Your Servant Saber - (Fate) - [172 Pictures] (Patreon)

Master's Wish

The afternoon sun painted stripes of gold across the hardwood floor, catching dust motes in their lazy drift. I was supposed to be reading, a text on defensive spells, necessary but utterly unabsorbed. My eyes, however, had found a far more compelling subject. Saber.

She was in that simple white blouse and dark skirt, the clothes she wore when she insisted on “contributing to the household” despite my protests that a king shouldn’t be dusting. Her back was to me as she reached for a book on the top shelf of the small bookcase. The movement was fluid, precise, a warrior’s grace applied to the most mundane of tasks. But it was the way the fabric of her blouse tightened across her back, the way her skirt pulled taut over the curve of her hip and the incredible, round swell of her ass, that stole the breath from my lungs.

Her body was a paradox I couldn’t reconcile. The body of a warrior, yes—the narrow, toned waist I could see even through her clothes, the flat, defined midriff I’d glimpsed once when her shirt had ridden up. But it was also undeniably, breathtakingly feminine. Hips that flared wide, promising a softness that the hard muscle of her thighs belied. And that ass… it was a work of art, perfectly round and firm, a secret her regal armor had kept for centuries. I was lost, utterly and completely, my book forgotten in my lap.

Then she turned.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her piercing green eyes, the eyes of the King of Knights, were fixed directly on me. There was no shock, no fluster. Just a long, silent look that saw right through me, to every repressed thought and forbidden fantasy I’d harbored since she’d materialized in my life.

A subtle shift moved through her expression. It wasn’t anger. It wasn't embarrassment. It was something far more dangerous. It was knowledge. And beneath that, a flicker of something else, a quiet, regal challenge.

She took a step toward me, and the soft click of her shoe on the wood floor sounded like a gavel.

“Master,” she said, her voice the same formal cadence she used when discussing battle strategy, yet softer, richer. It washed over me. “You have looked at me like that for some time now. I am no stranger to the desires of men.”

I opened my mouth to stammer an excuse, a denial, anything. But the words died in my throat. She was still walking towards me, and the air in the room seemed to thicken with every step.

“But I am no ordinary woman,” she continued, stopping before me. I had to tilt my head back to meet her gaze. From this angle, she was every inch the king, towering and absolute. “If you want me, then have me. I am your Servant, bound to your will.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. Bound to my will. The words, spoken so often in the context of command and protection, now vibrated with a completely different, intoxicating meaning.

Her fingers rose to the top button of her blouse. My breath caught.

“Watch,” she commanded softly.

She didn’t rush. This was a ceremony, and she was its high priestess. Her fingers worked the first button free, revealing the pale, luminous skin of her throat. Then the second, the white fabric parting to show the barest hint of the swell of her breasts. My cock twitched painfully in my pants, my mouth going dry. She held my gaze, her green eyes unwavering, owning my shock and my desperate hunger completely. Each button was a deliberate act, a strip-tease performed by a queen.

The blouse slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor with a whisper. My eyes devoured her. She wore a simple, elegant bra, and the sight of her medium-sized, perfectly formed breasts cupped in the fabric was almost unbearably erotic. I could already imagine my tongue on them. But it was the rest of her that truly stole my reason. Her stomach was a marvel—flat, deeply toned, the muscles of a warrior's core clearly defined. It was a surface that promised both incredible strength and exquisite sensitivity, a map of power I ached to explore with my mouth.

Her hands then went to the clasp of her skirt. The sound of the zipper descending was deafening in the silent room. She let the dark fabric fall, stepping out of it with that same unconscious grace. And then I saw her. Really saw her. The wide, generous flare of her hips, a stunning contrast to her narrow waist. Her legs, long, powerful, and smooth. And the final piece of armor, a pair of simple white briefs that did nothing to hide the glorious, round perfection of her ass. The fabric stretched taut over those firm globes, outlining the crack between them in a way that made me want to bury my face there. It was everything I had imagined and more, firm, full, and utterly captivating. A light sheen of moisture was already visible on the fabric between her legs.

“Does this please you, Master?” she asked, her voice steady, though a faint flush had begun to color her chest.

I couldn't speak. I could only nod, my throat tight with a reverence I’d never felt before. This was Artoria Pendragon, the King of Knights, standing before me in nothing but her dampening undergarments, her pride intact, her gaze clear. She was offering herself, but on her own terms, with the absolute certainty of a queen granting a boon.

“You may touch now,” she said, the command sending a jolt of pure lust straight to my core, making my erection throb against my zipper.

