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Lancer rifled through the ornate chest that had once belonged to his late mother. Over the long years it had become caked in dust and he coughed a little as he lifted the velvety gowns and smaller garments, such as gloves, stockings and undergarments. He knelt and tugged them out, one by one, laying them out across the floor and considering them.
The laces of the corset were confusing and he fumbled with them repeatedly as he tied them, biting his lip at the slight tightness across his chest. He decided against undergarments. Velvet or silk.. the gowns were so soft against his fingertips, embroidered with delicate swirls and tiny spades in gold or silver thread.
Making his choice, a wonderfully deep royal blue, he donned the dress. It fell far too long, his mother having been almost as tall as his imposing father, but it hugged his chubby curves and accentuated his hips. He gazed into the mirror on his mother’s dressing table and reached for her crown. Once, not long ago, his father had swallowed hard and turned away from him on his throne, commenting gruffly that he looked much like his mother.
Lancer had felt a strange and excited little twist in his stomach at the words, which worsened when he noticed the blue tinge to the King’s furred cheeks. He had liked that look, liked it very much in fact. And his daydreaming had ventured from motorbiked and mayhem, to how broad and strong his father was, how those large hands felt when he was picked up.
He dusted off the gowns bodice and left the small dressing room, trying not to trip on the hem of the dress. At this late hour the castle was quiet, most of the occupants fast asleep and dreaming. Even the night duty guards were snoozing at their posts. Lancer snuck past them and down the hall towards the King’s chamber.
Lancer knocked on his father’s open door, softly, hesitantly. The sound rang out loud in the silence of the room but the King did not stir, his chest rising and falling slowly with a sonorous snore. The monarch’s clawed hand hung off the bed, fingers twitching a little as he dreamed.
He grinned wide and crept into the room, sneaking over to the high bed and carefully-carefully- climbed up, skirt clutched in one hand. He straddled his father and gave a deep sigh, studying the King’s face. Love and desire welled up within him and he let himself grind down into the thick bulge between his father’s thighs.
There was a moment when his father continued to snore, but his repeated rocking had the desired effect. The King grunted in his sleep as he hardened and Lancer purred, tingles running through him at the sensation. And then his father stirred, mumbling nonsense as he awoke.
The King seemed frozen as his mind came back to the waking world and Lancer smiled softly, rolling his hips gently.
“My-my love?!” His father’s voice came out as a whisper, cracking with shock. One of his hands reached out, cupping the side of Lancer’s face with hesitant hopefulness. Lancer nuzzled into it and kept rubbing, his father gasping and bucking up into him.
In the dark of the room and his sleep-addled mind, no doubt he appeared as his mother to his father. The thought had him whimpering, biting his lip as he continued to grind. Hands grabbed his hips possessively, claws digging through the gown a little. Just enough to make him gasp in delight.
“My treasure, my beloved, I thought you-Uhn” his father’s voice was hushed, almost reverent as he trailed his hands all over Lancer’s thighs and hips through the dress. “I thought I lost you..”
Lancer allowed his smile to grow, loving how the rustles of fabric, their voices and the slight squeak of the bed created a symphony of their pleasure. It was just as his fantasies had played out.
Well with the exception of one tiny aspect…
As the King’s movements quickened, his breath becoming more ragged between gasps of devotion, Lancer began to lift his skirt, holding it between his teeth to leave his hands free. His father threw his head back, hands pawing at the ties to his bodice. Without much pause, Lancer bent his head and drooled onto his father’s thick and sizable length. And then he lifted his hips. The blunt head pressed against his tight little hole and he held his breath, almost afraid for a moment before he forced it inside himself.
The King cried out and lurched upwards and Lancer had to press him back, gasping at the pain-pleasure and oh so full feeling of the cock bulging his belly. His father stared at him, eyes roving down from his face to his hard little cock, revealed by his lifted skirt. “Hey fa-er!” he cheerfully greeted through the fabric clenched in his teeth before bouncing up and down.
“Lan-Ah!” His father yelped and twitched inside of him, hands scrabbling at his sides. Lancer clenched around him, riding him hard and fast with happy cries and whines. The King slumped back on the bed, mouth gaping and hands gripping the sheets. He seemed at a loss for words, moans desperate and broken every time Lancer took him to the hilt.
Lancer arched his back and came with a cry of his father’s name, flashes of light behind his eyelids as he spurted all over he King’s abdomen. His father threw his hands over his face and Lancer whined as warmth filled him, his father’s length twitching within him. It felt so deliciously good.
He flopped forwards onto his father, smiling up at him giddily. “I love you father, do I look pretty like mother used to?”