He fucked her with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years. Pinning her body down was easy. Fucking her was even easier. Their state of half-dress made the sex even better. She grunted and groaned under his body, but they were noises of pain, they were of pleasure. Margareta didn’t fully understand why she needed pain during sex with a man, but it always made it better. She arched her back and allowed him to pull back on her hair while he fucked her. If Aphra had been there she would have been ashamed. Or maybe she would have been thrilled for her lover to see her helpless like this being fucked by her husband. It was oh so confusing.
The sudden gout of hot, liquid pleasure that Roderick deposited in her body was more than she could take. The orgasm was more satisfying than she would have anticipated and Roderick rolled off her almost at once, panting heavily as if he had sprinted the length of the palace. How they had fucked was unnatural and wrong and she had loved every minute of it.
Only one thing was missing.
Aphra.
Chapter Ten
The ceremonial duties of burying his son—his queer son—along with the stress of dealing with the attempts on the life of his other son and his daughter in law had put Crown Prince Bradford in a foul mood. There was only one way to pull him out of that mood. Long ago he had realized that drink was at best a temporary solution with vomit inducing repercussions. Violence against others—sparring partners, his wife, a useless servant—was only a temporary relief but often generated other problems. It was easier and better to lose himself in the cunt of an available woman.
Bradford strained as he attempted to fuck his partner harder and faster. He wasn’t the young man he had once been, but he considered himself more than virile enough for the fairer sex. His wife might be past her breeding years, but it was never a bad idea to have one or two secret bastards hidden in the service chambers—especially now with all the murders—just in case his one remaining legitimate offspring was killed.
The fact that he was fucking a woman other than his wife didn’t bother him in the least, even if he had recently chastised his son for having a mistress, a pregnant mistress no less. There were the expected behaviors of the nobility and there were the required behaviors of nobility in order for them to survive.
Besides, the girl was prettier than his wife with ripe young tits perfect for sucking and pinching. She giggled and moaned underneath him in all the right ways. She knew exactly what she was doing. In the back of his mind Bradford knew that there was a good possibility that she was faking some of her reactions for him because flattering the prince was a much better choice than telling him he was a terrible lover. Still, he was flattered, partly because of her youth and beauty, but also because he knew he could please a woman in bed. He hadn’t fucked dozens of maids, coquettes, and noblewomen in his lifetime without learning a few tricks.
This one was especially good. Yes, he knew she was far too young for him to have as a wife—and she was even a questionable choice as a mistress because her family was of such low social standing—but his body still responded to youth and beauty like it always had.
She looked up at him and gasped as he ground his cock into her. Her eyes went wide for a moment and then she scrunched them shut while letting out a noise of pleasure. Undeniably she was beautiful. Her skin was flawless and when she smiled little dimples appeared on her cheeks. Her lips were unnaturally red; he was certain that she dyed her hair to match their color. The way her breasts stood up proudly on her chest, not yet victims of the ravages of age or childbearing, stirred his cock more than he liked to admit, even to himself.
He slammed his cock into her again which made her yelp in surprise and delight. “You like that, do you?”
She moaned. “Oh, yes my prince. Do it again.”
He did so. He did it without thinking about it. Her cunt was moist and inviting. She had no trouble spreading her legs for him. If she got pregnant, so much the better for the both of them because then they would both get what they desired. Her throat let out little sounds that could have been cries of pleasure or of pain. It didn’t matter. Bradford was going to use her as he pleased.
Pulling back a bit he brought her legs up along his body, allowing her feet to drape over his shoulders. This opened her up and he could pound his cock deeper into her cunt, something she seemed to appreciate. He couldn’t hold that position for very long, only managing it for a few deep, heavy thrusts, but it was enough to make her body tremble uncontrollably as she reached her little death.
