Chapter four
Finally,somepeaceandquiet. I’m all alone in my bed. My duties done for the day and all expectations drifting away. Why isn’t everyone a night owl? The dark hours are so peaceful. There is no pressure to be doing anything in particular. The one part of the day where your time truly is your own. It’s worth sacrificing a little sleep for.
Not that I’d be sleeping anyway. My mind is whirling. I’ll never remember all the intricate circles Richards showed me. I can’t learn in a day what usually takes two years to master. Sothbridge will just have to deal. He knows my family is progressive and that I have not received formal training.
His countless lovers would not have been trained. He doesn’t seem to care about that. But I can’t shake off this icy feeling of dread. And I don’t think I’m being silly, because there is a huge difference between lovers and husbands, between dalliances and having your own vessel. He won’t be taking me to bed for fun. He will have expectations.
Breathe, breathe. I must remember to breathe. There is no need to panic. I know the gist of it. Be quiet. Be biddable. Be submissive. How hard can it be? I should be able to do it. It’s what I’ve always wanted for a start. My parents are more progressive than me. I want a husband. I want someone to be mage to my vessel. I want to host dinner parties and be charming. And I want to be railed regularly.
There are no lofty ambitions within me. No wistful yearning for freedom. I am happy with the role and destiny society has prescribed me. So why on earth am I being such a baby about it? Being quiet, biddable and submissive is a small price to pay, as much as the thought of it sinks my heart.
I need to concentrate on the positives. I’m gaining a husband. A duke no less. A young, handsome man. A well-endowed man. Now my cheeks are heating, I can feel it. Thank heavens there is no one to see.
My eyes treacherously flick to the box on my bedside table. There is no harm in having another look, surely? Scrambling to a sitting position in bed, my hands grab the box. I open the lid and gulp. Nope, I have not misremembered the size of it.
Depravity aside, it is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship. I run my finger along it. It’s not hard and cold like glass, as I expected. It’s warm and soft. A tingling quiver of magic itches up my hand. That’s interesting. What is the magic for?
Alright, I can’t resist anymore. I’m picking it up. It is definitely warm in my hand. I trace a finger from the base to the tip. Did it just twitch? I stare at it for a moment but nothing is happening.
Time to experiment. I wrap my fingers around it and start working it as if it were a real cock. And yes! It is growing warmer and it feels like it is swelling. So that’s what the magic is for. What a wedding gift, a magical, responsive dildo!
I’m so glad there is no one here to hear my undignified snort laugh.
The dildo grows a little colder now that I’ve stopped fondling it and I almost feel bad for teasing it. As I stare at it some more, one thought starts to fill my mind. I wonder what it would feel like in my mouth?
I tried sucking off an ordinary toy once, and it was no fun at all, but this one will twitch and swell. It might even throb. It already feels warm and silken.
I stare at it. Sod it. Why the hell not? I’m alone in my bedchamber. And it’s hardly as if I’ve never played with toys before. There is no need to be so nervous. Take a deep breath and begin.
Oh my goodness! It’s only brushed past my lips and I can tell this is going to be amazing. The heat of it, the texture of it. It’s weight. It is all divine and far better than any toy I have ever played with before. Sliding it over my tongue is heaven. It’s definitely twitching too and heating up. It’s a stretch to open my jaw wide enough. I wonder if I will ever have the real thing in my mouth?
Sex between a mage and vessel is supposed to be functional. The mage penetrates the vessel, brings them to orgasm which forces them to release their magic, which the mage then soaks up.
But Sothbridge is also to be my husband. The two do not necessarily go together, depending on the status of the vessel. But Sothbridge had to propose a marriage to avoid a scandal. What does that mean for our marriage? Will we do more than what is strictly between a mage and a vessel? Or will he forever be too furious at me to do more than tolerate my presence?
I don’t want to think about that right now. I want to enjoy the feel of a cock in my mouth, even though it is fake. Though right now it’s feeling very real. I just need someone to grab my hair.
I slide it in as far as I can go without gagging. It feels wonderful. Maybe with some practice I could learn how to take it deeper, but this is good for now. I bet a real one would smell incredible. All musky and masculine. That’s something the spell casters forgot to add to their creation. Though this throbbing, and this heat is wonderful. I could suck on this forever. Run my tongue over every ridge and explore every part of it. Hum my pleasure.
Suddenly it moves in my mouth and in my hand. Far more than a twitch. Far more than it has before. It’s pulsing. It’s mimicking cumming. I want to giggle but a moan comes out of me instead. Gods, I sound filthy.
I feel a little breathless now and a lot horny. The only thought in my head is a longing to discover just how good this magic dildo is going to feel inside my ass. There is lube in my bedside cabinet. I’m not going to feel ashamed about reaching for it. I’m a grown man. I’m allowed to have fun. It might be my last chance to.
Chapter five
Todayismyweddingday. No matter how often I repeat the words in my head, they still don’t feel real. I’ve drifted through the morning in a daze and it doesn’t look like I am snapping out of this numb stupor anytime soon.
Mother hurries me into the car, and as we drive away I refuse to look back. I’m not looking back at my home, at everything I’ve ever known. The future is here and I’m going to have a new home, a new life. New roles and responsibilities. I really hope I don’t faint.
The journey passes far too quickly and long before I am remotely emotionally prepared, we are sweeping up the driveway of Stourleat House. Duke Sothbridge’s ancestral seat. I’ve seen it before, I’ve visited it numerous times on various social occasions but for some reason, today it looks enormous. Imposing. Daunting. Easily six times the size and grandeur of the home I have just left.
It belatedly, finally, fully strikes me that Sothbridge is aduke.I’m marrying a duke and all that entails. I’m going to be a duke consort. I knew this before, of course I did, but right now the reality of it is squeezing the air out of my lungs.
My father is an earl, not exactly low ranking, but very much not a duke. I have certainly achieved a climb up the social ladder. As I always intended to, so heavens know why I’m suddenly having the vapors about it.
Suddenly, we are right outside the house. Gleaming white stairs are curving up to the grand double doors. Staff are all lined up to greet us, to greet me as the new master of the house I suddenly realize. I swallow.
The door opens and I stumble out. Someone grabs my elbow and steadies me. The feel of the warm, firm touch sends a feeling like electricity coursing through my veins. I look up. It’s him. It’s Sothbridge. The look in his aquamarine eyes is intense. There is something in his look that wasn’t there before, not the last time I saw him, anyway. The last time we met was in a dark maze and he had been nothing but furious. He doesn’t look best pleased now. But there issomething.
