At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 15

Then his smile returned, mischievously. "You can keep the pout though."

It took a moment to register, but at those words, she attempted to banish the sullen look from her face. "I wasn't pouting."

"You shouldn't be ashamed. You pout very charmingly." He drew a finger over her lips, as if feeling their softness. "Especially with such pretty lips."

He released her a moment later. "Remember this position, Alais," he said. As he circled around, looking over her appraisingly, she willed her fingers to stop fidgeting behind her back. "Remember it exactly. From now on, whenever I tell you to 'present yourself,' you will assume this stance for me."

What was she, a dog being taught tricks? Indignation sparked within her, but there was also something alluring about the way he asserted his control. In her mind's eye, she imagined herself straightening into this provocative pose at nothing more than his casual directive. The image had her feeling equal parts disgusted and amused, and perhaps with an inkling of shame.

"Do you understand?" he prompted.

Her mouth parted, some witty retort halfway formed, but she decided against it. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of riling her. Hadn't she promised herself that? And it wouldn't benefit her. What would benefit her was to get through this night as quickly as possible. In a word: survive. So instead, she simply nodded, not meeting his eyes.

"Hmm. Good," said the King. He'd come full circle, and was before her again. "But I see I am overwhelming you," he remarked. "Perhaps that is enough of a lesson for tonight." His smile turned wicked. "After all, we haven't discussed the matter of your punishment yet. But first..."

His fingers found the collar of her robe, and there tugged down. Slowly, he unraveled her last protection, and when the cloth fell to her feet, it left her entirely bare before his eyes. It was all she could manage not to shiver.

"Much better," he murmured, his gaze admiring as he looked over her. "Now, follow me."

She flinched as a swift slap fell upon her backside, as if to prompt her forward - timed, of course, with his laughter again.

"You're terrible," she managed, even as she eyed his movements with some curiosity. Where were they going?

As he brushed ahead of her, she swept the discarded robe off the floor and clutched the silken material to her chest. She'd made a feeble attempt to shield herself again, and perhaps the gesture served her only in spirit. Internally, she tried to reassure herself - she didn't think this punishment would be too painful. His mood no longer seemed so foul, and felt even playful now. One could hope.

The King was making his way to a bookcase just besides the crackling fireplace. At first she observed him curiously as he seemed to skim along the shelves' contents, only for her skepticism to give way to surprised realization as his withdrawal of a key drew her attention to the intricately hidden doorway camouflaged within the array of books. She moved to follow obediently, to some level even enchanted by the intrigue of secret doors. Alais was no stranger to the concept, after all.

An uneasy anticipation stirred in her belly, however, and she clutched her robe a bit more tightly. "But yes, your depravity can get a little overwhelming," she chimed belatedly. For safety's sake, she pitched her voice to be teasing as opposed to insulting.

"Perhaps your tolerance for my depravity is too low," he replied, as the unlocking mechanism echoed ominously. "We shall have to acclimatize you."

He swung open the heavy door, books rattling, and stepped aside so that she might enter first.

There were no windows inside, but the room was well-illuminated by the presence of several torches. Within, there were all manner of strange contraptions, the design of which varied sharply from piece to piece - some seemed instruments of pleasure, made of rich leather and soft velvet, and others resembled methods of torture, formed of chains and cold metal. The device closest to them appeared to be a large, X-shaped cross, upon which unfurled several straps - no doubt to confine an unfortunate prisoner; a lavish divan sat adjacent, as if to allow the tormentor a comfortable viewing prospect.

Against the nearby wall were elegantly carved shelves and tables, whose wares appeared to include both objects of restraint (cuffs and rope) and pain (whips, floggers, and riding crops), along with ordinary books and scrolls. Other recognizable objects included two differently designed pillories, a human-sized cage, and what appeared to be a modified rack. Still more furnishings were entirely alien to her, such as a coffin-shaped chest resting squarely in the center of it all.

It looked like some kind of...pleasure dungeon.

"I hope I haven't alarmed you," said the King, in his mildest voice. Behind them, the door closed, sealing her inside.

