At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 15

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She is punished for her disobedience.
20.7k words
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Part 15 of the 15 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 03/03/2016
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lady_temily
lady_temily
1,160 Followers

Authors: Thank you, as always, for bearing with our spotty activity! We couldn't ask for a better readership. Here's to another somewhat longer-than-average chapter!

And in case you missed it, this was our latest update in the comments, where we explained our absence:

"First of all, I want to make it clear that we have no intention of abandoning the story. We have the whole plot planned out, we're excited to share it with you, and we promise to see it through. It just might be a bit slow getting there, as things come up in our lives. Secondly, and no less importantly, I want to apologize for how much time has passed since our last update. We wanted to wait until we had some good news before posting, so we kept putting an update off until we could tell you that we'd finished the next chapter. Unfortunately, that took a lot longer than anticipated - we certainly didn't mean to go silent for so long.

"The reason this took so long is partially because of a new job starting for one of us, but also because of some personal issues and (admittedly) poor time management. We will do our best to get better, but unfortunately this story remains a hobby and we aren't able to give it first priority in our lives, no matter how much we'd like to be able to. I hope you guys can understand that. If not, and the wait is too frustrating for you, then you are of course free to simply stop reading. :P On the other hand, thank you for all the patience and enthusiasm that some of you have shared in the comments. It really means a lot, and it keeps us going!"

*****

Alexander eased back in his armchair, drink in hand. His mind was on the day's events and its many surprises - least of all the apparent threat that had marred the end: the headless statue of himself, no doubt a symbolic challenge to his rule. The perpetrators did have nerve (he'd give them that), staging that display in the midst on his wedding. Death wouldn't be good enough for these intrepid revolutionaries. He'd see them dismantled by agony. Slowly.

He sipped his drink, thinking to himself. He'd already caught most of the conspirators, in typically efficient fashion; mentally, he ticked off each of the names one by one. Duke Nolan, the financier of the scheme. Ser Lucas, a spy planted among his personal guard. Count Jarrett, the messenger. And the assassin himself, naturally.

All disposed of. But he was missing one piece - and the most important piece, at that. There was a mastermind behind all of these players, one who evaded justice even now. If Jarrett was to be believed, this puppeteer was even on the council itself. But who? It was as if he'd chopped off larger and larger parts of a serpent, but the head of the snake remained at large, ready to replenish its energy and strike again.

He had work to do. But now was not the time to resume his investigation, for it was his wedding night, and he intended to enjoy himself. Accordingly, his eyes wandered back to the door of the dressing room, where he'd instructed his bride to be stripped bare for him.

She had been radiant, his queen. A lesser beauty might have been swallowed up by the lavish attire, perhaps overshadowed - but not her. The luxurious gown had only accented her natural charms; the shimmering jewels had brought out the brightness in her eyes.

He knew he had been the envy of every man at that wedding, and he relished it.

But of course, the day hadn't been without its blemishes. His mind went to a less welcome memory - that of his wife, in all her grace, dancing happily on the arm of King Jehan. Even the thought of it summoned residual feelings of frustration. Disobedience from anyone was a rarity in his life; disobedience of an explicit command, on purpose, was still rarer. Few people challenged him these days, and there was a reason for that. Did she really want to try her luck?

It was true, though, that most of his anger had been dulled by a rather surprising discovery: she had been jealous. The idea fascinated him, and all the more because she had been so reluctant to admit it. He wondered what other secrets he could wrest from her tonight.

Neither would her jealousy, for all that it gratified him, save her fully from her fate. She had disobeyed him regardless, and there would be consequences for that - lest she think to make a habit of it. No, she would be punished.

And he was going to enjoy it.

*****

Her handmaidens (notwithstanding Bimba, who had been sent to rest for the remainder of the evening) removed each garment piece-wise; blessedly, the task of undressing was much less tedious than dressing, allowing them to finish long before their first candles needed replacing. As Alais stood waiting, a sickly knot had settled in the pit of her stomach.

He'd specifically commanded her to dance with no other man today, but it seemed such a trifling matter. Why did he care so much? It had just been the one.

