At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 05

Then, just as she was almost overwhelmed, he retreated once more, after a teasing flick of his tongue.

This sweet torture was continued; he repeatedly toyed with her, only to leave off just when she neared the brink. By its end, she was almost worked up to a frenzy, and had to clamp down with an even greater desperation against the whimpers threatening to break through - frustration at her lack of relief for the build-up more evident in the flush of her cheeks and in the way her head fell limp toward the side. The build-up itself was harrowing - build-up to what? Some strange pressure pooled from her stomach, expanding and threatening to thrum throughout her body, somehow, but it did not. He had withdrawn again, would not let it, and there was no longer thought enough to stop an escaped moan.

The King smirked. "My poor Alais," he said, with not the remotest note of sincerity. "Do not worry. I will grant you your relief."

His hand moved to his breeches, tugging it from form and letting it join the rest of the discarded clothes at the bed's feet. Though she tried not to look, her eyes fixed on the jutting cock that was revealed. Woefully, suspicions of overcompensation (for that monstrous horse, those massive dogs, even the colossal palace) were not to be confirmed, for his member stood of substantial size and thickness.

Was that supposed to fit inside her? "I don't think -"

"Shh," he murmured. Her squirming body was kept pinned by his hands as he moved over her, any escape impossible. With her hands upon her face as she shuddered again and again besides herself, it was a mercy that she neither saw nor was in any position to anticipate the first, sorely slow thrust. Her already unstable breaths took a sudden hitch, his head prodding at her before gradually forcing itself through.

And slowly, he entered, pressing into her more and more; she felt every inch, felt herself stretching around him, felt her eyes drawing shut against the starbursts of pain. And just when she thought that every crevice inside of her was filled, that she could not possibly imagine the slightest more invasion - he pushed further yet, and she gasped as she felt the pressure of it, forced to give even greater way to his rigid length.

There was not actually that much pain - not nearly as much as there could've been - for all that he had readied her entrance; she was slick with wetness, and made half-numb by feverish arousal. But her inexperienced mind could not help but focus on the sheer intensity of it, heightening every sensation to the point of mental excruciation. She shivered beneath him, muscles tightening around his thick cock, her legs suddenly pressing against him.

The ragged noise pulling out of her throat, sounding suspiciously like a sob, was probably yet another mixed signal - but such was her own confusion. "Please, this isn't - right."

"Isn't it?" His lids were lowered, his breathing heavier with lust. "Is a man not meant to lay with his wife?"

With the same agonizing slowness, he began withdrawing, and she felt herself clench and unclench about him, letting loose a long exhale as she felt a sudden, relieving (in only some ways) emptiness in his wake. But then she felt his head brush against her lips again.

"No - you can't," she pleaded, and knew not if she really meant it.

"I can, and I will." The penetration was faster this time. She stiffened as he once more sheathed himself, and she felt the full violation of his member filling her utterly once more, leaving no part of her virtuous.

She struggled, in vain - he was too heavy atop her, his hands too strong over hers. If she were to confront herself, she also knew she wasn't putting real effort in resistance - how could she, when, as gloriously overwhelming as it was, it also felt so good?

He began thrusting now, his cock impaling her with slowly building rhythm, taking what pleasure he wanted from her body as she lay helpless and writhing beneath him.

Then he began to resume his other attentions. Still moving, he lowered his lips to her breast, clamping teeth to suck - before, thinking better of it, shifting to dote on her neck instead. His hands trailed down, finding their way to the abandoned post and cupping her breasts with rough and fondling fingers.

"I know this what you crave as well," he told her, and she was far too overwhelmed with all these stimulations to think of a reply. "Give in to me, Alais."

He was moving more quickly, fucking her more roughly - any restraint slowly but surely ebbing away. Her arms shifted of their own accord, hands blindly seeking purchase so as to save herself from being lost as he pounded into her. Alais liked to keep her nails cut and trim, but even so she managed to find a way to imprint tiny white crescents in groups of four over his back. She had never hated him, hated herself more than when the greed of her body finally overtook the restraints of her mind. What was the point of resistance if it ended in this? Where were her principles?

She had nothing more to say. There were the soft and pretty mewls, the uncontrollable sighs and shuddering breaths. Words escaped her utterly, and she was all but tangled up in her threads of insurgent pleasure. The initial pain, now an afterthought, had only seemed to lend to the intensity in some grotesque symbiotic exchange. While her tension had yet to escape her, it was just enough to grant him deeper access without burning more fire along her nerves.

There was nothing more to be said. She could no longer put two thoughts together. All at once she had the suckling on her throat, the calloused kneading of her soft breasts, and the maddeningly tight friction against her recently virginal womanhood. If she had to think, she might have thought there seemed to be one thing inexplicably amiss. But she was being pushed with such decisive force toward the precipice that it no longer mattered, that even her frustrated loathing did not matter.

Her legs clung onto him for dear life, as she shivered beneath him.

His self-restraint proved not to be boundless either. As pleasure consumed her, so too did it overtake him, seeming to seize control of his body and limbs in an animalistic pursuit of carrying them toward the end. He pummeled her, deep and hard, scarcely noticing such inconsequential things as her nails in his back or the bite marks he was leaving over her exposed neck. Such was the force of his ravaging that each thrust sent her breasts swaying, her small body trembling under the weight of his onslaught.

Her hands were roaming the landscape of his powerful back, one lacing its way into the back of his hair. Her neck had arched to grant his teeth more room for grazing, her hips squirming somewhat in concert as if to betray itself as a glutton for pleasure, pain, and for want of more, more, more. It was a ghastly conundrum to hate the idea of him but to love the feel of him. Inside, Alais wanted to claw her beautiful skin to ribbons for the treachery of her own desire.

No, don't, the tiny voice in her head cried out when his hot seed spilled into her, timed with his low throaty groan, but the rest of her was too blinded by the escalation of heated pressure to care. In the final few strokes, the climax washed over her in a wave. She felt herself spasming around him, distant stars in the back of her eyelids and a final gasp parting from her lips as she tightened again for him. The sharp jolt of pleasure coursed through her, the warmth of it diffusing through her body down to her fingertips and toes, and the heady rush of it all (exacerbated by the delay, delay, delay) left her momentarily dazed and out of breath.

As she gradually regained her senses, her limbs fell from him, lying limply back against the bedsheets. A muted horror settled thickly over her lungs, as the impact of just how receptive she was to his ravishment pulled her beneath the depths. It occurred to her that there were still tears in her eyes, but she waited silently, patiently for him to withdraw before pulling her own body back toward the ever-familiar edge of the bed.

He came to rest upon the bed beside her, and the mattress dipped toward his weight, annoyingly inclining it toward him. She turned away so that she did not have to look at him in her shame and defeat (inadvertently allowing for a different view of her naked skin, one that was no less enticing than the one before).

"So you would have me believe you didn't enjoy any of that, would you?" he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

When his last tease hovered mockingly in the air around her ears, she did not answer. Instead, she curled up, as though shrinking into herself. Her hands were on her face again, one covering insistently against a pursed mouth so as not to grant him the benefit of even one more sound.

How was she to live with herself?

*****

Authors: We hope you enjoyed that! From now on, there should be more steamy action going forward too - alongside the story and characterization! As usual, if you'd like to see more, we always appreciate your ratings, favorites, and comments (we reply to everything substantive). And don't forget to subscribe if you want an alert when the next chapter comes out!

By the way, a question- would you guys rather see shorter chapters come out at a quicker pace, or longer chapters at a slower pace? Thanks!