I don’t think this is inevitable. I do not believe his hands are tied. This is not some etiquette thing that is impossible to get out of.
He is just being a bastard. Making a point. Trying to feel big after feeling vulnerable with me. A pissing contest where he gets to prove he is the top dog.
“Well, get on with it then!” he orders.
My eyes twitch with the desire to narrow. But I cannot let my disdain show. To think I had decided to be nice to this little twerp. And now he goes and throws a stunt like this.
Chairs rustle over the rug as the audience moves back so they can see me kneeling on the floor.
Llywelyn rolls his eyes. “Take your cock out and make yourself spill.”
Every word is dripping with arrogance. His tone is pure spoilt prince. The tilt of his chin is the definition of haughtiness.
My cock stirs. It starts to swell. Arousal begins to smoulder.
Oh, hell no! I do not get turned on by bossy little twinks who need a spanking. Not my thing at all. In the bedroom department, I enjoy telling people what to do, not being told.
I change the angle of my head so that the other three can’t see my eyes and I give Llywelyn a warning glare. He blinks slowly and gives me an impatient look in return.
Shit. I see it now. A slight haziness to his focus. Llywelyn is drunk. Very drunk. The well-hidden inebriation of a habitual drinker. Damn it! He must have snuck some drinks in earlier. Perhaps to prepare and brace himself for this evening. Regardless of the reason, he is drunk and therefore his ability to reason and to understand how much trouble he is going to be in with me, is impaired.
I draw in a shuddering breath. Okay, decision time. Option one, make a scene and potentially blow my cover. At the very least, draw unwanted attention and speculation. Option two, close my eyes and wank while Llywelyn watches with that damn regal and haughty expression of his.
My cock thickens.
For fuck’s sake. Well, at least my little show will get these assholes all hot and bothered, and they won’t be able to sort themselves out. A small revenge, of sorts.
I close my eyes and pull out my cock. I’m already half-hard. The murmurs of appreciation are not the worst thing I have ever suffered.
I give myself a tug and try to imagine I’m alone. While kneeling with a collar around my neck, yeah right. No, I’ll try imagining that it is only Llywelyn watching me. His golden eyes burning, brighter and brighter. His soft lips parting. Pink colouring his cheeks.
Watching me play with myself. Watching my cock get harder and harder while his own stiffens in response and he remembers what it is like to be stuffed full of me. I’ve had him twice now and I’m sure he remembers it, even if he didn’t react much at the time.
Unease tries to snake its way through me, but I extinguish it ruthlessly. I know Llywelyn’s past is messed up. I’m horrifically aware that his boundaries are weak, tangled things and that true consent was unclear. But I cannot think of that now. What I am doing right now is not harming him. My morals are going to have to wait. They are used to it.
I stroke myself faster. I’m not sure if Llywelyn has got a good look at me before. I hope he is feasting his eyes. I hope he understands that right now, in my imagination, as soon as we are alone, I’m spanking his snow-white ass until it’s fuschia pink, and then I’m ploughing him until he screams.
I hope he is watching my large cock get harder and harder while knowing that later tonight, he is going to be impaled on every single inch of it.
I’m going to bounce him on my lap while I squeeze those plump pale nipples of his. I bet they are super sensitive. I can just tell tormenting them is what is going to finally get him to cry out for me. I’ll twist and tweak. Pull and pinch. Lick, suckle and bite until he screams my name and his hole clamps down on my cock, squeezing me tightly. His soft channel quivering around me while his thighs tremble.
I grunt as my balls tighten. My fist keeps working my cock as an orgasm soars through me. I have no idea where my cum is landing, but they wanted to see. So let them see the evidence of what I can do and they cannot.
One last squeeze and then I stop. I tuck myself in. I look up and find four pairs of eyes staring at me. The fey look stunned. Breathless and a little flustered. Good.
Warm satisfaction coils through me. Okay, that was nowhere near as bad as I was expecting. I’m not feeling degraded or humiliated. If anything, I’m feeling powerful. Virile and strong.
I turn my attention to Llywelyn. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes wide and dark. His bottom lip is swollen, as if he has been biting it. My cock twitches. Oh lord does Llywelyn look fuckable right now. Despite everything I know about the abuse he has suffered. And what the hell does that say about me? That I am a dark and twisted monster? Wanking off to a fantasy is one thing, opening my eyes and longing to make fantasy reality, is quite another.
Slowly, the fey rouse themselves and resume their card playing and drinking. No comments on my performance, but screw them. I don’t need their praise. I saw it in their eyes.
Llywelyn reaches out without looking and gives me an awkward pat on the head before swiftly withdrawing his hand. It is an effort to not roll my eyes.
His touch was soft, almost sweet. His hand was shaking a little. My little show really did affect him. I want to snarl in animalistic triumph. He wants me.
My heart flutters. Oh god. I really want him.
And I don’t want him because he is vulnerable. I simply want him. Prince Llywelyn Y Mabinogi. Wannabe usurper. Arrogant, vain little princeling, and all round pain in my ass.
