At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 06

So this was his means of prompting a reaction out of her. Her toes curled reflexively. On the one side, this was terribly intrusive of him (to the shock of no one). On the other, what was there to stop him? If there must be pain, wasn't it good that he was extracting it from some part of her that she couldn't care less about? Her thoughts drifted from one point to the other in her attempt to reason her way out of the reactions he seemed to desire.

She could hear the snipping sound of scissors, here and there, ostensibly giving a preliminary trim. Why did he have to be the one to do it? Doubtless he had any number of underlings he could assign to the task. But she knew why. He wanted her to associate these intrusions with him, wanted her to understand his direct power over her.

He set aside the scissors. Unnecessarily, he said, "Hold still, now."

Just get it over with -

Suddenly, there was a powerful warmth against her womanhood, and she had to stifle a quiver at the sensation. Some heavy, viscous substance was being drenched over her hairs - it was hot to the touch, but not scalding, and the feeling might even be called pleasant in another context, aside from its terrible strangeness.

"Feels interesting, doesn't it?" said the King, mildly.

He pressed at her thigh, forcing it even wider, so that he was able to paint her with more of that hot substance. No, she thought, as her legs strained against their rope bonds - again to no avail, as she continued to be held wide open for his attentions. Here and there, his fingers slipped between her folds (in that intrusive way of his), leaving no part of her unexposed to his reach; soon, she was entirely encased by the warm coating.

At some point, complete indifference had ceased being an option. That terrible flush was blossoming in her cheeks, and she could feel her face heating up from the (literally) warm intimacy, from the strange (also literal) hotness pooling from between her legs and the center of her core.

This, of course, did not escape him for a second. "My goodness," he said, with perfect smugness. "You do seem to be reacting. Is there some life in you after all?"

Her chest trembled delicately with suppressed, uneasy breaths. It was nothing, it was nothing. If she repeated the mantra enough, perhaps it would be true.

She saw him pick up a cloth, her teeth clenching together in anticipation - before she felt the fabric against her nether lips, his fingers pressing firmly and smoothing over. Just as she was recovering from this stimulation, he applied another strip, and then another, each time with the same firmness - and a lingering sensuality that had to be intentional.

She tried to focus on the sharp pain that was surely to come, and held her breath against his ministrations. For every part of her that threatened to enjoy these sinister movements, she bit back against the inside of her cheek. She thought of the cliffside view of their morning journey, of the ocean spray that carried in from the distant breeze. Anything but the moistness in her folds beginning to join heated cloth.

These unbidden feelings were in no danger of disappearing quickly, however; the King seemed willing to wait patiently until the adhesives had cooled in full (or until she had suffered sufficiently).

When he did tear off a strip, it was without warning - in one sharp, abrupt move.

She sucked in a breath, sounding suspiciously like a gasp. Her thighs (and the rest of her) could not help but flinch at the stinging - further struggle held back by her bonds, which did nothing but add another element to the humiliation. Her lips were clamped tightly together in an effort from emitting more involuntary sounds, as he continued to remove the strips, his fingers inescapably ruthless in tearing off each one. And she remained pinned there all the while, unable to squirm away from his intentions.

It was, at least, over quite quickly - the King apparently had just enough mercy not to prolong the pain (though not to refrain from looking amused by her reactions).

"That didn't hurt, did it?" he said, with the same affably false concern.

Her next few breaths were uncertain, eyes nearly watering with fresh tears, but she would not be goaded into speech.

He did watch her for it - perhaps expecting a plea or two, but when he was met with silence, he merely smiled. "Impressive," he said. "Let's see if you continue to hold up."

She again felt the heat against her labia, the sap-like warmth once more oozing over her nether regions as he made his second application. It was already sore with the aftershocks of his last treatment, echoes of pangs nearly driving her to trembles once more. She must have been ... swollen, by now, but he wouldn't have allowed her to be permanently damaged, would he? No, she was - a prized possession, and this too would come to pass.

She only need endure.

