At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 10

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*****

The maids had left her with a fresh chest of day gowns the following morning. Now that there was (inexplicably) less guilt in enjoying herself, Alais perused through the fine silks and fabrics leisurely, still in her evening shift.

There was the sound of footsteps behind her, hardly enough warning before a heavy hand came to rest over her hip. "Good morning there," said the King.

She jolted only slightly with surprise, before her lips drew into an unimpressed line - which may or may not have been a bit feigned. Nonetheless, she reached back and prodded him on the side, where he was proven ticklish. "I thought you'd started your day before me."

A laugh escaped him, but he did not prove so easy to deter, now that he was becoming more acquainted with her tricks. His fingers closed about the wrist of the offending hand, and then her other, disarming her from further attack. "So I have. And now I've returned. Is it any wonder I couldn't stay away?"

Her arms squirmed in his grasp, an annoyed sigh coming out from her, albeit one more playful than foul-natured. "Will you let go, please. I need my hands."

"Do you?" His tone took on a playful air. "Perhaps what I've planned for you doesn't require the use of your hands." He joined her wrists together, so that he held it with one hand - his hold (annoyingly) strong - so that his other might come to rest at the curve of her ass.

It was too early for this. At least, it was much earlier than usual. Her breath wavered with a nervous hitch from the touch of his hand. "...Is this vengeance for something? What have I done now?"

Another chuckle sounded, as his hand continued its trespass, now all but fondling the plump curves presented to him. "Vengeance? Are my attentions so terrible to you? And here I thought you were in love."

His hand paused its groping, only to give a playful little pinch.

"But--" she started, words dying out with that pinch. Small blessing she'd kept her face turned away from him, with the flustered look it held now. There was no moving away from him. There was no longer any need to move away from him - but even if that was the case objectively, was this not even the slightest bit embarrassing?

"You're so silly," she finished, swallowing.

"And you aren't?" he returned. "I don't know that you're the paragon of propriety either, what with how often you try to tickle your King." His voice turned playfully considering. "Such unseemly behavior shouldn't be allowed to go unpunished."

This was met with some attempt at nervous laughter. "I'm not unseemly; you're the unseemly one."

"And now you insult your King to his face," he mused, in the same mischievous manner. "The list of your crimes just grows longer and longer." He almost managed to sound disappointed, in his teasing way, as if he were earnestly concerned for the ill behavior of his subject. There was a pause, as if he were appraising her (or her posterior). "Some might even say a spanking would be in order."

Alais resisted the impulse to scoff, even playfully. He was terrible enough that he actually might. She struggled to stand upright, but he kept her easily bent over by grace of the hold he had over her hands. "You can't punish me like a child."

"No?" His hand smoothed over her rump again, as if about to make good on the threat. "Why not?"

Releasing a sigh of frustration, she let the side of her face fall against the foot of the bed. It was becoming a strain to hold herself up - but now the front edge of the chest was beginning to dig into her belly. "Because - because that would be even more unseemly. May I get up?" Her eyes flitted over a strand of loose hair nearing her face, which she blew back with a puff of breath. "Please?"

"Oh, but you're giving me such a good view, Alais. Would you really be so heartless as to deprive me?" he said, laughing. "No, I don't think I'll let you free just yet. I haven't even properly enjoyed you."

These intentionally lewd remarks were accompanied by an almost audible smirk. His hand finally left her hip, only to reach over to rummage around in the chest.

"It's... early..." One of her own hands tried to slip out of his vice grip, a feeble attempt at escaping this cumbersome position he had her locked, but he kept her easily pinioned despite her efforts.

He found one of her scarves, red and silken, and drew it out before her eyes.

"Is it ever too early for love?" he returned, his teasing on this point never quite diminished.

"It is when it's uncomfortable," she lamented drolly. "What are you doing now?"

Unfortunately, comfort seemed only in danger of further waning as he took her wrists and began wrapping the scarf about them. The texture of the fabric was soft and silky, but there was no mistaking the firmness of the bonds as they wrapped around and around her limbs - trapping her. As he knotted the scarf, it drew tight against her skin, capturing her hands fast behind her.

