Erotic Short Stories for Adults: Witch Peach Conquers Queen Plum Chapter 2

The scent of my own arousal clings to the air—thick, sweet, like crushed raspberries left too long in the sun. My thighs tremble as I lift myself from his face, the Knight’s breath coming in ragged gasps beneath me, his lips glistening with what I’ve given him. His hands still grip my hips, fingers digging in like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. I can feel the spell humming between us, a living thing, coiled around his will, his resistance nothing more than a flicker now. His cock juts upward, flushed dark and throbbing, the tip already weeping for me.

I slide backward, letting my weight press down just enough to make him groan, his hips jerking upward instinctively. “Such a good boy,” I murmur, trailing a finger down the damp trail his mouth left on my inner thigh. “You worship me so prettily. But you want more, don’t you?” His answer is a broken sound, half growl, half plea, his throat working as he swallows. I can see the battle in his eyes—duty, honor, all those tedious things men cling to—crumbling under the weight of what I’ve made him need.

I rise fully, stepping over him, my robes pooling around my bare legs. The cool air kisses my soaked cunt, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his stare. He’s still on his knees, chest heaving, hands clenched into fists at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me. I crouch in front of him, close enough that my breath ghosts over his cock, and he shudders. “Tell me what you want,” I command, voice dropping into that dark, velvety tone that makes men’s spines melt. “Use your words, Knight. Or do I have to spell it out for you again?”

His jaw tightens. “I want to—” The words catch, like he’s choking on them. “Fuck you.”

A slow, triumphant smile curls my lips. “There it is.” I stand, letting my fingers dance up his chest, over the rigid planes of his armor, until I’m gripping his chin, tilting his face up to mine. “Then take me.” The spell flares between us, a pulse of violet light that ripples over his skin, and his resistance shatters. He surges upward, his mouth crashing against mine, all teeth and hunger. I laugh into the kiss, letting him have that much—letting him think he’s in control—before I shove him back onto the bed of satin and furs.

He lands with a grunt, but there’s no time to recover. I’m already straddling him, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips, my cunt hovering just above his cock. He reaches for me, hands rough with desperation, but I bat them away. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to touch until I say so.” His breath hitches as I sink down, just the barest inch, the head of his cock parting my folds. We both groan at the contact, the heat of him so close—but I pull back, denying us both.

“Peach, please—” His voice is raw, broken. I love the way my name sounds like that on his lips.

“Begging already?” I tease, rolling my hips just enough to let him feel how wet I am, how ready. His cock twitches, leaking against my thigh, and I can’t resist grinding down once, just once, letting him feel the slick drag of me against him. His hands fly to my waist, fingers digging in, but I slap them away again. “I didn’t give you permission.”

He snarls, a sound so feral it sends a jolt straight to my core. “Let me fuck you.”

I lean down, my hair curtained around us, my lips brushing his ear. “Since you asked so nicely.” And then I sink onto him in one smooth motion, taking every inch until my ass meets his thighs. The stretch burns, delicious and deep, and I throw my head back with a cry, my nails raking down his chest. He’s big—thicker than I remembered from the dreams I’ve conjured of him—and the way he fills me is almost too much. Almost.

His hands are on my hips again, but this time I let him. Let him grip me, guide me, as I start to ride him in slow, deliberate rolls. Each lift and fall drags his cock against that perfect spot inside me, and I can feel my magic thrumming in time with my pulse, binding us tighter with every thrust. His breath comes in sharp bursts, his hips snapping up to meet mine when I grind down, his cock hitting so deep I see stars.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, his voice rough with the spell’s influence, with need. His thumbs find my clit, circling in tight, demanding strokes, and I whimper, my rhythm faltering. He doesn’t let up, his touch relentless, and I can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly.

“That’s it,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Make me cum on your cock, good boy.”

His groan is guttural, his hips pistoning upward now, fucking me with a desperation that tells me he’s close too. The spell is fading—I can feel it, the edges of his control seeping back in—but his body is still mine, still obeying. I lean back, bracing my hands on his thighs, letting him watch as I ride him, my tits bouncing with every slap of skin, my cunt clenching around him.

“Peach—” His voice is a warning, a plea. He’s close. I can see it in the way his muscles lock, the way his cock swells inside me.

“Not yet,” I pant, even as my own release crashes over me, my walls fluttering around him, milking him. He curses, his hands flying to my hips, trying to hold me still, to bury himself deep, but I pull off him with a wet sound, leaving him gasping.

His cock is a dark, angry red, leaking pre-cum in thick strings onto his stomach. He reaches for it, but I bat his hand away. “Mine,” I remind him, wrapping my fingers around the base. He hisses as I stroke him, slow and tight, my thumb swiping over the slick head. The spell is nearly gone now—I can see the clarity returning to his eyes, the horror dawning—but his cock doesn’t lie. It jerks in my grip, desperate for release.

I lean down, my lips brushing the tip. “Cum for me,” I whisper. “One more time. On me.”

His breath stutters. “Peach—”

“I want to wear you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the underside of his cock, my tongue flicking out to taste the salt of him. “I want to walk around with your cum drying on my skin, knowing you marked me.” His hips buck, and I tighten my grip, denying him the friction he craves. “Cum on my tits, Knight. Show me who I belong to.”

A growl tears from his throat, and his hands fist in my hair, not to pull me away, but to hold me there, to use me. I open my mouth, taking him deep, my lips sealing around the head as I hollow my cheeks. His taste floods my tongue—musky, bitter, his—and I moan around him, the vibration making his cock twitch.

“Fuck—Peach—” His warning comes too late. The first jet hits the back of my throat, thick and hot, and I swallow around him, my free hand squeezing the base of his cock to milk him dry. The second spurt paints my lips, dripping down my chin, and I pull back just enough to let the rest splash across my chest, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. He groans, his body jerking with each pulse, his cum striped over my skin like war paint.

I sit back on my heels, my fingers trailing through the mess he’s made of me, smearing it into my skin. His breath is ragged, his eyes wide with something like shock, like he can’t believe what he’s done. What we’ve done.

I smile, slow and satisfied, as I wipe a droplet of cum from my lower lip. “Now you’ve really given me something to remember you by.” I press my fingers to my pendant, the silver warming against my skin, sealing the memory—the mark—into the magic. “Don’t worry, Knight. You’ll be back.” I lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, my cum-slick breasts brushing his chest. “You always are.”

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