At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 15

He tapped his hand lightly, suggestively. "But I would think carefully about the choice this time, Alais. My patience is growing thin."

Give in, the little voice in her head urged her again. Just give in. Make it stop.

But despite the pain, despite everything, that irrational flare of anger still hadn't been quenched. It was almost as if the danger of a precipice provoked her to run that must faster toward the cliff.

She exhaled slowly, before gathering what little courage was left in her. "Do you listen to yourself, by any chance?" she said, and was even able to sound halfway mocking. "Why do you always sound so villainous?"

A longer silence stretched out. She knew it would be short-lived, but she triumphed all the same at having caught him off guard.

That was, of course, before he recovered. "Villainous? On the contrary. I think I'm being perfectly reasonable," he said, silkily. "It is my wife who continues to prove herself disobedient." His voice grew a little more ominous. "But very well, if you are so eager to refuse my command, you've earned yourself five more."

Scarcely had he finished speaking when he commenced, landing a sharp blow that sent spikes of pain riveting through her body - causing a muffled cry that suddenly broke from her.

This was worse. Much worse. Without thinking, she struggled to escape, attempting to slip out of the seat or pull herself up by her knees. But his grip remained unbroken, easily keeping her where he wanted; she was forced to flatten again before him, forced to remain pressed against his lap.

"You cannot avoid this, Alais."

Slap. Gods, that hurt. She wrestled with all her might now, but it was of no consequence to a man twice her size. She might as well have been shackled.

"After all, you must know that I was only going to let you hide behind your denials for so long."

Slap. His blows were, if possible, landing harder and harder.

"Stop," she gasped, the floor beneath her now obscured to her watery eyes. Her body was a mess of tingling nerves - pain, mostly, but somehow still with a sliver of toxic pleasure. "Just stop."

He chuckled. "I don't think so."

Slap.

"You will bare your desires before this is over," he told her. "The only variable is how much you squirm for me before that happens."

There was something subtly different about his demeanor now - less playful, and more cruel. There was no more of his warm hand soothing away the pain after each blow, no reprieve in the form of his more gentle teasing. Her defiance seemed to have brought out that other side of him - the more dangerous side that sought control and tolerated nothing but absolute submission.

The change could be sensed even as her eyes were pinned listlessly to the plush arm of the divan, and as they squeezed tight. She tried to suppress her frail but startled gasping, the sharpness of the stinging augmented with each strike as her eyes misted with more confused and terrible tears. Was this worth it? It could always be worse, but Alais decided then that she didn't care to experience worse. She feared the very palpable possibility that his strikes would soon leave lasting, painful welts on that tender and raw flesh, and she said no more.

Slap.

Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl; every sensation felt heightened. She could see every color in the intricate rug, from warm red to deep gold. She could hear his breaths, slow and deep, in contrast to her own helpless pants. She could feel the heat of his lap, the fine texture of his breeches, the smell of familiar musk and warmth that exuded from him.

And she could feel his hard manhood, as stiff and rigid as ever, a testament to his sadism if nothing else was. He was still enjoying this. A nagging thought troubled her: aren't you too? She could still feel the mortifying moistness between her legs like a stain on her dignity, and the perversely aroused thrills that coursed through her even as she fought against them. There was something almost hypnotic about being this powerless.

Slap.

He had only struck her five times, but it seemed an eternity before he finally stopped.

Was it over? The realization dawned on her belatedly as she lay over him, nearly gasping in relief. The world seemed to slowly come back into focus.

"Is that enough?"

Her mind almost went white at the prospect of more than she had already endured.

No, she couldn't. Perhaps some part of her had vainly hoped that he would not hurt her this much. Perhaps it had even been a way, subconsciously, for her to test what he was capable of - to see what she was really dealing with. He had answered, loud and clear.

"...Yes," she answered feebly, almost quaking as she did.

"Yes?" he echoed, a mocking note in his voice. "You will obey? Or do you want five more?"