And perhaps she might even thank him later (not tonight), she thought, with stubborn cheek. This was apparently very trendy.

"Just making sure you're absolutely smooth," he informed her, cheerfully, as he smoothed over more strips of cloth here and there. "Nothing but the best for my Queen, of course."

His fingers danced over her sex, separated only by fabric and paste, and the way they applied pressure was still annoyingly distracting, even in the midst of her predicament. Her head rolled back against the bedcovers, her wrists straining despite herself against the bounds, as if prompted by some primal urge to wrap around herself, to cover herself, and to make herself small.

"I think we should be all set now," he said, evidently pleased by the coverage. He glanced up to her, his brows rising slightly as if concerned. "Are you ready?" he inquired, despite knowing full well that no answer would be forthcoming.

Her eyes glazed over as they stared listlessly at the ceiling. Endure.

"Well, if you insist," he said.

He reached for the first strip, but this time, paused deliberately before his first move; he eyed her, as if to exchange a shared joke. When his fingers did grasp the cloth, it was only to tug lightly at it - a false scare, and one that he was happy to laugh at. Would that she could control these involuntary tics of flinching and tensing.

Finally, he did strip away the fabric - the pain that visited was sharp and biting, if temporary, and followed by several more of the same as he moved from cloth to cloth. The last piece fell away moments later, leaving her free at last.

She gulped down air, recovering gradually, some part of her still quivering. It wasn't even the pain, which was sharp but manageable - but his involvement and the invasiveness that went with it, which seemed to heighten the experience to a different intensity.

In contrast, the King appeared to be largely nonchalant, in the way one might observe a pet that had been groomed to one's liking. He looked over his work, fingers intrusively pressing newly stinging skin so as to command a better view - each touch eliciting a little flinch from her.

Were they - done? She dared not feel relief, for fear of even this little amount of hope being torn from her.

"Yes, much better," he pronounced, satisfied. He smirked at her, drawing a finger casually over her sex, now utterly smooth and barren of hairs. "It feels nice, doesn't it?"

It felt raw.

And how was she supposed to know how it would have felt against a fingertip, hands tied as they were?

"Well, it'll feel nice for me," he went on - and in the end, that was probably what mattered infinitely more. "But in the meantime, I do want to make sure you're not too sore."

He shifted, and she heard the sound of some vial being unstoppered. A faint fragrance floated through, smelling vaguely of rose petals.

"This should help with the stinging." Again his fingers trespassed. The substance was warm, but more mildly so, with an oil-like consistency that settled soothingly over her skin and softened the flickering remnants of discomfort.

What was that? Was he helping her? Alais writhed slightly, uncomfortably, against the towel and sheets. She did not trust his gentle touch, but her mutinous body responded all but gladly to it. Her knuckles whitened with a tortured sort of frustration.

"As sensitive as before, I see," said the King, with a grin. His fingers worked slowly about her clit, massaging the swollen skin there with a tender, knowing touch.

"Oh," he continued, as if he had forgotten. "I should mention that this balm does have other uses." Mischief alighted in his eyes. "I've been told that it also functions as an aphrodisiac, when administered correctly."

Of course he did.

With rising panic, Alais willed her body to lay still, but, true to his words, there was a growing heat pooling from his ministrations - where the oil was smeared against her. The needy feeling that slowly gripped her was more fervent than anything natural, and now she knew why. No no no. Her breaths turned feverish as her eyes squeezed shut, her head burrowing to her side.

"Not that you need it, of course. But I like to help where I can," he said, his grin only widening, with vicious satisfaction. He smeared another dollop, for good measure, his finger wriggling in a final tease - before abruptly retracting, and leaving her bound body aching for attention.

The King left then, gathering all of his various supplies along with him, and the bed shifted back into place now that it was no longer dipped toward his weight.

"You are very dedicated to this silence of yours, aren't you?" he mused, as he crossed the room. Making use of a basin, he rinsed his hands of the wax and oils (and, loathe as she was to admit it, probably some of her own natural lubricant).

