It starts with Loki's low whisper in your ear.
"Tell me, my love, have you ever attempted to please three lovers at the same time? Taking one inside your sinful little mouth, another between the rounds of your backside, and a third lying beneath you, inside your core to the hilt?"
You blush crimson and shake your head, wondering where he is going with this.
"No? I admit, the idea arouses me greatly. I should like to conjure three copies of myself, and then watch as they claim you. Would you consent to that, for the enjoyment of your king?"
Your breath catches in your throat. You're not afraid, exactly, because he's asked some fairly challenging things of you in the past, and you've never regretted indulging him, not once. But this....this is a whole new level of challenging.
His eyes gaze at you, eager and emerald green, and you can't bring yourself to refuse him. He won't allow you to be truly hurt; he never does. So you trust him yet again.
"Yes, Loki," you whisper back. Out there, he is 'My King', but within the confines of this room, he is 'Loki'.
His smile dazzles you, and already you feel better about this. He gets out of the bed, still naked, and drapes himself over the ornately carved, deeply cushioned chair nearby. You flush, remembering all the things he's done to you in that chair in the past.
He motions lazily, eyes locked on you, and the air around you shimmers. Strong arms wrap around you from behind, teeth teasing at the side of your neck. If you didn't know better, if you didn't see your king sitting right in front of you, you would swear this duplicate was him. It feels like him, it sounds like him, it even smells like him, of leather and metal.
You push back against the clone, moaning at the feel of him pressed hotly against the back of your thigh. Clever hands cup your breasts, fingertips trailing around and around your nipples, and you groan. You're not sure what you were expecting, but you welcome this gentle, sensual approach.
The double rolls you onto your back, pressing kisses all along your throat, and you squirm, clenching the bedsheets in your fists. He makes his gradual way down, kissing and nipping, lingering at each breast, then down further, pushing your legs wide apart.
Another clone materializes from the air next to you, making you jump. He smiles at you, gently and encouragingly, in stark contrast to the powerful hands that seize your wrists and pin them up over your head against the soft pillows. A gasp tears itself from your throat and you twist against his grip, as the other clone, between your thighs, dips his tongue between your wet folds.
He knows your body well, does your King, and thus so do his copies. You are slick and aching within moments.
"Easy, love," the clone next to you says. He kisses you deeply, swallowing your next sounds as his partner in crime spreads you wider, slipping teasing fingers between and around sensitive folds of skin.
It's too much, you're drowning in sensation. How will you handle it when the third clone joins the fray? You can't focus, your thoughts scattered and rent in pieces by sensation. The first clone holds you wide open, making long strokes of his tongue from the tight hole between your buttocks right to the top, where he teases your sweet spot with a few quick flicks of his rough tongue, before starting all over. And the newer clone has already made his way down to your breast, nibbling gently at each puckered nipple.
You can't silence the noises you are making, even if he wanted you to (and he didn't say so, so you assume you are safe from punishment). You turn your head at one point, seeking his approval, and the sight of him sprawled in his chair, hooded eyes watching everything as he lightly strokes himself...you know you would do anything for him. He's never had to mind-control you, not like the others; you gave him your obedience willingly.
