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Negotiations

12

Percy's side of the bed is empty, again. The hour of the wolf has come and gone and the castle lies still and dark, it's moonlit corridors cold and empty. The stone tiles are cold beneath her bare feet, when she steps up to the corridor window. A million stars are blazing in the night sky above, below the watch fires on the walls are burning low. There is light in the kitchens, where the bakers have already begun their day, and in the top windows of the old keep.

Vex sighs quietly and pats down the halls to the old keep. Percy's office is on the top floor, above the old great hall, where two dozen clerks and engineers work on Whitestone's prosperity. The archives and offices are dark and still now, bureaus and writing desks and filing cabinets of black oak wood forming dark shapes in the twilight of her dark vision, but a glimmer of light is visible beneath Percy's door.

Vex slips in quietly and finds Percy bowed over the mechanical arithmetic engine with ledgers and letters piled high around him. His cloak hangs over the back of his heavy chair, his shirt sleeves are rolled up and bare feet are tapping a nervous rhythm on the heavy rugs on the floor.

"Still up, dear?"

Percy gives her a guilty smile and rubs his eyes beneath his glasses.

"The new sewerage system is behind schedule and if we want to head of the yearly bout of cholera, we need to be ready by the time the spring flood hits. We don't have enough copper sheeting and we are over budget as it is. I have turned Archibald loose on it, but I'm not entirely certain ..."

He isn't precisely lying to her but she knows his tells well enough by now to glean that he is also trying to hide something behind his wall of words. Something is bothering him.

No matter. She can wait him out until he is ready to talk and right now she has bigger fish to fry anyway.

She shushes him with a finger to his lips.

"Percival. None of that will be helped by you overworking yourself."

"I need to review the delivery schedule. The last snow storm has been playing merry hell with the road conditions and ..."

"And I'll help you in the morning. Right now you need a bath and some sleep."

She recognizes the obstinate set of his jaw. It's time to bring out the heavy ballistae.

"You will be able to server your people better, if you are not cross-eyed and drooling on your papers from sleep deprivation. Also, you promised Pike. Six hours of sleep a night. You promised."

She gently closes her hand around his throat and tilts his head back to stare him down, the specter of Pike's disapproval backing her up, until she sees the fight leave his eyes.

"Fine. If you are going to be a pest about it, we might as well get it done and over with." Percy huffs and starts extinguishing the gas lamps, lighting his office. She takes his hand and leads him to the private apartments of the royal family.

The enormous ovens in the kitchens and the castle smithy are stocked at all hours of the day and heat a large, copper water tank, providing hot water and heat to the baths, so the stone tiles surrounding the pool are warm and slick beneath her feet. She lights the gas lamps and collects soap, massage oil, shaving cream and razors, while Percy strips.

The warm golden glow of the lamp light paints his pale skin amber and Vex feels a rush of heat in her cheeks, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Blacksmithing and rapier and dagger play in the training yard have given him a thin layer of hard muscles but there are dark bags beneath his eyes and she can count his ribs and the knobs of his spine one by one.

His cock is heavy and pendulous between his legs and she feels the slow heat curling in her belly, the hitch in her breath, her nipples hard and hypersensitive against the silk of her dressing gown.

She is nude beneath the silk, apart from a fine gold chain around her ankle from Pike and an ivory bracelet wrapped around her biceps, which used to belong to her mother.

Years of living as a mercenary and hunter, longbow and quarterstaff and short-sword, have left her with wide shoulders and slim muscles in her arms, her belly flat and hard, her perfect bronze skin marred by a dozen faint marks of faded battle scars.

She moves with a dancer's easy grace, when she slides into the steaming water behind him, hooking her legs around his, spreading them and tilting his head back on her shoulder.

Her hand carefully massages his balls, feeling the prickly stubble on the baby smooth skin.

"Somebody needs a shave."

She can feel his muscles tense and sucks on his pulse point, making cooing noises. "Sussh, darling. No need to be nervous, I got you."

"Easy for you to say, you don't need to mess around with razors next to your delicate bits."

She brushes a hand over the mirror smooth swell of her prominent venus mons and dips two fingers into her liquid heat, rubbing her scent over his pink mouth.

"Advantages of being a half-elf. Don't pout, baby-boy. I'll take good care of you. Relax."

