Page 28 of Praise Me: Princess
My hunger.
I stand on the porch of our farmhouse now as the sunset paints the sky red, watching her through the window, watching her buns flex in the tight red panties she’s wearing, her cropped sweatshirt showing off the small of her back and a single shoulder, that sexy indentation of her lower spine. Sometimes, like now, I need to get myself under control before returning home or she ends up with rug burns on her knees.
I take a deep breath and adjust my heavy cock, wondering how she’ll want it tonight. The kids are with their grandmother at the palace and there’s no holding back when we’re alone. I almost fucked her right here on the porch this morning because she kissed me goodbye a little too long and got my dick worked up. It’s been throbbing for her all day.
Unable to stop myself, I press my forehead to the glass and go back to watching my gorgeous wife, my hand twitching with the need to wrap all that golden hair around my fist, to feel her skin against mine, make her breathing pattern change. Scatter. I love her in gowns and frippery, but my God, I am obsessed with her in casual clothes, especially when she’s wearing so little of them, letting me see what’s mine.
Letting me see the fingertip bruises on her backside.
She bends over now to put something in the oven, and I press my bulge to the window frame, jerking my hips in agitation. I can’t always allow my obsession to show at the palace like this, especially during televised or high attendance events—and the freedom I have tonight only fuels my need for Greta, knowing she screams twice as loud when we fuck at the farm.
We split time between the palace and the farm these days, enjoying a life of luxury on one end, hard work on the other. It helps us both keep things in perspective and gives our sons—there are two of them now—a chance to escape the confines of royalty every so often. There are still guards stationed all over the farm with binoculars and rifles, but so be it. All part of being married to a princess.
And my God, she’s my princess in more ways than one. She’s more comfortable now voicing her opinion, making herself heard in royal proceedings. She walks with her chin higher, her confidence shining from within. Sometimes I can barely maintain my balance carrying all the pride I feel in her.
She’s also my princess in the bedroom.
Obedient, eager to satisfy, uninhibited while somehow being…sweet.
So sweet.
Inside, Greta strips off her sweatshirt and I see she’s in a ruffly, red strapless bra that matches her panties and I can’t hold on any longer. With my briefs full of lead, I cross the porch and jerk open the door, ducking into the farmhouse.
Greta turns with a gasp, backing up against the counter, as if I’m an intruder, her tits heaving up and down with alarm, barely contained within that flimsy bra.
My wife is in the mood for games, I see.
Christ, she keeps me on my toes. So adventurous. So exciting.
Her playfulness only infatuates me more. More and more with no end in sight.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she gasps, picking up a knife from the counter.
Oh God, my cock is stiff as iron. She’s asking for a rough round of lovemaking tonight and I’m all too willing to provide her with exactly what she wants. “Use that knife to cut off thebra, princess. Show me those royal tits and I might consider letting you go.”
“But…but that’s quite improper, sir.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Shall I come over there and do it for you?”
“No,” she whimpers, biting her lip. Sliding the sharp edge of the knife between her skin and the see-through material, she slits the band holding it together, her firm breasts bouncing out, her delicious nipples puckered with lust. “Can I go now, sir?”
I unzip my pants slowly, deliberately, watching her eyes fill with mock concern, her butt rattling the cupboards in an attempt to get further away, but there’s nowhere to go. “I’m still not sure if I should let you go free, Princess. I’m thinking.” I hum for a moment. “Cut those cock tease panties off and I’ll consider it.”
“I don’t mean to tease,” she whimpers.
“Nonetheless, that’s what you did. That’s what you do when you make your pussy look so nice and inviting, isn’t it?” I drop my voice. “Cut the panties off.”
“But—”
“Now.”
The light catches the moisture on her inner thighs, letting me know she’s seriously turned on, and that clue keeps me in character, my aim, as always, to satisfy Greta. My angelic, brave and relentlessly sex-hungry wife.
Greta slits the panties at the leg hole, and they drop to her ankles.
The guttural sound I make isn’t an act. “She’s even more inviting when she’s bare.”
“Please, sir…I’ve never…”