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It’s Good to be the King

Yhe palace released the official report on the King’s birthday weekend. This version may raise a few more eyebrows, but it does remind us all that …

 

It’s Good to be the King
By James, for Keith, on the first day of his next year

 

Everybody who lives in time grows older, even succubi and incubi. Everybody who notices the passage of minutes hours, days, weeks, months, years . . . millennia . . . also deals with the pleasures and problems of some sort of aging. There may never be a grey hair; there may never be so much as a laugh line around the eyes, but everyone for whom a clock has meaning experiences the passage of time.

Even the King of the Incubi.

For Keith, King of the Incubi, consort and, more importantly, Eternal of Her Majesty, Tera, Queen of all Succubi, Ruler with her of the Succubi Realm, the passage of the past year had been . . . somewhat less than he had hoped. It had begun with losses and pain for his Eternal, and as fast as they had recovered from those, they had found themselves in a long journey of family loss. They were both okay, but this was not a year that His Majesty had any desire to celebrate.

And yet, time marched forward, as it always does. When August came again, after a quiet, candlelit dinner, the King took his red-tailed love by both hands, kissed her deeply, looked into the depths of her so-green eyes, and, in that voice that made her melt, whispered, “My love, I really want you to skip the celebration this year.”

This wasn’t the first year when he had made this plea, but Tera recognized that this was very different. And so, she promised him, quite earnestly, that there would be no celebrations of that day; the two of them would spend it alone. Still, Keith was sure he saw the briefest glimmer of a twinkle in her eye. He consoled himself with the fact that a promise was a promise, and his Eternal would never break a promise.

Time, of course, not only marched on. It slithered, slipped, traipsed, and tip-toed, sneaking by as everyone—human and incubi—busied themselves through their days and nights, keeping body and soul together. In the case of incubi and succubi, of course, the more bodies and souls kept together, and the more possible positions they were kept together in, the better. Even as they frolicked and fed, slipping from one world to another, one time to another, one partner to another . . . or two, or three, or . . . well, Cassie’s personal best was twenty-three . . . their individual chronometers kept moving as they were meant to move.

Therefore, as August slipped by, languid and thick with humidity, and as, even in the Realm, everyone tried to avoid being slick with sweat save when they really, truly wanted to be, the King of the Incubi received an e-mail from his physician: his presence was requested for his first ouratoscopy.

“Time for the tail exam, eh, m’boy?” was all that Uncle had to say, though Keith was sure he heard the old incubi chuckle ever so briefly under his breath. “It happens to all of us, after a certain age, of course—we have to be careful about losing dexterity and flexibility back there, for the sake of our tailselves . . . not to mention our enjoyments of life and flesh.”

“I don’t have a tailself.”

“Of course you don’t, Your Majesty! Of course you don’t,” the sage advisor said with a slight sprinkling of sarcasm and a wink that almost no one else in the Realm could get away with. His Majesty raised an eyebrow as his elder went on, feigning not to notice: “Why, I remember my first exam, when I was just about your age—What century was that?—back before the days when this was done with scanners. Why, I could barely sit down for three days! Of course, the modern methods are much gentler.”

The old man stopped, turned, leaned on his cane, and turned to his nephew: “But, as King, you must receive the traditional exam! The health of your tail is nothing to be trifled with.”

The younger, red-tailed incubi was opening his mouth to protest when Uncle held up his hand. “I know you and Tera are not much for tradition, but this is one time when I told her it was imperative. You are to receive a traditional ouratoscopy, and you are to receive it on Friday! As happens with all royalty, it is scheduled for the day before your—“

“That day is NOT being celebrated this year!” The tone of the King’s voice told the advisor that even he dare not make light of this particular statement.

The remainder of the week passed slowly. It was uneventful, as well, which allowed Keith to keep an eye out for any clandestine planning that might be going on—and there was none—but also allowed him more time than he wished to fret about what Friday would bring. Nobody ever discussed what happened at ouratoscopies—not even among incubi—save to mention the discomfort that followed. Tera knew he was worried—she saw it—but this wasn’t the sort of thing he felt like he could discuss with his wife. Following the instructions he had received from Florence (his faithful physician), the King got a prescription filled for a thermos full of odd-smelling, pink-ish liquid: “Drink a cupful every four hours the day before your test, and no tail touching!”

His Majesty complied, and, by Friday morning, a butterfly flapping its wings on the far shore of the Lake of Fire created enough breeze at the palace for the royal tail to moan. He did his best to keep the sound nearly imperceptible, but the red-tail was a mad bundle of arousal as he shuffled, ever so gingerly, into the examination suite.