A discomfited silence settling over her, and she squeezed the bunched up robe a little more tightly to her chest. Casting torch-lit shadows, the alien contraptions nearly seemed to flicker in her eyes. Her stomach dropped as she swept each stainless inch of metal for something, like droplets of blood, or anything to indicate the worst of what he intended to inflict. How he intended to punish. She imagined the straps of the rack binding her, or the bars of the cage imprisoning her within. And all of this, a few paces from his parlor? Did his servants and slaves enter this chamber often, scrubbing every corner and insuring the torches were consistently well lit? Why hadn't she heard of this up until now?

Did he really have this?

More subtly, she felt a niggling of anticipatory thrills, a horrifying excitement threatening to undermine her dignity for the umpteenth time since he had laid his claim over her.

It was natural. Besides, she did not rationally think that great pains were in store for her that night, lest her husband damage her irreversibly. He wouldn't ruin an object he clearly held to some material value, not this early on. And didn't he seem to care for her at least a little, in that way of his? Of course, it could all be part of his manipulation, and she was naive to believe it possible.

She did attempt to console herself that the chamber seemed more fitted for recreation than torture, even to her unstudied eye.

"...Should I expect to be very uncomfortable," she whispered after a long pause, glancing over to him. She still felt her heart thundering inside.

"Would that excite you?" was the King's response, his smile undiminished. "Being uncomfortable?"

"Most people don't react to discomfort with excitement, so probably no..."

"No?" he said. "I seem to recall you becoming rather excited when I took my crop to you. And I imagine that was quite uncomfortable, wasn't it?" His expression was smug, though that also appeared to be his default state of being.

He seemed to take some pleasure in her dismayed reaction, his eyes (amused as always) studying her for a few moments. That was, before they drifted down to spy the robe she clutched to her chest.

"The point of disrobing you was to do away with your modesty," he pointed out, with a chuckle. He reached out, tugging the bundle of cloth from her with minimal resistance; from her there'd only been a small sigh of resignation mixed with frustration. "And I recollect telling you to keep your hands clasped behind you until I told you otherwise - isn't that so?" His voice took on that of casual command again. "Correct your mistake."

She decided to seal her lips following that, looking straight on ahead as her arms slid behind her, again, her hands gripping one another by the wrist. This was preferable to the rope, and she didn't doubt he would resort to bondage after enough displays of defiance. She hadn't even intended for defiance. It was just not comfortable.

A tingle danced along her spine, though, again at the assertion of his control. Even more uncomfortable.

The King seemed satisfied with her obedience, and motioned her forward, as if to examine the first exhibit - the X-shaped cross. "And it's not entirely unusual, you know," he said, with mischief back in his smile. "I've been told it can be very pleasurable to be at my mercy."

Trying to appear noncommittal (though more curious than she knew she should be), she followed the guidance of his gestures with a painfully distinct awareness of her nakedness, feeling the chilling smoothness of wooden flooring beneath her toes. Her eyes were raised momentarily toward the cross before flickering toward him, again, with a cautiously inquisitive glint in her large and vaguely unsettled gaze.

There seemed to be an unspoken question of whether they could move on. Out of everything, she thought the concept of this cross the most uncomfortable of the bunch.

The King, however, did not seem interested in wandering past the device without subjecting her to some reflection on it. "It isn't a bad view, you know - having a beautiful woman mounted there." He grinned, probing his stubbled chin as he glanced from the cross to her, as if in earnest consideration. "What do you think? Would it be a good fit?"

The prospect of her entire body being strapped to that cross - every limb locked helplessly in place - was stifling. She looked away. "I think it might be wiser to consider your other options first."

"You shouldn't be so reluctant until you've tried it," he remarked, with another chuckle. "But very well, let us consider all prospects. We want to be thorough, don't we?"

One hand came to rest at the small of her back, guiding her forward as if in some gentleman-like manner (as if she weren't fully nude, in his dungeon).