Her voice becomes throaty and deep, "When we are done, I'm going to please you with my mouth and throat. Would you like that, darling? I'm going to make you feel sooo good."

Using a soft red silk scarf she binds his hands above his head, to the leg of a stone bench at the edge of the pool; golden runes blaze on the red silk as the material tightens.

His body is stretched out before her, half submerged into water on the stone ledge, which forms the first step into the pool, beautiful and helpless. A surge of fierce tenderness and lust takes her breath away, as she brushes her hands over pale skin flushed pink by the water's heat.

"Relax, darling. I'm in charge now. It's no longer your responsibility or your fault."

Vex has never meet Percival the elder, knows only the empty sarcophagus down in the crypts, but she can't help but to hate and admire the man in equal measure. The unrelenting sense of responsibility, the uncompromising dedication to the well-being of his people above all else, which he installed in his son, drives Percy to lean against the world like a blade against the grindstone. It's a thorn buried in her flesh, but Percy wouldn't be the same man (brilliant and arrogant, proud and unforgiving against himself and others, cruel and compassionate, intensely, brutally pragmatic) without him.

Whitestone first. Everyone else, most certainly himself, second. (She lives in dread of the day the interests of her new home and her found family will collide.)

Tying him up, bathing him and shaving his body hair might be an unsubtle way to make him let go of his burdens, to make him set down the cross of responsibility for tens of thousands of lives, if only for a few hours, but it works and, on the plus side, it also happens to make her sex slick and needy with want.

He shifts and twitches in his bonds when she works up a spice scented lather and teases the soft brush across his nipples until they are hard and pointy.

She drags her blunt fingernails over the sensitive skin of his triceps until he shivers under her caress before she lathers up his armpits. She works the razor with infinite patience and care; he still bears the scars that were inflicted on him in the Briarwood's torture chamber and she would rather cut her own throat then to add to them. She is acutely aware of the privilege, she has been afforded, the trust he is showing her by allowing her this power over him.

She works her way down his torso dusting kisses and light scratches all the way, while he shivers and squirms languidly in his bonds.

His penis is already swollen and wet at the tip when she gets there, rubbing her face along his hardening erection like a friendly cat. Her full lips close over the very head and suck, peeling back his foreskin from his glans.

"Vex ..."

She kisses him tenderly on the mouth to shut him up.

"Shush, baby-boy. I didn't give you permission to speak. Let me. Leave it all to me."

He does.

She can feel him straining against his bonds but pays him no further mind as she seals her lips around his head and hollows her cheeks until he is hard like an iron bar.

With a wicked grin she crawls up his body and thrusts her breasts in his face as she leans over and goes fishing in the pockets of her dressing gown.

Finally she finds her quarry and pulls a finely forged gold snake from the silk folds of her robe.

"Look what Gilmore made for me, darling."

She hisses the command word and the cold metal statue comes to live, platinum inlaid runes glowing softly, and slithers down Percy's chest, carefully coiling around his sex until the skin of his testicles is stretched taut and his penis is hard and straining.

She brushes her lips along the shell of his ear, feels him shiver, flushed pink with the heat of the humid air and want.

"Do you know what it does, baby-boy?" she asks, kissing her way down his neck.

"It prevents you from coming. You will still be able to feel everything. Every kiss and caress, all the heat and needy want, but no relief. After I have cleaned you up, I'll tie you to the bed until you can do nothing but shiver and cry and beg and then I plan to spend hours with your beautiful penis in my mouth and my tongue in your ass, making you come again and again, only our friend here will prevent it, so you will climb the peak a dozen times but never fall.

Does that sound like fun, darling?"

Percy's pupils are blown so wide, the black is nearly swallowing the blue and his blush has spread all the way down to his chest and arms. Vex puts her hand on top of his wildly beating heart.

Percy clicks like a steely trading house vault, all complicated brass cogs and steel transmissions and interwoven springs, but she can hear the twang of internal stresses, the fault lines of too many obligations.

No matter, she will put him together right.

But first to take him apart.

She leans forward and whispers into his ear, "If you beg prettily for seven days and eat two meals a day and sleep at least six hours every night, I'll consider letting you come, assuming Pike doesn't object when she is back."

