by Lana Hartley
Derek breaks our kiss and brings his mouth down my to my neck and I lean back to kiss Malcolm. His tongue slides over mine slowly and I squeeze around their cocks as they pull out. The feeling of emptiness as they exit it me still fills me with deep satisfaction as I can feel that their cum dripping down my holes.
I look down and see they’re both still rock hard.
“Well, what do we have here?” I say, gripping both of their cocks.
“You know how to empty a man,” Malcolm says with a laugh. I see him inhale as I start stroking him.
“Yeah, fuck, you make me come so goddamn much,” Derek says, reaching out and tracing the curve of my breasts slowly.
I suck my lower lip, moaning at the delicate sensation feather light but so erotic.
I stroke them faster, squeezing them almost too hard because I want more cum and I’m going to make sure that I get it. I know these men can give it one more go.
Malcolm drags his fingers against my clit and I tremble, I’m so sensitive from everything. “No one said we had to fight fair,” he says, his eyes capturing mine.
“If I want more cum, you want me to come?” I ask in a coy voice.
I feel both of their cocks twitch in my hands.
“That seems more than fair, I’d say.” Derek grins. He captures one of my nipples now, thumbing over it before he squeezes my breast.
I’m shivering now, and I’m already close to coming again.
Malcolm’s fingers on my clit apply just the right amount of pressure so that it doesn’t push me over the edge and it isn’t too much, but there’s enough sensation captured in the weight of his fingers that I’m edging closer and closer to bliss, all over again.
I swear, we don’t run out of pleasure. We’re like an infinity pool of lust or something, always ready to take things to new heights.
“I want you both to cover me in your cum,” I say, my voice shaking a little as I say this.
“You come for us and we’ll cum on you,” Derek says.
Malcolm kisses right next to my lips before his mouth totally captures mine. The pressure he puts on my clit dials up, the speed so frenetic that I can’t hold back my orgasm even if I wanted to.
The waves of pleasure pull me under their tides and I cry out. My moans are captured in Malcolm’s mouth, and he releases me so that Derek can taste my pleasure too.
“Fuck,” I whimper before Derek’s lips close over mine. Moaning my orgasm into his mouth, I am almost don’t realize that the cocks I’m furiously stroking have starting spraying hot jets of cum all over me. I feel the heat on my breasts and it coats me, painting me white as Snow. Yeah, I’m true to my name right now with their cum soaking my breasts and covering every inch of me. I feel it dripping down my body but I don’t stop to feel it yet because I’m stroking them until their done coating me.
My own orgasm finally starts to blur around the edges and I realize that I’ve squeezed my eyes shut. My eyes flutter open and I release their cocks, and they start to rub their cum all over me, scooping it up and running it over my lips. I scoop up my own cum from my soaking wet pussy, looking at both of them as I run my finger over my tongue. I press my lips together and lick up every drop of our cum all together.
I kiss them both, and we all share our cum, our kisses, and the ultimate expression of our pleasure. I feel so damn satisfied right now that I could almost just lay down and sleep for a thousand years...but we have work to do. I’m safe and protected with my Freedom Fighters, and the sex isn’t too bad either, don’t you think? My body is so deeply satisfied that I feel like I’m breathing new air around me. My body feels both sated and more alive than ever.
Nicholas
By the time the sun rose in the distance, it’s pink glow tumbling over the world lazily, the Main Square workers had already finished erecting a make-do wooden stage. Shortly after Richard’s arrest, Moira sent the military in full force, and it only took them a couple of hours to send the protesters packing. There were shots fired, and a lot of arrests, but at least there wasn’t a bloodbath.
It’s nine in the morning now, and a silent crowd has already started to gather at the foot of the stage. Supported by two wide beams there’s a thick metallic bar, and from it hangs a coiled rope with a noose on its end. No one wanted to believe it, but Moira really brought us back to the Dark Ages. If she has her way, soon enough there’ll be a lot of heads adorning the throne room.
