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This micro-singularity resembled an earthly paradise.
An endless beach, the sea bright and glittering, a few spindly palms casting rare patches of shade. Beyond, the small town hummed with its ordinary tourism. But at this hour, beneath the furnace of the sun, few souls dared to walk the burning sand.
A handful of silhouettes still wandered the shore. None spared a glance for the row of cabins along the edge of the beach. They could not know what unfolded behind their narrow walls.
Inside, the air did not move. It stagnated. Heavy. Suffocating. The dimness brought no relief from the outside blaze: every breath scraped the chest raw, every gesture dragged like lead. The sand scorched their feet even here. Sweat rolled ceaselessly, forehead, nape, chest, lower back. Skin clung. Air stuck.
Their nature as heroic spirits kept them upright, untouched by thirst. Yet the ordeal remained. Their throats rasped in silence, their lungs cried for cleaner air. Everything came down to endurance.
At the center, seated on a bench, was Arthur. His wrists bound behind his back. Only his eyes betrayed the strangeness of his position: a forced spectator to this stifling confinement. Never would he have imagined seeing two so close to him, one, once his friend; the other, his own female double, in such a compromising posture, one that had dragged him into its snare as well.
The heat of the cabin had already reduced them all to flimsy beachwear. Thin cloth revealed everything. But Artoria had been stripped of the top of her bikini. Her small bare breasts pressed against Arthur’s chest, rising and falling with each breath, flattening slightly with every motion.
Behind her, Lancelot needed only to lower his shorts. His hips drove with force, plunging into her without respite, claiming her in a brutal dogged rhythm. With every thrust, Arturia’s chest rubbed against Arthur. She turned her eyes away, her face flushed with unmistakable embarrassment, while Arthur, unable to look aside, felt the reluctant stirring of an erection.
Her body pressed to his, her muffled moans, the near-unbearable friction of her sex against him… He felt too the repeated shocks of Lancelot’s thrusts slamming into the inside of his thighs. One truth loomed: soon, it would be his turn.
And yet… despite the shame that kept them from admitting it, none of them truly resisted. All three, in one way or another, consented to the moment.
Lancelot bent eagerly over Arturia, his lips finding first her shoulder, then the curve of her neck. She hesitated still, turned her face away, but he slid his fingers into her hair, and with a firm tug, drew her to him. The kiss was long, deliberate, brimming with hunger.
Arturia whimpered against his mouth, while inside her his motion slowed, calculated, forcing her to feel every shiver, every vibration of his length. Her timid sighs thickened into muffled moans, each measured thrust wringing a sharper, more urgent sound from her lips.
Arthur watched, almost envious. Frustrated by the slow rhythm, he rubbed gently against Arturia’s pelvis. She opened her eyes to him, cheeks flushed, breath ragged. They were mirrors of one another, reflections of a parallel existence, bound by a shared history with Lancelot. And in this singularity, each surrendered willingly, Servants united by fate, drawn into this strange communion.
For Lancelot… he had always secretly desired them both, one as much as the other, regardless of sex.
He released Arturia’s lips to turn his gaze upon Arthur. The rhythm within her grew more erratic, pulling sharper, more urgent cries from the young woman, her voice trembling between pleasure and plaintive surrender. Then he leaned toward Arthur, his mouth seeking his.
The kiss began as provocation. Yet Lancelot pressed harder, his mouth insistent, teeth grazing, until Arthur yielded. The contact stretched out, languid, fierce, and Arthur felt his breath stolen, his chest rising helplessly. The heat of the kiss surrounded him as fully as the heat of the cabin. The more he resisted, the longer Lancelot prolonged it, until Arthur was left gasping, the taste of his former friend still burning on his lips.
Arturia clung as best she could to her counterpart, her body shaken by Lancelot’s repeated thrusts.
Arthur and Arturia exchanged another glance… They did not love each other, not enough to kiss, not enough to name it. But together, they accepted this union of three. And already, Arthur burned with impatience to be freed, his body strung tight, his mind teetering between shame and desire.
Or perhaps the truth lay in their refusal to admit the attraction they felt for one another… the Pendragons, it seemed, had always desired their own, uncle, sister, or double.
