Hortense manages to grasp this concept although social niceties aren’t usually her forte.
“How’s that pony of yours Nicky,” she asks instead. “That pretty little mare you were learning to ride.”
Nicholas starts a long rambling tale about how he’s the best seven year old rider his groom’s ever seen despite the fact his horse bucked him into a ditch last week. Naturally. Hortense exclaims and coos over this as if it’s the best fairytale she ever heard. I roll my eyes. Of course, I’m not jealous of a seven year old snot nose brat I tell myself. That would be fucking ridiculous. I am a prince of hell. Mortals quake at my feet. The damned fear me. My enemies are dust beneath my feet, etc. etc. A bread roll bounces off my ear and I realise they are expecting their dessert. Goddamn it! If her bloody highness hadn’t rolled up I could still be between my mistress’s plump thighs even now teaching her to respect my rampant cock. I visualise a large trembling blancmange in seven tiers of pink glistening perfection. With a whoosh it lands in the centre of the table earning a gasp from the Queen. Hortense puffs out in annoyance.
“It’s far too big – stop showing off Kiril.”
“This blancmange has got skin on it,” complains Nicholas.
I stomp downstairs to the kitchen swearing with every step.
After dinner they retire to the great hall and the sisters whisper in front of the fire as Nicholas careers around the draughty hall raising a hullabaloo and demanding that first the page and then myself act as his horsey. This would usually be beyond the pale however, it means I can get within spitting distance of the sisters every so often and catch snatches of their conversation. It sounds very intriguing.
“… puts me on a pedestal,” whispers Cendrillon. “Won’t treat me like a real woman…. Worse since I became a mother. He thinks I’m a paragon of virtue and won’t besmirch me!” She snivels into her lace handkerchief as my mistress sits there looking thunderstruck and completely out of her depth. I grin to myself ridiculously pleased that smug bastard Charmian is a dud in the sack. So much for the perfect husband! I snigger up my sleeve until I hear Hortense suggest they consult Euphemia. More visitors! Was I never going to get her to myself again?
“But it would take days for a letter to reach our sister,” states Cendrillon glumly.
“Not necessarily, we can use my magic mirror,” points out Hortense.
“Let’s do it now!” exclaims the queen clapping her hands.
Hortense looks at the clock and the advanced hour.
“Err, Effie may be in her bedchamber, asleep now,” she stresses anxious to avoid another spectacle like earlier. Her cheeks turn pink. “It may be best to contact her in the morning.”
I try to catch her eye so I can leer at her, but she refuses to look in my direction. Spoilsport.
After the Queen and Nicholas are settled in the South tower for the night I start madly plotting reasons why Hortense should have to admit me into her bed that night. The blancmange! I can claim it sapped all my strength I realise with relish. But Hortense takes me by surprise and confronts me in her nightgown as soon as I’ve dragged in the last trunk. I lick my lips even though its one of those long cotton virginal numbers. I can see the outline of her full breasts and the shadow of her mons beneath the well-worn cotton.
“Lean down to me,” she commands imperiously.
I blink in surprise, but before I’ve done more than stoop a few inches she grabs a vicious hold of my ear lobe.
“Ow!”
“You are not to approach my sister for energy ever! Do I make myself plain?”
I goggle at her in disbelief as it occurs to me that she thinks I could be interested in that insipid blonde.
“Why would I? When I have you mistress?” I answer with alacrity.
She hesitates.
“I’m aware that my sister may be… a little frustrated. That would no doubt be a red flag to your bull,” she sniffs.
I wrap my head around this remembering again that she believes me to be an incubus. Naturally, an incubus would be all over that shit. She’s not stupid.
“I understand mistress.” I lower my gaze. “It will be difficult,” I bite my lip. “But if you could keep me sufficiently distracted from her draw then I believe I can withstand it.”
She lets out a whoosh of air and I realise that she’s relieved. It occurs to me that maybe my plump little mistress is jealous? I have to try hard to keep my lips from curving into a smile.
“You will sleep with me tonight and every night that my sister remains here.”
I try to keep my eyes from popping out of my head.
“Yes mistress,” I answer meekly dropping my gaze so she can’t see my jubilation.