I’m standing at one of the Main Square corners, watching everything unfold just like anyone else. I don’t have to wait long, though — at five minutes past nine, the asshole that represented Moira’s government in yesterday’s kangaroo court marches through the crowd, six men carrying handguns flanking him. Slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, he climbs the stairs that lead up to the stage. Adjusting his tie, he positions himself behind the microphone set up there and taps it twice with one finger.
“Good morning, everyone,” he greets the crowd, his word brimming with excitement. Where the hell does Moira even find these people? It’s hard to get excited about someone hanging from a rope — unless you’re a little sociopathic shit.
“We’re here gathered to witness the execution of a wanted criminal,” the government’s attorney continues. “The Queen wants all of you to be sure of her commitment to justice in St. Carlta, and proof of that is the criminal we bring here today. The Queen won’t stand for those looking to bring chaos to our country, so let this be a warning to anyone thinking of rebellion.” Then, he solemnly stares into the distance as a black SUV parks right around the corner. From there, three men in suits jump out, dragging behind them a hooded figure, his hands handcuffed — Richard.
My fingers twitch by instinct, ready to go for the gun I keep tucked inside my jacket, but I remember my orders — I’ve got to stay put. And so I just watch as they lead Richard up to the stage, gritting my teeth as I watch one of the guards poke Richard in the back with the barrel of his gun.
As they finally get Richard under the rope, they finally pull of his hood, and I feel a stab in my heart as I watch the shadow of the noose fall right on Richard’s neck. Not a good omen.
“Richard Remington,” the attorney reads from a document he pulled from inside his briefcase. “You’ve been declared guilty of high treason, conspiracy to commit murder, and conspiracy to topple the rightful government of St. Carlta.”
That’s when I see Gladrell climbing up the stairs. The little shit buttons up his jacket as he walks up, walking with his chin up. He looks as if he has just received the Nobel Peace Prize, strolling onto the stage to deliver his acceptance speech.
“Thank you,” he nods at the attorney, taking his place behind the microphone. “As one of the Queen’s ministers, it’s my duty to carry out the sentence the court has decided on. As such, I hereby sentence Richard Remington to death by hanging.”
Walking around the small podium, he brings the microphone along with him. “Any last words?” He asks Richard; he mouths something I can’t quite make off, but it almost sounds like damn right I do, you cunt. That’s Richard — staring death down with a bloody smile on his face.
I bet Gladrell’s already regretting giving Richard the opportunity to say his last words, but now it’s too late to go back. With the whole country watching, it’d only make him look weak.
Sweating, he pretends to place the microphone under Richard’s mouth, but he just turns it off. No matter — Richard wants to have his say, microphone or not.
“PEOPLE OF ST. CARLTA,” he shouts, a vein on his neck bulging as he looks down at the crowd. “Today the Queen has decided to spill blood — my blood. And she should be very afraid, because every drop of blood she’ll spill today represents ten more men joining the cause. St. Carlta is the home of freedom, and its citizens won’t stand for an usurper like Moira. You can torture me, and you can kill me — but a thousand more will rise up to replace me. ST. CARLTA WILL NEVER BE THE HOME OF TYRANTS!” He finally finishes, his voice echoing through
the silent square.
Even though the square’s already packed to the fullest, I can’t hear a single voice. Everyone seems to be digesting Richard’s words, and that’s exactly the way we want it to happen. Richard’s just wrong about one thing — no one will be spilling blood today. Well, at least none of his blood. Not if we have a say on things go.
“Alright, fuck this,” I swear I can see Gladrell mouth as he gesticulates toward his bodyguards. Furiously walking back to his place behind the podium, he simply stares at the scene as his henchmen place the noose around Richard’s neck. They tighten it up, and I feel the palm of my hands growing sweaty.
William should be in place already, so why isn’t anything happening? We’re cutting it close — too close. Richard is just seconds away from having his neck broken, and we’re sitting on our asses.