At first, he had refused. So had Arturia. But Lancelot had ensnared them both, bound them, dominated them. He had taken Arturia first.
Once more, Lancelot slowed. His hand slid beneath Arturia’s stomach, steadying her with a strange delicacy, almost protective. He leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his lips brushing damp skin, his hot breath gliding through her hair.
“May I release inside you, my king?” he asked, his voice low and hushed, respectful, as though offering a vow.
But without warning, the gentleness broke, a sudden thrust, sharp and deep, tore a muffled cry from Arturia’s throat. His hands soothed her again, slow, almost tender, his fingers kneading her breast with practiced sensuality, his tongue teasing her ear. Every gesture balanced between firmness and care, holding her in exquisite tension: dominated, yet enticed, surrendered to his every whim.
Arthur was no longer a mere spectator. Arturia’s wetness spilled over his sex, soaking his thighs, sending unbearable shivers through him. He no longer hid his arousal: every grind of her body against him drew a rough groan, an involuntary moan betraying his hunger. Hunger for Lancelot. Hunger for Arturia. Hunger to take either place, to feel what Arturia felt within her, or to feel what Lancelot claimed by being inside her. His eyes fixed on their entwined bodies, burning with a desire he could not yet confess.
"Yes…" Arturia finally murmured, timid, almost pleading. Her voice trembled, fragile, like a true surrender.
Lancelot stopped, a discreet smile curving his lips. His eyes fixed on her with burning intensity, holding her still with that look alone. She turned hers away, blushing, but desire made her quiver with impatience.
Then, without his urging, Arturia began to move her hips on her own. Her motions rubbed against Arthur’s hard sex, dragging moans from him that he could no longer restrain, while drawing Lancelot back into her, seeking a rhythm despite the control he imposed.
“Please…” she breathed, low, torn between shame and desire.
Lancelot smiled, his eyes gleaming with a satisfied light.
“Your desires are my command.”
He released her gently, only to press her harder against Arthur, her damp body crushed between the two men. His hands roamed her back, her hips, savoring every curve like a treasure he possessed. Then, with a firm grip, he stood behind her and resumed his thrusts.
The rhythm changed abruptly. His thrusts turned frantic, merciless, echoing through the suffocating cabin like muffled blows. Arturia yielded at once, head thrown back, her cries rising higher, more urgent. Her fingers clutched desperately at Arthur’s arms as though she feared she might fall apart. Her bare chest pressed against him, heaving with each assault, her ragged breath scorching his skin.
Lancelot, relentless, did not slow. He held her, drove into her, until he felt her body surrender beneath him. When Arturia convulsed suddenly, panting, he knew she was climaxing. Her sex clenched around him, spasms so intense they made him groan aloud. She was nothing but a searing, quivering heat, pulling him irresistibly toward his own end.
He yielded in turn, his face contorted, his breath torn out in a deep, guttural sound. His hips kept driving, more erratic, until he spilled inside her in hot bursts, his body trembling with release. He held her still, pressed against him, savoring every throb of her sex that drank him down greedily.
Arthur felt it all. Every spasm of Arturia, every shudder of Lancelot echoed through him. Her chest pressed tight to his, her broken cries, her dampness dripping down onto him, it consumed him. When she had clenched against him, he lost control. A raw moan ripped from his throat, uncontrollable, as a burning release tore through him. His seed spilled across their bellies, against his counterpart’s skin, adding yet more stickiness to their sweat-slick bodies. He almost felt ashamed, but intoxication overwhelmed it.
In the cabin, heavy with heat and the scent of sweat, their bodies finally grew heavy, drained. Arturia, spent and trembling, nearly collapsed against Arthur, who held her as best he could despite his bonds.
Then Lancelot drew them both into his arms, his embrace suddenly filled with a knightly gentleness. He held Arturia against his chest, kissing her hair with sincere tenderness, as if to thank her for sharing her body and her trust. His fingers brushed over Arthur’s damp back with the same respect, as if to remind him that he remained, above all, his comrade and his knight.