Heat coloring her cheeks, she strained a bit to glance back at him in silent complaint. Her limbs wormed and fidgeted with protest. Was he really tying her up again? Was she not compliant enough in her new mode that they could dispense with such...unpleasantries?

"Is that really -" Her breath caught when the last knot drew taut against her skin " - necessary?"

He laughed again. "Oh yes. I'm sorry for taking such measures," he continued, without sounding sorry at all, "but you've proven yourself quite dangerous if I leave you unsecured." He was grinning again - there was no need to look at him to tell. His voice was a lower murmur in her ear when he added, "And I can't help but enjoy the way you squirm."

It was something about the way he said it that sent an odd thrill through her, but she did not have enough time to process it (and its awful implications) before he took hold of her, his arm encircling her waist so that he might cast her over the bed instead. Her adrenaline heightened as he tossed her, breaths tearing from her lips.

The mattress was certainly softer than the chest, even if she remained bent face-first over it all the same. "See?" said the King, in an amused tone. "I do care for your comfort."

"You're - you're incorrigible," she retorted lightly back, struggling to contain her stammer. Her hands twisted in the silk scarf, but to no avail; the knot had been firmly tied and there would be no escaping its capture until her husband released her. This was not a desperate struggle for her life, anymore, but still she somehow felt herself entitled to some contest for her dignity. (And a contest against a warring instinct that found something inherently provocative about being trussed up before him, which she didn't want to think too carefully about.)

Finding no give in her bonds, she tried to twist around from her position - only to be foiled by a heavy hand at her back, keeping her pinioned there. She writhed, but the King only pressed her deeper into the soft bed.

"What does that make you then?" he asked, lightly. "Would a true lady flounder so?"

His hands found the hem of her night shift, and before she knew it, he was drawing away the thin cloth - higher and higher yet, bunching it about her waist, so that there was only the scant covering of her smallclothes to protect her. He hooked his finger under this too, and gave it an unceremonious tug so that it fell away.

"I never claimed to be a true lady." She stalled her squirming though, at the final exposure, her breaths growing deeper in alarm. Fittingly, her mind managed to distract her with pecuniary details. "Is the door locked?"

"Always so practical, Alais. So concerned about your umbrellas and your towels and your locked doors." There was the telltale sound of the loosening of breeches, behind her. "You needn't worry. I have ensured our privacy." More amusement. "You are quite at my disposal."

The mattress, at least, was soft against her chest. She inhaled sharply, the muscles in her legs tightening in spite of herself. This was more sudden than those other times. More abrupt, and massively less predictable. He hadn't given her the opportunity to prepare. Or to cope. Her bound wrists flexed nervously.

"But - why this way?" she tried again. It felt more barbaric, even slightly demeaning, to be laid face down for his taking - the way animals rutted.

"Because I wish to savor you in every way I can," said the King, smoothly. "You will be experiencing many things with me, Alais. This is the least of them - but kind as I am, I am willing to begin slowly, so as to gradually broaden your horizons."

Slowly, she felt his cock brush across her entrance; rather than pressing further, he began to rub up and down against her, his member hard and stiff between her nether lips.

She flinched at this contact, all those sensitive nerves lighting up despite herself. "But -" she tried again, but it was now even hard to grasp at distractions, what with all those...stimulations he was exciting within her.

"Feel how hard I am for you, Alais," he said, still in that low way. "Does it not gratify you that you give me this pleasure?"

The deep thrum of his voice was exactly the opposite of relieving, as if her level of fluster could not go higher. And he was hard. Rigid, unyielding...yes, it was a little gratifying that she could excite these feelings in such a powerful man - who must have at any number of women and pleasures at his fingertips - but only a little. Of course.

"You didn't need to tie me up," she protested, latching onto a different topic. Anything else. "I would've been good."

