I jump onto the bed and lean back against its familiar headboard, carved with the crest of Khotor. At least some pieces of furniture in this castle remain unaltered. And since the day I was named heir, my furnishings and clothing have returned to the luxury I was accustomed to in the past.
Closing my eyes, I picture Rosomon’s bright smile, her brave heart, the scent of her soft skin. My mouth waters as I imagine the taste of her cleft, slick with sweet arousal. Instantly hard, I lift my sleeping tunic, free my cock and grasp it in my hand.
Slowly, I stroke myself, wanting to prolong this dream for as long as I can. I dampen my hand with spit, and the experience improves, even if my palm falls many leagues short of the wet softness of my love’s cunny.
In my thoughts, I take Rosomon slowly, watching the satisfaction build in her eyes. Then I pin her against a wall, rutting into her with force, as she cries out her pleasure. In my lusty dreams, Saxon and Zogar join us, their hands and lips stroking her supple body as I plow into her.
The wall bracing her vanishes. Saxon is now behind her, his cock inside her ass, and together, we drive into her. Her lips part in ecstasy and her mouth is suddenly filled by Zogar’s girth. Her mouth spreads impossibly wide as she takes his cock, and pleasure rises in her eyes.
My dream doesn’t seem physically possible. It doesn’t need to be. All that matters is Rosomon’s obvious pleasure, and how close I am to reaching a climax.
Slowing my pace, I ease my grip. As much as I want the sleep my release could bring, I don’t want this fantasy to end. Not yet.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.Yes. Now, Zogar’s inside her, and Saxon is sliding his cock between her breasts. My fingers circle over her button and fondle the stretched, wet place where Zogar and Rosomon join, gathering some of her juices to help dampen her hot hard button. My climax nears.
Someone knocks on my door.
Ignoring it, I return to my fantasy, putting my cock inside her again as Saxon and Zogar hold her, bracing her to take my hard thrusts. I resolve to make this particular fantasy a reality as soon as we’re all back together.
The knock comes again. Then again.
Curses! Who in Othrix’s name is rapping upon my door at this hour?
I stomp across the room, and fling open the door to find a young woman, draped in a red cloak bearing the crest of Othrix.
“Yes?” I say more harshly than I mean to.
She sucks a shocked breath through her nose and then parts the cloak.
Under it, she’s wearing nothing. Golden chains, draped around her body, accentuate her breasts and ample hips, and her smooth, chestnut colored skin is oiled, her nipples painted with rouge.
Against my will, my eyes travel lower. Where any grown woman should have hair, this woman has none. Someone has shaved thetriangle of hair over her cleft, and I shudder at the thought of a sharp blade wielded against such delicate skin.
I find my voice and my wits. “You have the wrong room.”
“Prince Tynan.” She shakes her head. “Your Highness. I’m here at the Head Klerick’s order.” She bows her head. “A gift from Othrix.”
Every part of my body frowns. “Since when does Othrix send such gifts?”
The skin on her cheeks darkens. “I…I only do as I’m told.” She glances down the hall, and when her eyes return to mine, they’re full of fear. “May I enter your chambers, Your Highness?Please?”
I back away from the door, letting her enter, but staying well back from her. This situation isn’t her fault or her doing, and she shouldn’t bear the weight of my displeasure.
Once in the room, she drops the cloak and sashays toward me, and the gold chains jingle like tiny bells as she moves. “I’m here to pleasure you,” she says. “You are free to use mehoweveryou desire.” Turning, she bends forward and drags her finger through her folds. She’s completely devoid of hair down there, and her nether lips are also painted with rouge.
“I have no need of your services,” I tell her calmly. Not only do I have no desire to fuck any woman but Rosomon, but this girl interrupted the best waking dream of my life.
She takes another step forward. “Your Highness,” she says. “I don’t want to contradict you, but it appears that youdohave need of my services.”
I glance down. My cock, still stiff, is tenting my tunic, and I take another step back, suddenly very aware of its fabric. After the audience with my father, better clothes were delivered to my chambers, but even this fine linen feels like sandpaper at the moment.
I pull the fabric away from my sensitive head, and concentrate, trying to will the stiffness to die down.
“Don’t I please you?” she asks, with what sounds like genuine hurt in her voice.
“That’s not it.” I shake my head. “You’re very beautiful. But you’re not what I desire.”
“Oh, I see.” She nods. “I’ll have them send a boy.” She turns toward the door.