Still breathless, Lancelot murmured, almost like a prayer:
“Thank you, my king… for granting me this privilege.”
Little by little, their breathing found the same cadence, calmer now, like three hearts beating in unison.
Lancelot withdrew slowly, savoring the last tremor of release. Freed from his hold, Arturia remained slumped against Arthur for a moment, panting. Lancelot’s seed slipped from her in milky streams, running down her thighs, and he admired the sight, fascinated, before she tried to rise, leaning against her counterpart.
As she moved, she noticed how Arthur’s belly and hers were stuck together by a sticky film: his own release, spread between them. Their eyes met. No words, only a silent glow, a mute confession, they had both enjoyed it.
She then felt against her the flaccid weight of Arthur’s sex, still swollen, flushed, and tender under the pressure of her intimacy. But before she could rise, a rustle caught her attention: Lancelot, standing before them, was already stroking himself, coaxing his desire back to life. His eyes never left them, fixed on the entwined pair with burning intensity.
Arturia understood at once. It was no longer her turn. It was Arthur’s.
But Lancelot gave no room for hesitation. He grasped her thighs, lifting her with ease, and in that movement, the lower half of her body was revealed briefly to Arthur’s gaze: her sex still dripping with the knight’s seed. A sharp pang of jealousy pierced him. Did he wish to be in Arturia’s place… or in Lancelot’s?
With practiced certainty, Lancelot repositioned her, seated on Arthur again, but this time facing him. The shift made her slide just enough for her counterpart’s slackened tip to nestle between her folds, pressed against her entrance.
“Lance…” she murmured, unsettled.
“Please, my king.” His voice quivered with a blend of respect and command. Drawing closer, Lancelot continued to stroke himself slowly, guiding his shaft against Arturia’s damp chest, until the tip brushed her. His gaze never left Arthur, though his words were meant for her:
“Help me grow hard again… for him.”
Blushing deeply, Arturia understood the allusion at once. Her eyes flicked to the softened member in his hand, glistening with sweat and seed. Her breath caught. Embarrassment seared through her, but she did not look away.
For a moment, she turned her head, as if to escape the role. But the knight’s low voice held her, a firm, irresistible plea:
“For me… for you both.”
Their eyes met. Lancelot’s burned, but without mockery: he looked upon her as one looks upon an offering. Arthur, pinned beneath her, panted heavily, unable to hide the hunger coursing through him. Between the three of them, the air still vibrated with heat and sweat, with suffocating anticipation.
Arturia swallowed hard, then, slowly, yielded. Still straddling Arthur, her thighs parted, her chest pressed to his, she leaned forward toward Lancelot’s sex. Her hesitant fingers brushed the base, picking up where his hand had left off. The touch made him shiver, a sigh of anticipated pleasure escaping his lips.
She lowered her gaze, flushed to the tips of her ears, and parted her lips. At first, only the timid brush of a kiss against the tip, as though to persuade herself. The salty heat jolted through her. Lancelot groaned softly, one hand slipping into her hair to guide her, though he did not force.
Then, with a trembling breath, Arturia took him further. Her mouth closed slowly around him, drawing him in with clumsy but sincere tenderness, until she felt the weight of the knight stiffening little by little between her lips. Her tongue slid, hesitant but careful, and already his vigor was returning, every movement of her mouth drew a low groan from Lancelot’s throat.
Arthur, beneath her, watched in silence. His bound hands left him powerless, but his eyes darkened with desire, and his whole body quivered. With every motion, every sigh that escaped Lancelot, jealousy burned hotter in him, twinned with an even sharper excitement.
Arturia’s mouth worked with hesitant docility, yet with true devotion. Her lips slid slowly, her tongue brushed the sensitive flesh, sucking him with applied gentleness. Every movement, every hot breath against him, made him shudder. His penis, still flaccid, slowly regained its strength. Under her awkward but reverent caress, it lengthened, hardened, filling her mouth with growing heat.
Lancelot sighed deeply, one hand resting in the silk of her hair, guiding her with gentle firmness. He held back his urges, letting himself swell between her lips like a reward bestowed. With each quiet groan he released, Arturia felt the weight in her mouth increase, his shaft stiffening, pulsing back to life.