Even as she lay there, in apparent weakness, her anger had not truly left her. If anything, it was churning quietly, nourished into something fuller and more bitter amidst the confusion of all her other feelings. Oddly enough, it made her head clearer than it had been in many hours.

Survive. She must survive. It made little sense to withhold her apparent (and, reluctantly, genuine) shame aside for her own pride, and pride held no value. Pride brought closer to promises of true danger and pain surely worse than ... whatever this was.

"...I'll obey." For now.

There was a pause, and then when his hand lowered, it was suddenly warm and gentle again, in almost incomprehensible contrast. Slowly, with each caress, he soothed away the pain and stinging with each tender stroke. Distantly, it occurred to her that she had lost count of the ultimate toll.

"Good. Now tell me you like this," he crooned.

"I like this," she obeyed, trembling, and sniffed. It was even the truth - just an unappealing truth.

"Very good, Alais," said the King. "And what is 'it' that you like?" he continued prodding her. Even as he resumed these questions, those two wicked fingers were slipping back to pleasure her, easily igniting the spark that had been left to simmer.

Her hips stirred and shifted slightly before she realized what they were doing, and she bade them to still, if not belatedly. Pride or no, pretense or no, she still felt uncomfortably awkward and subjugated giving voice to her admission. "The pleasure."

"And the punishment as well?" He continued to prompt, not allowing her to leave any of it unacknowledged. "My depravity, so to speak?"

His fingers trespassed deeper, now sheathed fully inside of her. There they rubbed, in and out, building up that intoxicating heat within her core.

"Do you enjoy that too?"

"Yes," breathed Alais. Once she had committed to forsaking her pride, it was frighteningly easy to tumble down further and further. "I enjoy...your depravity."

And as control slipped further away from her fingertips, the gears in her mind attempted to wind and rationalize: why should she not enjoy this even with the peaks of humiliation? What good would martyrdom be? What was the difference between giving into his 'love'-making and... this?

Her creamy hips and thighs were stirring just ever so slightly again. The stark contrast of that stinging had only heightened the cresting waves of pleasure. Her breaths were shallow, muffled as her head nestled against the plush armrest. Palpable warmth built up and threatened to expand from her lower abdomen, to set her awash and—but still she was just shy of it. It really wasn't fair.

"In a way," mused the King, "that makes you 'depraved' as well - doesn't it?"

His fingers slowed, making it evident that he would not continue his ministrations unless she answered appropriately. (And that, if she waited too long, he would be all too willing to inflict pain again.)

"It does." In that moment, she wished she could bury him.

He must have been pleased, for he resumed, granting her the pleasurable friction she craved. "Yes, yes... so let us not have any illusions about your innocence or detachment. Deep down - " he emphasized the double meaning with the further intrusion of his fingers " - very deep down, you do want my attention, don't you?"

"I do." In that moment, she wished she could bury herself for admitting this truth that she did... want more of him.

"And thus you were jealous when my attention strayed." A third finger slipped in, stretching her wide and taut. When she realized, in her disarray of thoughts, her whimpers grew a little more frightened as imaginary spots flashed before her vision. "That is why you disobeyed me, isn't it? And part of you was a little curious what your punishment would entail."

Abruptly, his movements stopped, leaving her mercilessly at the precipice. She bit her teeth together to prevent herself from groaning in frustration. "Very flattering, Alais." His hand withdrew altogether. "But unacceptable."

He pulled her upright, sitting her so that she faced him and straddled his lap, where she felt again the promise of his hardened manhood prodding at her through his breeches; all the while, his grip did not leave her wrists, leaving them still pinioned behind her. She bit back a wince as her tender bottom settled over him. Her own thighs were still trembling, her nerves left astray and confused over the conflicting vestiges of stinging pain and frustratingly unrealized pleasure. It showed on her face, tinted with a shade of abashed pink.

His other hand traced over her breasts, along her delicate skin, before idly encircling her neck - his manner was leisurely, but the feel of his fingers at her throat was inherently threatening. "From now on, you will do as you're told," he said, his eyes fixed on hers. "I do not want to see another man's hands upon my property."

