At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 15

"Isn't this inappropriate?" she interjected pensively, protesting to the last. Every single time. The divine letter fell to the wayside as she struggled to keep hold of the sheet. "It's not modesty," she lied. "I was cold."

The soles of her feet were a bit icy from their excursion in his dungeon. The spreading of her legs still filled her with wary anticipation, but at least his hands were warm and pleasant as they smoothed over her cold skin.

As always, she made the effort of looking away from his manhood at every possible turn, and so stared at his face with a frown. "It was cool in your dungeon."

"Well then, I'll have to do my best to warm you up. Won't I?" he said, in that way of his. He went so far as to rub the pads of her feet a little with his thumb, before running his warm hands slowly up her legs. When they reached her thighs, they pried her even wider.

"Pick up the letter, Alais," he added, playfully scolding. "How can you expect to read it when it's not even before you?"

As if her attention would be on the letter as he made these encroachments, Alais thought ruefully. As a petty response to his condescension, she pressed one set of icy toes against his warm chest (which admittedly also felt nice thanks to his seemingly magical body heat), adopting a flat expression even as she retrieved the letter at her side. How was that for retaliation?

The letter itself came in two parchments: one was more ornate and looked like a certificate, while the other resembled more of an actual letter with a body of long and slanting penmanship.

She read from the certificate first. "...His Divinity Pontifex Shiev Nine cordially imparts the blessings of the Gods to King Ale—" she broke off with a subconscious wrinkle of her nose, flipping to the second page. No need to read from the official blessing if he already surely knew what it was about.

"Oh, so he did give us his blessings. What a relief," said the King, with a twitch of his lips. He didn't sound relieved at all - he was probably too self-complacent to think it had ever been in doubt. Not that his expectation was unreasonable; the Pontifex had no reason to desire war from one of the most militant kingdoms in the continent.

He shifted forward, looming over her. What came next was no longer as strange or unfamiliar as it had been before, but still filled her with nervous anticipation: she felt his stiff member rub against her entrance, before he pressed into her and slowly forced himself inside. There was a part of her who welcomed the warm hands on her skin, and the initial pain of her inexperience had long since given way to a tension and fullness without, necessarily, that pain. Breath escaped her momentarily as her body struggled to adjust and give way to his large girth. She would always be a little too tight for him, whispers of painful friction never too far away despite time and practice.

And there was no questioning his enjoyment of that tightness, judging by the half-lidded quality of his eyes. A sigh of pleasure escape him, as he sheathed himself fully, his hands settled over her hips to keep her still. "Well? What else did he have to say?"

How could he expect her to concentrate when he was buried deep inside her, stretching her so intensely and pleasurably? She suspected he was doing this on purpose. Swallowing thickly, she pulled the papers between their faces as she glanced them over once more. "The... rest were just titles. Half a page worth of titles." Her husband had a ridiculous amount of titles. "As for the other page..."

The King had enough self-control to begin his thrusts slowly - almost agonizingly slowly - retreating only to stretch her taut. "Yes," he said, huskily. "Go on then."

She gasped a little from his movements, quivering under him, and only with great resolve was she able to focus on the letters before her. "Our dear boy," she started between gentle shivers, "it is with great pride and pleasant surprise that—" a slight jerk and quake of her hips "—that we see you are finally wed."

He continued to press into her, his tempo only increasing at that painstakingly slow pace. His hands grappled at her hips, where he had struck only moments before, causing more flickers of pain to intermingle with heady pleasure. "Yes...go on..."

The letters on the parchment began to blur here and there. Her eyes squeezed closed before blinking open, another shuddering sigh coursing through her. "Small - small shame that you were unable to come to us for... counsel - as, ah, that would have surely quelled the manifold... concerns of..."

Her voice unsteady as it were, she bit her teeth together to stifle another gasp. As if there was not already enough distraction, he had lowered his mouth to her breast, his lips and tongue plying her with doting attention.

"What's the matter, Alais?" he murmured. He grinned wickedly as his tongue flicked over her nipple, further stimulating her. "Does it usually take you so long to read correspondence?"