His quiet laughter suggested that he suspected the deflection for what it was. "I don't think you would have," he replied. "But I don't blame you. Being good all the time can be boring, don't you think?"

There was more of that tantalizing friction between them, that teasing way his member prodded against her ever moistening lips.

She turned her head and buried her face into the bedcovers, stifling the whimper which threatened to break.

"But I think you are gratified," he continued, his words coming slowly as he worked himself against her. "And you are uncomfortable with your gratification, aren't you? Because, unlike the rest of your love, it is not a pretense."

There was probably some truth to his speculations, none of which she wished to dwell on. If only she had time to clear her head, to put some distance between them - but no, she was bound and draped over the bed, trapped by the looming presence of the King behind her. Perhaps if she willed it hard enough, she could sink straight into the mattress altogether.

When he moved again, it was to take possession of her; she could feel his hard length forcing its way into her, in all its uncompromising thickness and rigidity. Buried though it was, her face contorted in a confusing mixture of tension and almost pleasure. But it was painful too. The first stroke was always a little painful.

So followed the second thrust, and then the third - each penetration seeming to stretch her further, reaching deeper and deeper into her core. His hands were gripping her hips, keeping her firmly affixed for his ravishing, so that there was no escape from each new violation. There was something innately more raw and animalistic about this position, the way he was pounding into her the way a beast might savage its mate.

And it was more barbaric. She could not see him; there was only the feel of him, bearing down upon her in every which way - the way his cock reamed her, the way his hands moved to grope her breasts. The mattress squeaked beneath them and his onslaught

It felt crude and exquisite and -

*

" - dangerous. Isn't this dangerous?"

She could hear the wooden vessel creaking beneath her and shivered. The remediating scent of lake water surrounded them fully, a cool breeze rocking the top of the barge. Her fingers curled and bunched up the layers of cloak and gown spread beneath her, so that her knuckles drew white.

"You haven't forgotten the last time we were on a barge?" She never before feared sailing on even the smallest boat; here, however, her pulse beat uncontrollably.

The King was looming over her, his mouth doting on her neck. His hands had claimed her wrists, pinning them on either side of her (as always, a casual deprivation of resistance), and his body heavy where he'd mounted her waist. Pressed against her like this, she could feel him slowly hardening with each of her blushes and suppressed moans.

Out there had been the cool breeze of the lakeside, but within the cozy compartment of the barge seemed only the musky smell of him. "It's perfectly safe," he murmured, as his teeth nibbled playfully at her skin. "This vessel is much larger."

When she could scarcely budge from side to side, she tried shifting upwards from the frenzy of his attentions. The sensory assault was too much, as always, but this time things were different (if the barge weren't evidence enough). A budding unease was seated in her belly. "The rowers - they're just outside," she whispered, the hush of urgency about her.

He only chuckled. "They're slaves," was his response, and his amused expression would not have been out of place had she been protesting the presence of furniture.

"People," she emphasized. It was so callous how he regarded other humans as mere property. Perhaps it was not even unusual, in Obsivia, but she could not be so cavalier about it.

Was it how he regarded her too, as property, to be played with however he liked? Once he tired of her, and had taken his promised Vale, would he discard of her in favor of the next toy? She vowed that she would not be so easily disposed, that she would give him just as much trouble as he gave her - if it came to that. She was playing up this farce now, but only because survival dictated it. There would be opportunities at court. There had to be.

If only he would stop that distracting...ravishing of her neck. He had also finally relinquished her wrists, only for his fingers to settle on the swell of her breasts, beginning to fondle them through the velvet and lace layers of her gown. "They will not give us trouble." His lips were soft and almost tender as he kissed her, in contrast to the rough kneading of his hands. "No one will. You are mine to enjoy, wherever I like."

Her nose wrinkled. "But they still have ears." When scooting would not work, she lay there, trapped in dizzying enrapture. Still she was conscious - perhaps overly so - of the thin separation of walls between them and the people who rowed laboriously away, and for distraction, reached up to tickle his chin.