Deep down, she knew it was the principle of the thing. He didn't like to be disobeyed, and now he was going to impress upon her the consequences. The satisfaction of defying him had not been fully extinguished yet, but she felt a shiver all the same at what lay in wait for her. Was it worth it? What would he do? He'd almost seemed amused by her jealousy (not that it was jealousy, she thought stubbornly), so perhaps that would dull the brunt of his vengeance?

She had almost felt affectionate of him, a few hours ago, after his procession of gifts - first, her handmaiden from home, and then, surprises of surprises, that thoughtful piece of dessert that had so oddly humanized him. Alais tried to bury such thoughts away. It was irrational for her, after all the injury that he had visited upon her. What about her revenge? What of her plans? She could not afford to soften against her resolve, or allow herself to lose sight of where her fake "love" ended and her true feelings began.

And she would only be disappointed if she formed any hope of his fondness lasting. He was notorious for his moods, and his interest in women was always fleeting. He was indulgent now, even charming, but would he not become cruel again once he grew bored? Was there a chance he would not? Would this "punishment" change things already?

She hated that a small part of her was also a little...excited by the prospect. She remembered the last time he'd punished her - the caress of that riding crop, the tingling arousal that he had elicited despite herself. Alais bit her lip, trying not to linger on the thought.

All these emotions whirred rapidly in her mind, but there was no time to delay any further as her handmaidens ushered her out. She emerged from the dressing room covered in a robe and shift, the garments thin and cool against her skin. She caught a glimpse of him seated in an armchair; her head tipped toward him very briefly before she made toward the bed, as though with no memory of his promise from before. Perhaps the scandal with his headless monument served distraction enough. Perhaps he would forget.

But no, she wasn't that lucky.

"Ah ah ah," said a chiding voice behind her. "And where are we going?"

Alais froze mid-step, the frequency of her heart palpitations rising as she turned slowly to face him.

The King lounged lazily in his armchair, wineglass in hand. He had changed out of his outer garments as well, and was currently clothed in only a loose-fitting tunic and dark pants; his shirt was light enough that the candles shed light over the toned muscles underneath.

She looked away, back to his face, hoping he hadn't caught her staring.

He took a casual sip, his blue eyes never leaving her. "As eager as you are to warm my bed," he said, with an amused quirk of his lips, "I've yet to punish you to my liking. Isn't that so?"

Indeed. Punishment. The King no longer seemed angry as he did, but she found that she couldn't always rely on her perception of his ever mercurial moods. While he sounded teasing, perhaps, she was prepared not to like this punishment, and could only steel herself for further humiliation, as her hands bunched against the collar of her robe.

In what ways could he degrade her more than he already had? No, there were still ways, and her body tensed a little with the onset of her rising anxieties. Eyes lingering on his chin, her features had settled into the expression of one who was only sheepishly bashful. She wouldn't allow him the victory of seeing her more heartfelt discomforts if she could help it.

"... If Your Majesty insists?" she quietly replied.

The King's gaze roamed her features as if searching for those very vulnerabilities that she was attempting to hide. In contrast to her apprehension, he seemed - as usual - relaxed and wholly at ease, as if he were treating himself languidly to some diversion.

"Oh, I do," he answered. "However, I am not unreasonable. If you entertain me well enough, I can find it in myself to be more merciful with your punishment." He offered a teasing look, as if to convey the generosity of this sentiment.

Her brows lifted, a breath emerging from her lips. There were innocent flavors of entertainment like singing or playing an instrument or dancing fully-clothed. Alais had no faith in his taste for innocence, but she was resolved to play her game nonetheless, her lashes blinking with confusion.

"But if you resist, I'm afraid I would have to resort to being more... stern with my discipline." He adopted a look of sympathy that was utterly unconvincing (not the least because of his smirk). "As loathe as I am to take these measures, how else would you learn the error of your ways?"

Alais shifted uncomfortably. While she hadn't planned on resisting, she wasn't quite confident that she could contain the more visceral of her reactions. "...Entertain, how?"

"Well," he drawled, "you could start by ridding yourself of your clothes." His grin was unapologetic, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly as if waiting for her to commence.