His cock continued to impale her; she hated how he was so gloriously thick and hard, how he was capable of provoking such pleasure in her body even when she fought against it. And how he knew it.

His eyes were on her. "Is my queen...distracted?"

Trying to ignore his teases, she focused on the page and the writings scribed there. "...the concerns of your fellow sovereigns, as we have heard from their emissaries. There is speak of a grave shifting in powers prompted by your union, as both your houses are great and their influence extensive. Alas—" Another shudder rippled through her, a soft moan caught barely in her throat. "—these - these are not our affairs, as you are all the...Gods' children."

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes again for a moment. "Is my husband even listening?"

"Oh, I listen to every word you say," said the King. His mouth left her breasts, only to be replaced by his hands, heavy and fondling. "Why, do you want me to stop distracting you?" Judging by the smug look in his eyes, it seemed like he doubted this was the case.

She ignored that too.

Every nerve in her body felt coiled and tightly wound, and she stiffened even further as his calloused fingers kneaded her soft breasts. She peaked over the page momentarily, catching his eyes as she gave her unsteady, quaking voice to the line: "...Your Majesty seems to have come into possession of a - coveted jewel indeed. You would not be remiss... to treat her kindly, and to send Queen Alais our regards."

"Ever wise in his advice, isn't he?" He paused in his movements - his manhood remaining buried in her - to take up the letter, glancing briefly over it as if to assure the accuracy of his reading. Satisfied, he set it aside, looking back to her. "Though in this case, a little superfluous. After all, don't you think I've treated you kindly already?"

"Striking me was kind?" she questioned skeptically, now trying to worm her way off his cock in playful protest.

His hands found her wrists, pinning her to the bed and putting an end to her attempts at escape. "Of course. I was teaching you a valuable lesson. What's the saying? It hurt me more than it hurt you?" he said, with that awful humor of his. "But I am curious... if you do think I'm unkind, how can you still be in love, as you claim?" He alluded to her pretense with, as usual, a satirical expression.

With her cunt still stuffed with him and no means of wriggling out, she curled a slender leg about his thigh in a seemingly affectionate gesture. At least he was still warm. He was very warm. "You can love someone who is unkind. I would only prefer it if you were less unkind."

He chuckled. "And what is the rationale for your love, then? What is it about me that has won your admiration, in this pretense of yours?"

He had asked this more than once. She noticed this, and if her reading of him was right, she suspected it was secretly a source of frustration for him - her pretense, her composure. But it was all she had. She would not give up this last refuge. And so, her lips actually curved into a thin smile, an impossible courage gathering in her. "Love does not need to be rational," she said, sweetly. "Perhaps I don't understand it myself."

He looked at her oddly for a moment. It might have been a trick of the light, but there seemed to be - for a moment at least - a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

Then he began moving again, slowly, teasing out that pleasurable friction again. "You are ever so convincing, Alais," he said. "But I have noticed a fault in your performance."

Her thoughts jumbled away with a light, involuntary jerk of her body as he pushed out and into her again. Still, breathlessly, she tried to ask, "What do you mean?"

"This is our wedding night," he said. "We are man and wife now, under the eyes of the Gods."

His cock penetrated her deeper with every thrust, his hands back to massaging her breasts. She arched her back involuntarily, trying to stifle the panting that threatened to break from her lips. "Our - second wedding night," she corrected between shaky breaths.

"And still," he continued, "you have yet to ever address me by the intimacy of my name."

It was true - she had only ever said "Your Majesty." It had not, oddly, occurred to her to do otherwise. Calling him "Alexander" seemed almost too...humanizing, for one such as him. In any case, her real reaction to the accusation was well camouflaged between her twists of expression and tensing of limbs with each of his urgent thrusts. She even managed to sound casual in her reply. "Perhaps a force of habit?"

"Habit, or tactical avoidance?" the King returned. His smile became knowing. "I think, in your little ways, you are trying to detach yourself from your performance. From giving into me fully. From...letting the lines blur."