Beneath her, Arthur shuddered. Pressed against his counterpart, he could not ignore the subtle grind of her hips or the wetness that still trickled from her. Slowly, he too felt his own sex stirring again, still trapped, still nestled between Arturia’s intimate lips. The warmth of her belly and the damp weight of her body against his was enough to rekindle his desire.
His tip, soft and tender at first, swelled once more, pressed at her entrance. It grew inside her, stretching, rising little by little, forcing Arturia to stifle a strangled gasp, for she could feel distinctly the hardness awakening within her. Her body responded instinctively, opening, moistening further to receive his gradual return.
Thus, before her, Lancelot stiffened in her mouth, thicker and harder with each second, filling almost her throat, while beneath her, Arthur swelled as well, slowly imposing himself between her folds.
Arturia, trapped between this double assault, was already trembling. Her cheeks burned, her sighs muffled around her full mouth, yet still she did not stop.
Lancelot’s cock had regained its full vigor, hard and throbbing within Arturia’s mouth. She enclosed him with her lips, careful and attentive, her tongue timidly tracing along the tip. Soon, however, his firm hand tangled in her hair guided her with greater certainty. He set a steady motion, his hips pushing gently forward, urging her to take more of him inside.
Arturia followed docilely, her cheeks hollowing with the effort, her breath broken by the imposed rhythm. Each measured thrust filled her throat a little deeper, the heat and salty taste flooding her mouth. Lancelot did not rush her, but he controlled the pace, savoring the contrast between his mastery and her flushed embarrassment as she was forced to drink down his desire. His hoarse groans rumbled above her, each one vibrating like a silent command.
Beneath her, Arthur was nothing but a trembling body, overcome by his own arousal. His shaft, now fully hardened, had slipped completely inside her. Arturia’s slickness had taken him in without resistance, and he felt her tight, burning, alive around him. A guttural moan escaped his throat, this time impossible to hold back.
Arturia jolted when she felt Arthur drive into her like that. Her stomach tightened, pleasure and discomfort colliding. She was torn in two, her hips pinned to Arthur’s renewed vigor, and her mouth filled with Lancelot, who pressed ever deeper.
The thrusts found their rhythm, in her and in her mouth, creating a pace that robbed her breath, that drowned her. Between the two of them, her muffled moans turned into long, stretched cries, swallowed by the suffocating heat of the cabin and the bodies that held her captive.
At first, Arturia resisted still. Her ragged breath, trapped between throat and belly, broke into small, stifled whimpers.
But soon, her body betrayed her will. Each of Arthur’s thrusts sent waves of molten pleasure surging through her hips, while Lancelot’s thick, pulsing cock weighed heavy and intoxicating on her tongue. Her thighs shook, her back arched, and little by little, she stopped fleeing. Her hips began to move on their own, seeking Arthur’s penetration with growing hunger.
Arthur noticed at once. Clenched in her wet heat, he felt her contractions welcome him, almost draw him deeper. His guttural groans mingled with Lancelot’s, as he barely contained the tide rising within him.
Before her, Lancelot watched her swallow him down, her lips wet and reddened, her eyes half-closed with shame and confusion. He felt her breath hitching against him, her muffled moans vibrating along his shaft. And when she began to hollow her cheeks deeper, sucking harder to help him swell even more, his smile widened. She was no longer merely obeying, she was joining in.
Soon, her movements matched those of both men. Her hips rolled in time with Arthur’s thrusts, her lips followed Lancelot’s pushes. Their bodies answered one another, completed one another, in a stifling rhythm. Every breath was fire, every touch a spark.
Where once she had only submitted, Arturia now sought pleasure, utterly consumed by it. Her moans were no longer only embarrassed, they rang with a desire she could no longer hide.
Slowly, Lancelot eased his pace, his hips ceasing to impose their rhythm. His fingers slid through Arturia’s hair and, with unexpected gentleness, he tugged her head back slightly. Her lips parted, releasing his shaft now swollen and hard, which came to rest against her parted mouth.
