My body aches, reminding me of the night’s excesses.
I have given my heart.
I lie back down, pulse racing. I’ve done it. I’ve taken the step I never thought I would. I told Lloyd that I love him. Now he knows exactly the extent of the power he has over me. But then again, I know exactly the extent of the power I have over him too. As long as neither of us turns evil, it could be fine. It could be good. Whatever the world wants to throw at us, we’ll have each other. At least, that’s the theory.
Nothing left to do but test it.
I reach down under the covers and peel them back, oh so gently, over Lloyd’s naked body. Sleepy warm skin, just enough muscle definition without it being too much, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. And – yes – the semi-engorgement of his cock.
Very lightly, I place my fingertips beneath his scrotum, assessing its heaviness and tension. Pretty heavy, pretty tense. What is my darling Lloyd dreaming of? Something rude, no doubt.
He stirs a little, grunting sweetly. I move my hand to the hardening shaft, making light sweeping motions up the length of it, barely touching it, enjoying the way it fills out and grows under my touch.
I feel he has earned his favourite kind of alarm call.
I bend and lick it from root to tip, tracing a circle around the head when I reach it, then I seal my lips around it.
He jolts as if electrified and starts to wake up with a great deal of spluttering and chaotic breathing.
I keep my eyes on my work, taking the first few sucks, waiting for him to come to consciousness.
I sense him sitting up slightly to look down at me.
‘Oh babe,’ he says, then his head falls back on the pillow with a resounding flump.
I make noises of murmuring delight around his helpless cock and start to milk it for all it’s worth, taking hold of the sac below and massaging it as I work.
Lloyd wants to say things but he can’t. It’s delicious to hear him shudder and struggle with speech, then give up.
He’s fully erect, velvety steel in my mouth, and I stretch my jaw to accommodate him, work at loosening my throat to take him all the way in. But I don’t have to work for long because the salty liquid bursts into my mouth before I’m ready, and I swallow it quickly, licking up all the traces from his cock before releasing it.
‘Mm, what did I do to deserve that?’ he asks with a yawn, after we’ve kissed our tastes into each other’s mouths.
‘Everything.’
‘Does that mean I get woken up this way every morning?’
‘Don’t push your luck, Ellison.’
‘Why change the habit of a lifetime?’
My laugh turns to a sneeze, then another. In my advanced state of mooniness, I haven’t noticed that I’ve been burning up and shivering all over since I awoke. It takes Lloyd’s hand on my forehead to realise it.
‘Fuck’s sake, Sophie, you need to break this habit of falling in lakes. Wait there, I’ll get the thermometer.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Shut up or I’ll make it the rectal thermometer.’
‘Promises,’ I say with a cough.
He returns from the bathroom and sticks his digital thermometer under my tongue. ‘Yep,’ he says, examining the reading. ‘You’re staying right there today.’
‘You don’t get flu from falling into lakes,’ I tell him. ‘That’s a myth. I bet one of your dodgy gambling mates was infectious.’
‘Yeah, and you’ve been spreading your germs on my cock. I’m going to get cock flu now.’
I giggle deliriously. ‘You’re an idiot. Is that anything like bird flu?’
‘I’m not sure I want to find out. OK: honey and lemon, paracetamol and a cold flannel. I think that’s what it said in the Boy Scout handbook.’
‘You were never a Boy Scout.’
‘Ah, but I was.’
I lie juddering and aching while he sorts me out with various palliatives.
‘Chase wouldn’t do this for you,’ he mentions.
True enough. Chase had hated it when anybody was ill, appearing to see it as a personal failing.
‘Chase is a twat.’
‘I thought that was me? I’m the twat around here. I don’t want anyone stealing my twat thunder.’
‘You aren’t, though, not really. Only in a nice way. You’re ace.’
‘So are you.’
He kisses my forehead and I drift into fever, knowing that I am loved.
Chapter Twelve
A fortnight later, when the worst and most ghastly symptoms of my illness have abated and I’m contemplating returning to work, Lloyd shimmies up behind me at the bathroom sink and takes the toothbrush from my hand.