His manhood rammed into her with more force, the tendrils of pain and pleasure spiraling deep into her core. These sensations were fuller than those his nimble fingers had wrought before - it was like comparing crumbs to a feast. She let out another gasp, eyes closing and opening rapidly.

He chuckled upon seeing the effect he had. "Because the lines are blurring, aren't they, Alais? Imagine, you were even jealous. How that must have horrified you." Yes, she was horrified to feel even the sparsest twinges of attachment - yet there she was. It was so hard to concentrate. His hands were so warm and coaxing at her breasts, each fondle and twist eliciting sparks of fresh stimulation. "So whether or not it was conscious, you have adopted little mechanisms to keep me at bay. And I won't have that."

He lowered his mouth to her neck, to that tender spot where she had always been the most vulnerable - like he had been saving it for last. There, he bit softly into her skin; she almost moaned as she felt his hot breath and doting tongue not long after. "Say my name," he murmured. "I want to hear you say it."

Her hands, as though unsure, slowly snaked around his neck. She wondered how much force it would take to crush it. With some level understanding that the answer was probably more than she could give, she did not refrain herself from squeezing as tightly as she could, her quaking legs following suit around his muscled hips.

"Your name...?" It sounded like such a simple command which cost her nothing to obey, and surely he would reward her for it while upon this very bed. "But why?" she said instead, stifling the whimpers from his attentions. "What does that matter?"

"It matters because I desire it, and that is enough," said the King, his voice a low and masculine thrum. There was another thrust, his hard length breaching her yet further while she quaked beneath him. "You have pledged your obedience to me. You will honor it."

His lips continued to tease at her exposed neck, and she felt the light graze of his teeth as he suckled. His tongue had slipped out to taste of her, warm and wet as it swirled here and flicked there. It felt like he was devouring her - if devouring could feel so pleasurable and dangerous and heady all at once. She tried to slip away, but there was no escape. He had her pinioned beneath him, and he was so heavy and strong. "I..."

"Say it," he murmured again. She could feel his stiffness deep inside her, firm and unmoving; he meant to deny her the release she craved unless she gave into his demands. "Say who it is that you belong to now."

Shivering again and again from his touches, from the thickness of him, she somehow managed to slide her arms back, settling her palms along his stubble.

"What if my respect for His Majesty is too great...?" she quietly returned.

"If you truly respect me, you would submit to my commands." He still sounded halfway amused, but there was an edge of impatience in his voice that she was right to fear.

He forced himself deeper, claiming yet more of her; the move was aggressive enough to cause tendrils of pain (along with hazy pleasure) to snake through her, coercing almost a yelp. There he remained lodged again, firmly in possession of her despite any attempts at writhing or struggling against him.

"I enjoy your mischief, but you must learn to submit to me." He took her hands from him, depriving her of free movement and pinning them over her head. "Say it," he repeated. He kissed along her neck, his lips slowly drifting up and up, until they brushed against her own. Even then, his grip tightened over her wrists, a casual threat against further dawdling. "With your next breath, Alais."

There it was again - an inclination to apply pressure until she gave him his way. Was this not an echo of what had happened earlier in the pleasure dungeon, when she had defied him? It seemed second nature for him to forcibly bend others to his will. In retrospect, she should not have been surprised. Here was a king who ruled with an iron fist, and who was accustomed to getting his way in every aspect of his life. How many kingdoms had he brought to their knees? How many dissidents had he broken?

It was his way of life. Did he even know otherwise?

Some (small) part of her found it alluring, this uncompromising way he wielded his power. The other part despised him for it.

Another muffled whimper tore from her throat. Trapped beneath his weight, and upon the precipice of that intoxicating tension, she couldn't so much as squirm - though she could still feel her legs quaking still. The mixed intensity and helplessness of it all was downright stifling, and her thoughts again took a turn for the hazy and overwhelmed. Her skin tingled against the sensation of his lips, and her unfocused, half-lidded eyes found his. Her fingers curled, wrists twisting slightly against his iron hold. She winced at the prickles of pain.

"Your hands are going to leave prints," whined Alais. And yet she was not going to make the same mistake again in challenging him directly. That besides, he had given her no choice. She opened her eyes, managing to breathe, "Alexander."

