by M J Marstens
Anything.
If that youth from long ago had some Umai extract while eating our precious, magical stones, he would have thought he was eating a five-course meal fit for a king. Umai extract is how my uncle’s people have survived tragedies over the decades, like famine, and how Anise and I survived her mother’s nasty-tasting vitamin tonic. It’s a very coveted commodity, but magic is something else, altogether.
And that’s what I’m looking at now: magic.
My sweet stepsister stands before me restored, her former glory and beauty accented in every curve and bend of her body.
Curves I haven’t seen for two years.
I knew Mari was stealing Anise’s beauty. Every day, Anise would grow frailer, a pale shadow of her former self. In the end, her face and body were hollow shells, hinting of her past glory, but she still remained the most beautiful woman in the world, to me. Even drained, Anise still possessed an attractiveness that Mari couldn’t seem to strip from her. It infuriated the selfish bitch, and I swear Mari tried to strip Anise’s soul as punishment.
I knew if we got to Sugarland, we could recover, heal, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen instantaneously. It’s like our two years in Mari’s dungeon never happened. I’m the strongest I’ve ever felt, finally whole and complete again. And Anise. . . I can’t help but hungrily sweep my eyes up and down her body, re-memorizing every line and curvature. I want to take her in my arms and claim her as mine.
Except the hand on her hip already is staking a claim.
I glare at the plum fuck touching my girl.
He glares right back; a dark look heavily dosed with accusation.
It clearly says, “What’s a brother doing looking at his sister this way?”
“Stepsister,” I mumble out loud and I see Plumpy arch a brow.
I try to ignore the bastard and refocus on Anise. The purple of the dress complements her eyes perfectly, and her body. It hugs every bend and I’ve never been so envious of cloth. I’ve seen her with nothing on for two years straight, but the sight of the tight dress encasing her perfection is more tantalizing. I want to reach underneath and stroke her pussy with my hand hidden under the fabric. I want to kiss, lick, and nibble her neck, around the collar. I want-
I stop short in my musings, a hand flying to my own throat, finding my collar still there, too.
I reach my other hand up and with all my strength, I yank.
And yank.
And yank.
Nothing.
“That’s not going to work,” Plumpy says lazily.
“Oh, and why not? Are you saying I’m not strong enough?”
I know I should be thanking this man for saving my life, for saving Anise’s life, but I can’t think of anything more satisfying than telling him to fuck off.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he taunts.
I growl at the fucker.
“You’re not strong enough to undo the collar’s magic,” he explains.
“Magic is only as strong as the intention,” I parrot the youth.
Plumpy looks thoughtful at this.
“I’ve never thought of magic in this way, and to an extent, it’s true. That extent being these collars. There’s more than meets the eye here, boy. You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“If you’re so knowledgeable, how can we get the damned things off?”
I can feel my skin crawling with the infernal thing on, like it’s Mari’s hands wrapped around my throat.
“Only someone more powerful than the one who put it on you can break the spell.”
“And who might that be?” I demand.
“King Kandine,” he replies simply.
“The king is the most powerful mage?” Anise wonders and Plumpy chuckles indulgently, squeezing her closer to his side.
My vision goes green.
Then red.
“Of course,” the dumb plum picker chortles, “who else should be more powerful than the king himself? It’s what makes him the most effective leader.”
“Can you direct us to him?” I ask curtly.
The sooner we get to the king and away from Plumpy, the fucking better.
The prick in question frowns.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. King Kandi has become reclusive and will only see the regional lords. Not to mention the land is rife with dangers; it’s best that I be your guide.”
“But we need a regional lord,” Anise points out with a frown.
I could kiss her.
Another infuriating laugh and squeeze ensue and I’m one second away from punching the handsy dick when he announces:
“I’m the regional lord of the Sugarplum grove. Lord Plumsley, at your service.
He gives a courtly bow and Anise claps her hands together in delight.
“Then it’s all set,” she crows.
Linking her arm through his, she beckons me forward, to do the same.
“Lead the way, Sir Plumsley!”
I groan.
So much for getting rid of his plum ass.
ANISE
My arms are linked between the two gorgeous men as we walk away from the Sugarplum Grove, but I can feel the tension between them. My stepbrother seems to despise Plumpy already, and vice versa. I try not to let their animosity bring me down. Instead, I focus on the sunshine and the feel of it once more on my face.
