note; merry christmas?
tw; to fuck w it all you touch yourself, she listens so i guess exhibition?
you huff as you sit down on your bed, the duties of being a princess are taking a major toll on you, not only mentally, but physically as well.
there’s only one thing that can de-stress you— pleasure. and violet too. yup, your personal knight. you get soaked every time you think about her: her back muscles, her muscular build, her eyes, her huge hands, her back muscles, her voice.
everything.
as of right now, she’s posted up outside, standing like a statue beside your door. but, here’s the thing: every time you touch yourself, every time you mewl out her name, every time you cum on your fingers, you call out her name.
you’ve got no shame about it.
why would you, when you know she likes it; you see how she looks at you, you see the hunger in her eyes, you see the yearning in her eyes.
your fingers trace slow circles on your clit, your other hand playing with your breasts, breathing beginning to turn shallow.
the feeling of the numb pleasure from your clit makes your hips twitch, it leaves you wanting for more, and wanting for her.
“vi-violet,” she hears you sigh out.
oh how she wishes she could break down your door. how she wishes she could march inside and please you— she would gladly be on her knees, worshipping you like a goddess.
instead, she’s forced to listen to you outside while her hand grips the handle of her sword, frustrations emitting from her; anyone could see it if they could see her.
all she wants, no, all she needs is your pussy on her tongue. she needs to be with you, she needs to touch you, she needs you.
but for now, all she can do— all she is allowed to do is listen.
and listen she does.
