He takes one step towards me. I jump to my feet and grab the nearest thing to use as a weapon. His eyes widen. I glance at my hand. It’s cheese. I’m brandishing cheese at him.
Oh well, it can’t be helped. I throw it with all my might. I have great aim but this cockwomble ducks the cheese with ease. Motherfucker.
He moves towards me. I snatch up a tureen of mushroom soup and inspiration strikes. I fling a ladle of hot soup at him, and then I lift the whole pot up and tip it over my head.
Ouch! That’s fucking hot! I drop the heavy tureen and hastily wipe burning hot soup out of my eyes. Then I glare at the stupid prince. My soup attack spattered him right on the chest. He is covered in soup. I’m drenched in it.
We aren’t going anywhere now. No one wants to swan around court while covered in soup and you can’t exactly show off your new pet if they are soaked in sticky, crusty white stuff. And boy am I sopping with soup. I can feel it clumping my hair together.
Suddenly, my feet are off the ground. I’ve been swooped up into a bridal carry and squished against his far too muscly chest. I didn’t even see the bastard move. Now I’m in his arms.
He strides along. I need to punch him. Kick him. Maybe bite if I can get a hold of him.
I clench my fists, but the next thing I know, I’m sailing through the air. I open my mouth to shriek, but I hit the water of the bath and sink like a stone. A few moments of frantic flailing has me on my feet, standing in the waist high water, coughing my guts up and trying to get my wet hair off my face.
“Take your clothes off.”
This absolute knob head just tried to drown me, and now he wants me to strip? Fat chance!
“Fuckoff!” I snarl.
A splashing sound has me trying to scramble backwards, but he catches me before I have got very far. I growl in fury and try my best to scratch his eyes out.
The asswipe just calmly and methodically undresses me. Acting as if he can’t feel the blows and kicks that I’m landing. And then, just like that, it is over. I’m naked. He has won.
He is standing behind me, arms wrapped around my body, pinning my arms to my side. All trying to break free is achieving, is making me look like a wriggling fish. It is time to admit defeat.
I stop struggling and start panting instead. The heat of his chest is burning into my back. Wait? Oh my god. Is he naked too? When did he get undressed? My gaze flicks over to the side of the pool and the pile of red silks crumpled there. Motherfucker. He took the time to strip, and I still didn’t see him move.
Oh no. Something is pressing against the curve of my back. What the hell is it? This day can’t be getting any worse. Please don’t tell me that is his cock? It is far too big. Nobody, absolutely nobody, is that well endowed, and I’ve watched an unhealthy amount of porn.
This hot, hard thing pressing against my lower back has to be something else, and I’m going to laugh at how stupid I’m being when I figure out what it is.
“All this wriggling has made me hard,” he rumbles.
Oh fuck my life. It really is his cock, and he really is that tall that it is pressing into my back. This is awful. Terrible. It doesn’t feel nice at all. And…okay, I do want to see it, but only for science purposes. No other reason. I am not interested in evil fey princes and their enormous dongs. Not my thing at all.
And the only reason my cock is also getting hard, is like he said. All that wriggling. Warm wet bodies sliding against each other. It is bound to happen. Perfectly normal, healthy reaction.
“Did you know, nisny, that fey can’t masturbate. We always need someone else,” he whispers in my ear.
My body shudders. I did not know that. I did not want to know that. Ever. Except…maybe it explains a few things. Maybe I’m not defective. Just far more fey than I ever realised. Though, thinking about it, I think I’d prefer to be defective. Fuck being fey.
“Do you wish to use your hand on me, or shall I use your thighs?”
A god awful noise comes out of me. It sounds slutty. Down rightneedy. I hate it. I don’twantto want him, but apparently I do. My blood feels like it is on fire. Thanks to all that wriggling. Nothing at all to do with a stupidly tall man with flame red hair and a ridiculous grin.
It is just the wriggling. Not him. Not him at all. He does not have this effect on me. He does not have the power to shift reality like this.
The very air has changed. Gravity has rearranged. It’s hot in here now. Hot and heavy with the weight of anticipation. Time has slowed. Everything has become acute. Intense and vibrant.
My awareness is consumed by him. Every one of my senses are utterly focused on the man behind me. The man holding me. The man craving me.
He has given me a choice. Of sorts. Doing nothing is not an option, that much is clear, despite being unspoken.
I am his pet. He claimed me. Put a collar on me. He owns me and I belong to him. This is what I am for.
At least, that’s what he believes. I know he is wrong. I know I am no one’s pet. I am not a thing for him to play with.
