Unlocking My Private Locker: Surrendering My Virgin Ass to the Dauphin
In my private locker, that dark corner of my mind where I stash the filthiest secrets, I cracked it open. No more scrubbing floors like a servant in this damn château. The Dauphin—Louis, the future king—dined alone every night. I’d seen the maids leave his room flushed, giggling. He craved pussy. I was Elizabeth de Galacester, daughter of a duke, but here? Just another Glaisan captive. Corvées humiliated me. Ann adapted like a peasant. Not me. One sweltering evening, my turn to serve. Heart pounding, adrenaline surging, I loosened my corset. Breasts spilling as I bent over his table. He noticed. ‘Hot tonight,’ he said. I yanked it off. Naked tits out. ‘Better now, Monseigneur.’ His eyes widened. Shock. But hunger too.
He tested me. Fingered my pussy while eating cherries. I jolted—rough, invasive. Then I spread my legs. Wetness built slow. His thumb circled my clit. Electric. I leaned on the table, ass up, moaning real. Forehead slick with sweat. He pulled me onto his lap. Sucked one nipple, pinched the other. I squirmed, hips grinding. Pure need. Table edge cleared. Legs on his shoulders. Cock out—thick, veined. Thrust in. Sharp tear—virgin blood trickled. I yelped. He paused, washed me gentle. Kissed my forehead. Sent me to the yellow room. Pucelage gone. Worth it?
The Breaking Point
Days later, called again. Stripped naked before entering. Soup placed teasingly close. ‘Hot near you,’ I purred. He smirked. Fucked me proper that night. Missionary deep, then doggy—balls slapping. Came on my ass. Slept in his bed. Morning ride—cowgirl, tits bouncing. Clit grinding his pubes. Bliss. Victoria followed. Then Ann resisted—but we pushed. Louis cornered her. She spilled our lies. Fury in his eyes next service.
Naked, bent over. ‘Enema time.’ Cool nozzle in my ass. Liquid flooded—cramping urgency. Held it, sweating, begging. Released in the privy. Repeated. Clean. Fingers lubed my hole. ‘Finger your pussy.’ I did, clit throbbing. Then truth: ‘Tonight, I fuck your ass.’ Panic. But no escape. His cockhead pressed. Burned like fire. Inch by inch—stretching, tearing. I bleated, fingers frantic on clit. Full. He rammed. Agony mixed sparks. Came inside. Relief. Pussy fuck after—sweet release.
Deep Surrender and Fiery Release
Victoria next—same drill. Less blood, more moans. We compared: fire in reins, but easing. Stool with anal plug prepped us. Cone-shaped, bulging. Sat, impaled. Moved for wine—void, then refill. Stretched me wide. Easier each time. Ann watched from afar, dined with him instead. Pure.
Satisfaction sealed it. Days off post-fuck. No more shit-shoveling. Ass aches faded to pleasure hints. Routine: serve nude, enema, plug, anal pounding. Pussy always wetter. Swallowed cum—salty, thick. Rode him mornings. Locker shut, lighter. Secret shared—thrill eternal. These Glaisan nights? My filthy crown.