“If you betray me,” she says nastily. “I will make you suffer for it. Believe me.”
I widen my eyes for her obligingly to show my terror. God, she makes me hard. And now she believes she has to keep me satisfied or I might turn my gaze in another direction. It’s almost too good to be true.
I fuck my mistress’s pussy long hours into the night. Over and over again, I thrust and thrust against her milky white, soft warm body. She moans and writhes under me and comes and comes as I pleasure us both with my demon cock. I am mostly gentle as it was only that morning that I broke her hymen and I don’t want to make her too sore. Even though her body is so voluptuous and bountiful, her cunny is small, tight and unused before me. The thought of that makes my chest clench. Each time I stroke into that warm, wet little sheath my head pounds with one thought “Mine”. I grit my teeth and lock my jaw when it’s time to pull out of her and spill my seed. Each time it’s harder than before and I realise I want to come inside her. I want that more than anything. A naughty thought enters my head, I lean down to whisper in my ear.
“There’s one way to enslave an incubus,” I tell her. “And ensure he never looks at another woman.”
Her eyes are unfocussed,
“What is it?” she moans, biting her bottom lip and arching her back. “Tell me.” Her breasts are thrust up at me and I lean down for a good hard suck on her dark pink nipples. Mmmmm, delicious. Like raspberries.
She cries out and her cunt clenches me so tight I give a deep dirty groan.
“Mistress, yessss…” Fuck me, she’s good. I could never get tired of this pussy I think dazedly. “Please, please do that again…”
Dimly I realise I am pleading, I, Kiril, Demon Prince of the seventh layer of hell am pleading this plump little almost-virgin with whom I have done nothing but the missionary position all night as if her cunny was paved with liquid gold.
She stares up at me before giving a slow roll of her hips which gives me such a nice deep squeeze I moan aloud like a bitch and beads of sweat start to stand out on my forehead. Shit.
“It’s to take his seed deep inside of you,” I groan, biting my bottom lip and praying she takes the bait. I wanna shoot my load in her so bad it’s a physical ache in my balls.
Her eyes go wide.
“Is that true,” she asks tremulously.
“Gods yes,” I grunt with a nice deep thrust that nearly makes me go cross-eyed with pleasure.
“Then… then yes,” she whispers.
With great restraint I manage not to blow my wad on the spot,
“Then you have to demand it,” I tell her casting down my eyes. “You have to draw it out of me.” Yes, I am one twisted son of a bitch. “It won’t be easy,” I lie, biting my lip as though downcast.
“How?” she pants, chest heaving. “I don’t know how to do it.”
In one motion I roll us over so that she is on top. She yelps in confusion and possibly cos my penetration is nice and deep this way.
“Like you did a minute ago,” I urge pushing her knees out so our groins are flush against each other and she sinks down that little bit further on my big nasty cock. “Tighten up inside and milk it out of me.”
She pauses,
“But I feel so full this way,” she whispers. “You’re so
big…”
“I know you can do it Hortense,” I groan.
She bites her lip and tentatively sucks in a breath, internally squeezing me at the same time. Her eyes squeeze shut as I feel myself pulse deep within her.
I thrash my head on the pillow. It feels too fucking good and I am too fucking close. Her impossible tightness surrounds my straining purple cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing as she whimpers and I fling back my head and roar as I start to spurt. Her eyes fling wide, as do mine. Shit I’m coming! And I didn’t even make her work for it!
“Yes, give it to me Kiril.” She groans. “Just give it to me, don’t fight it.”
I yell as the torturous squeeze-release continues, milking my furious cock and thankful balls of all their cum which she suctions from me into her, digging her heels into the mattress and giving little bounces as she takes it, takes it all, emptying me of my demon seed and drawing it all deep within her. It goes on and on and I can’t stop spurting and spurting into her, staring up into her stormy grey eyes until she cries out and falls forward limp onto my chest. My arms close around her instantly and I cradle her to me tightly. We both lay there trembling. I’m not capable of actual words by this point. Holy shit. I may have been lying but I think the end result may be the same. I’m in serious trouble.
