Feeding the Throne
Valentina Lux
Ludovica Luxury: The Rule of Three
Dawn arrived with a familiar, twisting ache deep in my gut. I rang the bell. He entered on his knees, clad only in the threadbare grey shirt I permit on such mornings—a fabric so scant it serves as a constant reminder of his station. "Is breakfast prepared?" "Yes, Mistress." A sharp cramp seized me. The bathroom was occupied, my husband lost behind the door with his phone and his cooling coffee. There was no alternative. "Lie there," I commanded, pointing to the strip of bare, icy parquet flush against the foot of the bed. "Back flat. Align your head with the edge." He obeyed instantly, a full-body shiver wracking him as his skin met the cold wood. I knelt on the mattress, facing the headboard, my body arched over his supine form. Bracing my hands, I positioned myself directly above his face. "Open. You are my receptacle today. You will swallow everything." I bore down. The first release was slow and dense, a heavy, warm cascade landing squarely on his waiting tongue. I felt his entire body stiffen with cold and disgust. I lowered myself slightly, sealing him in. "Chew. Then swallow. Do not waste a single drop." His throat convulsed, but he managed it. I inspected: his face was soiled, the floor pristine. Satisfied. Another, more urgent spasm followed. This time, I shifted. I stepped calmly from the bed and sank into a deep squat over him, my feet planted on the floor on either side of his head, my thighs framing his vision. "Do not move. Keep your mouth open." The second offering was softer, a messier torrent that spattered across his tongue and cheeks as I rocked gently to empty myself completely. A trace remained on me. I laughed softly. "You've missed some. Use your fingers to collect it. Then clean them." A trembling hand rose, gathered the offering, and returned to his mouth. His tongue circled his fingers obediently under my gaze. He dared to hope it was over. He was mistaken. A final, faint tremor. I settled back into the same low squat. "There is a last piece. Open." I pushed gently, releasing a small, soft lump onto his tongue. I pinched his nostrils shut. "Swallow that as well. Then thank me." He gulped arduously, his voice shattered. "Thank you... Mistress." I rose, wiped myself carelessly with the sheet, and nudged his chest with my foot. "Get up. Finish the coffee. And pray the bathroom remains occupied tomorrow. Otherwise..." I let the smile touch my voice. "...you will go unfed." He crawled away, the front of his shirt stained, his back imprinted with the pattern of the cold floor, a broken whisper trailing behind him. "Yes, Mistress."