He collapsed on top of her, but he wasn’t done yet. His cock was still hard and her cunt was still wet and hungry. Her hands went from his shoulders, down his back, to grip his buttocks in an effort to pull him more deeply into her body. “Beautiful girl,” he whispered as she gripped him tightly, pulling him into her. He couldn’t remember her name—Tamara? Tara? Tilda? It didn’t matter—but he knew that women liked to be called by their name when he fucked them. It made them feel like he actually cared.
“My prince,” she said again.
She was beautiful. Maybe she wore too much jewelry, but that was they style of the younger women at the court. The necklace around her throat sported too many jewels, but it did match the earrings that hung heavily on the pillow she was using. The bracelets on her wrists chimed with her every movement, and the rings on her fingers were distracting. He didn’t like it when she was handling his cock and half of what he felt was the hard metal. What he did like most about her was the thin chain that circled her waist. It was an affectation of the younger women at court; he knew that. Supposedly it was a charm designed to guarantee impregnation. When she had taken off her dress and he saw the charm around her waist, he knew exactly what she wanted—it was what he wanted as well.
He thrusted hard a few more times. He was almost there. The maiden grunted with each thrust. She smiled up at him, waiting for her reward. “My prince,” she moaned at him. Her fingernails scratched at his back. It heralded the start of his orgasm.
It was quiet and intense. He strained hard, proving to her that he was as virile as any younger man. He was determined to get her with child, come hell or death or worse.
The groan he let out as he finished cumming was low and drawn out. The girl struggled underneath him for a moment, forcing him to roll to his side as he panted to recover from his exertions. His breathing slowed and at the same time became more labored.
“My prince?” the maiden asked, looking at him as she sat up and clutched some of the bedcovers to her chest, covering her perfect tits.
Bradford’s breathing slowed further and his eyes brightened. He realized that something was wrong. He tried to cry out for help, but could only manage a weak wheeze. Tremors ran through his limbs and he started to froth at the mouth.
The girl reached out and pinched his nipple as hard as she could. There was no reaction from Bradford. “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “But I had a job to do.”
As she started to get out of the bed, the private door to the bedroom quietly opened. Princess Annedulisia walked in, giving the girl pause. “Is it done?” she asked the younger woman.
The pretty redhead looked both pleased and guilty at the same time. “Yes. I’m sure it was painless for him.”
Annedulisia looked at her husband. His eyes were unfocused but he was still breathing. “He’s still alive.”
“The poison takes a few minutes.”
“Get dressed, Miss Tamar.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The girl slipped out of the bed and started gathering her clothing. Annedulisia made no motion to help the girl. That was not her position in the world, even if it would help secure her alibi.
“The poison is untraceable?”
“Of course, ma’am. There’s no perfect guarantee, but my society prides itself on our discretion.”
“That’s why I hired you,” said the princess. She looked at her husband, slowly fading away on the bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any affection for the man, after all he had given her tw
o children, even if one of them was a raging queer. And he was a decent enough lover. And he had given her the opportunity to be the originator of a new dynasty of her adopted country. She turned back to Tamar and saw that the girl was in the middle of pulling on her dress. It wasn’t of the extremely fancy style that was popular in the court, but it was easy to get in and out of, which was important for Tamar in her line of business. Annedulisia waited until the girl was in the middle of slipping her arms down the long, tight sleeves.
The knife was long and thin…and sharp. Annedulisia drew it from the hidden sheath in her outer corset. The stiff bit of clothing was difficult to wear, but it was excellent to hide a stiletto. Annedulisia grabbed Tamar from behind, clamping her hand over the girl’s mouth a second before she slipped the blade between her ribs. At first Tamar was genuinely surprised. She shouldn’t have been; betrayal was a common thing in her society. There was only the sensation of a pinch on her back, and then a pause, and then a burning sensation. She struggled for a few seconds, but the older woman was no shrinking violet. One of her last thoughts was that the princess must have had some experience with death before.