The sight struck him silent. Gods… she was beautiful like this, cheeks flushed, lips glistening, eyes misted with effort. A shiver coursed down his spine. He stroked her cheek tenderly, his gaze shining with sincere pride. “You did so well…” he whispered almost to himself, like a benediction.
Then, lifting his eyes, he met Arthur’s gaze. The young man panted, still buried in her, his face drawn tight with desire. His hips had slowed the moment Lancelot stopped, as though awaiting his command. Lancelot saw it clearly: Arthur wanted more, far more.
“Thank you, my king,” Lancelot murmured, his voice low, carrying a strange solemnity.
With a firm hand, he pressed Arturia’s damp back against Arthur, forcing them closer together. Breathless, her lips still shining, she raised reddened, uncertain eyes to him, already yielding.
Then Lancelot leaned forward. His powerful hands gripped Arthur’s thighs and wrenched them apart. Arthur’s body jolted backward, collapsing onto the bench with startled surprise. Already the knight advanced, his rigid shaft settling against his second king’s most secret place. The hot, swollen tip pressed firmly against the tight ring, poised to break through, while Arturia, still seated astride Arthur, felt her counterpart’s sex inside her even as she watched Lancelot prepare to take him.
The knight smiled to see him so torn, and with a firmer thrust he buried himself almost entirely inside. Arthur’s head snapped back, a strangled cry escaping his lips, his hips trembling beneath Arturia as she straddled him. The sensation was doubled, penetrating and being penetrated, giving and receiving, his body pierced through by unbearable heat.
Arturia panted, crushed between them. She felt Arthur swelling inside her, stretched to the limit by Lancelot forcing into him. Every movement of the knight reverberated through her, every thrust redoubled her own pleasure. Her eyes blurred, her lips parted in a plaintive moan she could no longer suppress.
At last, with a decisive push, Lancelot drove fully into Arthur. A guttural sigh, almost a growl of triumph, broke from his throat. His chest pressed against Arturia’s breasts only so he could lean further, his lips brushing Arthur’s ear as he whispered:
“You are magnificent like this…”
Arthur, still shaking, gasped harshly, his cries breaking in his throat. Between pain and ecstasy, his body had given way. His cock, locked within Arturia, throbbed violently, as if trying to expel the pleasure despite the sharp ache at his core.
Lancelot paused to savor it. He waited for the young man’s breath to steady, for his body to accept the imposing presence. Then, with a slow withdrawal, he nearly slipped free before returning with a solid thrust.
Arthur jerked, his back arching at the shock. The burn flared again, but this time it came with a darker tremor, a vibration that spread through his belly. At the same time, his cock, tight inside Arturia, throbbed furiously, and he felt her hips answer against him in spite of himself.
Lancelot quickly found his rhythm. His thrusts were deep and steady, each drive slamming into Arthur, who in turn drove harder into Arturia. It was a chain, a carnal mechanism: the knight within him, and he within her. With every cycle, their three bodies collided in a suffocating tempo.
Arturia moaned louder with each push. Trapped between them, she endured the double assault with an intensity that tore plaintive sounds from her lips, her thighs trembling, her chest crushed against Lancelot. Her hips soon began to move as well, answering the hammering rhythm imposed upon her.
Arthur, for his part, still fought. Every thrust from Lancelot tore through him like a wave of fire. Shame gnawed at his mind: he, king, hero, reduced to being taken this way. And yet, his cock beat with irrepressible vigor inside Arturia, as though the humiliating role only sharpened his desire. Jealousy burned just as fiercely: to see Arturia succumbing to Lancelot’s touch, to hear her moans meant for him, and to feel that same man filling him from behind. His mind cried refusal, but his body screamed the opposite.
His eyes grew misted, fixed on his counterpart riding him, flushed and breathless. He wanted her, to possess her completely… yet it was Lancelot who set the pace, and he was only a link in the chain of pleasure. The thought crushed him as much as it exalted him. His guttural groans mingled with his moans, shameful, but incapable of lying.
Lancelot held Arthur fast, his hands locked around his spread thighs. The burning, slick crown of his cock pressed against the virgin ring. Arthur tensed instinctively, a guttural groan escaping him as his body tightened.
