At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 15

He had steered her toward the least threatening of the furnishings - the inviting divan of soft velvet and richly scarlet hues. It did look much less ominous than the furnishings around it, and she was able to shuffle toward it with less trepidation in her heart.

And she could stomach being steered this way and that, even in the nude, as long as his were the only eyes to witness. There was no point in feigning dignity for the sake of it, not when he'd already stripped it of her long past. On the other hand, perhaps a strategic showing of her discomfort and vulnerability could appease his sadism a little. Maybe to the point of deterring, if not just a little, the trend of escalation.

Because he was a sadist. If she resisted too much, it'd only serve to bring greater discomforts upon herself, and more enjoyment for him. She really didn't want to give him the satisfaction. But what was there to be done about it?

She watched as the King lazily reclined onto the sofa, easing down and settling his hand upon the armrest. There was an exaggerated quality to his slowness that suggested he was making himself comfortable.

Then he regarded her. "Lay over my lap, Alais."

She didn't need to feign the flush in her cheeks. Were she in the position to move her hands freely, she might have lifted them up to cover her face.

He was going to spank her. Over his knee.

"That's - that's so childish," she protested.

His expression remained unchanged as he gazed upon her expectantly. She realized he was serious.

"But - "

"Would you prefer the whip, then?"

Images of being locked in that pillory flashed through her mind again.

"No," was her quick answer.

Reluctantly, she moved toward him, her bare feet padding over the cold floor and onto the warmer throw rug accenting the ground beneath the seat. With her hands still clasped behind her back, as instructed, she laid herself sideways over his lap so that the armrest was under her cheek. She felt his hand start to pet her, starting from her hair.

Her perch wasn't...uncomfortable, at least. The armrest was plush and soft, the cushioning of the divan providing ample support for her legs; the lap she nestled into was warm, the heat of him feeling more intimate in her nudity. Even the way his hand traced down her back had an almost soothing quality - if one ignored the humiliating aspect of her position.

Besides, he couldn't see her face like this. At least there was that.

"So tense," the King remarked, that hint of amusement never far from his voice. "I hope it's not on my account."

His hand found hers, still clasped dutifully behind her. Idly, his fingers wrapped around her wrists, locking them into position. Now they were truly constrained, and she would not be able to slip from him.

"After all, I think my decision will be quite fair. Let's see," he mused. "I promised that your punishment would correlate to how well you followed my instructions. You weren't very sensual, but I suppose you took to my lessons readily enough." His other hand continued its exploration, down the lowermost ridges of her spine. It almost tickled. "You neglected to keep your hands where I wanted them. But you also corrected yourself. And who among us has not made mistakes?"

The hand now smoothed past her hip, lingering to cup the curve of her ass. "Let's call it an even twenty. What do you think?"

There was nothing intrinsically diabolical about this, she repeated to herself, like it was chant. Every note of humiliation or discomfort was a construct of her own making. No one would look at her differently the next morning. Her family would never know. No one would know but the King, and the King seemed inclined to grant her at least that much respect.

Cheek on the armrest, she was faced away from him. Her hair cascaded past the slope of her shoulder, leaving her back open to his touches. His calloused fingers weren't unfamiliar anymore, but still they elicited tingles in their wake. His words barely registered, and yet she found it in herself to haggle.

"I ... what about fifteen?" Since he asked.

"I suppose it would be a shame if you couldn't sit properly," said the King, as if he were earnestly considering this suggestion - though it was likely he had already made up his mind, and was only dragging out his decision to toy with her. "Then again, I feel it my husbandly duty to be firm with you. What to do, what to do..."

His fingers drummed on her. More almost-tickles. What was she, a table?

"Oh, I know," he said. "I can let you earn my leniency. As I punish you, I will ask you questions. Depending on your answers - or lack thereof - I will either reduce or lengthen your sentence. Fair, yes?"

Her toes curled during these moments of uncomfortable anticipation. She had half a mind to quiet herself until this was all over and behind her. Perhaps she was making this a little more difficult for herself, and being held over his lap like this did not make for a good position to dignify his musings with responses. Even if she was supposed to be so at ease with her husband now.

