The halls of the palace were quiet, but not with peace—more like the breathless pause before a moan. Even the guards didn't speak anymore. They stood still, eyes forward, their minds broken into two thoughts: serve Allen and don't stare at the Queen too long or you'll get hard.
Too late for most of them.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of heels echoed in time with wet little slaps of knees hitting stone. Allen walked calmly down the central corridor, a leather leash wrapped around one hand. The other hand lazily scratched his toned stomach, his cock hanging thick and half-hard from the open flap of his loose black robe.
Behind him… she crawled.
Queen Soreya. No longer draped in royal silks or crowned with power. No. She wore a black leather collar and a cunt-slick trail down both thighs. Her once-icy gaze had melted into a desperate neediness that made every movement shake with wet shame.
