“Come.”

I step out of the dim antechamber, into the throne room. The noble throng parts. There is a chill in the air. The vast hall is heavy with silence. Anticipation.

I wear only my flimsy underwear beneath my tunic. As instructed. I have knots in my stomach as I bow before the seated queens. I am the only male present. The ladies attending court hang back, but I am surrounded. I feel their eyes pierce my back.

A lengthy pause. Only the flicker of torchlight flame moves. Still bowed, I wait for Queen Elisenda to speak.

“Greetings, servant. You may rise.

“You wish to be fellated by one of our Queendom’s outstanding whores. Is this correct?”

A murmur ripples through the hall. Suddenly I am ashamed. I feel my heart thump against my rib cage. Those who have been here before are sworn to secrecy, and I do not know the path ahead of me.

I cannot say it out loud. I look up and nod at her.

“Very well. You have served us well in the city garden for three years now. As you know, this is a matriarchal land and you will not rise to a higher station. However, you are now entitled to earn certain privileges. Along the lines of your request.”

The two queens, hunched forward now, fix their intent gaze on me. They exude power, but there is something else deep in their dark eyes. I sense it is impatience.

“You will now remove your clothing,” commands Elisenda. Her tone is firm and clear.

I look around the breathless hall, then back at the queens. My rulers are no longer young, but they are elegant, manicured and attractive in the glow. Queen Carmenita, to the left, sits back, a faint smile creasing her mouth, as if in expectation of something.

I pull my tunic over my head. A shiver. Now I step out my underwear. I am naked before the court.

“Skirts!” barks Elisenda.

Now each queen hitches her skirt to her waist. Attendants leap into action, attaching extensions to the front of each throne. The queens place their feet in the rests, legs splayed as they nestle down.

I blush, uncomfortable, to see that they are naked beneath their skirts. Yet my member begins to harden to their display.

“First you must prove your ability to perform oral sex on women, the rulers of this land,” continues Elisenda. “You may proceed.”

The court is hushed. I breathe in, climb the steps and kneel before Carmenita. Before me, a moist, tightly-shaved vulva.

Already I am forgetting the audience.

It has been three long years. At first I merely savour the taste of Carmenita. Our queen. My queen. I lick slowly, gently along her glistening, pink crevice. I paint broad, long strokes, tasting her tangy folds. My nose awakens too: the scent of nobility, yes, but above all the sweet scent of woman. Minutes pass. I feel a thrust from her loins as she pushes towards me, demanding more.

But I leave her, gasping. I move to Queen Elisenda. I want to probe deeper. She has a tiny, tight opening, but I pull her damp lips apart and thrust my tongue inside. She is sensitive; she moans at once. I thrust, delve, my insistent tongue buried within her dewy petals. Time loses me.

I move back to Carmenita. Lips on lips, hot breath on rosy folds. Then a nibble on her clitoris. Harder now, my tongue flicking. I can sense her quiver. She climaxes fast, eyes closed. Satisfied, dignified.

Elisenda aches for my return. Her release is nigh. Her kernel is ready, calling me to its pleasure. My tongue, moist with Carmenita’s syrup, teases her bud, then laps at it. Softly. Now she is there. It shows in her shudder, her flush.

The queens do not move as I stand back and bow to them once more. Their composure does not waver.

“You have done well,” smiles Elisenda. “Bring the whore.”

Somewhere a door opens. Murmurs again. I feel another surge of blood to my prick as my mind pounds with possibility.

Now she emerges. She is tiny: elfish ears and sparkling, willing eyes. Assured, she unfurls her black cloak. Creamy vanilla skin: she stands naked before me. My prize. My perfect prize.

She smiles. Not only with her lips, but with her green eyes too. And her eyes keep smiling up at me while she drops to her knees. Feeds me into her expert mouth.

The crowd fades out of mind. We are alone.

She takes me deep. Yet not so far that she cannot roll her tongue around and around my shaft. I feel its slithering splendour kneading my flesh, a hot massage in a wet cavern. All of me is in there, lost with her tongue, mesmerized. I am crawling inside her mouth, feeling it engulf me.

I am coiled now, weakening. She uses no hands. I look down past her pretty face and take in the triangles of her breasts. They frame my aching cock. Her taut nipples brush my legs as she moves in closer, crams my length deeper. On and on, she sucks.

Now she uses one deft hand. Unprompted, her urgency builds. Gently she stimulates the base of my shaft as her mouth changes tack, moving to an up-and-down deep throat. Her servile eyes still flick up to mine. I shudder and melt: these glances are too much. I throw my head back as her pace quickens.

I squeeze her pretty head with my hands but do not push. She keeps control as I tighten and unleash, spurting all I have into her throat.

The scene is back in focus. I become aware of the Queens to my left. They are still in their pleasure position. I register that they have been making sounds. Both have glistening fingers between their legs. I read ecstasy on their faces.

My prize has been their prize too.

This story appears in James Grey's Breaking Free anthology, which is available via jamesgreyauthor.com