His thumb brushed casually over her vulnerable neck. "Nor do I like seeing myself disobeyed. It is a rare occurrence, and most who have defied me have not emerged as unscathed as you did tonight," he continued, almost conversationally. She realized that to him, this had been merciful. "I enjoy you, Alais, but I won't spoil you like this in the future. Next time, I can promise you it will be much worse."

Somehow, she didn't doubt him at all. A chill sneaked up her spine. Her mind went briefly to the secret tea she was drinking to keep herself childless - what manner of cruelty would he inflict if he ever found out? No, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

It was still annoyingly provocative, the way he asserted his control over her. But she also felt her indignation flare up for the hundredth time. Property, was she? Yes, a wife was technically property of her husband under the kingdom's laws. But was that all she was to him? Was she foolish for having even entertained the hope for more?

He smiled, though it did nothing to soften the intensity of his gaze. "Do you understand?"

There were still remnants of tears - barely a pebble each - in the corners of her large eyes, which she blinked back even as he forced her to meet his gaze.

She nodded her answer slowly. Yes, let him that that this merciful punishment of his had cowed her accordingly. Let him believe what he wanted. She could not afford to do battle directly.

The King's smirk was all satisfaction. His eyes roamed over her features appreciatively as if satisfied by his own handiwork, and she felt the bulge underneath his breeches stiffen even further.

It was distracting. But after a pause, though, and still between gentle sniffs, she dared to venture, "...May I say something?"

"You may."

"What if—what if I were to disobey you, but to Your Majesty's benefit. Say I dance with someone—to make them feel welcome in your court. They... would have that satisfaction, yes, but perhaps be easier to be dealt with in more significant matters. And I would be no less loyal to my husband." She blinked at him again, still cultivating that plaintive and submissive look about her.

His gaze narrowed just a touch at her hypothetical, even as the grip about her wrists tightened. "Jehan is not one to be made more tractable by conceding to his requests. It only encourages his entitlement. No, with someone like him, I intend to stand my ground." His smile was barely humorous. "Not that it's in my nature to make concessions in the first place."

His description of the other king was, ironically, applicable to himself. Was he not guilty of entitlement? And despite the appeasement of other countries, had not such behavior only strengthened his appetite?

What would happen if she kept encouraging his entitlement?

"If there is a circumstance in which you truly believe I would be better served by your disobedience, then you'd do best to ask my permission. Or if the situation is urgent, then yes, you should follow the spirit of my command rather than the letter of it. But..." His thumb caressed the base of her neck again, almost playfully. "Helping me wasn't your motivation here, was it? As you've already conceded, you were moved by jealousy."

A smirk claimed his lips again. "If you're still unclear on this point, I could always give you another lesson." His hand finally left her throat, only to give a teasing pat pat on her bottom, sending light pinpricks of pain shooting through her.

That very slight pain shone easily in her eyes for how close they were, lashes fluttering. Her gaze lowered, as if to hide something sulky in her face. "I think the point is clear."

"I thought so," he said, smugly.

Her legs were still parted obscenely about him, with the way he kept her straddled. And yet she felt something as miserable as a lack of tension on top of a strange and aching arousal—it wasn't fair, but the next best thing for her was to see this session ended at last. She was still recovering from the intensity of the experience, and hardly felt herself. She needed time to recover.

Wriggling her wrists idly in his grasp, she added in softer tones, "Well. I would not want to distract you from more important matters. Like ruling."

"How considerate of you," he said, with a chuckle. "Yes, I do have business to attend to. But first..." He captured her in a kiss, his lips claiming hers as easily as always - the strength of the motion an indication of his own hunger - so deep that she feared (and frightfully, felt thrills for) drowning in him. His tongue slipped in, toying with hers; he finally relinquished her wrists, so that he might cup the back of her head instead. There, they mussed about in her soft auburn hair, as his other hand squeezed teasingly where they lingered at her posterior. When he withdrew, his eyes were still on her. "You know, you're pretty when you sulk."