“You came clothed, Your Majesty?” Floreance barely looked up from her clipboard as she made notes. “How quaint. Never mind, just try not to let them push you over the edge as you disrobe, then lie down on the examination cot.”

The dark-haired incubi was surprised that the sheets on an examination room cot were silk, or that there were feather pillows to rest his head upon. He enjoyed that feeling as he settled down, naked and prostrate, on the cot, and he heard the click of Florence’s heels and the low hum of the scanner as she entered the room, lowered the lights, and turned it on. Even though the scanner never got closer than three inches from the royal tail, Keith whimpered and sighed as it passed over his hyper-sensitive appendage. Even so, as the doctor clicked the electronic instrument off, he felt extremely relaxed. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be the King.

There was a gentle purr, “Now to begin the traditional exam.” He saw a few of Florence’s titian locks out of the corner of his eye, and was just drowsy enough to wonder if he was dreaming when he felt the blue-tail’s soft lips of the back of his neck.

But when she squeezed his tail, running her closed hand from its base to its tip, his eyes opened wide. He wasn’t dreaming. He was sure that his aroused cries could be heard in every corner of the Realm Medical Center, but the place was actually quite well sound-proofed. He couldn’t seem to flip himself over as he grew rock-hard through the doctors clinical-yet-erotic manipulations, and, as she spent twenty minutes massaging the heart-shaped tip between her right thumb and forefinger, all while massaging his scrotum with her left hand, he was sure he was about to leave a puddle in the bed.

But there wasn’t a drop.

“So, how long do you need me to continue with this, sir?”

Able only to growl, Keith finally summoned the motor control to flip himself over, pull Florence to him, and kiss her so deeply that her knees went weak. “Y-Y-Y-Yes, indeed, Y-Your M-Majesty,” she meekly purred as she mewled and crawled out of the room.

The incubi, grateful for the end of the examination, fell back onto the cot, sighing deeply. He was just thinking about dressing and leaving when he felt soft, pillowy lips and a warm tongue around the tip of his tail. He looked down to see a caramel-skinned orange-tail whom he recognized as Suzette, Succubi Teacher of the Oral Arts. Half an hour of lingual luxuriations followed, as the incubi was driven further into arousal without release.

Succubi of all shapes and sizes, blonde, brunette, redhead, purple, blue, and pink-haired, punk and prissy, domme and delicate, continued manipulating, twisting, tantalizing, and knotting the royal tail in every conceivable fashion throughout the day. The King was constantly at the edge, sweaty, panting . . . at one point even lifted up by his sinuous red appendage as a succubi with impressive upper body strength bobbed his aching, throbbing, diamond-hard cock in and out of her equally powerful pussy lips. But he never submitted, leading each of them to a dreamy climax . . . and he never climaxed himself.

Even so, it wasn’t bad at all to be the King.

He was hungry, panting, once again face-down on the pillow, and a giant bundle of stimulation when he heard a voice over the speaker. It was Florence: “Congratulations, Your Majesty. You came through the ouratoscopy in flying colors, and don’t have to do that for another century. We’re all done with you for today.”

Keith took a deep breath, and was just about to decide whether he was strong enough to stand and dress, when he felt another tail twine around his own and felt a west of well-manicured nails walking up his spine. “Wait! I thought I was finished!” he protested.

A familiar voice, her breath warm on his ear, with the faintest scent of cherries, whispered into his ear: “You’ll be finished when I finish you.” Tera flipped him over . . . and he realized they were now in their own bedroom . . . where she proceeded to finish him.

He was able to cum several times through the night and the next day . . . when, as promised, the only celebrating involved the two of them . . . and was quite strenuous.

It was good to be the King.

Time, of course, continued to saunter down its path, and Keith, King of the Incubi, woke up the next morning snuggling his Eternal, who purred as he nibbled her ear.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that the bed was surrounded by most of the succubi of the Realm, all naked, presenting themselves to him. Cassie, of course, was first. His green-eyed wife whispered, “I promised not to plan a celebration yesterday, a celebration of the end of your year gone by. But today, we are celebrating your year to come. Of course, my darling,”—she kissed him deeply, then continued breathlessly—“I’m not sure how much of that year you will need to spend right here.”

All of their guests spent the next day or two helping His Majesty celebrate life . . . again and again and again.

It was good to be the King—especially with this Queen.