The King's Pleasure Read online

  When she did, he said, “Good girl. Now I’m going to move in and out of you. I want you to lick and suck it for me.”

  The arousal pulsed harder between Abigail’s legs as she followed the demeaning instructions. The king had been taking his time fucking her, patiently moving in and out, waking all of her nerve endings with a tantalizing slowness. Meanwhile, Frederick spoke soothing nonsense as he stroked her hair and fucked her mouth.

  When he began to move faster, so did the king. Abigail felt as though she were falling off a cliff with nothing holding her up but these two powerful men. She held on tight as both of them rode her, coming inside her in tandem. Her walls contracted around the king as she came, and he groaned out the last of his release.

  Both of the men eased out of her and Frederick laughed. “Yes, I am definitely jealous.”

  The king picked up a boneless and sated Abigail and carried her to his chambers where she was allowed a much-deserved nap.

  ***

  With each day that passed, Niall found himself more pleased with his acquisition. Despite her shyness and frequent blushing, she never failed to comply with what he demanded of her. He’d upgraded to using toys in court. He derived great amusement, stuffing her with large phalluses, growing hard as she fucked herself on them in front of their guests

  He enjoyed tying her spread-eagled to a large oak table and allowing members of court to fondle her as long as they wanted. It aroused him to watch her writhe under the hands of another—many others.

  But aside from his friend, Frederick, he didn’t allow any of them to fuck her. Even Frederick was only allowed use of her mouth. Niall enjoyed binding her naked body with increasingly intricate knotwork. He’d instructed the servants to keep her shaved bare so nothing would be hidden from the gaze of the court. He saw her shyness as a challenge to expose her body more fully to increasing numbers of strangers. Her embarrassment and discomfort were an aphrodisiac.

  The festival was held outdoors. Being under the open sky tended to bring out a darker, more primal side in most attendants. Each day of the feast, Abigail’s family had been invited only for the early portion, before things got wild. Then they were dismissed, along with the children so the adults could play.

  Niall was disappointed Abby’s father seemed no closer to accepting anything that had transpired. He’d chosen to stay in the home the king had given him rather than venture out to the festival. At least Abby’s mother and siblings had attended the dinners.

  On the final night of the festival, Niall had Abby dressed in a dazzling gold slave garment that made her look even more exotic than usual.

  “You look like an angel,” her youngest sister proclaimed. “I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

  A darkness swept over the mother’s features as she looked at the king. As if Niall would stoop so low as to take his slave’s sister when she came of age.

  “Not going to happen,” he said. Abby’s mother seemed moderately appeased.

  Bells rang out over loudspeakers, signaling the need to clear out children and those who didn’t wish to participate in the orgy and ceremony. Torches were lit and the tone of the music shifted from an upbeat tune to a slow and sensuous drumbeat with serpentine sounds that drifted and coiled around the banquet tables along with the smoke of hundreds of candles.

  Abigail hugged her mother and siblings, and they departed to their house. Then the wine and harder liquor flowed freely. As the music got slow and sensual, the frenetic energy of the remaining guests grew wilder, more primal.

  Niall observed the nervous tension in his slave. She seemed to sense the flavor of things shifting, not just for this portion of the night, but for the end of the festival. As if everything were more desperate and less inhibited.

  Abby looked on in horror at the depravity that had been kicked to a new level. Over at one table, two men held a woman’s thighs open while they coaxed a dog to lick between her legs. She screamed, “No, please, stop,” but it was clearly an act, because she was giggling and pressing her mound harder against the dog’s tongue, already approaching her orgasm. Then the men started pouring wine over her breasts and sucking it off, teasing her with threats of even worse things they had in store for her later.

  “Are you all right, Abigail?” Niall asked as he came closer and wrapped his arms around her. Despite not wanting to coddle her, he was concerned by how she’d take some of the more extreme behaviors.

  “Aren’t you going to stop that?” She pointed at the woman with the men and dog.

  “Why? No one is in any danger. The dog isn’t being forced. No one is being hurt.”

  “It’s just so … gross.”

  He shrugged, long past too jaded to care about the introduction of animals to the evening’s festivities. It was her first formal orgy; she’d adjust eventually. A few of the foreign guests on their first trip to Himeros would surely go back to report on what barbaric demons they all were, even though it was only one small trio engaging in the activity. People loved to blow things out of proportion.

  “What about that?” Abigail pointed to where a woman had been tied down and was being struck with a riding crop.

  “Beg to be fucked with it, little slut,” the man with the crop snarled.

  “Please, Sir, stop,” she whimpered. “I-I don’t want to.”

  “Wrong answer.” He struck her again, laying a sharp red line across her bare ass. “Try again.”

  She mewled and strained against her bonds. “Please, Sir, fuck me with it.”

  He turned the riding crop so that the long, thick handle was poised at her entrance, but then he stopped and moved in front of her, holding the crop at her mouth. “It needs lube.”

  She wet it with her saliva, then he moved back behind her and pushed it into her ass.

  The woman let out a howl. “Please...”

  “I’m sorry, my dear. You disobeyed me. It would have been your cunt if you’d asked sweetly the first time. You could be coming against the crop handle right now if you’d been more pleasing.”