She was breathless from the attention. She shouldn't even have been susceptible to his romancing, after thatdiscipline he'd inflicted. But somehow, it only lent a more perverse and exotic thrill to their intimacy. "I wasn't sulking - "

She was cut off by another kiss, his hungry mouth intent on exploring hers. And then he rose, slinging her over his shoulder and bearing her back to the bedroom. She felt the vertigo of being upturned, and then the scenery was upside down.

Even when he was plying her with his doting attention, he would never come to respect her like this. She would never be anything to him but a pretty and discardable whore, albeit momentarily glorified, for the time being, as his queen and broodmare for his heirs. One way or another, even if she somehow managed to remain free from his ire, he was going to be the end of her. One day, after the novelty of her finally wore off.

It was a shame. If not for this, she could have seen herself growing complacent toward his... so-called depravities, even his obsessive need for control. But she needed to survive above all, so she promised herself that this mistreatment was only temporary, until salvation in some form was within reach. All the more reason to... try... and enjoy the experience, the intoxicating kisses and being tossed and carried about like a doll, while she could.

Because it would be temporary. Alais had decided that. This experience solidified her resolve; she could not afford to hesitate any longer. How could she have been jealous, of all things? But meanwhile, she needed to keep playing her part.

"What if I go into seclusion?" she stammered from behind his back, "I wouldn't get into any trouble - and upset you, probably."

"Nonsense," said the King, breezily, as he continued forward with her hoisted over his shoulder. The pleasure dungeon - and all its exotic contraptions - fell behind them, and then was sealed and hidden away completely when he closed the bookshelf door. "And miss out on the opportunity to display you to my advantage?"

He didn't seem to have taken the suggestion seriously - not that it had been offered as such. This did not stop him from his teases, though. "Though I'm surprised you're so eager to hide away. Surely Lady Reina wasn't that ferocious?"

She felt a pinprick of discomfort at the name, even now. "I admit, I won't be distraught if I never see her again."

To her wayward and backwards and upsidedown senses, the floor moved in this direction and that as he strode along. Disoriented, she tried to shift so that she was a little more upright, only to realize the strain wasn't worth the labor after some struggle. Sniffing in a mixture of residual shame and indignation, she patted hard against his back with open palms—like drums—wondering just how structurally sound he was.

The King chuckled to himself, even as he paused by his desk. Her weight was evidently insubstantial enough for him to stand there and leisurely rifle through some papers.

"And here I thought you would be fast friends." He picked up an ornate scroll, handing it to her. "Take this."

What was she, a satchel now? She found herself peering curiously at the scroll nonetheless, and scarcely had time to recognize the seal before, a few steps later, being dropped unceremoniously upon the gigantic bed, face down on the decadent silk with her hair in a disarray about her. A dip in the mattress behind her indicated he was not far behind.

A common ritual, come to think of it. She flipped over quickly enough, happy enough to be resting on her back (how low her standards had fallen) in spite of the still lingering tingling on her bottom.

Frowning, she held the scroll to the candlelight. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"I thought that obvious," replied the King, not far from her. "You will read it to me, aloud. After all, you acknowledged you were taking me away from business. It's only fair that you do your part in making it up to me, hmm?"

He pulled off his tunic, and she couldn't help but notice how the candlelight flickered flatteringly over his defined muscles. Then she saw his hands go to the drawstrings of his trousers next.

Instinctively, she backed herself against the headboard and sought to wrap one of the many silken bedsheets around her as he undressed. There she huddled and, in trying to distract herself, turned her attention to the letter clutched in her hands instead. Quietly, she broke the seal with mildly apprehensive fingers.

"From the seat of His Divinity Pontifex Shiev ..." She broke off there, blinking back her surprise as she levelled a stare at him. Surely she wasn't going to read a letter by the Holy Pontifex while he had his way with her?

"Such modesty," observed the King, eyeing the way she clung to the bedsheets. "I assure you the Pontifex cannot see us, even if you read his words."

He smirked, as he drew closer, now entirely unclothed - his erection visible and hard. He drew away the cover of the sheets, as easily as he had her robe just before; his hands settled on her ankles, drawing them wide before him.