Chapter 795 - Queen Stripping Herself
His cock twitched. The movement, the involuntary, biological response of a divine organ being discussed in the context of its function, was there. The empress, her hands on his back, felt the shift. The water, the ripple, was there.
"Queen," he said. His voice was low. "Remove your clothes."
The words, the command, the direct, absolute, non-negotiable command, were there. The empress, her melodic voice, the sharp intake of breath, was there. Her hands, on his back, stopped.
"I..." she whispered. Her voice was shaking.
"Now," he said. His voice was soft. Final.
His cock twitched. The movement, the involuntary, biological response of a divine organ being discussed in the context of its function, was there. The empress, her hands on his back, felt the shift. The water, the ripple, was there.
"Queen," he said. His voice was low. "Remove your clothes."
The words, the command, the direct, absolute, non-negotiable command, were there. The empress, her melodic voice, the sharp intake of breath, was there. Her hands, on his back, stopped.
"I..." she whispered. Her voice was shaking.
"Now," he said. His voice was soft. Final.
She stood. In the water, the warm water, she stood. Her hands, the trembling hands, found her sash. The emerald robe, the formal attire, the silk that represented her station, her dignity, her identity — she untied.
The sash, the fabric, fell. The robe, the emerald silk, loosened.
Her hands, on the shoulders, pulled. The fabric, the silk, slid. Down. Off. Into the water. The robe, the emerald silk, floated. She was in her undergarments. The white silk, the simple, princess-and-mother undergarments, were there.
Her body, the mature, full frame, was visible through the wet silk. Her boobs, the enormous, heavy, maternal mounds, were there. The dark nipples, visible through the wet fabric.
Her stomach, the soft, mature, maternal stomach. Her hips, the wide, full, child-bearing hips. Her thighs, the thick, pale, mature thighs.
She reached. The undergarment, the white silk, was pulled. Up. Over her head. Off. Her body, the mature, full, naked body, was there.
Her boobs, enormous, heavy, the dark nipples large and stiff from the cool air, were there. Her stomach, soft, rounded, the faint stretch marks of childbirth, was there. Her hips, wide, full, the thick, pale flesh, was there. Her pussy, the hairy mound, the dark, natural, full bush, was visible. Her ass, the thick, heavy, mature cheeks, was there.
She entered the water. The warm water, the pool, rose. Over her ankles, her calves, her thighs, her waist. Her boobs, the enormous mounds, floated slightly. She sat. Beside him. On the submerged bench. The water, between them, was there.
He used the soap. His hands, large and pale, took the bar. The lather, the bubbles, formed. His hands, on her body, began. Her shoulder. Her arm. The washing, the methodical, deliberate, exploring washing, was there. His hands, on her boobs. The enormous mounds, the heavy, soft flesh, were there. His fingers, the lathered fingers, on her nipples. The dark nubs, the stiff peaks, were there. He rubbed. The soap, the lather, the bubbles, on her areolas, on her nipples, was there.
Her body, the mature frame, trembled. Her mouth, the coral lips, the open, gasping mouth, was there.
"Your Majesty..." she whispered. Her voice was shaking.
He continued. His hands, lower. Her stomach. The soft, mature flesh. The lather, the bubbles, followed. Lower. Her hips. Her thighs. His hand, between her legs, found her pussy. The hairy mound, the wet, warm flesh. His fingers, the lathered fingers, on her lips. The washing, the intimate, violating, methodical washing, was there.
He noted. The hair, the armpit hair, the pussy hair — she was natural. Unshaved. A married woman, a mother, a queen who maintained her body for function, not for display. The hair, the dark, full, natural hair, was there. He smiled. The expression, the small, appreciative smile, was there.
He gripped her hips. His hands, on the thick, mature flesh, pulled. Her body, against his, was there. Her boobs, the enormous, soft mounds, overflowed against his chest. The flesh, the warm, wet, soapy flesh, pressed. His cock, the flaccid organ, between her thighs, was there. The heat, the divine heat, against her skin.
She trembled. Her whole body, the mature, full frame, shook.
He kissed her. His mouth, on hers, was there. The kiss, deep, invasive, claiming, was there. His tongue, his divine-qi-infused tongue, found hers. The taste, the divine essence, the masculine flavor, filled her senses. Her eyes, the dark eyes, rolled. The shock, the overwhelming, biological, involuntary shock of a woman being kissed by a divine being, was there.
’What am I doing? I am the empress. I am the wife of Emperor Yun. I am the mother of the princess. I should not... this is wrong... this is...’
His hands, on her ass, the thick, mature cheeks, gripped. The flesh, the soft, heavy, warm flesh, was there. His fingers, the strong, divine fingers, spread. The cheeks, the heavy mounds, parted. Her anal, the mature, brown ring, the tight hole, was exposed. The air, the cool air, on her most private part, was there.
His cock, between her thighs, hardened. The organ, the divine, twelve-inch, crimson-headed cock, grew. Against her thighs, the hot, hard, thickening shaft, was there. The sandwich, the cock-thigh sandwich, was there. The rubbing, the slow, deliberate, divine-qi-infused rubbing, was there.
His hips, the powerful, divine muscles, moved. In and out. The cock, between her thighs, the shaft rubbing against her pussy lips, the head poking out from between her legs, was there. The friction, the heat, the divine qi flowing through his cock, through her thighs, through her lips, through her clit, was there.
She cried. The tears, the falling, silent, warm tears, were there. The guilt, the overwhelming, soul-crushing, maternal guilt, was there.
’I am doing this for Yuexin. For my daughter. For her secret. For her future. This is a sacrifice. A mother’s sacrifice. I am not enjoying this. I am not. I am...’
His mouth, on her nipple, was there. The dark nub, the stiff peak, was sucked. The milk, the maternal fluid, the warm, sweet milk that she still produced — the body, the maternal body, did not distinguish between a hungry child and a hungry god — flowed.
His hand, between her legs, found her clit. The nub, the stiff, sensitive peak, was there. His thumb, on the nub, rubbed. The divine qi, the overwhelming, all-consuming divine qi, flowed. Through his thumb, through her clit, through her meridians.
Her mouth, the coral lips, the open, gasping, moaning mouth, was there. The moans, the first, involuntary, shameful moans, were there.
"Anhgh~..." she whispered. Her melodic voice, broken. The sound, the single, soft, involuntary sound of a woman whose body was responding despite her mind’s protests, was there.
’No. I should not enjoy this. I am doing this for my daughter. This is a sacrifice. I am not... I am not a woman who enjoys... I am...’
His cock, between her thighs, throbbed. The head, the crimson, the broad, flat surface, rubbed against her clit. The contact, the direct, divine-qi-infused contact, was there.
"Hnngh~..." she moaned. Her voice, the broken, shameful, melodic moaning voice, was there. Her body, the mature frame, trembled. Her hips, the wide, full hips, moved. Involuntarily. Instinctively. The grinding, the unconscious, biological grinding of a woman whose body wanted more, was there.
’Stop. Stop. I should not... I cannot... I am the empress... I am...’