Next morning I rise earlier than usual and summon a hot bath for my lady, realising she won’t let me join her in the cold light of day. More’s the pity. I wash out of the ewer and bowl on the side before lacing on my leather trousers and pulling a clean tunic over my head. Hortense avoids my eyes until she’s dressed and I feel oddly subdued enough to let her get away with this. We make our way down to breakfast in uncharacteristic silence. This silence is shattered once we’re in the great hall of course as bloody Nicholas is there galloping around there astride an old mop out of the scullery.
“Mama forgot my hobby horse,” he announces imperiously. “But this thing is almost as good. What is it?”
I ignore him as Hortense attempts to coax the dirty old thing from his princely grasp. I set the breakfast table with a sweep of my arm. No need to make any pretence this morning as mistress will no doubt believe me fully juiced up on power after last night’s sexathon. Nicholas forgets his mop in an instant, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter as he scrambles into a seat and falls onto the platters of bread, ham and fruit with greedy abandon. A dainty step announces his mother’s arrival. She trails in looking pale and miserable. I roll my eyes as Hortense starts forward to kiss her on her cheek and pour her a cup of tea. Filthy habit. Everyone knows ale is the only acceptable morning beverage. Largely ignored I carry on outside where a cold mist is rising up from the ground after last night’s hard freeze. I breathe out puffs of air as I stride towards the woodpile to the north of the grey stone keep. Grabbing the axe I give it a few good swings before starting on decimating a tree trunk. I’ve filled two baskets before I realise I’m no longer alone. There leaning one pointed red leather boot against my woodstack is my older brother Merrick. Prince of the sixth level of hell. I drop my axe.
“What the hells are you doing here?” I demand.
“That brother, ought to be my question,” he answers with his deep rumbling voice as he folds his great brawny arms and gazes around us in disbelief. “Have you been here the entire time you’ve been above ground?”
I hear the incredulity in his voice and bristle. It’s not that bad! I shrug evasively.
“What’s it to you?” I grouch. You’re not my keeper.”
He snorts as I reach for my axe and heft it over my shoulder showing my rippling muscle. When you’re the youngest of seven brothers you have to show you can’t be pushed around. Especially when you’re all princes of hell. Of course, we’re much the same size so my impressive physique is unlikely to intimidate him much. Merrick is decked out in his usual red leather, complete with studded cod-piece. Subtle.
“What are you now – a servant boy?” he sneers. “Running errands for your mistress?”
Then I start to see the red mist.
“Have you been spying on me?” I roar.
He raises his arms in a conciliatory fashion.
“Easy brother,” he winces. “Of course not.”
I narrow my eyes, jabbing a finger in his chest.
“Then how do you know I have a mistress?” I snarl.
He raises an eyebrow,
“Because your name is Kiril,” he snorts. “And you’re only ever vertical when you’re not horizontal.”
I relax my rigid muscles a bit.
“Plus you reek of human female,” he mutters. “It’s coming out of your pores.”
To my own astonishment I feel the tips of my ears redden. Really Kiril? Blushing? You? Sometimes I astonish even myself.
My brother’s jaw drops.
“Alright, that’s it!” He shakes his head. “What the fuck’s going on with you?” With an effort I get a hold of myself.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him abruptly. “Just a scam, a ruse. The usual.”
“The usual? It doesn’t usually take you three months,” he stresses darkly.
Three months! He’s right. But how do I explain that Hortense was a tough nut to crack. That I didn’t want to crack her open and steal her sweet kernel and run. That I wanted to savour this one. He’s my brother. We don’t do those kind of talks for fuck’s sake.
“It’s a tricky one,” I tell him. “I’ll be another month. At most.”
“Another month! You have got to be joking Kiril! You have duties. Below stairs. People have been asking for you. Jorad ” he says significantly naming our oldest brother, “is asking for you.”
“I am not coming back yet,” I hiss at him in a furious undertone. “I’ve got things on the burner.”
I stare at him almost wildly. No way I’m leaving yet! I’ve only just got Hortense’s sweet little ass where I want her which is firmly underneath me and I’m damned if I’m gonna hightail it back to hell before I’ve thoroughly fucked her every which way but lose.