He steered her to the two pillories next, laid out side by side. Each one sported three holes, one for the head and two for the hands, so that a prisoner would be kept constrained on her knees. She noticed that those holes were lined with soft velvet, and there was even a cushioned pad supplied for where one's knees might go.

"One is more comfortable than the other," he imparted, slyly. "Which one I use depends on my mood. Both present a favorable position for a good whipping, though." He gestured informatively.

She examined each pillory with what seemed to be thoughtful scrutiny, while her insides continued to churn. Pillories for pleasure and recreation. Her ability to feel shock had been much too blunted by then, and perhaps she ought to have considered that a blessing.

Beyond them was a horizontal rack, which resembled a simple table, albeit one that was extendable from both sides and sported leather straps. "Fully functional," said the King, jovially, as he demonstrated.

In a way, it was almost as though she were being escorted through some grand tour. "What...sort of people are brought here?" she heard herself ask.

"What do you think?" he replied, turning it back to her. His spirit was playful, at least, instead of threatening. Or playfully threatening, which seemed to be his brand of doing things.

"Mistresses?" An innocent guess.

"What gave it away?" he said, with a smirk. "Yes. Though I do occasionally use it for more serious purposes, circumstances obliging." How reassuring to know that the room could be applied to true torment. Then again, he might have been joking.

They left the pillories and rack behind, next approaching the cage that was their neighbor. "More comfortable than it looks," he supplied, opening it for her to see the cushioned interior.

After deliberately positioning herself in a way that would not allow him to shove her inside with a push, she peered into the cage. Locked behind those narrow bars, it occurred to her that he wouldn't have a way to touch her while she was trapped inside - probably. But to be kept inside a cage at all, like some animal?

"I see..." she commented, with as much detachment as she could muster.

He continued walking her through his furnishings, explaining the purpose and effect of each one; his manner was nonchalant, as if they were speaking of everyday objects, though it was unquestionable that some of his jokes seemed calculated to unnerve her. Near the coffin apparatus, for example, he merely said, "We can speak of that if you've deserved it."

"I see," she repeated, with a little less color.

Some brave soul should try shoving him inside that coffin.

Once they had fully circled through the room, he smoothed his hands together. "Let's see, what's left? Oh yes." He walked them to his shelves, where a row of riding crops was the first to greet them. "Though of course, you've some familiarity with these already."

She timed the cadence of her breath to maintain a pretense of not being too cowed. He still had yet to mention what her punishment would be. Did walking about naked count as punishment? It felt punishment enough for her, but she didn't dare hope he was benevolent enough to end the tour here.

Besides the riding crops were a similar assortment of whips and floggers, all arranged in increasing size and apparent severity. "Oh good, these have been cleaned recently," he commented, picking one of the more sinister looking whips to appraise. "So unappealing when there are lingering traces of blood."

He was grinning again. It was highly likely that he was only teasing, preying on her fears - but it was also possible he was being serious. She wouldn't put either past him.

"Very well. Should we have you choose one for tonight's session?"

Her mind looped in circles. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't mark her in ways that would draw blood. He would toy with her in other ways. He was toying with her now, and if she could see past that, this would not be so unbearable.

She kept breathing slowly, but not too deeply; her chest was so vulnerably bare, and the steady rise and fall of it too obvious. "I wouldn't know the difference between any of them," replied Alais.

"That's the fun of it, isn't it?" It was evident that he was having fun, at least. His fingers went to her hair, playing with the strands. "Go on, choose one."

"I don't know." Bristling was still her natural instinct, with the way he was all but goading her. But this was also nothing new from the past weeks, and she did not break. She would have crossed her arms, were they not still obediently clasped behind her. "Must I?"

"By all means, abstain. But if you don't, I will have to choose for you," he replied, his manner nonchalant in the most misleading of ways. His smile was not reassuring. "And you may not like my choice."

She swallowed a little, looking back to the selection. There were so many, and of all different shapes and sizes and models - from the short and springy to the long and winding. Her eyes lingered on a leather cat o'nine tails in particular, and the way its plaited cords were laid out spiral-like in an almost artistic fashion. Not that, she'd decided.

