Claiming His Princess

by Parker Grey

  A sadistic, controlling bastard who I did things with I’ve never done with anyone before. I’m not a virgin, but I thought I was a missionary-in-the-dark kind of girl — tame and vanilla, pretty normal as far as sex goes.

  But that was before today. Before he demanded that I put on a dress and pearl underpants. Before he had me kneel, show him my pussy, suck his cock. Something about Julian makes me want to submit, hand over all control to him, put myself into a place where I feel wonderful and fuzzy, where all I have to do is obey.

  As I fall asleep, finally, I’m tempted to touch myself. The vibrator’s mere presence inside me has me half-wet already, the urge to get myself off almost impossible to resist.

  But I have the feeling that Julian would know. I don’t know if he’s got cameras in here or what, or whether he’d just know anyway, but I don’t.

  I’m a good girl, after all.

  When I wake up in the morning, staring at the ceiling of my prison-slash-guest quarters, there’s a second where I forget what’s happened, and then I freeze.

  And I wait for the vibrator to go off, but nothing happens.

  I sit up in bed, cautiously put both feet on the floor, and nothing happens. The prince left me very nice silk pajamas — a top and bottom, real pajamas, not lingerie — and I brush my teeth and wash my face, expecting the vibrator to go off at any moment.

  It doesn’t.

  I leave my room, heart pounding. I don’t know whether it’s anticipation or nerves as I make my way to the kitchen, looking for breakfast. I grab a bowl from where I found them last night, pour cereal in, pour in milk, and start eating still standing at the counter.

  Suddenly, it goes off.

  I gasp and drop my spoon into my cereal, milk splashing everywhere, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. It feels like it’s rocking me to my core, the vibrations coming in waves from weak to strong and back to weak.

  I bite my lip, look out the window over the sink at the gardens below, and try to fight it.

  He’s not going to get the best of me like this, I think to myself.

  After denying me like that, I’m not coming over cereal while Julian’s not even here.

  He’ll have to do at least a little better than this.

  My toes curl against the floor, and I lock my knees against the delicious sensation building inside me as the vibration gets stronger and stronger, my pussy clenching despite my best efforts.

  I hold my breath, fighting. I know that I could take it out right now, throw it across the kitchen and tell Julian that I’m not playing this game with him, but I can’t.

  I don’t want to.

  What I want is for Julian to come in here, yank it out himself, lean me over the counter and fuck me until I come. That’s what I was totally certain he was going to do last night, and I’m slowly unraveling, fantasizing about the possibility.

  The vibrations wane, then build. I lean on my elbows over the counter, cereal totally forgotten. Someone’s moaning, and it takes me a long second to realize that it’s me, the sound echoing from the marble.

  I curl my hands into fists, desperately tempted to reach down between my legs because I know that just touching my clit right now would make me explode.

  Suddenly, the vibrations click off. I drop my forehead to the counter, because even though I’m certain that Julian’s watching me somehow, I need this one moment to catch my breath before I look up.

  “Did I interrupt your breakfast?” he asks, his voice low and smooth.

  I inhale deeply, push myself off the counter. Clear my throat.

  “What do you mean?”

  He’s standing in the doorway, and his eyes flare, his hand in his pockets. The vibrator comes to life for a split second, and my whole body jolts, then stills.

  “Don’t think you can toy with me,” he says, still sounding dangerous.

  I nearly say but you’re toying with me, and instead I say nothing as he walks over to me, towering over me until my back is against the counter.

  Julian claims my mouth without saying anything else, and I give in to him, his tongue exploring me, his teeth scraping slightly against my lip as he pushes me back, one hand roaming up my body.

  I can feel his heat perfectly through the silk pajamas as he cups my breast, nipple stiffening instantly. He slides his palm over the hard peak, and I whimper into his mouth, wishing that I were this turned on by anything else.

  He doesn’t respond, just pushes his other hand past the waist of my pajamas, caressing my mound and finding my clit with his rough, thick fingers and massaging it gently, slowly.

  I moan again, and his mouth leaves mine.

  “I can tell you obeyed me,” he whispers into my ear. “I was certain that the moment I left you alone last night you’d get yourself off, you were so desperate. But I can tell you haven’t.”

  He slides a finger into me, nudging it against the still vibrator. I gasp, clutching at the edge of the counter.

  “If you had, you wouldn’t be nearly this pliant or this wet,” he goes on, finger stroking the tip of the vibrator and his palm against my clit. It’s just enough to drive me wild, not enough to make me come.

  I feel like reality is fading away into the space where I would do anything he tells me. Anything at all.

  “You’re scheduled to do a press conference in an hour,” he breathes into my ear. “And you can tell them whatever you like. You can pull this toy out of your pussy and hold it up, say I’m keeping you hostage. You can tell them that you’re in prison, and I’m sure that if you do there will be an uproar and you’ll be free to go home by the end of the day, because even princes listen to their subjects sometimes.”

  He keeps rubbing, his other hand sliding the silk fabric of my pajamas over my nipple, and I moan again. I’m right on the brink of orgasm, having a hard time processing his words, barely able to stay on my own two feet.