“Who the hells is this woman?” he shakes his head. “Oh she’s got you twisted up in knots brother.”
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous,” I snarl. “She’s nothing, nobody. A minor level witch. She can’t even tell her arse from her elbow.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is. What? You think I’ve become enslaved to some poor little virgin and now can’t call my soul my own?” I mock.
“Virgin?” echoes Merrick derisively. “You’re trying to tell me you’ve spent three months wooing a virgin?”
“She’s not a virgin anymore, obviously.” I enounce viciously, glad my brother will never know how true his statement was until yesterday. The thought almost breaks me out in a cold sweat. How can I explain it to him when I can’t even to myself?
“Look Merrick,” I try for a calmer tone. “I need a little more time. Okay?”
“I’m sick of covering for you Kiril,” he growls.
“I appreciate that. But … this is important.” I’m grasping at straws now. Casting about for something, anything. “I’ll owe you. “ I tell him as earnestly as I can even though my reputation isn’t exactly for trustworthiness or even gratitude. In fact, quite the opposite. What can I say? I’m the probably one of the worst of all seven of us.
Merrick sighs.
“You’re still such a little shit Kiril, even if you are as big as me now.” He looks me up and down derisively. “Seriously, you’re a woodcutter now?”
I can hardly explain this has been the only outlet for my sexual frustration for three whole months. That and a daily hand-job. Still, that’s all over now I tell myself and focus on the prize.
“One more month,” I say holding up a finger. “I swear it.”
I’m on edge when I return to the keep, slamming my way through the big oak double doors and dropping the basket of wood next to the huge stone hearth.
“Can he do the mirror trick now?” bleats
Cendrillon at once even though she seems barely to have breakfasted. Maybe that’s why the prince can’t get it up, I think she’s got no meat on her bones to tempt a man. Not like Hortense. I start stacking the wood in the hearth over the kindling, ignoring the Queen.
“After breakfast,” murmurs Hortense. “Have another cup of tea sister.” And then it hits me, why I’m so pissed off. It’s the way she bills and coos over her family and yet only ever gives me the sharp edge of her tongue. I glare moodily into the hearth as I light it from hellfire at my fingertips. A neat trick. I see Prince Nicholas’ eyes go wide and wink at him. He gapes.
“Ow ee oo at?” he mumbles through his bread roll.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full darling,” reproaches Cendrillon automatically.
Hortense is toying with her plate of ham, not tucking in with her usual appetite. I realise she is watching me furtively through her eyelashes. Well, well. Is she thinking about last night? I wonder and a shiver runs down my spine. I stare at her lips which look a little redder and plumper this morning from all my kisses. That’s one good thing about the missionary position, I muse, you can kiss during it. Over and over again. Something I never really appreciated before now, the pleasure of kisses. I remember how she felt spasming around my cock and I feel my gaze catch fire as I snare her in it. She stares back a moment before dropping her fork and surging to her feet.
“Kiril,” she says clearing her throat. “The mirror.”
Sister Euphemia is more prepared for us today, she talks smugly about her blissful married life for thirty minutes before she and the baron’s three daughters are paraded for inspection. They are three of the plainest specimens of budding womanhood I have ever seen, but clearly their mother dotes on them. They sport bright red braids and are covered in freckles and although each have eighteen months between them look like the same child at different ages. Cendrillon and Hortense exclaim over how they’ve grown and are given demonstrations on their progress with the violin, their ballet lessons and poetry recital. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure they murder each of their arts with relish. Prince Nicholas grimaces horribly at their performance and puts his hands over his ears. They simper and blow him kisses as their mother reciprocates by admiring his blonde perfection. Cendrillon preens at this until finally Euphemia seems to realise that her sisters wish for some private conversation and she sends off her daughters fondly to the schoolroom. Nicholas is also dispatched to play outside with the long-suffering page. Hortense tries to wave me away but I waggle my eyebrows and convey that the connection will be broken without my presence. She huffs in irritation and suffers me to remain in the room exchanging a hurried whispered conversation with Cendrillon who looks vaguely annoyed but resigned.
Bumping Uglies Page 2