood. I let my saliva drip onto it, nothing more than a kindness, before using it to plug his asshole. He groans as, with only an utterance, it writhes within his backside. I keep my finger firm on the plug as it searches and finally presses on the spot that turns men into sissies; that makes them experiences the pleasure that their savagery inflicts on women.

His cock bulges as he grunts in meek submission. I know that I’ve given just enough life to the plug that it would continue to serve its purpose: to make sure that the Inquisitor remains turgid, whether he wants to be or not.

The final two bracelets on my wrists form together and create a silver chalice. I place it between his ankles and he holds it in place while I grab hold of his cock and position his tip at the rim of it. “It’s midnight, dear Inquisitor,” I whisper, using my free hand to flick menacingly at his swollen stones. “You will spill yourself for me. Now.”

As I speak, the silver band that had constricted the Inquisitor’s organ relaxes and snakes itself around my wrist once more. He groans as he finally experiences release and I hold his manhood firmly, feeling it throb as spurts of his cum spray into the chalice. His orgasm lasts several seconds and his muscular form trembles when it’s over.

I glance into the chalice and smile as I watch his thick, white cum slowly transmute to gold. “You still have more to give, don’t you?”

I grip firmly onto his cock and begin to stroke it. I apply pressure to the base and move my hand along the shaft. For a moment, I remember my days as a simple farmgirl, milking cows in the early hours of the morning. The Inquisitor’s hips buck again and I make sure he doesn’t spill a single drop as his load deposits into the chalice.

“Please,” he whimpers, finally breaking his silence, “no more. Please.”

I smile. It’s not comforting. If I could see myself in the mirror now, I would be terrified of what I had become. “More, dear Inquisitor,” I tease. “We have a whole hour’s worth of milking to get through.”

After the witching hour is complete, I lay on the bed, counting the small mountain of gold coins I had collected. The Inquisitor lays on the ground, trembling and sore. It is a shame to see a man so fine reduced to such a pathetic state.

“Please,” he pleads, as though sensing that I was paying attention to him. “Water. Please.”

“I have no water,” I lie, sitting on the edge of the bed and parting my thighs. “But you may drink from my breasts.”

The Inquisitor struggles to his knees and crawls towards me. Such a pathetic man. He rests his head on my knee and then, weakly, moves his mouth up my body until his face is nestled in my bosom. Like a babe following the scent of milk, he finds my nipple and tries to drink from it.

I grab hold of the hair at the back of his head, keeping him from his sustenance. “Are you sure?” I ask. I’m not looking at him. Instead, I speak off-handedly, with a casually disinterested tone as I study the intricacies of the stonework in my chamber wall. His response is to suckle from me, making me gasp as his tongue massages my stiff nipple. I moan softly as he feeds, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him into me. “Only a man could be so foolish,” I mutter, “as to steal nectar from a god.”

I moan softly, running my fingers through the Inquisitor’s hair then down over his powerful shoulders. It had been so long since a man I wasn’t utterly repulsed by covered me with body and stained me with his essence. Deep down, I craved a simpler time when the sex of mortal men could satisfy me.

Once the Inquisitor is fed, I allow him the sleep next to me. I caress his temple in a slow, almost loving manner. He was a handsome man but after tonight’s ordeal, he seemed ten years older. It served him well. Made him look more…distinguished. In the depths of my womb I feel a heat stirring. A rage so old and powerful that I fear it would burn away my soul itself. *Calm my husband*, I think as I rub my hand over my belly, *punish him when you are born*.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/bzvv8m/liquid_gold_fantasy_femdom_cbt_prostate_milking