"The leftmost?" she spoke up, finally.

The King picked up one of the smaller choices, turning it over in his hands. "Flexible. I imagine it will sting." He smirked, even as her heartbeat picked up at the prospect. "Good choice. Now..."

He turned her about so that they regarded the room again, indicating the two pillories before them. "Where would you like to be imprisoned?"

Feeling his hands on her again, she paused. Fear was ever present, but she quickly hammered the unease away. He would not mar his prized object with unsavory scars this early on, she ratnioalized to herself, for the upteenth time. Her mind went white. "How about the cage?"

He laughed. "Of course, a hiding place would appeal to you," he said, eyeing the little enclosure as well. "But no, you must choose a pillory, Alais. Perhaps you'd like to examine each before making a decision?"

This time, his "encouragement" came in the form of a swift whipcrack against her rear - enough to bite, though playful and nowhere near his full force. It was more of a swat, and at least the extent of her reaction was a flinch; she bit back a yelp while giving him an indignant look.

But he was already walking to the two furnishings in question, and reluctantly, she followed. She never thought she would be held in stocks before, but if his intent was to shame her, she supposed she could at least cling onto the luxury of almost-privacy. No one would see her like this, except for him. She held onto that like a shield.

As for the pillories, it was difficult to tell which was the supposedly more comfortable one. She imagined herself thus ensnared - her wrists and neck locked within velvet, her back bent into a submissive position of supplication on her knees. And, of course, being completely helpless and bare before him, as he rained lashes upon her squirming body at his leisure.

In spite of her efforts, a flush was blooming prettily on her cheeks. She knew what he was doing, by making her choose her punishments. In doing so, she would have to think about it all the more, and was not her own imagination the most powerful source of humiliation? Alais decided to make the choice quickly, if only to get it over.

"The one on the left," she indicated. If only because it was the one furthest from where they stood.

"Very well," said the King. "The choice is made." He moved past her, resting her chosen whip atop the pillory.

She breathed in deeply, body tensed in anticipation of his next command.

The King grinned at her, almost conspiratorially. "...And next time you disobey me, this will be your punishment."

At first, the meaning of his words didn't fully register, and she stood confused for the sparsest of heartbeats. Then she blinked, sliding her eyes toward him, then back at the pillory... then back at him again.

"Oh," she said. So she wouldn't be suffering the whip this time - it had all been to scare her.

"Oh," she caught herself repeating. "You—" The rest of the would-be accusation died in her throat. Her eyes were wide, that faint scarlet still tinting her cheeks. There no quip in the world she could make that would have felt anywhere close to satisfying. He'd scared her, the bastard.

His grin gave way to a full laugh, at her reaction, and he looked at her as if she should be sharing his mirth. "You truly believed me, didn't you?"

He reached out, his palm resting against her warm cheek. "Such redness in your cheeks. You must have been petrified," he said, though he gave no indication of remorse. Quite the opposite.

There was something inappropriately boyish to his delight that it drew her pouting again. "How cruel of you," she chastised. And she liked to think that they had reached the stage where she could chastise him, in this helplessly mild-mannered and abashed way, without calling for further punishment.

Of course, if she was being honest, what she really wanted to do was to slap him.

"Not cruel," the King replied, with a chuckle. "I'm merely allowing you to envision the consequences should you disobey me again in the future. Is it so terrible for me to wish my queen be well-informed?"

As terrible as his mind games were, she couldn't deny that her strongest feeling was that of relief. He'd just wanted to frighten her. There would be no whip or pillories tonight. It made sense, in a way. He hadn't seemed so furious with her toward the end of that evening, at least not anymore.

"So then, are - are we done?" she asked, but doubt surfaced even as she voiced the question. It seemed too easy.

He shook his head. "Would that I could declare this the end of your trials tonight," he said. "But no - how would you learn? I would be negligent in my duties if I did not administer some lesson."

His hand came to the skin of her back again, guiding her forward with him. She was cognizant again of her nakedness, and her hands still clasped behind her back. "But as I am feeling generous tonight," he continued, "it need not be too harsh."