"And so what if they hear us?" he returned, in the same tone, still in that amused way of his. "What do you fear from them?"

His hand slipped down to her side, answering her gesture with a little tickle at her waist. That was, before he shifted down entirely and began gathering up all the layers of her skirts.

"Fine." But she still wiggled and squirmed, almost like a fish. It was only appropriate, since they were out on water.

He laughed. "Why do you always struggle so?"

"I'm not struggling. You're struggling." It was a nonsensical statement. "I'll just have to keep quiet then."

"Oh, you'd better," he said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I wouldn't want to have to gag you again, would I?"

She could never tell when he was actually being serious, but she supposed that added a flavor of mystique in their dealings.

The fabric of her gown bunched up at her waist, under his care, whereupon he turned his attention to loosening his breeches. Again, like in the same part of the same song and dance, her breath caught in her throat, an uneasy anticipation building.

He observed her flustered expression, a look of complacency writ on his face. "Perhaps it is not they you fear," he said. "Nor I. You fear yourself - and your own responses."

He sheathed himself within her, hands tight on her waist to prevent her from bucking away - and again, she could feel the fullness of his manhood stretch and penetrate her, all the way to the hilt.

"Why," she started between gasps. "Why must you always have your way?" The smooth wooden finishing beneath her creaked with his tempo.

"Because I can," he said, his words coming slower as he pressed into her. "And because you want me to. Don't you?"

There had always been a gentle swaying to the barge, and now it felt compounded with his rhythm - back and forth, deeper and deeper.

Her legs quivered around him, each brush against sensitive skin triggering barely controlled shudders about the rest of her body. Her lips pressed into a thin line, holding silence and refusing to cry out. Just as promised. But her answer to his question might have still been in the arguably provoked spark in her eye.

The pale blue of the sky gleamed from the windows, from which also filtered sunlight and the light croons of birdsong. Here, in the middle of the lake, surrounded by air and water from all sides, they were utterly isolated from the world and there was only each other's bodies to get lost in.

There was almost a bliss to how wanton this was, to not have a care in anything but the indulgence he promised. Even if every soul (not only rowing but waiting at shore) knew what they were doing. Even if she hadn't forgotten who he was and what he stood for. Even if being tangled up in him so pleasurably was a little -

*

" - degrading. That's what this is."

Her wrists tugged experimentally against the tension of her binding ropes. Then her ankles. And yet, the premier thought in her head was nothing more overwrought than a simple: again? She liked to think she wasn't overwrought. The apprehensiveness of the spread position might not have been one she could've denied, but this was ... starting to get silly anyway.

She liked to think those were her positions on the matter.

The King was at the foot of the bed, where her legs were so lewdly splayed open and held in place by the ropes. He scarcely paused in his attentions, his mouth still lavishing kisses over her thigh. "Why do you say that?" was the teasing response.

"Because - it is. And what if I have an itch?" His stubble scratched and tickled the unblemished white of her skin.

"Then you can tell me," he said. His lips twisted into a smile, against her skin. "Do you not trust me to care for you?"

His mouth continued traversing up, closer and closer to her womanhood. There was not even the gauzy shroud of her night shift to protect her, for he'd deprived her of it already.

It would have strained her neck to look him back in the eye, so her head continued to rest against the wealth of pillows and cushions, slumping a little to the side. "Not when you don't trust me to the use of my hands."

He chuckled, and this time he did pause, shifting to get a better look at her. "It's not a matter of trust, Alais. It's a matter of enjoyment. This way you are fully accessible for me." He allowed his hand to roam over her flat belly, as if marking territory. His smirk widened. "And you don't even have to pretend to struggle, too."

Her leg turned, and almost seemed to nudge him as much as it could. "Yes I do," she returned, sounding small.

"You don't, because struggling is useless." His fingers closed around the ankle of the offending leg, giving it a quieting little squeeze. "You are quite helpless. So you will have to do the unthinkable, and let yourself enjoy it instead."