‘Would it be fair to say that you’re feeling much better, Soph?’
I look at him warily, my mouth full of toothpaste. ‘What do you mean?’ I try saying, but it comes out as if through a gag. I swallow and try again.
‘I mean,’ he says, bending to kiss my shoulder, watching himself in the mirror, ‘do you remember a certain deflowered princess, and the appointment she had with the Dark Prince that time?’
I don’t know what he’s talking about for a moment, then I remember our hot scene in the forest, way back when Lloyd set his challenge. My toes curl and I grin up at him. ‘Oh, that deflowered princess. That was a hot scene.’
‘Hottest scene ever. I’m thinking I might be in the mood for a reprise.’
‘Now?’
‘Well, I’m thinking that the temp I hired to stand in for you can work to the end of the week. And I’m not due in for another two hours. So …’
‘I see. Do I need to get ready?’
‘I’ve laid some stuff out for you on the bed. I’ll get ready in the living room.’
‘Get ready.’ I bounce on my feet, excited already. ‘What are you getting ready for?’
‘Ohhh, you really don’t want to know.’ He puts his hands around my neck and presses his thumbs deep into my shoulder blades, then he walks out, leaving me on high alert.
I finish my ablutions in record time and make my way into the bedroom, where a medieval-ish fancy dress kit is spread across the covers. It’s a long red and gold thing with a V-shaped belt, low-cut with bell sleeves and a ribbon bodice. There don’t appear to be any knickers or bra, though I do have a pair of red velvet slippers for my feet.
The dress fits snugly and I admire my curvaceous silhouette in the mirror, plaiting my hair in fantasy-princess style, all the better for Lloyd to pull later on. I add a few dabs of make-up and then I stand by the door, getting into role, imagining myself as the trepidatious princess, about to have her plans comprehensively scuppered.
She’d put on a brave face. She’s not about to give in to the Dark Prince without a struggle. That evil, nasty man … shame he’s so attractive … never mind.
I open the door to find Lloyd dressed in an imaginative rendering of an old-school villain. He has some kind of long black tunic on, belted at the waist with a child’s toy sword and a riding crop dangling from the side. I’m pretty sure that’s a pair of my leggings too that he’s stretching way out of shape, but I’m not about to quibble. With the riding boots and the drawn-on pointy beard and moustache combo, he looks really a lot better than I expected.
All the same, it’s hard not to laugh when he wheels around and says, ‘Ah, my bride,’ with a histrionic sneer.
‘I fear not, my lord,’ having decided that Your Highness is less sexy a moniker.
‘What do you mean? The match is arranged. Your little adventure in the forest is over and you are delivered to me for our wedding.’
‘My little adventure in the forest had consequences that may well cause you to abandon the marriage.’
He comes closer, takes my face in his hand and holds it firm. ‘Oh? Pray tell.’
‘There was a brigand of the forest. He came upon me in the night-time. He … beguiled me.’
Lloyd’s grip on my chin tightens. ‘Beguiled you? You mea
n, you willingly …?’
‘I gave him my maidenhead. No force was used.’
He drops my chin, claps his arms to his sides, staring at me. He is so convincing, I could really think he is shocked and stunned. ‘Willingly?’ he repeats in a whisper.
‘Willingly. So, you see, you will not wish to wed a whore like me. I shall prepare for the journey home.’
I turn to the bedroom door, but he lunges for my elbow and pulls me up close.
‘You think I will relinquish my claim on your father’s lands and your dowry so easily? You think I will let you go, just because you have sullied yourself with a brigand?’
‘You won’t? You cannot still want to wed!’
‘Oh, yes I can.’
‘I am not a virgin.’
‘I need not take so much care in the marriage bed then. No, we will wed. But first there is a lesson for you.’
Measureless excitement as he draws the riding crop from his belt and hustles me over to the sofa, bending me over the arm.
‘Can you guess what the lesson might be?’ he taunts, pulling my skirt up over my bare bottom.
