One is lying on his side in a fetal position. Knees held to his chest with red silk ropes and beautiful knots. He is blindfolded and gagged.
A slender fey woman in dark robes is slowly working a large dildo in and out of his hole.
I snatch my gaze away. The other naked fey is on his knees with his swollen and engorged cock on full display. A woman in grey robes is intermittently lightly stroking the bound fey’s cock. His desperate, pained moans are muffled slightly by the gag, but I’m still hearing them loud and clear. It looks like the poor bastard has been edged for hours.
Bloody hell. A real life sex show. I’m a pervy bastard at heart, so I would have thought I’d enjoy live porn, but all I feel is deeply uncomfortable.
The tied up dudes have loose hair, which means they are rhocyn. I know Jamie changed the law and they aren’t outright sex slaves anymore, but what about coercion or exploitation? What if they need to do shit like this because they need to eat, and no one will give them any other type of work?
The people on the stage move. Is it over? I watch as the people in dark robes move the tied up men around. Rearranging them as if they are simply dolls to play with.
The fetal guy’s ropes are cut, and he is rolled onto his back. The kneeling guy is placed over him, straddling his hips. Someone holds the former fetal guy’s cock up and notches it against the kneeling guy’s hole. I see the moment he realises he is being given a cock. He shudders with relief and desperation. Then he lowers himself onto it. The guy under him groans.
Then they are fucking. Hard and fast and frantic. The guy on top riding for his dear life and the dude underneath thrusting up forcefully. They’ve clearly both been edged for hours, so I totallyget it.
They both start cumming at the same time. As they do, the handlers whip off their blindfolds. Their eyes meet and the look of absolute horror on their faces is unmistakable.
The watching audience erupts into laughter and a smattering of polite applause. I’m going to be sick. Please don’t tell me those guys are related or something, I really don’t want to know.
I turn on my heels and flee to a drinks table. Tristan hasn’t been holding my leash all evening, it’s just been dangling from my collar, so presumably this is okay. To my relief, I find water and gulp it down.
Fucking hell. Fey court is nasty. I can’t forget that. Tristan is nice, but I can’t fall into a false sense of security. I have to keep my guard up.
“I see my brother is allowing you a long leash. A sign he has broken you in well,” says Llywelyn from right beside me.
I hide my flinch and ignore him. Sneaky little shit, creeping up on people.
He sips his champagne-looking drink. “You are very pretty for a guard dog. And you give up magic too. Tristan has done so well in turning you into a cockslut. I wonder when he will put you on the stage?”
I see red. There is nothing but rage. Dimly, I am aware of my body turning, of my hand lifting, of the contents of my half full glass of water flinging in Llywelyn’s face. For a brief moment, the prince flinches and there is a flash of fear in his eyes. I blink and it is gone. Now Llywelyn is glaring at me in outraged indignation as water drips down his face.
Gasps are echoing around the room. Suddenly, Tristan is by my side and his hand rests on my shoulder. Comforting and reassuring.
Llywelyn slowly draws a dagger. Tristan’s grip on my shoulder tightens.
“You are not putting my pet down,” he growls.
Wait. What? Oh my fucking god, it was water. Half a glass. I chucked some water on his face. Is everyone really going to massively overreact about it? It is not like I punched the smug prick or anything.
Llywelyn tilts his head to the side and regards his brother with slitted eyes and a calculating look.
“I could be lenient. A vigorous public punishment would suffice.”
“No,” states Tristan in a tone of absolute authority.
A look of wounded hurt flashes across Llywelyn’s golden eyes and is quickly buried. I think I’m the only person close enough to see it, and surprisingly, I get it, I really do. Your own brother valuing a mere pet over you? That has to sting. Nevermind whatever court bullshit comes with it. Grievous insult. Humiliation. A lowered status. Probably all kinds of nonsense, because the fey are ridiculous like that.
Besides, if Tristan’s reaction can make me feel all giddy and emotional, it is not surprising that it is having an effect on Llywelyn. I want to swoon with joy that Tristan has my back and is taking my side. So it is only rational that on the flip side, Llywelyn is feeling slighted and betrayed.
It’s funny what effect one little word can have.
Llywelyn straightens to his full height. He makes a great show of calmly pulling a fancy handkerchief out of his sleeve, and delicately dabbing the last of the water off of his face.
“Well then, Brother dearest. You leave me no choice.”
Tristan’s grip on my shoulder tightens even more. I’m going to have bruises.
“I, Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi, challenge Prince Tristan Y Mabinogi for the ownership of Ollie Hoff Tristanogi.”