  “But if you do anything but tell them that you’re being a fairly treated guest, this will never happen again,” he murmurs. “You can come as many times as you want but it’ll never be me doing it, Belle, so choose wisely.”

  With that he pulls his fingers out of my panties, and I step back from the cliff, gasping.

  “No,” I whisper, involuntarily. “Please.”

  Julian just holds his fingers to my lips.

  “Lick,” he commands me.

  I look down at his fingers, my juices sliding down toward his palm. This is so dirty, filthy, and I’ve never done anything like it before that I hesitate for a moment.

  Then I open my mouth, gingerly, Julian’s eyes burning into me, and I lick his fingers. It’s salty and sweet, but the way he growls when I do it sends a shiver down my spine. I suck hard at his fingers, a moan escaping my throat as I make sure I get every single drop off his hand before he pulls it from my mouth.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now go get ready.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Julian

  Press conferences are held in a large chamber with a marble floor and windows along one wall. Legend has it that once, the windows were stained glass, but when the Petrovians sacked the palace six hundred years ago they took care to smash every single pane to bits.

  Probably because the windows showed of a glorious Griskoldian victory of Petrovinsk. No worries, though, because not fifty years after they shattered our windows we took their queen hostage for two decades.

  Our countries have never really gotten along, despite being neighbors. It’s why there were so few protests over Belle’s captivity, once we let it slip that she was suspected of spying.

  I didn’t escort her here. As she was changing into the outfit I chose for her, I slipped out of my chambers and came to the press conference separately, the remote to her vibrator still in my pocket.

  I have a lot of impulse control. I was in the military for years. I led an elite regiment. I know how to tamp down my base desires and get things done.

  Belle Marchand tests every limit I
have, though. I didn’t know if I could walk her through the palace, knowing that I could have her on the brink of orgasm in twenty seconds, and not do it.

  And once I did, it would be hard as hell not to push her against a wall, slide her skirt over her ass, leave my handprints there for being a naughty girl.

  Or worse, hold her hands behind her back as I bend her over, her sweet supple body writhing with pleasure as I—

  The big doors to the room open, and instantly, there’s a barrage.

  “Your Highness!” a reporter shouts, already shoving a microphone into my face. “Can you please comment on speculation that keeping Miss Marchand is just—”

  “—What is the danger from Petrovinsk at this time?” someone else shouts, drowning out the first person. “How much do you—”

  “Is it true that the Marchands are part of a much larger, more dangerous—”

  I hold up one hand, silencing the mob, and by some miracle they all go quiet.

  “All your questions will be answered,” I say, keeping my voice calm and quiet.

  I can practically feel them looking at my bad eye, but I ignore it. Sure, I could wear an eyepatch, but to be honest I like having the ability to instantly unnerve people, particularly reporters.

  I also like reminding them what I’ve given up for my country every time they question me.

  Finally, my eye lands on her. Belle. She’s already on the stage, wearing the pencil skirt, white blouse, and heels I chose for her, sitting behind a table and looking at a folder.

  I finger the remote in my pocket, deaf to the reporters’ inquiries, simply staring straight ahead at the girl as I take a seat to one side of the stage, still watching her.

  As if she can feel me looking, Belle glances up.

  God, she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful now, wearing business attire and about to address a room full of reporters. She was beautiful last night, half-naked and writhing with pleasure.

  And she’ll be beautiful later, when I finally take her like she’ll beg me to, moaning and helpless.

  I can’t help myself any longer, and I hit the button on the vibrator remote. It’s on the lowest setting but all the same, Belle’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and suddenly, she’s incredibly interested in the briefing materials my office prepared for her as her cheeks blush pinker and pinker.

  Below the table she’s clamping her knees together, legs crossed at the ankles. I doubt anyone but me can tell what’s happening, that even from fifty feet away I’m sending waves of pleasure through her body and simply watching her.

  I’d love to make my pet come in front of all these people, but I don’t. The first time is for me and me alone.

  I shut the vibrator off, and I swear I can see Belle slump slightly in her chair, take a deep breath, shake her head, and I smile to myself.

  After a few moments, the press conference begins, and my press secretary talks for five meaningless minutes: he assures the reporters that Belle isn’t being held illegally, that this is just a precaution, et cetera, et cetera.

  On stage, Belle looks nervous. I caress the remote in my pocket as she glances at me, my press secretary clearly winding down with his portion of the conference.

  Then, finally, he vacates the lectern and she’s up. She nods at him, grabs the folder, walks to the podium in the shoes I left her this morning. Belle is poised and graceful, beautiful, acting as if she’s a princess, not a woman being held as a political prisoner and sexual captive by a beast.

  “Thank you all for coming today,” she starts, her voice clear and calm. “I realize that my current position has made a number of Griskold’s citizens concerned and anxious…”

  I hit the button on the remote.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Belle

  I’m mid-sentence when the vibrator in my pussy roars to life, trying to get through the talking points outlined in the document Julian’s people gave me.