Imagining that the princess might be regretting her rash behaviour in no small measure, I bleat, ‘Forgive me, my lord, I beg your indulgence, I have made a mistake but I have learned my lesson now.’
‘You beg my indulgence? When you have whored yourself out to a brigand and come to me to confess that you gave in to him with a will? That you are wanton and governed by your lusts? Oh no, you need this lesson, and it shall be given.’
‘Oh dear.’ I quiver, suppressing a giggle.
He lays the tip of the riding crop against my bottom. How cold and cruel it feels, and he hasn’t even struck me with it yet.
‘I have instructed the bishop and he awaits us in the chapel. We may be a little late, and you may thank your stars that you are permitted to kneel instead of sitting on a hard wooden pew, Your Highness. Now I shall give you twenty strokes, and I don’t intend to spare you.’
He doesn’t either, the first brisk swipe landing with eye-watering impact in the broad centre of my bottom.
I moan a long, ‘Oh,’ and grip the cushion below.
‘Regretting your moment of beguilement now?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Your arse shall suffer for your cunt’s transgression.’
What a turn of phrase he has! I think he hears my snickering, because the second stroke is sudden and swift, catching me right below the first.
‘Eek!’
‘I’ll wager there aren’t many royal brides who speak their vows while nursing a striped, sore bum,’ he says.
I wriggle luxuriously, turned on amidst the throbbing.
‘I shall see that everybody knows it,’ he whispers, then he lays the third, good and hard, at the top of my thighs.
‘My guards are watching,’ he mentions, piling on the lusciousness. ‘They are at the door, watching you getting whipped. They are going to tell all and sundry that you have been punished for wantonness and your bottom is as red as that bridal gown you are wearing.’
I kick my legs, wanting another stroke, which falls like doom, reverberating around the room.
Slowly and patiently, pacing himself, he applies the whip to my rear, interspersing each stroke with inflammatory comments about my whorish lusts and how I’d better get used to the rod because he will be bringing it out at the slightest excuse now he’s seen how good my bottom looks underneath it.
By the time he reaches twenty, I am squirming violently, desperate for it to both end and continue, embracing the way the burn gains depth and intensity with each stroke.
He puts the crop down in front of me. ‘This will suffice for now,’ he says ominously. ‘Now there is a wedding to attend.’
He pulls me up and makes me kneel on the rug opposite him, holding my hands, while he mutters, ‘Wedding, wedding, yadda yadda yadda.’ I am trembling from the force of the whipping and he has to more or less prop me up.
‘I now pronounce us man and wife and all that,’ he says, pulling me back up. ‘Now for the feast.’
He pops a grape in my mouth as we pass the fruit bowl at high speed en route for the bedroom.
‘And now that’s done – it’s the wedding night!’ He opens the bedroom door and flings me inside, then slams the door behind him. ‘Get your robe off and get on the bed, my lady, on your hands and knees.’
I sink down onto the floor, needing a moment’s breather before continuing, wrestling the velveteen fabric from underneath me. Once I have revived, I remove the dress in one move and am instantly nude. I crawl onto the bed, watching Lloyd disrobe from the corner of my eye.
When he is naked, he takes the lube from the bedside drawer and I clench all over, knowing what is coming. After all, it was my idea.
‘Let me look at that arse,’ he says roughly, taking handfuls of my hot rump and squeezing. ‘I suppose you’d like some cream to relieve the sting?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Well, you’re out of luck. I have some ointment here, but it won’t help the pain from the whip.’
‘What … what is it for then?’
‘You cheated me of your virginity. Some other man got inside your cunt before I did. But I’ll wager he didn’t get inside every part of you.’ He parts my cheeks and starts to apply lubricant between them, leaving me in no doubt as to his intentions.
As a medieval princess, however, perhaps I would have doubts. ‘What do you mean? You cannot mean to … this is not a place for … you can’t!’
‘Don’t fret, my lady, this can be done and has been done on many occasions. It will neither kill nor maim you. You may even enjoy it.’