Alais kept herself steady, despite the hammering of her heart. Outwardly, her doe-eyed expression didn't change, didn't so much as blink. So far, so good.

"And yes, I remember how clinical you were last time. None of that now. You do love me, don't you?" He lifted his glass, as if in toast, a smile still playing at his lips. "Slowly," he instructed. "Sensually. Please me, and your punishment will be less severe."

What happened after wasn't prompt (he explicitly said the word slowly, after all), but there was nothing that could be described as resistance in her bearings. Her cheeks warmed at the instruction, but this wasn't so bad. She had lain with him dozens of times by now; to consider this too demeaning to bear would've been an odd contradiction to what she'd already endured. Right?

She could feel the cadence of her breath in her ears as she came up with the questionably novel idea to undress backwards, giving her a little more time (slowly) if not for the sake of it. After a little finagling and twisting of her limbs through her skirts, she managed to pull her smallclothes down to an ankle. She lowered her foot back and stepped out of the undergarment, eyes pinned to the floor all the while.

A chuckle sounded from the King, at her methodology. "Wanted to get that one out of the way, didn't you?"

He leaned back, making himself (if possible) even more comfortable upon his armchair. "Go on, then," he ordered. "And Alais - look at me while you do it."

Her eyes darted up toward his at the command with a swiftness which surprised even her. She understood the intent behind this command: he would not have her detach herself and make it easier - she was to see who she was doing this for, and what enjoyment she provided to him. His gaze was intent and penetrating, such that she tried to focus on his chin instead.

Meanwhile, Alais tucked her hands underneath the folds of her robe, maneuvering with the straps of the shift beneath her sleeves until they finally came loose. One of the nightgown straps caught near her elbow, where she twisted for a moment before the whole piece came tumbling down to her ankles in a pile of silk.

She felt him watching all the while, still lounging comfortably as she was forced to bare herself to him. It should have been nothing to disrobe, when he'd seen her nude so many times already, but somehow it felt different. He was so often the one to tear the clothes from her body; now it was by her own hand that each layer of protection was slowly unraveled. Did he notice her trepidation? Was he enjoying it?

All that remained was the gauzy robe, which she kept tightly wound about her with both arms hugging her chest. Nothing lay underneath.

When she paused at this final step, the King chuckled. "How many times have I seen you bare before me?" he asked. "And still you struggle with your modesty?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, just short of huffing at his remark.

Another slow sip from his glass. As he set it aside, however, he uncoiled from his seat, rising to his towering height before her. Leisurely, he approached, his footsteps echoing ominously across the oak floor.

Her heart hammered yet louder, and she fought the immediate impulse to back away. But she stood her ground, even as that knot in her stomach grew tighter.

"Not very sensual, as performances go," he commented. He was before her, so close she could almost feel the heat of his body; the candlelight outlined his tall figure and bathed him in its warm glow. (She hated how handsome he looked in the dim light.) His fingers came to her chin, directing her upwards. "And still you avoid looking at me."

He did not seem necessarily displeased by her performance, however hesitant and embarrassed it had been. If anything - despite his words - she suspected he enjoyed her show of vulnerability. His smile was ever present as he continued, "Perhaps you do wish to earn a greater punishment. It would make sense of the rest of your actions, after all."

At his accusation her eyes widened, sparks of indignation emerging in her brightly green eyes. "What? Do you know how difficult that was? More than it looked! You try stripping from inside-out." She made an audible puff of her cheeks, matched his gaze for a moment, before finally casting her eyes aside.

Honestly, though, there really was some deftness of hand involved. Certainly more so than your usual undress.

The King chuckled at her indignation. "I didn't ask for such a feat. You took it upon yourself."

He lowered his hand from her chin, allowing it to skim lightly over her neck. As a result of her backward maneuvers, the thin robe was the only fabric that separated her from him; it left her chest bare where it parted, and there it was that his warm fingers slowly drifted across, evoking a trail of goosebumps and gentle shivers in their wake. "What I did ask was for something sensual." His eyes were back to hers, a wicked smile at his lips. "Do you know how to be sensual, Alais?"