Leaning over them both, Lancelot fixed his eyes on Arthur, his deep voice softened by knightly patience:
“Let me in… you deserve this too.”
Then he pushed forward, slowly. The barrier gave way reluctantly, Arthur’s tight ring stretching under the pressure. Pain flared within him like a deep burn, his muscles struggling to close again, but Lancelot paused just enough to let him adjust. Arthur clenched his teeth, his ragged breath broken by the sting of intrusion.
Arturia, waiting between them, felt his cock throb violently inside her as he tensed. She moaned shakily. Her walls, still wrapped tightly around him, hot and slick, magnified every shudder.
Lancelot resumed his advance. Inch by inch, he sank deeper into Arthur, stretching him with pain both brutal and intoxicating. This time Arthur moaned without restraint, a guttural cry betraying both suffering and arousal. For in the same instant, his cock, far from faltering, pulsed even harder inside Arturia, swollen to the limit, caught between the two fires.
Lancelot did not lose his smile. He set the rhythm of their breaths, their tremors, his thrusts timed like a soldier’s march yet burning, meant to break them both. Every deep drive tore a cry from Arthur, and that cry reverberated through Arturia, who took him harder still.
“Magnificent…” Lancelot murmured, panting, his voice rumbling into his king’s ear.
Arthur, shaken, felt his strength slipping away. His thighs burned, his belly clenched, and despite the shame, despite the jealousy, his pleasure swelled higher and higher.
The rhythm intensified. Lancelot plunged deeper with every thrust, his hips slapping against Arthur’s with a wet smack that echoed through the stifling cabin. At the front, Arthur had lost control entirely: his hips moved of their own accord, slamming into Arturia in rhythm, his hardened cock pounding into her soaked depths.
Arturia, pinned between them, quivered under the doubled penetration. Her moans filled the heavy air, plaintive, urgent, almost begging. She arched her back further, her chest crushed against Lancelot, her nails digging into his slick skin. Each thrust tore through her, stealing every breath.
Arthur still fought. Teeth clenched, eyes wide, he tried to hold back the tide. But every one of Lancelot’s thrusts thundered through his belly, every spasm of Arturia around him made his cock vibrate as though it might break. Shame consumed him, taken like this, dominated, reduced to begging without words. Jealousy gnawed at him, hearing Arturia moan for Lancelot, feeling that knight reign over both their bodies.
But beneath the storm, something gave way. A ragged cry tore from his chest, his back arched violently. His cock, swollen past restraint, erupted inside Arturia in a blazing surge. The pleasure ripped through him like an electric shock, tearing away all thought. His hips shook, his legs seized, his eyes clouded.
He came inside her with violence, his seed spilling in deep waves, his body wracked by uncontrollable spasms. His groans broke into muffled cries, shameful but unstoppable, filling the cabin with his shattered voice.
Arturia, startled by the sudden heat flooding her, cried out in turn, her walls contracting instinctively around him, drinking him in. Her eyes fluttered closed under the shock, her body trembling between the two of them.
Lancelot pulled them tighter, holding his rhythm until the very end, until Arthur’s body drained itself in his climax. Only then did he slow, his heavy breath falling against his ear, a whisper like a vow:
“My king… you are splendid.”
Arthur collapsed heavily onto the bench, still racked with shudders, his skin slick, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Shame still burned in his mind, but it had no strength left against the intoxication. He had yielded, he had come. And in spite of himself, he had loved it.
Lancelot felt every spasm shudder through Arthur, every contraction rippling back into his own hips. Buried deep within him, he savored the heat, the resistance that finally gave way, the tense masculine intimacy that wrapped him in delicious bite. Before him, he saw Arturia shaken by her counterpart’s ecstasy, moaning and clenching around his cock within her slick folds.
It swept him away. His breath grew ragged, his thrusts more urgent, more erratic. Each push made him growl into Arthur’s ear, his hands clamped on his thighs, his hips slamming forward with a brutality he no longer tried to restrain.
Arthur, still trembling, panted beneath him, his body reacting despite exhaustion. Every deep thrust tore him back from the haze, forcing him to whimper at the blend of pain and pleasure.