  Niall chuckled at the scene and shook his head. “I know both of them, Abby. It might not appear that way, but believe me, they are both completely into it. It’s just a game they play.”

  “A-are you into it, Master?” she asked.

  The tremulous tone of her voice made him hard. “Watching or doing?” he asked.

  “D-doing.”

  “Yes, it pleases me, and eventually you’ll be in her position, so when I tell you to beg for something, you’d better do it quickly because I know all his tricks.”

  Niall watched as she processed that, then he stepped behind her and cupped her mound. It was warm, her wetness already slipping through the gap in the fabric of her panties. When he pressed his fingers against her, he could feel the throbbing pulse as her blood rushed past. However scared she might be by all of it, the idea aroused her, too, though he doubted she’d admit it unless he ordered her to.

  “Are you ready to be put on the stage?”

  Her breathing and manner changed to a heady mixture of arousal and fear. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  He knew it was a lie, but let it go. Having just witnessed the couple with the riding crop, she seemed ill-prepared to give even the impression of non-compliance, likely for fear he might do something similar to her up on the well-lit stage.

  The king took her hand and led her up the steps. A sturdy oak table with straps attached stood on one end of the platform. On the other end was a gilded bench that had been bolted to the floor with a thick phallus attached. He nudged Abigail closer to it and slipped her top off, followed by the belt and panties. The bracelets, anklets, and diamond and gold chain around her waist were left on. Her hair fell free down her back in waves.

  The music changed, and the drumbeats got stronger and deeper, so hard and loud that they would thump through the body of each person in attendance, bringing them more fully into the proceedings. They were mesmerized by the sight of her. If they’
d had any hatred for her ancestry, it had fizzled in the heat of orgasm and alcohol.

  Niall stood behind his slave, gripping the front of her throat in a possessive pose that demonstrated her as his undisputed property. Then he addressed his audience.

  “Himeros was founded and built to worship the gods of lust, our patrons who have blessed us with so much wealth and hedonistic pleasure. On the final night of the high festival in their honor, I formally introduce my property, Abigail.”

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “As my slave, you’re the symbol of the evening. Surrender yourself completely.”

  The king noted the light trembling in her body as he guided her to straddle the bench and mount the phallus. It was the first time she’d been on display in front of this many people, all attention fully on her. She let out a whimper as she lowered onto the thick, cold metal object. When it was firmly seated inside her, Abigail leaned forward and began to ride it, her tempo matching that of the drumbeats until she and the drums seemed to merge into one thing.

  Whistles and cat calls came up from the crowd as the sexual energy rose higher.

  “Fuck it until you come for us,” Niall growled. He’d moved behind her, rubbing her back and squeezing her breasts as she rode the phallus harder. The simple display was pure ritual to their gods; her exposed body the sacrifice, her orgasm, the offering.

  A few minutes passed before she let out a moan that reverberated around the grounds. When she finished, Niall motioned for two nearby guards to help him move her for the final part of the ceremony. The festival attendees formed a line at the bottom of the stage as Abby was pulled off the phallus, her cum dripping down the metal.

  He ran his finger through it, then put it to his mouth, tasting her. The guards strapped her down on the table, spread-eagled, and one by one his subjects came up onto the platform to lick between her legs. Some took a small taste, others lingered longer, seeking a deeper connection to honor the gods and to wring more pleasure from her body.

  Abigail writhed and twisted under each tongue. She bucked as some dipped inside her, not content to lick her outer folds. Others fingered her pussy to draw more wetness out for the enjoyment of those who came after them. He didn’t stand in the way of any subject seeking to share in the ritual.

  When everyone had tasted her, Niall motioned for Frederick, who bounded up the stairs two at a time.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “Stay with her. But no penetration except her mouth,” Niall said. He wanted to be sure she wasn’t left alone and vulnerable.

  “You ruin all my fun,” came the reply.

  “I mean it.”

  Frederick mock-bowed and said: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Niall just shook his head and stepped down from the stage. When he turned around, Abby was still tied down, sucking his friend.

  He wanted to take a quick look around and make sure everything was as it should be now that the ritual was over. He had the party well-guarded but he still liked to keep an eye on things. It was a deeply imprinted instinct from times of war when he’d had to remain on constant alert.

  On the final leg of his patrol, he rounded a corner to find Yvette, one of the girls who’d been trained for his harem. She was naked and looked to be lying in wait for someone. She’d already been well and thoroughly used, judging from the flush of her cheeks, her swollen lips, and the wetness running down her thighs, likely a mixture of her own moisture and the spendings of the many men she’d serviced tonight.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, dropping to her knees and crawling closer. She reached up for him, as if to initiate a sexual act she hadn’t been given permission for.

  Oh. She’d been lying in wait for him. Wonderful.

  “Yvette,” he said, with a slight nod and a simultaneous step back.

  Her eyes glinted, and for a moment she forgot her place and the supreme power the king held over her very life. “Why aren’t we good enough for you? We’ve been trained. We know how to please you. We don’t have to be instructed on anything. So what the hell is wrong with us?”

