“Ask for it, Pet.”
Oh gods. I want to cum. I want it so bad. I can feel the very edges of my orgasm teasing me, whispering down my neck. So close, so very close, but not quite here.
“I…I want to cum! Please!” My voice sounds hoarse and breathy. Nothing like how I usually sound.
Rhydian’s fingers push down and I explode. My orgasm erupts through me. I’m screaming and bucking. Every single muscle in my body is clenching with the intense pleasure coursing through it.
His fingers keep moving and my peak keeps rolling on and on. His strokes against my prostate are starting to be a mix of pleasure and pain. My balls are contracting, but I’m empty. Everything I have has been spilled into the cockbag and magically whisked away. My hips still buck futilely. Driven by the unending pressure on my prostate.
“What pretty noises you make, Pet,” he whispers in my ear.
I cry out in pain. He stops. Finally, he is showing mercy. His fingers leave me. I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon. I’m dripping in sweat. I can’t see. I can barely hear. Aftershocks of pleasure are zapping and zinging through my body, making me tremble.
I feel well and truly fucked.
Sunlight lances straight through my eyelids direct to my brain. I groan and roll away from it. The bed is empty. Rhydian has gone. I don’t need to open my eyes to know that. The absence of his presence is making the room cold and dim.
Another groan escapes me. My body still feels lax and spent from last night. My skin is sticky with dry sweat. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. Three little pink haired people are glaring at me impatiently. Fine. They are right. I really do need a bath. And if they want to give me another massage, I’m not going to say no.
I heave myself out of bed and pad towards my bathroom. Behind me, two of the servants erupt into motion, stripping the bed. Even though, thanks to the cockbag, there is not too much mess. Despite that, I can feel my face heating, even though I have nothing to be embarrassed about. None of this is my fault or my choice.
I hurry into the waiting warm water and sink into its comforting embrace. This part of my imprisonment is something I could very easily get used to. This mini swimming pool is far nicer than the shitty shower in my shitty flat. Any bath with water above lukewarm would feel decadent. This huge sunken hot tub feels otherworldly.
A thump has me looking over. Pinky is holding a shampoo bottle menacingly. Fine. I move over and surrender my head to her. She gets to work vigorously.
“What’s your name?” I try.
She just grunts and continues washing my hair. Maybe this silver thread in my ears is not multilingual and only does one Fey language to English? Or perhaps she doesn’t have a translator? Or, she simply doesn’t wish to talk to me.
She gets me to rinse off, and then she bosses me out of the bath. Which is a shame, as I could happily stay in here all day. I stand still as she towel dries me. Between the black leather collar and the silk cockbag, I don’t feel truly naked.
She efficiently dresses me, and then leads me out of the bathroom and up to the double doors that lead to the rest of the palace.
“Whoa!” I say as I dig my heels in. I really don’t feel safe leaving Rhydian’s rooms.
She glares up at me and tugs on my robe insistently.
“Where are we going?” I ask. Is she taking me to Rhydian? Or somewhere even more dangerous?
“Prince Dyfri,” she says softly.
Oh, she can speak. And she wants to take me to Dyfri. I guess that makes sense. He did say he would be free today, and it’s going to take more than one session to learn how to be the perfect pet.
“Okay,” I nod and I allow her to tow me out of Rhydian’s rooms.
Walking through Buckingham Palace is terrifying, but miraculously we don’t see a soul. Pinky opens a small door and hustles me inside.
Oh wow, this was not what I was expecting. There are shelves everywhere, on every conceivable surface, and all of them are laden with weird and wonderful things. The only items I can identify are jars of herbs, and potted plants. Ispy some crystals, rocks and sticks. But everything else is completely alien to me.
Pinky leads me through the maze of shelves to where Dyfri is standing by a workbench, wrapping something in a heavy cloth. His dark eyes rake over me, then ignore me. He is not alone.
I peer cautiously at the other man. I think he is another prince. I’m pretty sure he was at that lunch I attended on my first day. His antlers have a reddish hue and his ears are more pointed than his brothers’. He isn’t wearing robes, but tight fitting copper coloured trousers that look like velvet. His waistcoat is red and gold and his brown jacket flares out at the hips. Only a few strands of his bark brown hair are falling free, the rest is up in a neat bun.
He looks like a sexy Mr Tumulus from the Narnia books I read as a kid. Or a suave version of Bacchus, the Greek god of debauchery.
His whiskey coloured eyes glance at me. “Why is Rhydian’s pet here?”
“I’m teaching him how to take cock,” says Dyfri as he ties string around the parcel he is making.