I reached out a hand, my fingers trembling as they made contact with the warm, impossibly soft skin of her hip. She was solid, real. My hand slid around to the small of her back, feeling the subtle play of muscle beneath her skin. I pulled her gently towards me, and she came willingly, stepping between my legs as I sat on the couch. My face was now level with her toned stomach. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the warm skin just above the waistband of her briefs. I felt her sharp intake of breath, a small crack in her regal composure that was more arousing than any moan. I traced the line of muscle with my tongue, tasting the clean, faintly salty flavor of her skin, the slight tang of her sweat. My hands roamed up her sides, over her ribs, until my thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.

Her hands came up, not to stop me, but to reach behind her back. With a deft movement, her bra came free. I leaned back just as she let it fall, and my breath left me in a rush. Her breasts were perfect—pale, round, tipped with nipples that were a soft, dusty rose and had tightened into hard, begging peaks. They were perfect for my mouth. She was a vision of regal beauty and raw sensuality.

“I will serve you in this as I do in battle,” she murmured, her green eyes holding mine as she slowly lowered herself to her knees before me. “With everything I am.”

The sight of her, the legendary King of Knights, kneeling between my legs, was almost too much to process. My cock was absolutely rigid, straining against my jeans. Her hands were deft as they worked at my belt, my jeans. There was no hesitation in her movements, only a focused, determined grace. When she freed my aching erection, it sprang up, hard and leaking a bead of precum. Her eyes didn’t drop to it immediately. Instead, they held mine, a silent question. My answer was a ragged, desperate nod.

She looked down then, her gaze assessing, curious. Her hand wrapped around my shaft, her grip firm and sure, the touch of her warrior’s calluses sending a jolt of electricity through me. She leaned forward, and the first touch of her tongue was like a brand—hot, wet, and deliberate. She licked the drop of precum from the tip, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if savoring a fine wine. Then, with the same focus she’d give a sword drill, she took me into her mouth.

The wet heat of her mouth was incredible. Her head began to move, a steady, rhythmic bobbing. She was skilled, far more than I could have imagined, her tongue working against the underside of my shaft, swirling around the head with an intensity that made my hips buck. I fisted my hands in her short blonde hair, not to guide her, but just to feel its silky strands between my fingers, to anchor myself in the reality of the moment as her saliva coated my cock.

“Saber…” I groaned, her name a prayer on my lips as I felt the tip hit the back of her throat.

She pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connecting her lips to the tip of my penis. Her eyes, when they looked up at me, were dark with a passion I’d never seen. She was breathing harder now, her chest heaving.

“Let me give you more,” she said, her voice a low, velvety command.

She guided my erection between her breasts, pressing them together around me. The feeling was exquisite—the soft, warm pressure of her medium-sized tits, the smoothness of her skin, the way she looked down at where her body engulfed me, her expression one of intense concentration. She began to move, her breasts sliding up and down my shaft, and I felt another hot drop of precum escape me, lubricating the friction between her soft flesh. She was precise, strong, using her hands to maintain the perfect pressure. It was the paizuri of a king—focused, intense, utterly overwhelming. I could feel my cock sliding against her sternum, disappearing into the valley of her tits with every downstroke.

“Does this please you?” she asked again, her voice a little breathless now, a slight sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Yes,” I gasped, the word torn from me. “God, yes. Your tits feel incredible.”

But I couldn’t just receive. I needed to touch her, to worship her as she was worshipping me. With a surge of need, I pulled her up from her knees, my hands gripping her hips. I stood, and she rose with me, her body fitting against mine, her skin hot. I kissed her then, a deep, claiming kiss that was nothing like the respectful distance I’d kept for so long. She met my passion with her own, her tongue dueling with mine, a soft moan escaping her throat. I could taste myself on her breath.

I laid her back on the couch, her fair hair fanning out against the cushions, her luminous body a banquet laid out before me. I knelt between her legs, my hands sliding up her powerful thighs, pushing them gently apart. The final scrap of fabric was a damp, flimsy barrier, the crotch completely soaked through. I could smell her arousal, a musky, feminine scent that drove me wild. I hooked my fingers into it and drew it down her legs, tossing it aside. She was bare before me, the pink, glistening flesh of her sex fully exposed, hidden only by a neat triangle of fine blonde hair, now matted with her moisture. Her pussy lips were swollen, parted slightly, inviting me in. I lowered my head, my breath hot against her most sensitive spot. I felt her whole body tense, her hands flying to my hair.

“Master…” she breathed, the formal title now a plea.

I licked her, a long, slow stroke through her slick folds, collecting her wetness on my tongue. She tasted incredible, clean and womanly, with a sharp tang of lust. I found the hard bud of her clitoris with my tongue and circled it slowly, reveling in the way her hips jerked, the way her breathing fractured into sharp gasps and little moans. I could feel her losing that iron control, her warrior’s discipline crumbling under the assault of pure sensation. I sucked her clit gently, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. When I pushed a finger inside her, she cried out, her inner walls clenching around me. She was so tight, so hot. I added a second finger, stretching her, preparing her, while my tongue continued its relentless work on her clitoris. I curled my fingers, searching for that special spot inside her, and when I found it, her whole body convulsed.

