Featuring Carl XVI Gustaf, the King of Sweden
Chapter Seven: Hunter’s Reward
The black Jeep crunched to a halt on the gravel outside the secluded Västergötland lodge, its engine fading into the sharp, frosty silence of the November night in 2025. King Carl XVI Gustaf emerged, his 5 foot 10 inch solid, slightly stocky frame radiating the quiet confidence of a successful hunt. His black felt hat, adorned with an orange band and a spruce twig, tilted slightly, marking the days triumph fifteen elk, including a prized moose heifer. A bolt action rifle slung over his shoulder felt secondary to the pulse of desire drawing him inside, where Erik Olsson awaited.
The hunts raucous dinner had been a blur of clinking glasses and boasts, but Carl's focus had locked on Erik across the tent. The 29-year old’s tweed flat cap sat roguishly, dark green waxed jacket and checkered trousers hugging his 5 foot 9-inch athletic build, lean, muscular frame. Their gazes met, Eriks eyes sparking promise, recalling their stolen moment in a pine meadow earlier. Under towering pines, Erik had knelt on mossy earth, tongue flicking Carl's foreskin, tasting sharp precum amid resinous scents. The rustle of approaching hunters had forced them to stop, Erik whispering, “Senare, Ers Majestät.”
Now, Carls black hunting boots scuffed the frost kissed porch as he approached Erik leaning on the railing, green wellington boots planted firmly.
“You took your time, Ers Majestät,” Erik drawled, voice a velvet purr, green eyes glinting with mischief.
Carls lips twitched into a warm, self deprecating smile, his pragmatic nature surfacing.
“Good things come to those who wait, Erik though I suppose a king shouldnt keep his… aide waiting.”
His deep resonant baritone carried an affable yet commanding tone, honed by decades of public duty and private restraint.
The lodge enveloped them in warmth, stone fireplace glowing across wood paneled walls, air thick with burning pine, leather, and desire. A thick bearskin rug sprawled before the hearth. Carl propped his rifle against a chair, shedding hat and coat. Erik peeled off his jacket, vest, and red tie, trousers and shirt revealing his chiseled form, 7-inch uncut cock hard, smooth rounded head leaking precum that glistened in the firelight.
“Du har varit i mina tankar sedan ängen,” Erik murmured, fingers grazing Carl's jacket collar. “Under den där tallen… I wanted so much more than just a taste.”
Carl's voice roughened with need.
“Then take it, Erik. Serve your king as only you can.”
He unbuttoned his trousers, freeing his uncut 7.5-inch cock, pale shaft curving upward, pronounced rose pink head glistening, trimmed silver pubes framing heavy pendulous balls.
Erik knelt on the bearskin, coarse fur prickling his knees, hands steady on Carls muscular thighs.
“Låt mig smaka på en kung,” he teased, lips brushing the head.
He kissed the sensitive glans, tongue swirling under the foreskin, peeling it back slowly to expose the flushed head fully. Salty precum burst sharp and tangy on his tongue, musky with sweat, cedar, and the days hunt. Carl groaned deeply, fingers tangling in Eriks blonde hair, hips twitching forward instinctively.
“Fan, Erik… just like that,” Carl rasped, shedding his shirt to stand naked, firm rounded buttocks clenching.
Erik enveloped the head in wet heat, sucking intensely, tongue flicking relentlessly across the slit to coax more beads of precum. Wet slurps and obscene sucking sounds filled the lodge as his lips slid down the thick shaft, tongue tracing every pulsing vein along the underside. Cheeks hollowed tightly, saliva dripping messily, matting silver pubes and pooling on the rug.
“Sug hårdare,” Carl growled, glasses fogging, his pendant swaying with each thrust of his hips.
Erik hummed around the cock, vibrations shooting electric jolts straight through Carl's length. He pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting lips to glistening cockhead, then dove deeper throat relaxing completely, the swollen head grazing tonsils. Soft gags spilled thick saliva down his chin as he worked the shaft with greedy hunger. He sucked one heavy ball into his warm mouth, rolling it gently with his tongue, savoring the earthy musk, then the other, teasing the sensitive seam with firm laps. Licking slowly from base to tip, he deep throated again, gagging louder, eyes watering with effort and lust, nose eventually pressing into trimmed silver curls.
“You're too damn good at this,” Carl murmured, a self-deprecating warmth in his tone despite the regal edge. “Keep going don't you dare stop, my loyal subject.”
Erik alternated deep sucking pulls and shallow bobs, tongue swirling frantically around the frenulum while one hand kneaded and tugged the tightening balls. His other hand stroked the base in twisting motions, slick with spit. Carl's thighs trembled with building pleasure, but he wanted more. He pushed Erik back gently, cock popping free with a slick sound.
“On your back now,” he ordered, voice regal yet thick with lust.