She did not turn her neck to gaze up at him defiantly, for that would have been to give in to his taunts. Her shoulder offered a much more pleasing view - even if she had to glare at it in all her helplessness. Her body ached powerfully for ... friction, of some kind, any kind. There was a terrible feeling of emptiness, and of the yearning to be filled. It was not her will, she insisted to herself, as she fought back against further tremblings.

"Let's see. Perhaps I might tempt you into speech yet." He strolled leisurely back to her, settling back onto the bed. The same smirk broadened his lips, at her squirming. "You do seem like you're hungry for some attention."

Her periphery caught a - was that a riding crop in his hands?

The instrument had a sleek look in his hands, from thick handle to tapering cord; the leather creaked as he idly twisted it in his fingers.

What new degradation did he have in store? Her pulse hammered loudly in her ears and she shifted again against the covers, limited though her movements were. If she were not so convinced of her indifference, she might have been in danger of mistaking her feelings for excitement. The promise of friction.

It was not her will.

"Such fidgeting," he remarked. His smile definitely had a cruel glimmer to it now. "What happened to all that stoicism before?"

He allowed the leather to touch the skin above her collarbone, tracing down slowly. The crop circled over her chest in the same leisurely way, before - with a casual flick of his wrist - he snapped it across her breast.

There was a thrill of pain. Though it was light and fleeting, the shock of it brought her back, awakening her from the haze of his aphrodisiac. Her features winced involuntarily, her body tensing in its bonds, but after that - she smoothed herself ever, expression drawing to a willful blank, and resumed her focus upon her shoulder.

This was easier, in fact. Pain was easier.

More flicks fell upon her breasts, extracting small flinches beyond her control. She shifted, pulled against her ropes, but only ever succeeded in the smallest of movements. He held all the control, and she had none; it took only a lazy motion of his hand to strike her exactly where he wanted, and she could do absolutely nothing to resist. Each one of his blows left a red impression against her skin, a further mark of his ownership.

"A strong showing, Alais," said the King. "But I know you aren't invulnerable. Sooner or later, you will cave to me."

The last lash was stronger, and made more painful for its contact with her nipple.

A breath sounding almost like a whimper tore from her; nonetheless, it was only a breath.

He studied her; his enjoyment was unmistakable in his attentiveness and the deeper quality of his breathing, but there was also something clinical and almost methodic about his analysis, as if he were hunting for a weakness.

"You will give voice before this night is over," he said, quietly. "Whether or not your speech comprises actual words - well, I suppose that will remain to be seen."

He flicked again, but this time the crop struck lower, leaving a searing kiss across her cunt - all too easily inflicted, what with the perverse way the ropes still splayed her open. It was the shock of the impact upon such delicate (and very recently abused) flesh which jolted her more than anything. Her lips parted, an unspoken cry shuddering out from her - unspoken, though, it remained.

Flushing furiously, she buried her head against her shoulder.

From the corner of her vision, she saw the King's eyes fixed upon her, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. But there was no mistaking a flicker of frustration when she maintained her silence - though oddly, this also seemed to sharpen his interest, for he leaned forward closer to her.

"I've been holding back, Alais. You really shouldn't tempt me," he said, almost genially. "I like my challenges, but..." He traced the crop along the curve of her neck, consideringly. "I wouldn't want to damage you too much. Just yet."

He grinned again, as if he were joking - but it was always hard to tell with him.

"Though." An odd look touched his features, as if struck with an idea. When he smiled this time, it came slowly. "Perhaps I've been going about this the wrong way. Your sensitivity has always been more to do with pleasure than pain, hasn't it?"

Of course he would.

He grinned at her reaction, and shifted. After a moment, his hand meandered down to her sex, still spread wide for him, and there his fingers worked their way into her folds. Involuntarily, her hips twisted as he played with her, but any attempt at escape was impossible. Instead, her hands closed and unclosed where there were tied, sparks shooting up her spine as he teased and tweaked at her sensitive nub - her reactions still magnified by the effects of his aphrodisiac. She could not help tensing, fighting against the unwanted impulse to buck against his kneading. It was a losing battle - why had she tried to resist when she knew this?