She was insistent enough to keep her arms clutched about her belly so that her rosebud nipples were still barely concealed beneath the sides of the robe. "I don't see what was so unsensual about that," she retorted back, continuing to latch onto her indignation - lest her nerves reclaim her. Her lips formed a pout.

"Then you have a lot to learn," he replied. His smirk widened. "How fortunate that I am an experienced teacher."

His hands found her wrists, gently prying them from her chest, and was not met with struggle but a dull sort of resignation.

"You have such lovely assets, my queen - if only you'd display them to your advantage," he chided, teasingly. And as with any monarch, commands issued easily from him. "Clasp your hands behind your back. You will keep them there until I tell you otherwise, yes? Or I will bind them instead."

He released his grip, so that she might attend to his order. She hesitated, but knew this was not the hill to die on. Her hands slid toward the small of her back until one wrist was loosely set on top of the other.

"Arch your back," he continued, casually. "Spread your legs a little."

"I don't—I don't see how that is more sensual," she said, clearing her throat. No, she did see why. But she was stalling, and they both knew it.

"That wasn't a request, Alais." It was subtle, she could sense it - that touch of danger in his voice that could always show itself at any time. She familiar enough with his moods now to know not to test it.

Reluctantly, she stood a little straighter. Her legs parted a touch, where they had previously remained carefully tucked next to each other.

"More."

He wedged his own foot between hers, and with a careless sort of presumption, nudged at her ankle so that she was forced to widen her stance even further. She gasped, but relented; it was not like she could overpower him when it came to physical strength. Instead, she could only let him maneuver her to his liking: her feet were now planted wide apart.

But he wasn't done, of course. His hand settled over her waist, smoothing around to the small of her back. He eased her forward there, at the same time as his other hand pressed back on her shoulder. "I want you to arch further," he told her. "Like this."

And he continued guiding her body into his desired shape, his touch firm and unyielding; under his handling, he had her emphasize the jut of her hips and the thrust of her chest - such that her breasts were proffered forth, as if she were coyly presenting those assets. The arching felt unnatural and lewd - and deeply vulnerable. Alais could not shake the suspicion that he was mocking her in some way, even with the warmth of his skin sliding meticulously over hers.

A smirk tugged as his lips again, as he looked over his handiwork. "Yes, just so," he commented, allowing his gaze to linger at the swell of her curves, now barely concealed by the gauzy robe. The robe, parting at her navel, still barely preserved the modesty of her breasts, and the silk string tied loosely about her waist kept the bottom of it closed.

"You see?" said the King. She was conscious that he remained close, enough that she could feel his body heat. "Sensuality is about the idea of suggestion, Alais. The way you present yourself now invites me to imagine what pleasures I might inflict on you."

His gaze drifted down. "See how your legs are spread - as if in want of something to thrust between them."

A slight, but wicked tingle shot through her spine. She felt an emptiness at the junction of her thighs, and she could almost feel his cock - hard and thick - plunge into her.

It was as if he could read the desire in her eyes, for his gaze was lit with a gleam of self-satisfaction. But she could see that he was also affected, for his voice was growing more low and husky. "...And how your lovely breasts are presented, as if inviting someone to attend to them."

She inhaled deeply as his hand came to rest over her breast, heavy and warm past the thin cloth. She was trying her hardest to remain impassive, but she couldn't help the tiny tremors that claimed her as his fingers fondled and squeezed. Her own hands were still clasped helplessly behind her, where he'd commanded they remain.

"Of course," he continued, "sensuality can be subtle as well. A certain turn of phrase might be sensual. A smile might be sensual. A look..."

His eyes met hers. The lust in his gaze was easy to perceive, smoldering as it was, and somehow it was enough to make her knees feel weak. She resisted the temptation to look down from his face and catch a glimpse of where his hands roamed at his leisure, for she was transfixed. His eyes did seem a touch mocking, but even then they drew her in like a magnet, holding her captive. In a single look, his meaning was clear: you are mine.

lady_temily
lady_temily
1,160 Followers