"Lengthen?" she repeated. "Is there no maximum sentence?"

"What, you don't trust me to be fair?" was the teasing response.

Not one bit, she wanted to tell him. Fair was the last thing he was.

His hand flattened against her backside, smoothing over her skin as if warming it up for what was to come. In doing so, it was clear that he was taking his time, drawing out the suspense as if to allow her to anticipate the first blow that much more. And even though she knew what he was doing, it didn't make his strategy any less effective. She closed her eyes, already tense in anticipation of the pain to come.

Still nothing. Was he not going to -

He brought his hand down upon her posterior, striking her soundly. It was almost certainly nowhere near as painful as he could have made it, had he been using his full strength - nonetheless, it was firm enough to be painful.

For one held as so delicate and dainty, Alais liked to think her tolerance for pain was actually decent. So long as he wasn't ripping the nails off her fingers, there wouldn't be much thrashing and screaming from her that night. The shock of it, though, was raw. She flinched, suppressing a gasp as he inflicting a sharp and stinging sensation over her - over her ass. This was so shameful.

But bearable. And he still wouldn't have the satisfaction of relishing the blush on her cheeks, not with her face buried into the soft armrest of the divan.

"First question," he began, pleasantly, somewhere above her. "Whose wife are you?"

If he was being condescending, it had to be intentional.

"Yours, Your Majesty." Her voice was quiet but audible.

"Very good," he said. His palm rubbed soothingly over her skin, right where the blow had fallen, as if to reward her by easing her pain. He was surprisingly gentle as he did this, so much so that she was almost lulled into a sense of security - and that was when he struck again, this time on the other cheek.

She sucked in what would've been another yelp, her knuckles whitening. Those, he could see, and she eased them appropriately. She had jolted, though, and she heard him chuckling, the fingers around her wrist tightening a little to keep her still.

"And therefore, who do you belong to?" he continued, matter-of-factly.

"You, Your Majesty."

There was also something undeniably sensual about the whole ordeal—about the intimacy of being nestled up against him like this, of being soothed and punished by his hand. There was nothing she could do about it. Her wrists remained trapped behind her, and his steady grip might as well have been iron. No, she was forced to lay there, face down before him, as he spanked her and made her acknowledge his claim over her. Why did it have to be so damnably titillating? She didn't want to give him this.

Two slaps followed, this time in quick succession. When his hand came to rest over her plump curves, however, it was again contrastingly gentle in its fondling.

Three and four. She kept track of the count in her mind, each noise loud and sharp to her ears. Like thunder—the sound, not the tiger. The meanderings of her thoughts made it a little easier, even as she shuddered underneath his deceptively sweet caress and tried to numb away that stinging.

"Who must you obey?" he asked, in the same tone.

"You, Your Majesty," she answered, also in the same tone. She was fine. This was fine. Show as little as possible.

"Very good," he drawled. His hand lifted, as if to come down upon her again - but in the following moments there was only a tense stillness. She clenched her legs close together, holding her breath, but at length, he only began stroking her again. "And yet, I found - to my great displeasure - that you did disobey me. And on our wedding day, of all days."

Amusement was not far from his voice, but with him, it never seemed to diminish the danger.

"Tell me why, Alais."

She gave no response at first, because she understood that she didn't quite know why she disobeyed him. The cheekiness in her would have insisted that she did no such thing, or that she had scarcely another choice provided the circumstances. But she understood that she had disobeyed both the letter and spirit of his request. His command.

So she provided an answer that she thought might satisfy him instead, and hoped her hesitation lent it more credence than discredit.

"Because I was jealous, Your Majesty."

Even as she said it, she felt the warmth of a blush suffuse over her face. It was a ridiculous sentiment to feel for him; he was cruel and controlling and arrogant, and he had taken her with no regard for her consent. She wished she was only mouthing a shallow platitude, which would have made the whole thing so much more bearable. Playing a detached role had been the plan, after all. But she wasn't, at least not entirely, for she feared a small grain of truth was beginning to stick to the falsehoods. Perhaps that was why it was so infuriating.