Erik stretched out on the rug, legs parted invitingly. Carl knelt between them, blue eyes studying Erik's cock with open curiosity. His weathered hand wrapped around the hot shaft, signet ring cool against flushed skin, stroking tentatively at first then with growing confidence, foreskin sliding smoothly up and down over the leaking head. Erik moaned loudly as Carl's mouth closed around the head, tentative yet earnest. His tongue swirled the smooth glans, probing the slit to taste salty precum, growing bolder with each lap. Carl met Erik's gaze through fogged glasses, determination and hunger flickering there. He sucked tighter, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing slowly while his hand continued twisting strokes along the shaft, drawing deep guttural groans from the younger man.
Carl moved lower, parting Erik's thighs wider. His tongue traced the tight rim in slow, teasing circles, tasting clean skin and musk, then probed inside with wet, rhythmic laps, pushing deeper, fucking the hole with his tongue in firm thrusts.
“Fan, du är en snabb lärare,” Erik gasped, arching his back, hole clenching around the invading tongue.
Carl smirked, retrieving lube from his jacket. He slicked his fingers and cock generously. Skipping the condom was a bold intimacy, their eyes locking with shared thrill. Two thick fingers pushed inside, scissoring and stretching, curling to brush Erik's prostate repeatedly until the younger man writhed. A third finger joined, pumping steadily, making wet squelching sounds as Erik panted, hole clenching greedily around the intrusion.
“Redo för din konung?” Carl asked, positioning himself, the bare head pressing and rubbing insistently against the loosened entrance.
“Ta mig, Ers Majestät,” Erik growled, lifting his legs to hook them over Carls shoulders, green eyes wide with surprise and raw desire.
Carl pulled his foreskin back tightly, rubbed the slick head around Eriks pulsing hole, then pressed firmly in. The bare head breached the tight ring with a distinct pop, drawing mutual gasps. Raw, unbarriered heat and velvety tightness gripped Carl's cock like a fist, intensifying every ridge and vein as he sank deeper inch by throbbing inch until fully buried, heavy balls pressed flush against Erik's ass. He held there a moment, savoring the molten connection, then began thrusting pulling out slowly until only the head remained inside, then driving back in with building force. The loud wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the lodge, mixed with the obscene squelch of lube and precum.
“Fan, så djupt,” Erik moaned, clutching the bearskin as Carl set a steady rhythm, the bare contact sending constant shivers through both men.
Carl leaned in, sweat slick chest pressing against Eriks, pendant brushing skin. Erik grabbed him by the neck, pulling him into a fierce, hungry kiss. Their tongues clashed wetly, Carls initial hesitance melting into raw passion. His thrusts grew frenzied, balls slapping loudly against Erik's ass with every deep plunge.
“Do you love your king's cock?” he growled against Eriks lips.
“Ja, min konung!” Erik cried, sucking on Carl's tongue, his hole clenching rhythmically around the pistoning shaft.
Carl straightened, grabbing Erik's feet to hold him wide open. He pounded harder, one hand reaching down to masturbate Eriks leaking 7-inch cock in perfect time with his thrusts. Fingers wrapped tight, stroking with long, twisting pulls, repeatedly sliding the foreskin up over the sensitive knob and back down, thumb swirling across the slick head to spread precum. Eriks moans turned desperate and broken. After minutes of relentless ecstasy, he warned breathlessly, “I'm close jag kommer!”
With a sharp cry, Erik came hard, hot thick ropes of cum splattering across his toned stomach and chest, some landing on the rug below. Carl slowed briefly to watch the pulsing spurts, then resumed his assault, sweat dripping from his body onto Eriks. The room filled with the constant wet sounds of slapping skin, desperate moans, and Carls approving groans. He pounded faster, face screwing up in lust. Erik yelped through a second, smaller orgasm, more cum dribbling weakly from his cock. Carl's rhythm faltered.
“Förbered dig,” he grunted, pulling out with a wet pop and pressing his throbbing cock against Erik's balls and shaft.
Thick powerful streams of cum splashed across Erik's skin, coating his shaft, stomach, and tangling in blonde pubes. Carl smeared the warm seed messily over the younger man's body with his cockhead, then slid back inside bare and slick. He thrust slowly at first, savoring the cum lubed heat, then punishingly for another stretch, prostate hammering relentlessly. Finally, with a deep guttural groan, he came hard deep inside, flooding Erik's hole with pulse after pulse of hot cum, the raw intimacy triggering waves of pleasure for both.
They collapsed, breathless and entwined. Carls glasses sat askew, sparse gray chest hair slick with sweat, pendant resting against his collarbone. Erik traced the king's wristwatch with a lazy, satisfied smile.
“Du är full av överraskningar, Ers Majestät,” he murmured warmly, still reeling from the raw intimacy.
Carl chuckled, a rare, unguarded sound.
“And you're a dangerous addiction, Erik, but worth every scandal I've navigated.” He adjusted his glasses, pale blue eyes softening. “This is ours alone.”
Erik's grin widened, fingers brushing the signet ring.
“Låt dem ha sina älgjakter. This… is our secret hunt.”
The fire crackled, the Swedish night wrapping the lodge in secrecy. Hidden from Queen Silvia, the court, and the crowns weight, Carl and Erik lay together, bound by desire and the thrill of a forbidden reward.
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of King Carl XVI Gustaf or any person named Erik Olsson. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.
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