Mari never let me outside.
In fact, in the two years that she kept my stepbrother and I locked, I never left the dungeon.
Graham, on the other hand, she would take upstairs to do whatever they did. . .
I don’t know because Graham has never spoken of his time above.
I think he’s trying to ‘preserve my delicate sensibilities’.
I almost snort at the thought.
There’s nothing delicate or innocent about me anymore; Mari made sure of that. I think it was her goal to corrupt me, and, boy, did she. The sweet, harmless crush I once had on Graham has evolved into something bigger.
Deeper.
Darker.
Mari made me crave the depraved acts she used on and against me; she even made me beg for them. I’m ashamed to admit that I did. I begged and pleaded because the forbidden pleasure she occasionally granted me was unimaginable. And the only thing that kept me grounded, kept me going, kept me coming, was thinking it was my stepbrother doing these things to me, instead.
How messed up is that?
Now, here in the bright of the light once more, I can see why I’ve lusted so intensely after Graham. The boy who left The Savory Citadel is now a man. An utterly gorgeous, delicious-looking man. His hair and eyes are a dark brown that appear black when shadowed. His skin is golden and practically glows in the sunlight as we walk. The medicine Plumpy gave him restored his body and I can see his muscles bulging in his arm looped through mine.
I wonder what those hands would feel like banded around me.
I shake the thought from my head and turn my attention to Plumpy.
I mean Lord Plumsley.
I shudder, recalling his kiss, and Graham murmurs his concern that I’m cold, but Plumpy just gives me a wicked grin. He knows what I’m thinking. He says he can’t read minds, but I swear he must be able to, for he seems to know my every thought.
I swallow heavily.
That’s very dangerous considering the absolutely taboo things I’ve been thinking.
We walk on in silence and after a distance, a forest comes into view. I read an ornate sign saying, ‘Wintergreen Forest’, and we go in. Here, in the dense shade of the pine trees, it’s cooler and a chill does descend over me. Graham tugs me into his arms and runs his hands up and down mine to ward off the cold. It takes all my discipline not to curl into him and purr like a sapid.
The path has changed, too. Instead of a kaleidoscope of crushed candies, it’s striped white and red, like a candy cane. Again, I wonder if it’s actually made of candy, and I pull myself from Graham’s arms to kn
eel down and lick it. Beside me, Plumpy laughs at my impetuousness and I blush fire-red. How foolish I must look to this man. Not to mention how embarrassing I must be for my stepbrother.
Royal Ambassadors do not act this way.
Although, I’m a little rusty on how to act like a normal human being.
I’m about to scramble off my knees when a pair of polished black boots steps up to me. Meekly, I crane my head up look into yet another face of beauty. His skin is naturally pale, and his hair is nearly white, although he’s nowhere near to being elderly. His eyes are a reddish-brown, deep-set and intense. It’s then I notice a thin scar running down the length of the left side of his face.
“I adore it when a beautiful woman kneels before me, but please, let me introduce myself first,” he says is a melodious voice, tipping my chin up with his striped walking cane.
Blushing even more, I quickly rise to my feet and sway a little from the sudden rush. All the men reach out to steady me, but the stranger touches me first, and it feels like lightning zinging through my veins. From the arch of his eyebrows, I would say he felt it, too.
“I’m Pepper Mint, sovereign over the Wintergreen Forest. Please call me ‘Pepper’,” he instructs to Graham. He turns back to me, “But you can call me ‘Mr. Mint’,” he commands with a naughty smirk.
Before I can respond to his darkly erotic words, Pepper speaks to Plumpy.
“Plumsley, old friend. Good to see you. Tell me, is the lighting in here terrible, or are her eyes as purple as I think they are?”
“Even more purple,” Plumpy replies.
Pepper’s eyebrows raise again and then I feel his gaze snag on my collar.
And Graham’s.
The same dark and dangerous look creeps into his eyes that Plumpy had when he saw them.
“Cherries, eh?” Pepper comments to no one in particular.
“Fucking cherries,” Plumpy concurs.
I look to Graham, but he’s staring intently at the Sugarlanders.
“You know who collared us, don’t you?”
He voices it as a question, but we all know it’s a statement.