She didn’t give up. She struggled and tried to get her hands out of the dress’s sleeves, but Annedulisia knew what she was doing and kept the assassin off balance. The princess pulled the blade out and stabbed the girl in the back several times in rapid succession. Each time the blade went in Tamar jumped a little at the jolt of pain. She looked down at her chest and half expected to see the blade sticking out of her body. Instead all she saw were droplets of blood spreading across her skin. Somehow she managed to free one hand and wiped at her lips. Her fingers came away bloody.
Annedulisia dropped the girl’s body to the floor and wailed at loud as she could several times. There was no immediate response. Only then did she scream for the guards. For Annedulisia the hardest part of the day wasn’t killing a pretty young girl or her husband, it was having to act like she had nothing to do with it.
Chapter Eleven
While his father was being murdered on the opposite side of the palace, Roderick carefully watched his wife from across the room. Her private bedroom afforded them slightly more privacy than in his bedroom, and they were safe inside her place, making need of his bodyguard unnecessary. She knew he was watching. That was the whole point. He was rather impressed with Princess Margareta’s bodyguard. She was nearly as tall as he was and it wouldn’t have surprised him that she was as strong. And she looked good in her dress which was even stranger. It was odd to see two women kissing each other, not courtly kissing, but intimate kissing, the types of kisses exchanged by lovers.
He liked the way it made him felt, watching his wife kiss another woman. His cock certainly liked it. He was uncomfortably hard inside his trousers, but that was enjoyable on a certain level as well.
“Help her undress,” Roderick said.
The bodyguard, Aphra was her name, started to move behind the princess. As she reached for the long row of buttons down Margareta’s back Roderick spoke again. “No, no. The other way around. I want Margareta to undress you.”
Aphra looked at the prince with her angular eyes and then just nodded. The two turned around so that Aphra’s back was to the princess. With fumbling fingers she slowly opened up the row of buttons. It wasn’t that Roderick was eager to see the woman naked—though he was—it was that he wanted to humiliate his wife a little, to make her feel inferior to the bodyguard, a woman of no social status.
Margareta knew all of this, of course, and she went along with it. She wasn’t ashamed. She wanted to show off in front of her husband. She wanted to please her new lover.
The dress came off slowly. Margareta undressed her bodyguard and Roderick watched. Margareta gave her lover little kisses as more and more skin came into view. When Aphra looked over at the prince, she actually blushed slightly. He noticed this and spoke to her.
“You served in the king’s army?” he asked.’
“Yes, my prince.”
“In the intelligence corps?” he asked as Margareta untied the stays at the back of the woman’s corset and freed her breasts. His wife gasped a little as she did so, but Roderick didn’t hear her. He was distracted by the light brown nipples that surmounted the little mounds of flesh.
“I was well-accomplished in the corps,” she said, not giving away more than she had to. The vow of secrecy and silence on her service was still strong.
When Margareta stripped off the last of her underclothes, she stood without shame in front of the prince. She slightly bent her knee and twisted her hips, posing for him. Roderick wasn’t a fool. He knew what she was doing. Her time in the intelligence corp. hadn’t been wasted.
“Turn around,” he told her.
There was just a moment of hesitation before she did so.
Roderick wasn’t surprised at the tattoo on her back, nor at the scars. “You didn’t tell me,” Margareta said softly.
Aphra looked over her shoulder at her lover. “Why would I?” she asked. It wasn’t intended to sound cold. It was the words of a spy, a woman pledged to serve her country.
Looking at the scars, Roderick counted five. The tattoo wasn’t new, nor was it very large. It was the familiar crest of the country combined with the insignia of the king’s army. It was supposed to be give only to the most loyal of soldiers. The five scars signified something else. “Only five?” he asked.
“That’s all my commanders would credit me,” she said.
“How many do you claim?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve what?” asked Margareta.
“Twelve men,” said Roderick. “She’s been credited with killing five men, but claims twelve.”
“Twelve people,” Aphra corrected him. “They weren’t all men.”
“Why do—why do you have scars for that?” Margareta couldn’t understand. The tattoo made some sense. Everyone knew about the secret intelligence corps and their rituals, but the scars, five parallel lines across her lower back, puzzled her.
