“Uh-huh,” Margareta said in an unsteady voice.
Aphra slipped two fingers inside the other woman and rubbed her on the inside while gently sucking on her clit. Margareta groaned a little at the attention and then shrieked when Aphra bit on it.
“Did you like that?” she asked, half laughing. Roderick laughed as well when Aphra went back to sucking on Margareta’s clit again.
The princess did. She moaned again as Aphra resuming licking and sucking on Margareta’s cunt. Roderick kept a close eye on them both while rubbing himself through his pants. It was too much to resist, and since he was the prince, there was no reason to resist. He opened up his trousers and pulled out his erect cock. Joining the women on the bed, he knelt behind Aphra and reached between her legs, inspecting her cunt with his hand. She didn’t seem to mind—not that she truly had a right to complain about anything the prince did to her.
“You’re wet,” Roderick commented. “You like eating cunt so much that it gets you wet?”
Aphra made a non-committal sound. That was good enough for Roderick. He pushed his cock into her. The bodyguard made a grunting sound but didn’t otherwise react to Roderick’s penetration. Margareta’s eyes opened enough to see what Roderick was doing, but she didn’t comment either. He was the prince. He could and would do as he pleased. The two women had little say in the matter.
Roderick was pleased with Aphra’s cunt. It was tighter than he would have imagined on such a tall and bit woman, but at the same time it was inviting and warm, wrapping around his cock comfortably. She didn’t let herself get distracted by Roderick grabbing her hips and fucking her hard enough to shake her body with each thrust.
As he fucked her he touched her tattoo and scars. She was a dangerous woman, a killer and maybe an assassin. Having sex with her while his wife watched—while Aphra ate his wife’s pussy—was a dangerous act and only heightened the thrill. If Aphra was annoyed or offended by his curious touches, she didn’t give any indication. He liked that. He had given her a task and she performed it without complaint. The impression that he got was that Aphra enjoyed performing the fine art of cunnilingus. Seeing the two women together combined with the novelty of fucking a new woman, put Roderick on the edge almost right away. For the briefest of moments, he considered holding out, drawing out his pleasure and bringing off Aphra, but there was no point to it. She was there to protect Margareta and to serve the crown. He was the crown. So therefore she was there to serve him.
Grabbing her hips as hard as he could, he slammed into her a few more times before releasing the flood of his cum into her pussy. When he was done, he slapped her on the ass. “Did you like that?” he demanded from her.
She picked up her face from Margareta’s cunt and looked over her shoulder at him. Her face and chin were covered in Margareta’s juices. “Uh-huh,” she moaned at him, but Roderick wasn’t convinced. For a woman who had undoubtedly spent time spying for the crown, she wasn’t a very good actress when there was a cock in her cunt.
“Did I make you cum?” he asked.
Hearing his tone, Aphra decided that honesty was the best route because the prince heard more flattery than he could stand. “I’m sorry, sire, but you didn’t.”
He nodded his head and grunted. “I want to see you cum,” he said. “The princess can do it for you.”
“My prince?” she asked confused.
“Shove your quim into her face and let her eat you out,” Roderick explained in careful, precise language. “I want to see my wife make you cum.”
There wasn’t anything to misunderstand about that order.
Roderick pulled his cock out of the bodyguard and watched as she carefully crawled up Margareta’s bound body. Amusement pulled at the corners of his mouth as Aphra carefully squatted over the princess’s face. The last thing his wife saw was Roderick grinning at her while Aphra lowered her used and dripping cunt to Margareta’s face.
Neither woman complained.
End Part Two
Part Three
Chapter Twelve
In a rage Roderick swept all the food and dishes of the small table. For an instant he wished he was in the formal dining hall so there was more to destroy, but he was in the family’s private dining room.
Over the destroyed meal and china on the floor he glared at his mother. “Who killed him?”
She was stone-faced as always. That had always been attributed to her upbringing and ethnicity. The Mulvadians were not an emotional people and as far as Roderick knew, his mother never had any affection for his father, let alone love. It was a miracle the couple had two children. “A coquette he had seduced back to his bed,” was her stiff answer.
Captain Gillard stepped forward. “It was your mother who found them,” he reported.
It was the wrong thing to say to Roderick who was not in control of his emotions at the moment. He let Roderick jump to the wrong conclusion. The prince stared daggers at his mother. “You killed the both of them?”
If Princess Annedulisia had been any stiffer, she would have been made of stone. “I killed his assassin,” she said coolly, as if reporting the dinner menu for the next banquet. “The…thing he had dragged into his bed had already poisoned him.”
Roderick found it strange that his mother would find herself overwhelmed by emotion and sense of loyalty and duty that she would act to protect her husband, but that was always a possibility. Perhaps. “How?” he demanded of the captain.
The captain cleared his throat and tried to present the facts as a formal report, though the investigation had not yet been completed. “As your mother already stated, it appears your father died of poisoning by the woman in his dead.”