Her brush teases over his angry red penis, coats his testicle in shaving cream then follows the prominent vein at the bottom of his member to his head. She spends a few minutes with a lazy smile alternating between blowing her hot breath on his glans and swirling the baby-soft brush over it until his breath comes in soft whimpers.

She takes her time with the razor. Not a single nick is permissible; he has too many scars already. When she is done he looks like a slightly underfeed version of the marble statues that line the hallways of the Hall of Whispering Leaves in Syngorn, all smooth white skin and slim muscle.

She feels hot, her skin tender to the touch, fuelled by the dark lust her control of him brings. She wants to make him squirm and beg in breathless need. She needs this power to balance the scales.

She has given her heart too completely, too fully.

(Here is her dirty little secret. His opinion (of her) matters and that terrifies her beyond words.)

She is not used to being this vulnerable, has allowed no man power over her, since her brother and she left their father's house without a backwards glance.

Making him shatter, proofing to herself that he needs (wants) her, that she is worthy of being part of this city and its people, is suddenly the most important thing in the world.

She mounts him quickly, moans brokenly when he slides into her, where she is slick and swollen with want. She rolls her hips, pressing her breasts against the hard planes of Percy's chest, trying to ignore the bursts of pleasure, blooming in her belly, to take in every detail of his desperation.

"Fight it for me, darling. Try not to come. Please, you are so beautiful and strong, when you suffer for me. Please, fight it, my warrior prince, my darling boy. Don't come."

He strains in his bonds and she feels his abdominal muscles flexing as he struggles to do her bidding. She cradles his face in her hands, brushing tears from his cheekbones, while clenching her inner muscles around him.

Kissing him hard and pinching his nipples, finally tips him over the edge. He bucks against her but she keeps his forehead pressed against his, her eyes never leaving his.

All for her. All this want, the beautiful desperation when his pleasure plateaus just shy of completion and slowly decays to squirming, uncomfortable, breathless need, pink lips slightly parted in a silent moan, body undulating in slow sinus waves, water and sweat giving his skin a golden sheen in the lamplight.

She scoops up the memories, guards them jealously, squirrels away every moan and sigh like a brightly colored trinket.

She has always been a greedy girl.

Her sex is sobbing wet mess; the insides of her long thighs are slick and shiny with her juices nearly to her knees. Her clit is swollen and tender to the touch.

She wants to mount him again, grind her stiff pink pearl against his pubic bone with his member filling her deliciously until she comes like a star burst, all radiant fire and fleeting light.

She wants to worm his member in her anus, experience that dark, slow-boiling heat creeping up her spin and filling her chest, reveal in pleasure edged and tempered with pain.

She wants to take him into her mouth and feel his seed pulse on her tongue.

Doing the best to ignore the ache in her empty pussy, she works the soap bar over the pert swells of her breasts instead, teasing small, pink nipples into pointy numbs, works up a lather over the faint ridges of her hard abdomen.

When her body is slippery and gleaming with soap and bubbles, she slides over him, gliding her soapy breasts over his body. She takes her time, washing him, dragging the soft sponge over his armpits and feet and stomach, teasing a gentle finger over his anus. It's intimate and soft and charged with barely suppressed lust and the way he leans into her, like a sunbathing cat, when she is massaging soap into his scalp, all pink faced and pretty and so young, takes her breath away.

She saves his sex for last. He is tender after an aborted orgasm, shifting in his bonds, when she washes him, with little whimpers, that make her pause and close her eyes, leaning against him, while her pussy clenches hard.

When she is done he is falling asleep in her embrace, hands still tied to the edge of the pool. The hot water is making her drowsy and she doesn't fancy drowning in her own bath tub, so she ushers Percy out and towels him dry with soft flannel rags.

"Hands crossed behind your back, please, darling."

She gently cups his testicles and rolls the baby-soft balls between her fingers, then grasps his still hard penis and pulls carefully.

"Let's go to bed darling boy."

Percy follows her, still flushed from the heat, until she stops him by tapping him on the nose.

"What are you doing, baby-boy? I walk. Good boys crawl, you know that."

Percy flushes even brighter, but drops to his knees and follows her on all fours to the door connecting the baths to their private apartments. The fire in the heard has burnt down to embers, so she lights the oil lamps as he climbs on the bed, admiring the firm flesh of his ass and the proud jut of his rigid member.

