Page 26 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
“Tongue work?” Ruelle sinks back into her seat.
“His oral game will need to be stellar, no matter what gender he’s pleasuring,” Vienne says. “Everyone at Summerglee loves a good tonguing. Don’t tell me you haven’t tested those skills.”
“I tested his sensitivity and stamina today,” says Ruelle. “He’s excellent in both areas.”
“But of course you haven’t let him touch you.” Vienne rocks back in her chair, her plump red lips spreading in a wide, smug smile. “Maybe you should let the Captain whip you, Ruelle. Maybe then you can finally manage an orgasm.”
“That’s enough of this crude talk.” The King rises abruptly. “Do not refer to him as the Captain again, either of you. He is merely a thrall. An enemy brought low by the might of my armies. Collared and chained, kneeling in subjugation at my table.”
I can feel the King’s heavy gaze on me, but I don’t look up.
“Yes, Padra,” say the girls. “Good night.”
“Good night,” replies the King.
His daughters rise and make low obeisance to him. I follow the example of the other thralls and bend forward, my brow touching the floor, until he has gone.
Ruelle tugs my chain, and I do my best to walk behind her without wincing, despite the pins and needles dancing through my leg.
“You should just give the thrall to me now,” Vienne calls after us. “He’s wasted on a callous little torture fiend like you.”
My Princess doesn’t reply. She doesn’t speak at all, even after we reach her room. She removes my collar and chain, then begins divesting herself of her jewels in front of the mirror at her dressing table. Her features are porcelain—beautiful, hard, and brittle.
“You did well,” she says at last.
“Thank you, mistress.” I keep watching her, hoping she will look at me.
She meets my eyes in the mirror, and rage flashes into her gaze instantly. “Stop staring at me with that pitying look.”
I can’t. Because I feel sorry for her, more so than I’ve felt for anyone in a long time.
When I keep staring, she screeches with frustration and whirls around. “How dare you presume to pity me? I am the Second Princess of Thannira. I have everything—health, beauty, wealth, and power—everything most people would kill for. And you—what are you? A hunk of dumb, useless meat I’m forced to preen and peddle in order to curry favor with oversexed noble brats.”
She’s shaking all over, white-faced, but hectic color burns in her cheeks. Her eyes are tear-bright. “You think your former rank, your education, and your fine face make you worth something? You’renothing. Less than nothing. You’ve got a couple of useful holes, a cock, and a tongue. That’s all. Don’t ever let me see pity on your face again. Go sleep on the sofa in the study.”
I’ve seen that sofa. It’s far too short and narrow for someone of my height and breadth, and we both know it.
She’s being unjust. I served her well, and she’s punishing me because I felt sorry for her, for having to deal with her wretched family.
Well, my pity is rapidly vanishing.
“As you wish, Princess Bitch,” I say.
A stupid thing to say to her. Moronic. Idiotic.
At first I think her head might literally explode from sheer rage. But then she draws a long, shaking breath and releases it.
For a moment I think I’ll get away with the insult.
Then she tears off her gloves. “Strip,” she says. “Take everything off and lie face-down on the floor.”
I contemplate rebellion. But she probably has one or more knives on her person, and I’d rather not give her an excuse to use them. So I take off my clothes, and I stretch out naked on my belly, my cheek pressed to the rug. The position, my own nudity, and the soft friction of the thick carpet are enough to trigger a faint pulse of arousal through my cock.
The Princess goes to a drawer and fetches a braided leather belt. When she approaches me, she trails the end of the strap across my buttocks. It tickles, and my skin is immediately sensitized, waiting.
My cock throbs against the carpet.
Another graze of the leather, and then—snap! The length of it stings across my backside.