Gritting my teeth, I reach for the gun inside my jacket, ready to storm onto the stage. I already have my fingers curled against the cold metal when I see the crowd parting, allowing someone to walk straight up to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stage.
William.
William
I hear the rumble of thunder overhead, and there’s already a light drizzle falling onto the crowd watching the proceedings. Even though the day started bright, it seems like the Heavens themselves are crying over what’s happening to St. Carlta.
“Let me through,” I continue to say as I elbow people out of the way, steadily marching toward the stage. Richard has just finished his impromptu speech, and I can already see the suited bastards tying the noose around his neck. “Let me through!” I shout harsher now, flashing a couple of guys the butt the gun I got tucked on my waist. They step out of the way as fast as they can, and I race toward the stage steps.
There’s not a second be wasted, and so I just duck under the barriers the security staff has raised between the crowd and the stage, and I head up onto the stage. Security starts running after me, but the moment I feel the creak of the stage boards under my feet, I just take my gun out and brandish it.
“Back the fuck off,” I tell the security guys, carefully walking toward Gladrell. Everyone on the stage with a gun has just pointed it at me, but I couldn’t care less. Whatever happens, happens. And, besides, this is nothing new for me — I can’t even count the number of time I stared down the barrel of a gun. It usually makes for a shorter life, but at least it also makes for an interesting one.
“Hey, everyone!” I say into the microphone, pushing Gladrell out of the way. He stumbles to the side, but someone manages to regain his footing and stops himself from falling face down onto the floor. “What a lovely day, uh? I bet every family in St. Carlta woke up anxious to know public executions are a thing again. Or maybe not,” I continue, pausing to collect my thoughts.
Keeping Gladrell’s bodyguards in my line of sight, I grab the microphone with one hand and continue. “The man you see here, that’s not the kind of man you want to be part of government.” I point straight at Gladrell with my gun, and if he hasn’t pissed himself yet, it sure looks like it.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growls, taking a step toward me, but I just cock one eyebrow and point the gun at him once more. That stops him really fast. Gladrell has never been the kind of man you’d be able to call courageous — always happy to hide inside his palaces and hunt foxes while guarded by a small army, he’s exactly the kind of asshole that gives a bad name to nobility. I bet he hands out fake bills to the homeless as well.
“I’m telling the people what they need to know,” I tell him straight to his face, my lips curling into a smile. This feels good — even better than I anticipated. “You see, friends, Prince Gladrell has played the whole country. Do you think Moira just nationalized companies left and right just because? In case you didn’t know, the Prince here is a major investor in a tiberium exporting company. And guess what was the first thing the Queen nationalized?” I wait for a few seconds, allowing my words to hang over the crowd, and only then do I offer a reply. “That’s right — check any newspaper and you’ll see that the tiberium mines were the first thing on the so-called-Queen’s todo-list. Oh, and by the way, do you know who she put in charge of operations there?”
I see a few mouths hanging open in the crowd, and that just makes me grin even more. Yeah, people are catching on. Let’s see how the Prince likes some heat.
“The Queen’s new minister, Prince Gladrell himself, has wasted no time. He’s been lining his pockets ever since Moira placed the crown on her head,” I tell everyone, and that’s when Gladrell loses it.
He simply hurries down to the edge of the stage, the palm of his hands in front of him as if he were about to try and stop an oncoming train. “Those are all lies!” He tries to shout at the crowd, but the way his hair is plastered to his forehead, a consequence of all his nervous sweat, really isn’t making him look like someone truthful. Oh, what a shame.
Yeah, of course I’m enjoying this — who wouldn’t enjoy making an asshole like Gladrell sweat like this? After everything he did to Snow, I’m pretty glad I’m the one hammering him with the truth. Nothing beats watching it happen up-close.
“ARREST HIM!” He tries and wave at his bodyguards and the police officers lining the stage, but they all hesitate as they look at the gun in my hands. Still, they keep their guns raised and pointed at me.