By the time she is finished he has assumed the position on their bed. Lying back with his arms stretched out overhead, wrists crossed, legs kneeling, hard member trust upward and exposed.

She fastens the heavy, padded leather cuffs to the bolts in the bedframe, binds him stretched out and spread eagled.

She knows she should let him sleep, but he looks too beautiful like this with his eyes all wanton, so the tender goodnight kiss on the lips turns heated until she kisses him on his eyelids and works her way down his body.

He tastes of musk and the spring herbs of the soap and faintly of gun powder and steel, when she swirls her tongue around his balls, closing her mouth and gently sucking. The angle is not really suited to it, but she isn't deterred and spreads his lower cheeks to suckle on his hole, thrust her tongue in his heat until he is arching up to meet her.

There is a vial of oil in the nightstand but she has no patience for it and her pussy is sopping wet anyway, so she bites her lower lip against the heady rush of pleasure and coats two fingers in her juices, before sliding them into him.

Her fingers massaging his prostate, her mouth alternating between his cock and his balls she coaxes him through four aborted orgasms, before he finally breaks, pleading with her to stop.

"Please, mercy Lady Vex'ahlia. Mercy."

"Use your words, darling. What do you need? Be specific."

"I need to come. Oh god, I need to come sooo bad, please ..."

"Specific, darling."

"I want to shoot my come down your throat. I want to see you swallow it. I want you to spread my legs and slide your ivory dildo into my tight ass until I come all over myself. I want to be your good boy."

"You are. You are my good boy. And if you sleep and eat and take your punishment for one more week, I'll make you feel so good."

"Vex, pleeease ..."

She raises a brow and ungently pinches his nipples.

"Enough. I do believe it's your bedtime."

By now his sack is swollen and achy with unspilled semen.

She slides his cock, coated in pre-cum and salvia, deep into her throat, her nose brushing against the hard planes of his belly one last time for the night and enjoys his whimpers, before sliding up his body and kissing the tears of desperation from his eyes.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Six more sessions and you will have re-earned your privileges to come. Maybe if you are especially good, Pike will tie me to the bed and you can kneel over my head, sliding your member down my throat and watch how it bulges around your beautiful cock. Would you like that baby-boy?"

She cleans his face and genitals with warm water and a soft sponge, before throwing a sheet over his still bound form. She has to suppress a snigger at the way his straining erection is tenting the silk. Finally she piles heavy pelts on top of him and slips on a soft, black blindfold.

"Time for bed now, darling boy. Sleep well."

Percy has finally found his words again.

"Wake me by the second hour after sunrise, please. I have a meeting with Archibald."

"That's hardly four hours away, we agreed to six. Percy, I don't think..."

"The second hour, if you please Lady Vex'ahlia."

There are two ways that he says Lady Vex'ahlia, the first one belongs to her lover, friend and bed-slave, full of lust and trust and love, the second one to her liege lord and warmaster of a good-sized city state, who expects immediate obedience, even when tied to the frame of their bed.

"Fine."

She is too keyed up and sexually frustrated to sleep, but there is on odd sort of unspoken balance to it. She will sexually torture him and get off on the power rush, but she will not come and she will not masturbate until he can come with her.

She cleans the sticky mess between her legs, carefully avoiding her swollen clit, puts on a heavy morning gown against the chill and sends a servant for some of Percy's paperwork.

Sunrise finds her in the study, Percy peacefully asleep in the next room, poring over intelligence reports from all over Tal'dorei. Dranzel has been surprisingly useful in establishing a network of informers.

The power structure of the continent had been in tatters, even before the dragons came, with the guild leaders and merchant houses all but overthrowing Urial, only to be rudely interrupted by the dragons.

Now nine out of ten members of the merchant council are dead and the rest are missing their ships and riches. Emon is ruled by a nascent republic, heavily undercut by the Clasp. The Markgrafen, which were challenging central authority every turn even before the catastrophe, have given up any pretense of loyalty and are openly exerting their power. Two weeks ago the Markgraf of Stillben raided a village belonging to Kymal with 200 men. It's only a matter of time until open warfare breaks out between the petty kingdoms. Famine stalks the land, mountain giants and orc bands are roaming the plains in ever larger numbers.

12
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