I swallow hard, yearning for a bath. Or maybe something more.
“Remove the trousers,” he commands.
I know I shouldn’t obey, but that doesn’t mean I don’t desperately want to. Without hesitating I unbutton the fly and let them drop to the floor.
My cock immediately tents my boxers. Abas steps forward letting out a quietmmhhhof appreciation. He drops to the floor and looks at every inch of my legs. I feel small, exposed, and too frail next to his ridiculous frame. I know, if he wanted to, he could crush me between his fingers like a dried-up twig.
I wish I had spent my life eating healthy food and exercising so that instead of standing here sore and shivering, I could possibly stand a chance to survive such a thing.
“How could I possibly see how filthy you are wearing that?” he says, pointing to my underpants.
I take a deep breath, then drop them clumsily. Slightly embarrassed, I notice my bare cock stretching eagerly toward Abas, begging to be touched. I realise that I’m still wearing my hat, I hesitate for a moment and then decide to leave it on.
Leaning toward my crotch, he inhales me, making no contact at all. For a second, I’m mortified. But then he continues to talk so calmly, as if having bare cocks in his face is an everyday occurrence.
“Smells like a regular human to me.”
He stands back up and moves two steps away. Strangely, I don’t want him to leave; I want to ask him to come back, beg him to touch me.
“Begone.” The door opens with a thump.
I flinch at the sound. “What?”
“I said, begone,” he says, voice still as smooth as before.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why are you still here?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
I can’t believe this shit. Did he really just?—
The tapping of a foot interrupts my train of thought, and the rising of an eyebrow takes my entire attention. Haughty.
I don’t have a single coherent thought, my brain throwing all sorts of unintelligible things at me. I scramble for my clothes, trying to gather them as quickly as I can. Stumbling toward the open door, I barely make it out of the room before it closes behind me.
The icy draft crawls along my skin as I stand there shivering—and still filthy. My mind is scrambled in complete disarray. I want to be mad, furious even, but instead, all I feel is the heat of intense—I don’t even want to think about it.
I pull my uniform on as quickly as I can, cursing each time the fabric snags at my sticky skin. I wince when I try to tame my hard cock beneath the trousers. The buttons press against my flesh, and it hurts but not in a bad way.
“Fuck,” I mutter when I realise I still haven’t bathed.
V
The parquet mocks me with each step I take away from Abas’ room. Grimacing creatures made of wool and string cackle with glee at my humiliation. I pass a suit of armour that—wait, I’m sure this wasn’t here before. Yet, here it is.
I approach, looking at it closely. Dull iron scattered with motes of rust much taller than myself stands in a corner like it’s waiting to defend a lonely maiden. I glide a finger over the epaulette. Cold, dusty, rough.
I frown at the armour then continue down the corridor. Just as I am about to turn into the servants’ wing, bony fingers clutch my shoulders with surprising force. I turn around ready to fight whatever is touching me. Bayard’s beady eyes glare at me—red-veined, watery, too close.
“What the f?—”
“How dare you!” Bayard interrupts me. His voice is too shrill, and I clasp my hands over my ears. He looks furious, I can almost see the anger raising greased hairs. One. At. A. Time.
He steps too close with a finger pointed in my face, I want to move back, but the narrow corridor stops me in my tracks.
“The rules!” is all that I hear because the smell of mouldering onions on his breath is too distracting to discern anything else.
Suddenly, loud thudding fills the hallway, and I feel my brain constrict.