Arturia, crushed between them, still quivered, every jolt rippling through all three. She felt Lancelot driving harder, Arthur tightening beneath her, and the shared tension shook her once more.
At last, Lancelot yielded. His face twisted, a deep groan rising from his chest, and he drove into Arthur with one powerful thrust. His cock, hard and throbbing, spilled molten heat inside him, erupting in successive waves that dragged guttural cries from his throat. His hips kept pumping by reflex, pounding Arthur with force, until every drop had been given.
His whole body shuddered, muscles taut, breath torn away. Eyes closed, he surrendered to the climax, shaken by uncontrollable spasms. Then, slowly, his rhythm faded, replaced by hoarse sighs, heavy with satisfaction.
He stayed there for a moment, still joined with them both, before sliding one tender hand across Arthur’s stomach, the other over Arturia’s hip. His forehead rested against the first’s shoulder, and in an unsteady breath, he whispered:
“Thank you… for accepting. Thank you for giving me this.”
-
Moments later, the order had shifted.
Lancelot, once the dominator, now knelt before Arturia. His lips worked between her parted thighs, his tongue gliding fervently to taste and to cleanse. Every stroke erased the mingled traces of their climax, his mouth drinking without shame the slick heat of cum and arousal that stained her. His eyes, lifted toward her, reddened from the effort, shone with something close to gratitude: he embraced his punishment as a blessing.
Arturia, gasping, could not hold back her cries. Her fingers trembled in her knight’s hair, holding him to her despite the embarrassment of it. Her thighs, still damp, quivered at each sweep of his tongue, her hips seeking the contact against her will.
But behind her, Arthur had seized control. Jealousy had consumed him, and he kept her straddled across his lap, refusing to relinquish his place. This time, he had slipped into her other entrance. His shaft, hard and swollen, pressed into her tight anus, forcing from her a broken cry at the very first thrust.
He held her tightly against him, his thighs pinning hers, his hands gripping her breasts, kneading them without restraint. Every movement inside her dragged groans from his throat, his eyes fixed on Lancelot kneeling between their legs. He savored the picture: his old friend reduced to licking what he now possessed, submitting, while he claimed his counterpart through her most secret place.
Arturia, trapped between the two, arched under their double attention. Lancelot’s tongue set her aflame from the front, while Arthur’s thrusts inside her tore moans from her throat, torn between pain and pleasure. Her breasts rose in Arthur’s hands, her throat spilled ragged cries, and her trembling body no longer knew which of the two to answer.
Panting, Arthur bit into her shoulder, his dark eyes locked on Lancelot. Each deeper thrust was a silent challenge, a way of reminding him who held control now.
On his knees, Lancelot gave himself entirely. Each stroke of his tongue, each wet kiss against Arturia’s intimacy, was not only desire but an act of service. He licked with devotion, collecting everything, cleansing every trace with the fervor of a penitent. His ragged breath mingled with her sighs, but his eyes, lifted at times to her, shone with burning devotion.
It was no longer the domination of before. Now, he was almost giving thanks. Every motion said: “I serve you. I pay you homage.” The humiliation did not break him, it exalted him. He, the knight guilty of his boldness, found in this punishment an unsuspected grace, as though the simple fact of being allowed to touch and taste his king was a reward in itself.
Arturia was no longer mistress of anything. Her thighs shook, her hands trembled as they gripped Lancelot’s hair, holding him despite her shame. Her parted lips spilled rough moans, broken by Arthur’s steady thrusts behind her.
For Arthur took her without gentleness. His hard shaft plunged into her tight anus, each drive tearing a sharper cry from her throat. His hips locked her in place, his thighs spreading hers, his hands crushing her breasts in a possessive grip. He panted heavily, grunting with every push, his eyes fixed on Lancelot kneeling before them.
And Lancelot, far from averting his gaze, met it head-on. He continued to lick with redoubled fervor, savoring every drop of Arturia, every contraction of her thighs. His muffled groans vibrated against her flesh, amplifying her pleasure. He accepted Arthur’s jealousy, he accepted seeing him dominate, and he devoted himself all the more, as though to say: “It is you who reign, not I.”
