Man, I am so down bad for any sexual encounter involving a throne. I don't know if there's a specific kink for that, but if there is, I've got it.
Imagine you're a prince and you've gotten your knight right where you want them. You've caught them in your snare, and they're so devoted to you, so willing to submit to your desires, that you could order them to do anything right now and they'd thank you as they obeyed.
So naturally, you sit yourself down in your throne and order them to kneel, and their armoured knees hit the ground so fast, so eagerly, that you almost laugh aloud.
You tell them to prove their devotion, gesturing vaguely down at yourself, at the bulge that is already apparent and currently at eye level with your knight, and you smirk as you watch them understand.
Imagine the way their fingers tremble and shake as they fumble to get their helmet off, dropping it almost carelessly to the ground. Alternatively, they just raise their visor, too impatient to take the whole thing off when all they need is access to their mouth.
If your knight is in full armour when you make this request of them, then you'll certainly have to contend with the feeling of their gauntlets on your body, and the roughness, the sharp, cold point to their touch, has you gasping and shivering in delight. Everyone assumes the prince must be handled carefully, as if you're made of porcelain. It's nice to be treated as a human for a change.
The knight hurries to bare you, and you do nothing to help them. Your hands rest on the arms of the throne, ringed fingers absently rubbing the gold details, an involuntary release for your excitement. You eagerly await the moment when your delicate fingers will grip those same armrests, hanging on for grounding, and the thought of it makes your length twitch.
Your knight uncovering you and then gazing at you for a second, taking in your shape, your form. Their eyes darting as they try to memorize everything at once, their cheeks flushing as the reality of what's happening hits them again. They look up at you, questioning, as if you might change your mind.
"Like what you see, dearest knight?" you purr at them, and they nod with a heavy swallow. "Now tell me," you cock an eyebrow, "do I taste as good as I look?"
They groan and clearly take your question as an order, an indication to get started on their main task. Their mouth is on you before you have a chance to even take in another breath, and the one you were taking stutters at the sudden heat around your cock, the hungry slide of their tongue down your length. You breathe a quiet "oh" and let your eyes slip shut in bliss, relaxing into the sensations, delighting in the sounds, in the rhythmic movement of your knight's mouth on you, sliding slightly further down with each advance.
"That's it," you sigh, "that's my knight." And oh, they must have really liked that, because they moan around you and you feel it through every inch of you, and their next pass takes you right down to the root, their throat closing on your sensitive head.
The heat of it all causes you to gasp, loudly, almost embarrassingly so, and your hips squirm with the effort of not bucking into your knight's mouth, although it's not like you could get much deeper. As you try to catch your breath, your knight slides back, slowly, almost teasingly, letting their tongue drag over every inch until just their lips rest on your tip, barely cradling it.
Your eyes open, and you find you've slumped in your throne, your hips reaching forward for his mouth. "Well, don't stop on my account," you manage to say without too obvious a tremble in your voice.
You're not sure when one of your hands found its way to their head, but you register the sensation of their hair between your fingertips, and you flex your fingers, just feeling, not pushing. You're quite enjoying the pace your knight has set, just slow enough to tease but never deprive you, swallowing around you every time they reach your base. Their gauntlets dig just slightly into your waist, your hips, and you relish the pressure of it, the reminder of your knight's true strength, of the way they are clearly holding themselves back from devouring you the way they obviously could. You wonder briefly how different this would be if they weren't holding back, how ravenously they would take you, how helpless you would be in their hands, in their mouth, and the thought wrenches a proper moan from your throat and a roll of your hips against them.
You feel their throat spasm around you and worry for a second that you've pushed too hard, and a flood of their saliva pours down your length and they pull back just enough to gasp for air. You open your mouth to apologize, or make some kind of excuse, which would be more fitting for one of your station, but your knight has swallowed you down again before the words can form, almost seeming to chase that same reaction from you.
"Dear god," you breathe, your hips starting to move more readily, your knight moving with them, pulling you deeper. "My knight," you find yourself gasping, almost whining, "my darling knight."
It wouldn't be long before you're practically laying on your back in your throne, your hips fully encompassed by your knight's arms, and when you open your eyes you find yourself gazing out at the hall, at the cavernous ceilings that your moans are echoing off of. Your hand on the armrest flies to your mouth, half-covering it, because you know you should stifle your sounds if you don't want anyone to find you here like this, but you can't quite make yourself muffle them entirely because fuck, it's so much hotter to hear yourself, to hear how needy and debauched your knight is making you, how impossible it is to sound in control when you're this wrecked with pleasure. So your hand ends up loosely over your mouth, caging in your moans and gasps, completely perfunctory.
The throne is not particularly comfortable at this point, because you're meant to be sitting up in it, not slumped and draped like you're pouring out of it. Your neck aches a bit at the angle the backrest holds you at, and your eyes focus briefly on those same golden details, on the richly carved armrests, all reminders of what this throne represents. Power, control, dignity. Everything you currently do not possess as you writhe in the arms of your knight, reduced to a wanting body, canting your hips into their mouth, almost laughing in delight when you feel them moaning on you more frequently now. A being as pathetic as this has no right to sit on the throne, and it makes it all the more delicious.
Your hand at your mouth suddenly reaches back and grips the frame of the backrest as you feel your peak approaching. "I'm close, dear knight," you gasp, shuddering and throbbing in their mouth. "Gods, I'm so, so close…"
Imagine your knight swallows around you and stays there, hollowing their cheeks and almost growling on your cock, an unspoken order in itself, and you have no choice but to obey it. You cry out as your back arches, pressing the top of your head into the back of your throne as the heat races through your length and spills down your knight's throat, pleasure gripping and squeezing you as you spend yourself with about as much dignity as a common whore.
vaporwave
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