  My knees nearly buckle, and I grab the sides of the lectern, trying to hang on for dear life while also not letting anyone know what’s going on, because dear God this feels good.

  Even with a remote and a vibrator, Julian somehow knows exactly how to play my body, the waves of vibration moving through me again and again, stealing my breath from my lungs.

  Just a little more, I think, desperately, mouth dry.

  But then I look out at the gathered audience, everyone staring back at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence even as I feel a single bead of sweat make its way down my neck and between my breasts.

  I clear my throat, toes curling, heart going like a jackhammer in my chest.

  “I assure you all,” I start, then swallow.

  My voice sounds strange and tight to my ears, but I breathe deeply and power through, fighting against an orgasm.

  “…that I’m being treated well and fairly by His Highness, Prince Julian.”

  Last night flashes through my mind, sitting on Julian’s lap wet and splayed.

  I swear he turns the vibrator up. I can’t look at him, because my mind is so flooded with the images of the dirty things I want now, right now that I’m afraid I’ll lose control completely and come, screaming, right here at this lectern.

  Somehow, I get through the rest of what’s written on the paper, all about how well I’m being treated, how I’m not hurt, all that. I can barely concentrate because Julian’s playing with the vibrator’s settings, turning it up and down, making it vibrate in wave after wave, each one bringing me right to the edge of climax before he backs off.

  It’s all I can do not to look at him, all I can do not to walk over to him, sit on his lap, beg him for relief. My wetness is dripping down the inside of my thighs, making me sticky, and I swear he knows it.

  Finally, I’m done, and I turn away from the podium.

  The moment I do, the vibrations stop, and I gasp. One of the other people on the stage gives me a weird look, and I realize I must look insane, my face probably flushed, my hair wild, but I sit back down anyway, let Julian’s press secretary take over again.

  At last, I dare to look at him, sitting to one side of the audience. His scarred-but-handsome face is totally impassive, stern, with no hint of what he’s been doing to me on it.

  But when we make eye contact, I swear he smiles. Just a little, but his eyes crinkle. His hands are resting on his legs, but slowly, so slowly, he reaches into his pocket, making sure I’m watching every single movement.

  I hold my breath. I steel myself for the wave of pleasure, looking away from Julian, trying not to squirm in my seat.

  Just make me come, I think desperately.

  I don’t even care who sees me anymore.

  I just need this.

  For a long moment, nothing happens. I sit there, legs together tightly, hands clenched in my lap, but the vibrator doesn’t activate.

  Finally, I look up again, wondering what’s happening.

  The moment I make eye contact, the vibrator goes off inside me, stronger than ever before, buzzing wave after buzzing wave.

  I close my eyes and knot my hands together, squeezing as hard as I can. The woman sitting next to me gives me a strange look, but she doesn’t say anything, and all I can do is concentrate on this, on both wanting so badly to finally climax and the horror of doing it in front of all these people.

  But just as I’m on the edge again, it stops suddenly, and it takes me a long, long moment to realize that the press conference is over and I’m seconds from lifting up my skirt, right then and there, rubbing myself to my frustrated completion.

  I don’t. Of course I don’t, but as Julian’s men lead me straight back to him, I want to. I want him so much that my legs are wobbly in these heels, that all I can think about is the way he’d pull my hair when he fucks me, how wet it made me when I licked every drop of cum from his cock last night.

  We leave through a hidden door, but I barely notice until suddenly the two of us are alone in a corridor and Julian grabs me by the wrist, pinning it ab
ove my head and spinning me around so my back is to the wall.

  “You did what I asked,” he growls, a smile barely lighting up his eyes.

  I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper.

  His other hand is already making its way up my skirt, skimming over my inner thigh, his fingers stroking the wetness there.

  “And you liked it,” he goes on. “You like being under my control, don’t you? You like knowing that every orgasm is at my mercy, that I can make you come or not come whenever I want.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut.

  His hand reaches my panties, shoving them aside roughly, finding my clit.

  I moan, mouth open, panting for breath. I know it’s ridiculous, and I know that anyone could come down this corridor at any moment, but I can’t help myself. This man has reduced me to a quivering puddle of desire, and I honestly don’t care who sees me anymore.

  “I nearly made you climax in front of all those people,” he murmurs. “Would you like that, you filthy girl? Would you like having a hundred people watch as I made you come as many times as I wanted?”

  I can barely even process the question, his fingers teasing and taunting me. The heaviness and girth of the vibrator inside me, even turned off, drives me toward the cliff, and all I can do is look up at Julian, my vision slowly fogging over with pleasure.

  But just as I’m about to come, his fingers slow, my chest still heaving, and I writhe helplessly against the wall, trying to make him keep going.

  “Do you know how tempting it is to keep you here on the edge like this, Belle?” he murmurs, one rough finger moving slowly over my clit. “Do you know the things I could ask you to do right now, the things I could make you do?”

  I bite my lip. I’m desperately aroused, so turned on that he’s right. I’d do anything he asked.

  “I could tell you to go back out there, pull your skirt up, and bend over the table for me and you’d do it,” he goes on.