  Niall sighed. “You want to know what’s wrong with you? You’re playing a game. You and every other woman in the harem. You know how to manipulate a man to get what you want. He may think he owns you, but you own him. There is power and money in your eyes. You dream of being the mother to the future king and all the things you could get me to buy for you and give you and all the ways I could indulge you. You have no real need or desire to serve. You just want to take. That’s why you aren’t good enough.”

  The anger sparked brighter. “It should have been me on that stage. You think your precious Abigail is more worthy? You think she’s any less manipulative than us? How else would a poor gypsy end up in the king’s bed with all this finery around her? You’re naïve if you don’t see she’s no different from me. She’s a bigger con artist than I’ll ever be.”

  “Careful how you speak to me. Abigail is the real thing.” Wasn’t she? Of course she was, but the seed, however untrustworthy the source, had been planted.

  Yvette stood as gracefully as possible under the circumstances and brushed past him. She paused when she reached the end of the wall and turned back to the king. “But how would you really know?”

  As she made her exit, he gripped her hard around the arm.

  “Ow! You’re hurting me.”

  “Be glad that’s all I’m doing.” Niall escorted her to the edge of the grounds and handed her off to one of the guards. “Yvette is to be banned from castle grounds. Send her back to her family.”

  She struggled, trying to pull away. “No, please, Master. Don’t send me back home. It will shame the family. It’s bad enough you won’t use me.”

  “Do not ever call me that. It’s not your right.” He turned to the guard. “Get her out of here. I don’t want her near me or Abigail again.”

  As Niall walked back through the throng of revelers, he thought about what Yvette had said. She was wrong. Of course she was wrong. His Abby wasn’t like that. She hadn’t chosen any of this. It wasn’t as if she’d positioned herself right in front of him. Or had she?

  He knew Yvette was jealous. But that didn’t mean the woman couldn’t be right. He’d watched so carefully for signs of those around him who might try to undermine his reign.

  Could Abigail have manipulated the whole thing from the beginning? Wasn’t it at least possible? Why else would she have taken such a dangerous chance to steal bread from the castle, of all places? And why end up conveniently right outside his door during her escape attempt? His stomach turned at what he was considering. He didn’t want to believe it was possible, but anything was possible. Greater men had been brought down by beautiful and seemingly helpless women.

  ***

  In only a few weeks, Abigail had adjusted to her position in the kingdom. Her family had been invited to dinner several times. Her father refused the invitations, of course. It irritated her because he seemed happy enough to live in the house the king had given him after his initial angry outburst.

  Niall had been nothing but polite and proper during dinners with her family, only turning the evening sexual when they were a safe distance from the castle. Her brothers and sisters didn’t seem to fully understand her position with the king, and her mother appeared to be trying to forget it, but seeing how healthy and happy Abigail looked had seemed to quiet the woman’s inner demons.

  There was only one thing that kept everything from being perfect. The king was pulling away from her. It had started the final night of the festival. She’d wanted to ask what she’d done wrong, but she was afraid to broach the subject and appear too aggressive. She didn’t want to displease him further.

  Her loneliness grew as she became more attached and dependent on him and the necessities he provided her, while he became increasingly detached and distracted. Maybe he was just growing bored with her.

  He was the first king in recent history to have a single slave, rejecting an official h
arem and only keeping those girls around to entertain guests. Did he want a harem? If he wanted one, why didn’t he just start one? He was the king. He didn’t need Abigail’s permission. She didn’t know how she would feel if he took more women and she got pushed to the side. She hoped she’d remain special since she’d been the first, but with their growing distance, it seemed unlikely he’d keep her at all.

  The door opened and two servant girls entered. “The king wants you prepared for him and brought to court at once.” There was an edge of anxiety in the voice of the woman who’d spoken.

  The servants rushed her through a bath, the fragrant oils haphazardly thrown into the water. There was no time for a long, languid soak.

  “He wants you in this one,” the other girl said, holding up a red slave garment. The red would be striking and dramatic against Abigail’s black hair. It was stupid to think about such vain things when obviously something was about to happen. She didn’t make a fuss when they hauled her out of the tub and toweled her off.

  Her eyes looked glassy and unfocused in the full-length mirror as they helped her into the top and panties and belt. Next came the anklets and bracelets, and the chain that went around her belly. The previous night, her nails had been painted a scarlet red. She looked down at her bare feet and wondered if Niall had seen her nails and chosen this garment to match. If he had, it gave her hope he hadn’t completely lost interest—if he could notice small details like what color her nails had been painted.

  “Quickly,” one of them said, running a brush through Abigail’s hair and guiding her out of the king’s chambers. They hadn’t lost the frenetic energy since they’d interrupted her breakfast. Things were never like this when the servants came. It made Abigail worry even more that she’d inadvertently done something to displease the king.

  Though she’d seen him make righteous and just decisions in the several weeks she’d been in his care, she’d also seen the swift punishment he delivered to anybody who stepped out of line even a little. He’d become increasingly paranoid about how his subjects were reacting to him, thinking someone would wish to overthrow him if he showed the slightest hint of weakness. She could tell he felt pressure to become someone he wasn’t to secure his throne. Or someone she hoped he wasn’t.