Her voice was soft, but she never tore her eyes away from his unfairly mesmerizing blue depths as she said it.

His eyes in turn seemed to alight with something unfathomable. "You whisper it so sweetly," he murmured, as he studied her face. "How can I be blamed for coaxing it from you?"

In an instant, his fingers had relaxed their grip to a force more gentle, and when he kissed her, the hunger there was almost softened by equal tenderness. Nor did he stay still, now that she'd submitted to his desires. His rigid manhood - already so deeply impaled - trespassed further, plunging into her soft core; he pumped in and out, exciting shocks of hot pleasure that had already been so terribly teased and inflamed.

He was almost artful in the way he swept her toward climax. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she caught herself drawn more steadily into his - scarcely readable and blue and unbearably captivating for all her knowledge of his wickedness. Unfathomable, indeed, for her to have discerned any vulnerability in them even now, and there was none, and still she was woefully drawn to them.

Her lithe body bucked as she gasped into his lips. "It's not fair," she murmured against him, "not fair at all."

A smirk crossed his face at this allegation, for even her half-hearted resistance appeared to satisfy him. "I don't play fair, Alais."

That was before the inexorable pleasure swept over her, seeming to rob of her both thought and breath. For a few moments, the world was reduced only to physical sensation - the heavy caresses of his hands, the doting touch of his lips, the relentless thrusts of his cock into her tight sex. Unearthly warmth flooded through her, expanding all the way to her fingers and toes, as she clung to him and desperately willed for him to never stop.

*

That was not the last of the night's debaucheries, either. As if he was only made more hungry every time he devoured her, the King took his fill of her again and again, each time no less a beast possessed. It was almost as if he were addicted to her.

It was only when they were both utterly exhausted that he finally allowed sleep to claim them for good.

The morning was still dark and chilled when she awoke. Alais heard the gentle rhythm of his breaths, felt them against her skin, and she lay still with eyes wide open, counting each pulse in her thoughts.

This was new. When they shared the same bed he had always, without fail, been the first to regain consciousness before she so much as stirred. With this in mind she carefully untangled herself from him, gently propped herself with an elbow against the luxurious mattress, so that she could simply... watch.

An intrusive thought sliced its way through her musings, wondering what would happen if she tried to plunge a hairpin through his exposed neck. How his handsome face would react, and how she would probably end up dying for it, one way or another.

It was odd - he had never looked so peaceful and devoid of ill intent. No smugness twisted his lips; no slyness glimmered in his gaze. His muscular chest rose and fell with his breaths, but he was otherwise utterly still. It was as harmless as he could be, and she felt like she had the rare opportunity of watching a sleeping dragon. Was this man really the source of all her fear and anxiety?

He was such a complicated creature, this King that she had wedded. He could be charming or he could be cold. He could be generous or he could be selfish. He could be gentle or he could be cruel. She scarcely knew how to feel about him.

No, she knew exactly how to feel. He would be the end of her, if she did not find some way to destroy him first. But why did she feel so conflicted about it, after all he had done to her?

She lost track of how much time had slipped away in her quiet vigilance. Something in his face nearly beckoned for her to trace with a fingertip - perhaps the prominent line of his scar or the softness of his lips - but she dared not break the spell of stillness, and moved only to adjust the silken sheet over the slope of her breasts.

He eventually did stir. A slow exhale came from him, and then his eyes blinked open - meeting hers almost immediately, since she had been watching. His expression softened for a fraction of an instant, before that familiar smirk stole over his expression. "Enjoying the view?"

She blinked in return, flickers of annoyance washing over her with the return of his smirk. It was almost like he'd ruined something precious. "Has no one tried to murder you in your sleep?"

Since his eyes were still locked onto hers, her fingers ghosted down and gave him a gentle jab where even he was so ticklish.

A chuckle escaped his lips, before his fingers closed around her wrist and drew her away from his vulnerable spot. "They've tried," he merely said, in what had to be an intentionally enigmatic answer. His other hand curved about her waist, bringing her close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin. "Why, is my queen getting some ideas?"