He laughed. "Very good," he observed. "Just as receptive as before."

It wasn't until she was squirming that his hand retracted, reaching for that fragrant vial he had only just set aside. Opening it, he applied a liberal coating to the handle of the crop, so that it glimmered slickly under the light.

Knowing what was coming, and what her body's traitorous reaction would be, she resumed her struggles against the ropes anew - for the first time that night, with real fervor. Her fingers gripped the rope frantically, pulling at it with all her strength; her legs strained desperately to seal herself from his unwanted (wanted?) trespass. It was all to no avail. The rope dug into her skin, holding her limbs taut; her naked body remained spread and helplessly vulnerable before him.

The King looked upon these struggles with merciless eyes. If anything, his smile grew wider.

Slowly, he lowered the crop to where his fingers had recently vacated, and she felt the stiff handle pressing upon her entrance. With a push, the leather was thrust into her tight cavern, the warm oil both easing the penetration and heightening the lustful tingles already plaguing her. Though its girth was lesser than his own, she clenched instinctively with a gasp, tensing around this latest intrusion.

Mouth shut to stifle all other sound threatening to sing from her throat, she remained stubborn in her attempt to hold her silence. If she had managed that one night without moaning pathetically, silence was not an impossible cause.

The crop was forced deeper, until it filled her fully, the rest of its tendrils jutting out between her legs.

"I know you want this, Alais," said the King. He withdrew the handle, with agonizing slowness, only to impale her again. "There is no reason for you to deny it."

There it was, that slow slow friction - and along with it, a budding wave of sensation spasming from her lower abdomen that threatened to overwhelm her. Uncertainty gripped her as her lips parted for a shaky breath to slip through.

Again he retracted the crop, and again he thrusted, building up a rhythmic cycle. "Cry out for me," he murmured, in a lower voice. "Give in."

He continued to pummel her, his motions gradually growing in speed and intensity. Each plunge caused thrills of pleasure to course through her body, feeding the need that was growing to a feverish pitch in her body. It was all building and building, toward something all-consuming, and it was all she could do in her frenzied state not to thrust or arch toward that violation.

She was bound too tightly to even writhe properly. Of all the battles to choose from, what made this one worth the effort? What did it matter to her if she did or did not cry out? Her limbs twisted for release, and still she said nothing beyond the silent gasps and soundless, open-mouthed mewls that could not be helped.

The need was heightening uncontrollably, the pressure in her core overpowering all other thoughts and leaving her craving craving craving, until she was right at the precipice -

And, of course, that was exactly when he withdrew the crop in full, leaving her entirely unsated.

What? There was a sudden, terrible, overwhelming emptiness in her body, such that she at first only thrashed powerlessly against the rope, toward the pleasure that had been so cruelly denied. She felt confusion... and then a humiliated understanding. Her cheek fell slowly back to the sheets beneath her, and she shut her eyes against his complacent smile.

The King spoke his temptation. "If you but say the word, I will grant you the release you so desperately crave."

Her body burned with furious ache. Everything in her screamed for to give in, just give in, and be delivered into sweet release.

But there was something stronger in her that flared into resistance - a defiant spark that refused to be stifled. It took every higher conviction within her, but she suppressed the animal instinct that battled with her senses. She remained silent. If he wanted her to whine or beg, he would have to try another day.

This actually did prompt the slightest flicker of surprise over his features, and he merely stared at her for a few moments. His gaze lowered to the tiny spasms her body made, in resisting greater convulsion - clear evidence of the effects wrought upon her psyche.

"To hold back in the face of such desire," he remarked. His smile was faint, almost thoughtful, and less sardonic. "Well, you have willpower, I'll grant you that."

Though he looked vaguely impressed, there was also no missing the interest sharpening in his eyes, which did not bode well. "I don't know what meaning this battle has for you, Alais, but it isn't worth it. I will have your compliance, one way or another, and you'll only win more trouble for yourself by delay."