“Enough,” she gasped, her voice strained, a command and a plea wrapped in one. “I want… I need you. Inside me. Now. Your cock. I need it.”

Her command was my undoing. I rose over her, my erection pressing against her slick entrance, the head nudging against her clit for a moment before finding her hole. Our eyes met, green on brown, and in that look was the culmination of weeks of tension, of awe, of desire. I pushed forward, entering her in one slow, deep, inevitable thrust.

She was incredible. Tight, wet, and impossibly hot. Her pussy walls gripped me like a velvet fist, pulling me deeper. I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers as I stilled for a moment, letting us both adjust to the incredible feeling of being joined. Her hands came up to cup my face, her green eyes fluttering.

“Move,” she whispered, a king’s command, a lover’s plea.

And I did. I moved in her with long, slow strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back into her wet heat, watching her face, watching her pride melt into ecstasy. Her lips parted, her breath coming in soft, rhythmic pants and breathy moans. Her toned legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. I could feel her climax building, her internal muscles beginning to flutter and clench around my shaft. I wanted to feel it, to be the one to shatter her control completely.

I increased my pace, driving into her with a primal rhythm, my balls slapping against her ass. Her nails dug into my shoulders, a warrior’s grip, and she cried out, her back arching off the couch. “Yes! Master, yes! Fuck me, yes!” Her orgasm wracked her body, her inner walls clenching me in a vice-like grip that sent me hurtling towards my own peak. But I held back. Not yet.

As she lay beneath me, panting and flushed, her chest heaving, her pussy still quivering, I pulled out of her. A small sound of protest escaped her, but I was already moving, my hands on her hips, turning her over. She understood immediately, her warrior’s instincts taking over. She rose onto her hands and knees on the couch, presenting me with the breathtaking sight of her round, firm ass, her back arched, her head turned to look at me over her shoulder. In that pose, she was the perfect fusion of queen and offering—powerful and vulnerable. I could see her pussy from behind, wet and ready, and the tight rosebud of her ass just above it.

I couldn’t resist. I leaned forward, running my hands over the smooth, perfect globes of her ass, squeezing the firm flesh, spreading them slightly to get a better view of both her holes. Then I positioned myself behind her, my erection sliding through her slick folds, nudging against her clitoris before finding her entrance again. I pushed inside her in one smooth motion from behind, and the feeling was even more intense. Deeper. More primal. My cock sank into her to the hilt.

A sharp cry was torn from her lips as I filled her completely. I began to move, my hips slapping against her round ass, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room mixed with the wet sounds of her pussy. I reached around, one hand splaying across her toned stomach, feeling the muscles contract with each of my thrusts, feeling my own cock moving inside her. The other hand tangled in her short blonde hair, not roughly, but possessively, claiming my Servant completely as I fucked her from behind.

“Is this what you wanted, Saber?” I grunted, my rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding as I pounded into her tight pussy. “To be taken? To be fucked like this? To be claimed?”

“Yes,” she moaned, her voice thick with pleasure. She pushed back against me, meeting my every thrust, her own desire now fully unleashed. “I am yours… my Master… fuck… I am yours. Harder!”

Her words, her complete surrender within the structure of her unwavering pride, was the final trigger. I felt my own release building, an unstoppable wave. I pulled her hips back harder, driving into her with a desperate, consuming need, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. Her second orgasm hit her as I slammed into her, her body shuddering violently, a long, low moan of pure ecstasy escaping her lips as her pussy clamped down on me. That was all it took. With a final, deep thrust, I followed her over the edge, my own orgasm exploding inside her, wave after wave of intense pleasure ripping through me as I painted her inner walls with my hot cum. I buried myself as deep as I could, holding her hips against mine, feeling her inner walls milk me dry, feeling my cock twitch and spurt with every last drop.

For a long moment, the world consisted only of our ragged breathing, the frantic pounding of our hearts, and the feeling of my softening cock still nestled inside her, surrounded by our combined wetness. Slowly, reality seeped back in. The slanting afternoon sun, the dust motes still dancing, the scent of sex, sweat, and cum in the air. I released my grip on her hair, my hand sliding down to rest on her hip as I gently withdrew, a trickle of our fluids escaping her well-fucked pussy and running down her thigh. I slumped onto the couch beside her. She turned, her body curving against mine, her head finding its place in the hollow of my shoulder.

Her green eyes, still hazy with satisfaction, looked up at me. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—a rare and precious sight from the King of Knights. She reached up and traced a finger along my jawline, then leaned in to kiss me softly.

“My Master,” she whispered, her voice soft yet resonating with the ancient vow of a knight. “From this battle, I will never withdraw.”