“Each time anyone in the intelligence corps is credited with a killing of an enemy agent or spy, a scar is added to remind our people of the gravity of their actions,” said Aphra.
The political talk was distracting Roderick. “Undress her,” he ordered as he loosened the tie around his neck. He had already tossed aside his jacket and removed his boots.
Aphra eagerly turned to face Margareta and gave her a kiss before spinning the other woman around to begin undressing her. The princess didn’t resist. She was in a state of shock. Her lover was a killer. She had almost realized that when Aphra had been defending her from the assassin, but to be confronted by it here and now was more than unsettling.
She allowed herself to be stripped, but the bodyguard stopped when the princes was wearing only her sheer silk chemise and panties. “Is this how you want her, my prince?” Aphra asked.
“Do you know she likes to be tied up when she’s fucked?” he replied.
Aphra smiled at him, completely comfortable even though she was naked. “I had my suspicions.”
“Do you know how to bind a person, to keep her helpless?”
“Naturally, my prince.”
He pointed to the wardrobe where they tools of their lovemaking were stored. “You’ll find bindings in there. I’ll watch as you use them. Make sure she can’t escape.”
This gave both women a moment to shine together. Margareta was a perfectly submissive partner to the games of bondage and, much to Roderick’s surprise and joy, Aphra was a skilled practitioner of the art of fine rope work. He realized, after the two of them began, that Aphra’s skill with rope came not from time in the bedroom or even a whorehouse, but from her time in the intelligence corps. Instead of using the convenient thongs that Roderick preferred to tie up his wife, Aphra used the lengths of rope that had been thoughtfully supplied to the prince months ago. Because Margareta was a happily willing victim, she soon found herself bound to the bed, but still wearin
g her chemise and panties.
She looked achingly vulnerable. Roderick looked upon her body with lust and quickly realized that Aphra shared the same gaze.
“What would you do to her?” Roderick asked, seeing an opportunity that had never been presented to him before.
“What would you have me to do her, my prince?” Aphra asked. She had played games of power and politics before. She wasn’t a fool.
Roderick was second in line for the throne. There was very little that he could not voice his desire for and not be granted his wish. “I want you to make her cum. I want you to make her scream like a virgin being deflowered. I want you to make love to her and torture her at the same time.”
Aphra’s eyes lit up at the prince’s words. Whether she was just playing along with him or if she actually desired these things, he didn’t know. He didn’t care either.
“Does she like pain?” Aphra asked.
“No!” protested Margareta.
They both ignored her.
“Yes,” said Roderick, adjusting his cock still trapped in his trousers. “Very much so. But don’t damage her. I need her to breed an heir.”
“Of course my prince. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” She paused and licked her lips. “The screams of a woman in passion and a woman in pain are hard to distinguish. Would you like me to demonstrate for you?”
“Please,” said Roderick as he settled into his chair to watch. He adjusted his cock once again and absently rubbed himself though the woolen material.
Aphra crawled onto the bed with Margareta. The bodyguard had seen the toys and tools available to her in the wardrobe, but she wanted to warm the princess up first with some honest skin to skin contact. Margareta tried to shy away, but she was so tightly bound that her motions were pointless. Aphra surprised her by starting with a little kiss.
“Just relax,” she whispered. “I promise you’ll enjoy every little part of this.”
She kissed Margareta again, who kissed her back. Aphra then proceeded to kiss her way down the bound woman’s body: her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, her little mounded breasts, she even went so far as to bite at Margareta’s nipples before proceeding down to her belly button which she tongued for a moment before journeying the rest of the way to the slit hidden by the rounded triangle of Margareta’s fleecy hair. Aphra slipped her tongue into Margareta’s wet passage, but then went back up to the pulsing little nub. Margareta gasped when Aphra sucked on her clit. Aphra lifted her head, and with lips wet from Margareta’s cunt, she asked, with a smile on her lips, “Did you like that?”
The Elliot Silvestri Erotic Reader Volume 6 Page 25