“Her cunt was probably so foul that it killed him,” Annedulisia commented coldly.
The captain ignored her. “The most likely method of transmitting the poison was via scratches on his back. The coquette wore many rings and other jewelry that we are inspecting, though other methods are also possible. Transmission through the…sexual organs seems unlikely and a great risk to the woman.” His face went from the near-white pallor to an almost healthy pink as he reported these facts. Talking about the Crown Prince’s sexual activities was bad enough, but to do it in front of Princess Annedulisia and her son was nothing he was prepared for. As it stood now, there were two deaths in the palace that could be blamed—if not directly, then indirectly through incompetence—on him which meant the king or Prince Roderick would be more than within their rights to demand his head on a literal platter.
He continued. “Princess Annedulisia, upon seeing her dead husband—your father—became hysterical and used a knife to attack the girl, stabbing her—repeatedly—killing her.”
“It would have been better to capture her rather than murder her, mother,” Roderick hissed.
The older woman frowned ever so slightly. “I am neither guardian nor soldier,” she said. “I acted like a wife.”
Roderick was unsure if his mother had killed the girl out of anger because her husband had fucked another woman—which seemed unlikely because most of the palace was well-aware of the Crown Prince’s dalliances with staff, visitors, and prostitutes—or because the other woman had killed her husband making Annedulisia’s presence in the royal court an unnecessary one. A widow was a useless asset and could be sent to her family home without repercussions.
“The bloodline is nearly extinguished,” Roderick muttered to himself.
“My prince?” asked the captain.
“Nothing,” Roderick said dismissively. “Wait. Are there any more reports of other murders of my family, other cousins?”
“Two more have trickled in,” Gillard said. “They occurred several days ago. The killers weren’t killed or captured. Minor nobles, distant relatives.”
“Someone is trying to weaken House Groverian,” Roderick said.
“That was my conclusion as well, sire.”
“A weak house means a weak kingdom. We cannot be seen as vulnerable.”
“Yes, my prince,” Gillard agreed.
“The king, Myself. My unborn child. We are the next targets. Choose your best men, Captain Gillard. “Your most trusted and loyal soldiers. There are but three members of House Groverian left that matter.” He stood up straight and fixed her jacket about his shoulders. “I need to see the king. He must know of these events.”
“The king is very old and barely able to deal with day-to-day events,” said Princess Annedulisia.
“Which is probably why he hasn’t been killed yet,” Roderick added. “A nurse could slip the wrong ingredient into his soup and he’d be dead and no one would question it. I still need to meet with him. And his nurses. And all the men who will be guarding his life. I’ll see him this afternoon, Captain.” He marched out of the room, ignoring his mother.
One of the many things that Roderick hated about the palace was how spread out everything was. It took forever to walk from one wing to the next and find the person he needed. The architects who had initially built and then re-built the place did their best, but there was no way to effectively defeat time and distance. The series of bell pulls and calling tubes sometimes did the job, but Roderick was reluctant to use them. They offered no privacy.
The doors to Pauline’s small apartments were guarded by a pair of soldiers. They carried both spears and short swords. The spears were not ceremonial like they were outside the royal court entrance. When they saw him, they acknowledged the prince with a salute and admitted him without a word. That made him wonder about security in the palace, but at the moment he didn’t care. He needed comfort and a distraction in preparation for his meeting with his grandfather, the king.
He found his mistress in a rocking chair near the window, reading a book by the noontime light. The belly of her dress bowed outward, showing off her ever-growing belly and the promise it contained. When she realized who had come into the room she struggled to her feet. “My prince,” she greeted him.
He spoke not a word to her, but instead flung open his jacket and pulled at the closures to his trousers. Pauline, having been the prince’s mistress for long enough to know what he needed, struggled out of her chair and went down to her knees. By the time she got into position, his cock was already half erect. That was more than enough for her to work with. Her mouth opened and she eagerly sucked his cock deep into her throat. Roderick placed his hands on either side of her head, cupping the elaborate hairstyle, and slowly began fucking her face, forcing his cock down her throat which she tolerated without complaint. There was no way for her to complain. Roderick was convinced that she actually enjoyed doing this service for him.
They had done this before dozens of times. It took away the concerns of the moment and let him have some peace inside his head. For most of his life, as the second-born son, most of Roderick’s concerns and existential worries came from the fact that he was essentially an afterthought. Whatever he did made no difference in the grand scheme of the kingdom, or even the minor matter of his own life. But then it became apparent that perhaps Prince Martin, his older brother, preferred men in his bed, so there was the possibility that maybe someday one of Roderick’s offspring would have to take the throne, depending no if Martin was able or willing to stick his cock in a woman long enough to get her pregnant.
But now—now!—he was faced with the very real certainty that with the death of his brother and father, he would one day sit on the throne. He hadn’t prepared himself for that.