Caught between them, Arturia surrendered. Her voice rose into desperate moans, her body arching in an ecstasy she could no longer control. Lancelot’s tongue caressed her with unbearable precision, and Arthur’s penetration into her most secret place shattered her. Her stomach clenched, her thighs stiffened, and she arched with a broken cry, her climax bursting within her like a burning wave.
Her walls tightened violently around Arthur’s cock, milking him in frantic pulses, while her hands gripped Lancelot’s hair even tighter, almost smothering him against her. Her eyes closed, her lips released one last trembling sigh.
And Lancelot, in his humbled place, drank that pleasure as an offering. His lips and tongue received her spasms, her trembling, with mute pride: he had been judged, punished, yet honored still.
Arthur felt everything. Arturia’s cry, her thighs stiffening in his grip, her walls clenching violently around his cock, squeezing as though to draw him in completely. Every spasm made her quake against him, and each tremor echoed through his own body.
But more than anything, he saw Lancelot, on his knees, submissive, his face buried between their queen’s thighs. The knight, once the dominator, accepted his place in humiliation, his tongue drinking every pulse of Arturia’s pleasure. The sight set Arthur ablaze: his jealousy turned to intoxication, to a burning pride at possessing her while his rival was reduced to servitude.
His hips drove harder, slapping against her with renewed force, each thrust tearing groans from his chest. His hands kneaded her breasts as though to claim them, his teeth sank into her neck, and his darkened eyes never left Lancelot.
The wave struck suddenly. Arthur threw his head back, his spine arched, and he surrendered to it. A guttural cry ripped from his throat, broken, uncontrollable. His cock throbbed violently and spilled burning heat into Arturia, pouring out in heavy, forceful waves.
He came in her ass with desperate intensity, his body wracked by spasms, his thighs trembling with effort. Arturia’s contractions gripped him in return, each pulse of her climax clenching around him as though to hold him inside.
Pleasure engulfed him completely. Shame and jealousy lost all hold; there was only this raw release, this animal intoxication of possessing her while Lancelot knelt in humbled silence.
When at last his body quieted, Arthur panted heavily, his forehead resting against Arturia’s shoulder, his arms still wrapped around her with possessive strength. His breath was harsh, his muscles taut, yet a trembling smile curved his lips.
Lancelot, still kneeling, had not stopped watching. His eyes gleamed with strange, humble pride, as though he too had offered this climax, by his silent devotion.
Arthur, still breathless, kept Arturia against him for a few moments more. Then, with unexpected gentleness, he slid his arms beneath her and lifted her slightly. His cock, still swollen and tender, slipped free from her strained intimacy, releasing a white stream that ran down her thighs at once.
On his knees, Lancelot let nothing go to waste. His mouth pressed against Arturia’s stretched ring, licking fervently at what his king had left inside her. His tongue lingered with painstaking care, collecting every trace, swallowing every drop with burning devotion. Arturia shuddered, still shaken by spasms, her tremors testifying to the intensity of his act.
Then, without lifting his head, he leaned further. His lips slid down to Arthur’s cock, taking it into his mouth with reverent slowness. His tongue caressed, cleaned, sucked with diligence, swallowing the clinging seed, stripping away the stickiness of release. Arthur, startled by such fervor, let out a hoarse sigh, his body shivering one last time.
Moments later, silence filled the cabin. Their breaths calmed, their sweat-slick bodies slowly regaining strength. Lancelot finally rose, his face damp but serene, his eyes lowered like a servant who had fulfilled his duty.
Then, the three of them dressed again in silence. The light garments of the beach returned to their place on still-burning skin, hiding the traces of what had just transpired. When the cabin door finally opened, the sunlight burst across their faces once more, blinding.
No one outside had suspected a thing. To the few wanderers on the shore, the cabin had held nothing more than a patch of shade and suffocating heat. The rest… would remain their secret.
Yet, in a glance exchanged, a spark lingered. Like the sea that never ceases to return to the sand, so too would their desire return. Sooner or later, the heat would call them back, and they would yield again.