There was silence above her, as the King paused, as if he were surprised she had conceded it. But before long, he was chuckling. "My Alais, jealous? It can't be that you do have some real regard for me, can it?"

Another succession of slaps followed, two upon each cheek. They were up to eight now. It might have been her imagination, but his blows felt lighter, less painful. Perhaps he was pleased. Something in her dared to nurse a spark of hope, until she thought she could feel his erection stiffening just below her stomach. He was enjoying this.

"But..." he continued, in pondering tones, "I know how clever you are. Perhaps you are merely saying what you wish for me to hear." The slyness in his voice gave way to his next question. "How did it feel, that jealousy? Describe it to me."

Her eyes were fixed to the luxurious throw rug. Her stomach sank as though she had been called on her bluff; in a sense, that was exactly the thing that had happened. No doubt her backside now glowed a lovely shade of scarlet regardless of how much lighter the slaps by his standards. She pressed her knees together and fidgeted with her toes.

"It was a feeling like annoyance," she started carefully, beginning with truths that were sprinkled with (maybe) falsehoods. The less she made up utterly, the more convincing. Hopefully. "Like an itch."

"Like an itch, hm?" On cue, his fingers scrunched up, niggling against her. "And that itch bothered you so much that you just had to get my attention, didn't you? What a little troublemaker you are."

Slap. Slap. Nine and ten. She could only squirm so much caught within his grasp, her wrists wriggling weakly against his fingers.

"Do you desire my attention?" he said.

"Maybe not like this, Your Majesty," she mumbled back.

"Like what?" he asked, innocently. Another spank landed smack in the middle. "Like this?"

This time, his hand lingered, and before she could protest, he slipped slowly down and between her legs - toward the soft petals that were slick with arousal in spite of herself, in spite of everything. "You don't enjoy this even a little bit?" A warm index finger intruded inward, feeling for further evidence of her pleasure. "I think you might."

Her thighs tensed reflexively as she fought against building dismay, that he would force her to enjoy this degradation. Commanding her to find pleasure while being spanked and diminished by his hand—when she didn't want to. This was another line, however thin and narrow, that he would drag her across. She scrambled to think of some safe rationale, even as his touch sparked an involuntary thrill in her. The body would sometimes lubricate to protected itself in situations such as this; was that not also the case? Yes, that was it.

Eleven, she reminded herself. The count was at eleven.

Wavering now of all times would deliver her nothing but further humiliation. "I said maybe." Quivering a little, she was acting plaintively and perhaps even a little coy. "You're already embarrassing me so much..."

"I suspected as much," said the King, with a low chuckle, as he felt her slickness, pressing experimentally against her walls, tormenting her. If possible, he sounded even more self-satisfied than before, that stiffness beneath her hardening even further. "Oh, don't feel embarrassed," he continued, though it was evident he enjoyed that embarrassment. "I've found that it's not uncommon to derive pleasure from pain - when it is administered the right way, of course."

A second finger joined the first in its probing, tantalizingly, introducing a little friction to his rubbing. "Some women like being punished." His voice lowered, as he continued stroking her deeper, evoking white, searing-hot blotches of pleasure that lanced up her body; she bit her lip, trying to stymie the moans threatening to break forth. "Like being... put in their place."

His movements paused, as his voice took on that of expectant questioning again. "Is that how you feel, Alais?"

"I don't - I don't know." She was half whimpering her words, with her head pressed over the armrest, eyes blinking rapidly. A sinister euphoria was expanding from his ministrations, that horrible and exquisite pressure building with each stroke. It took everything in her not to press down and closer to his dexterous fingers. "How would that even be a punishment?"

"I think humiliating you is as good a punishment as any," he replied. "That you enjoy it only makes it that much more effective."

His fingers worked a little more, devious and knowing as he explored her folds. "But I require a better answer, Alais." His hand eased away, leaving her unsatisfied. "Do you enjoy being punished?"

As if to remind her, he dealt another blow; the pain was sharp and stinging, in contrast to the pleasures he'd inflicted just moments before. She loosened a gasp, or perhaps more of a squeak, at the sudden impact. The instinct to curl up into a ball was overpowering, but being constrained and held to his lap like this made that physically impossible.