And so it was easier to fuck Pauline, to quiet his mind by shoving his cock into her mouth and then maybe her cunt, so he wouldn’t have to worry about his future. What about her ass? he thought as he continued to receive head from his mistress. He hadn’t used that part of her body yet. She was already carrying his child so he didn’t need to worry about having to get her pregnant; he could fuck her anyway he wanted. Surely there must be something to the practice his brother so loved; otherwise Martin wouldn’t have wanted to bugger every prettyboy that caught his eye.
While he was thinking about abusing Pauline’s body in a way she wasn’t prepared for, Roderick found himself rapidly approaching the little death that would signal his return to the reality of service that had become his life. Keeping her head between his hands, he pulled his cock back from the depths of her throat until he could feel her tongue on the underside. She could feel his throbbing hardness and sucked as strongly as she could while massaging his perineum and cuddling his balls. It was more than enough.
Each jolt of ejaculate was a powerful spike of pleasure. It felt good and kept the demons at bay. Pauline did everything possible to heighten his pleasure: swallowing his cum, maintaining eye contact as he used her, making all the right noises to keep him on edge. It was perfectly lovely and if he were not the prince of the realm and heir to the throne Roderick might have sung her praises to his friends and court gentlemen.
When he was done cumming, Roderick pulled his cock free of her mouth and pushed her away. It wasn’t a rude gesture, but he didn’t want her playing with his cock while it was over-sensitive. He didn’t push her to the floor like a common street prostitute. Pauline didn’t complain; she was used to this sort of treatment and expected it. Roderick’s casual use and abuse of her body was just another facet of her life as the prince’s mistress.
He put his cock back inside his trousers and only then seemed to see her sprawled on the floor. Letting out a little gasp of concern he went to one knee and carefully helped her up and to sit on the edge of her huge and comfortable bed. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized with sincerity. “I forget myself at these moments. Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “You could never hurt me, Roderick.”
Lifting up her chin with his fingertips, he met her eyes and judged she wasn’t lying. He nodded and sat down next to her taking her hand in his. “It was still wrong of me.”
“No hard done.”
“I need to speak with my grandfather,” he said, staring at the wall. He didn’t even make the effort to move his eyes a few feet to the side so he could gaze out the window at the lovely, well-maintained gardens on the palace grounds. “We have the affairs of state to discuss.”
“You don’t need to spend any time with me on that account,” she said. “Go to him and return to me when you can.” Although she would have loved for him to push her back on the bed and take her anyway he pleased, she wouldn’t make that demand of him at the moment.
He nodded and half rose up from the bed, but held onto her hand. Before he could get his feet under him, he collapsed back on the bed and dragged her body down next to his. “What do you need, my prince?” she asked as he dragged her close to him.
Roderick didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. He was crying. Pauline said nothing to him. She just allowed him to hold her. It wasn’t her job to give him counsel; it was her job to bear his child.
Chapter Thirteen
King Dorian II looked blankly at Roderick. He sat upright in the lounging chair, a heavy quilt drawn over his lap. A small glass of wine sat on the table next to him. The old man’s blue eyes were clouded, but Roderick was certain his grandfather was as sharp as ever. Maybe he wasn’t physically the same man he had been forty, or even twenty, years ago, but Roderick was convinced that the king was putting on an act where he pretended to only understand half of what was going on around him.
Roderick put his own glass of wine down on the table next to his chair. Unlike his grandfather’s well-padded lounge, his chair was hard wood with a straight back. Just a reminder of the subservient position he occupied. “And so, without meaning to, I’m your last direct heir,” he finished.
The king looked glumly at his youngest grandson. The silence filled the room for a very long time and Roderick didn’t know what to say. Finally, the old man spoke. “When you were born, I thought the bloodline and dynasty was secure.”
Roderick sniffed. “I had nothing to do with that.”
“I had a son and two grandsons. And now someo
ne has gone and fucked that up!” The old man’s anger was apparent.
“Again, I had nothing to do with that.”
The king’s glare didn’t diminish. “Your ass-fucking brother did nothing to perpetuate the line. You have. You’re married, but your wife is barren.”
Roderick’s back unconsciously stiffened against the too-hard back of the chair. “She’s not barren,” he said behind clenched teeth.
“You’ve been married four years now, I can tell time. She needs to bear you a child.”
Roderick said nothing. He had nothing to say.
“Your mistress is with child,” the king finally said.
It was only a mild surprise to Roderick that his grandfather knew about Pauline. “Yes,” he said automatically.
“That’s not good. A mistress is only useful when your wife has already given you a child. You got the order mixed up, you damned fool. Still, a bastard offspring is better than nothing. When is she due?”
Roderick hadn’t been expecting the question. “Three months.”
The old man grunted. “Time enough to get on your wife. Do it. Don’t acknowledge the bastard as your own until your wife is dead or gives you a child.”
“I’ll…I’ll take that advice.”
“Good. See that you do.” The old man quickly down the wine that was in his glass. “Your cousin Oliver, he survives still, yes?”
The Elliot Silvestri Erotic Reader Volume 6 Page 26