“Lower your guns,” I try to tell them. “I’m not your enemy — Gladrell is. Haven’t you seen the way money has been syphoned out every single one of your departments? Why do you think that is? Gladrell and Moira and sucking this whole country dry. You swore to uphold the law, haven’t you?” This time, I watch something like hesitation flash in their eyes. “If I were you, I’d start with arresting one of the men responsible for plunging the country into chaos.”
Slowly, they lower their guns and start looking toward Gladrell. I can almost hear the gears inside their heads turning, but their feet remain glued to the floor. Below us, the nervous chatter of the crowd is steadily rising into a crescendo.
“Lies, lies, and more lies!” Gladrell insists, and he actually seems to be on the verge of tears. For someone as corrupt as he is, I’m actually surprised he can’t handle the heat. “WHERE’S THE PROOF?” He shouts as loud as he can, his eyes bulging. “YOU HAVE NONE.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, asshole,” I whisper at him, grinning as I wave my hand toward the stage steps. At the bottom, a figure with her hood pulled up takes one step forward. Looking up, she pulls down the hood and smiles.
“Here’s your proof,” I tell Gladrell, and that’s when Princess Snow Avondale walks up on the stage.
Snow
Prince Gladrell, the man I was supposed to marry and now right hand to the Usurper Queen, stands aghast on top of the stage. The moment he saw my face, his eyes became as wide as plates and the pink color of his skin turned into a sickly white. For a man supposed to be the most eligible bachelor in the whole realm, he doesn’t look so hot right now.
“Hello, Gladrell,” I whisper at him as I walk up the stairs, a smile creeping up to my lips. He stands there, just looking at me with his jaw hanging open, and I can almost smell the aura of fear around him.
“Snow...” He finally manages to breathe out, taking one step away from me. “What — what are you doing here? This is madness!”
“Madness? No — this is just a recockning,” I tell him, and he recoils from my words, shrinking into a weak version of the man he always pretended to be. With one satisfied smile, I finally walk toward the edge of the stage and tie my hair behind my head, smiling at the crowd down below.
“It’s the Princess!” Someone shouts excitedly, pointing his finger at me, and an excited frenzy starts taking over the whole crowd. “The princess!” I keep on smiling as everyone starts clapping, shouting things I can’t quite comprehend. Women are waving their handkerchiefs at me, and even the men seem to have a relieved expression on their face. Goes to show how much they’re enjoyin
g my stepmother’s short reign.
“Here, the people want to hear you,” William tells me, pushing the microphone into my hands. By now, every single bodyguard, police officer, or soldier surrounding the stage has lowered his gun — they might have mistrusted William, but no one but the Queen’s men would dare point a gun at me. And even they know that they’re surrounded by people loyal to me and my father.
“People of St. Carlta,” I finally say into the microphone, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as I hear the sound of my voice echoing throughout the main square. “My father would be heartbroken to see what our country has turned into. Have we really gave up on democracy and bent the knee this easily? These past weeks, I’ve been working on a plan to restore democracy, and it has sickened me to find out how much all of you were manipulated. The Queen and the Prince have plotted to ruin this country, and I have all the proof you need.”
“FUCK THE QUEEN!” Someone shouts, and a lot of angry voices start making themselves heard. The officers close to the stage have started taking a few steps back, afraid they’ll be the first to suffer the people’s wrath.
“Can you hear them?” I ask Gladrell, lowering the mic. “Can you feel how much they despise you?”
“You’re mad! You don’t know what you’re doing!” Gladrell insists, and there’s murder in his eyes. If I were alone with him right now, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d try and wrap his fingers around my neck. Unfortunately for him, I’d drop him fast the moment he tried to do something like that — after all, living under the same roof as seven forces of nature allowed me to learn a few things. Aside from learning on how to deal with seven cocks at the same time, that is.
“I might be standing here,” I continue, putting the mic back in front of my mouth and returning my gaze toward the crowd. “But I’m not the solution to the mess we’re in. Only the people can throw off the yoke of tyranny! Prince Gladrell and Queen Moira need to be deposed!”