It didn't take away from the burgeoning ache in her sex, though. If anything, the mingling of pleasure and pain made for a more potent concoction, heightening her senses in some strange and overwhelming way. She wanted...more, but what more was, she couldn't quite say.

"...Yes and no." And the way he tantalized and teased, prompting and withdrawing pleasure to manipulate her answers—she knew exactly where his strategies lay and again couldn't help but fall victim to it regardless. "Maybe, maybe I don't enjoy the...enjoyment."

"That's evident enough," he said, amused. "You don't wish to enjoy my depravities, I know. But your enjoyment is nonetheless very real."

Another blow came down, more painful still. Thirteen, now.

"Enough equivocation, Alais." His fingers curved around, back to where they'd left off before. Soon, his dexterous fingers were coaxing and caressing between her folds again, toying with her nub in such a way that sent unwanted pleasure blooming fresh and raw. "You like this, don't you?"

His fingers traversed deeper into her core, as if to defy her to say otherwise. "Tell me you do."

Her toes curled, knees bending as her calves folded toward herself. The back of her mind set awash by an encroaching daze, that pressure increasing, so close but not quite, she was all but squirming against him. Nothing about this was fair, but it seemed that she only needed to relinquish pride again (and again and again) before he could generously release her over the edge.

Just give in, a voice in her urged - the part of her that right now craved, with all of her being, that sweet release that only he could grant. Just say yes.

Wasn't her whole plan to appease him? Lull him into a sense of complacency, so she could survive long enough for revenge? What good would defiance serve her?

And yet, another part of her recoiled. He had already taken so much from her. Why did he have to take this, too? Was it not enough that she acted the part of the loving wife? Must she also be forced to admit to those desires most dark and shameful?

It was hard to think, with the way his hand was still pleasuring her and robbing her of rational thought. She knew it was intentional. He wanted to reduce her to a quivering body that was hungry for relief...and would submit to any command to get it.

Alais felt a sudden, irrational spike of anger.

"I..." She swallowed, her voice unsteady. Her throat cleared, a wave of agitation taking hold of her. "Thanks, but I'd rather not. This is infantile."

There was a pause in his movements, as if he were actually surprised by the resistance. Then his fingers wiggled a little more, tauntingly, before withdrawing completely and leaving her woefully empty. The lesson was obvious, though not necessarily less effective for its simplicity.

"I confess myself disappointed, Alais," he drawled. "And here I thought you were doing so well."

His fingers traced over the curve of her ass tauntingly, leaving her skin stained with a trail of her own juice to cool in the air. Then his hand rose. When the blow came, this time it was sharper and more painful, the sound of his palm against flesh sending an echo across the chamber.

Alais bit against her teeth to keep from yelping like some animal on his knee, an involuntary jolt shaking through her. "I don't like this, now, because it hurts," she endured again, otherwise finding her statement perfectly logical.

"But you liked it before, is that right?" he returned, as if it was a confession. "Judging by how wet you are, that much is evident to both of us. It's only admitting it that seems to present an obstacle to you. Why are you so afraid to enjoy this?"

His hand lifted again, perhaps on the precipice of delivering another slap - if her answer did not satisfy.

Her words lingered indecisively on her tongue before she uttered them aloud. Then she quietly answered, "It isn't abnormal to be afraid of you, especially when you are spanking me."

"Oh, but I didn't ask why you were afraid of me. I asked why you were afraid of yourself, and your own reactions," said the King. "You are being purposefully evasive."

The hand came down - hard. Twice more did he strike, a merciless assault that left no doubt that he had been holding back before. She tried, without avail and perhaps instinctively, to squirm away from his hand - and the erection that she could feel stiffening yet further under his breeches.

"And if you really did fear me," he continued, "you would obey me. You would abandon your pride and pronounce a simple truth: that this gives you pleasure." His hand rubbed soothingly over her inflamed skin, as if coaxing her. "On the other hand, continue to defy me and you will pay the price."