‘Enjoy it?’
His finger goes deeper, further, troubling my ring with its slippery invasive presence.
‘I think you might. Given your whorish proclivities.’
Sophie wouldn’t tense up and try to expel him, but perhaps the medieval princess would, so I feign resistance for a moment. He simply waits, patiently, for the moment to pass then slips the finger in as soon as I relax my guard.
I wiggle my bum and squeal, then breathe deeply, trying to remember how this felt the first time, eager to authenticate my response. I recall a low-level panic that this could and would never feel right or pleasurable, even amidst the luscious sense of takenness and I try to replicate it. I attempt to pull away from Lloyd’s intruding finger, but he braces an arm beneath my ribcage, obviating any further disobedience.
‘No, you don’t,’ he says under his breath. ‘You’re going nowhere.’
A second finger joins the first in its explorations. I rock gently back and forth while the probe gathers in intensity.
‘Feeling it now, Princess?’
‘It’s uncomfortable,’ I wail.
‘Not for long.’
He withdraws his fingers, then he shuffles up closer behind me, spreading my cheeks, lubricating my anus within an inch of its life before placing the head of his cock right up against it.
‘Oh.’ I hold my breath.
‘Didn’t any of your ladies-in-waiting tell you about this?’
‘No, never.’
‘Perhaps it’s the knights you need to be talking to. I’ll wager there are more than a few of those …’
He moves forwards, suddenly but infinitesimally, so that my ring quivers and considers protest. I hold my nerve, though, accustoming myself to the wider stretching without true penetration as yet.
‘Easy, now, Princess,’ he whispers. ‘Take a hold of yourself. I’m going to take your arse, right now.’
He pushes so slowly that it’s almost crueller than one swift move. He makes me feel it in its entire length and width, the sensations creeping through my body, making my toes curl and my hair stand on end.
It doesn’t really hurt me and I know there will be that split second of pain that passes once he is fully sheathed, so I am able to concentrate on my role-playing, pretending to fluster and howl at th
e indignity of it all. ‘You are no gentleman,’ I dredge up from some memory of foot-stamping historical characters.
Lloyd laughs. ‘This isn’t Regency romance, love. I think you’ve got a bit mixed up.’
‘Ohhh, well, you’re a villain with a heart as black as pitch, then. Did they have pitch in those days? Not quite sure what pitch is, to be honest.’
‘Stop wittering. I can’t bugger you if you’re going to witter on. In fact …’
He lets go of one of my hips to reach an arm forwards and cover my mouth with the palm of his hand. Oh, I love that. Might make the hair pulling difficult later on, but still, so worth it.
‘Should have got a gag,’ he mutters, then he sets to work, taking me to my limit, reaming me out with a ferocious will.
I pant and moan into his palm, shutting my eyes, feeling the beads of sweat form on my brow and the slippery passage begin to sting.
He is an expert, knowing my body as if he has made a study of it, which in a way he has. With one hand gripping my waist, he jolts back and forth, making me feel the full impact, holding nothing back.
Once he is sure the wittering-menace is past, he takes his hand from my mouth and moves his fingers below, to my swollen, needy clit.
He presses on it and circles it, keeping up the pressure of his cock in my bum all along, never letting up for an instant. He knows when I am about to come; he is familiar with the signs, and that is the moment he chooses to grab my plait and yank it hard.
Oh, the endorphins surround and imprison me. I have no escape from them as they ping-pong around me like a force field. And then comes the deeper pleasure, building from below, spreading through my cunt and my arse before transforming into blinding climax. I am a channel through which the violence and emotion of sex is transmitted. Its primal urgency is what I am made for, and what I live for.
In that moment, at least, it always seems so.
In that moment when Lloyd fills my most private parts with his semen, it seems so, and when he wraps my hair around his fist and holds it there, keeping my neck held back. When he puts his fingers to my mouth again, so I can smell myself and taste myself on them, I know I have fulfilled my purpose. I have done what I am here for.
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