An accusation, almost.
“The exiled queen collared you,” Pepper answers.
Both Graham’s and my jaw drop open.
“Of-of Sugarland?!” I blubber.
“Yes,” Plumpy supplies.
Graham is more astute at the moment and demands to know why she was exiled.
“Queen Maraschino was once married to King Kandine. They married to unite their kingdoms. Maraschino hailed from the far north, and once here, made it clear she wanted to be known as the ‘Mistress of Cherries’,” a wry grin tilts Pepper’s lips at this. “It seemed the new domineering queen had a taste for popping innocents’ cherries.”
The words have a visceral effect on me and I nearly double over.
I was one of the ‘innocents’.
Plumpy touches me with a comforting hand, my damned ‘open book’ of a face telling him everything. I flinch. I don’t want or need this man’s pity. I don’t want to be viewed as something broken that needs to be fixed. Or is too fucked up to fix. It’s bad enough Graham knows the truth. I don’t know why it’s so important, but I need these men not to treat me like warped glass that might shatter with a look.
I am battered.
I am bruised.
I am in a dark place inside my head.
But I’m not a victim.
I’m a survivor.
I understand I’m going to have moments; I’m going to have days where I just can’t get past the small shit. This is normal and okay, but I refuse to allow myself to sink into the thick of it. To be saturated in the hate, the hurt, the anger, the fear, the vengeance, and every other destructive emotion I feel because of that woman.
I simply refuse to give her that power over me.
I realize all the men are watching me carefully, I rein in all my thoughts as best that I can.
“Please go on,” I politely direct Pepper.
“Well now, King Kandi wasn’t so fond of Maraschino’s penchant for cruelty. I’ve known Kandi all my life. Both of us are doms and share similar tastes, but never has it veered to non-consensual or malicious. I think Kandi could have reconciled Maraschino’s dominatrix ways if she had followed the rules.”
“What do you mean ‘reconciled’?” Graham asks.
“Both Kandi and Maraschino are doms; the two simply don’t mix, and in Maraschino’s case, it went beyond the bedroom. She wanted everyone to bow down to her. Even Kandi. Of course, the king refused and Maraschino tried to start a war. She had Lord Licorice’s backing and that of his minions,” Pepper mutters in disgust.
“And so the king exiled them?” I conclude.
“No, the king exiled Maraschino. Lord Licorice begged his forgiveness and swore his loyalty to Kandi once more. The king forgave him and in truth, I haven’t heard or seen much from the man in over two years. Still doesn’t mean I trust the oily bastard.”
“We always wondered if Maraschino survived. . .” Plumpy trails off.
“She survived,” Graham says tightly. “In fact, she’s fucking thriving. She goes by Mari now and has a brothel in the Embittered Woods where she caters to those with cruel and non-consensual needs.”
I wince and look down quickly.
My stepbrother never did mince his words.
PEPPER
My, my, my, it’s been an interesting morning. It’s been a while since anyone has traversed into my part of the woods, and certainly never has anyone so lovely and submissive come my way. I slowly peruse the beauty standing before me. Her dark hair is a pretty contrast to her pale skin and her eyes. . .
Her purple eyes. . .
Fucking stunning.
I would love to have her on her knees again, or maybe bent over my mine, with her pert ass waiting to be spanked. Alas, even I can see the girl has come from a very bad place. I know Plumsley must have healed her, but her eyes are still shadowed. It’s going to take a while for her heart and mind to heal.
“What is your name, sweet one?” I ask her, stalling our conversation.
She wrinkles her nose in an adorable fashion.
“It’s not ‘sweet one’,” she sasses and I feel my cock twitch in my pants.
“Perhaps you prefer ‘sugartits’?”
The girl blushes attractively, but the other man growls.
“It’s Anise,” he snaps as if he has a right to introduce her. “And I’m Graham.”
“And how do you know Anise?” I prod.
Are they both escapees from Maraschino, bonded together through their fucked up experiences they shared?
Or is it more?
“She’s his sister,” Plumsley pipes up dryly.
Hmm, someone has sour grapes over this. On the surface, it would seem like censure, but I’ve known Plumsley as long as I’ve known Kandi, and that’s jealousy speaking. Plumpy wants her, too. Interesting, as he usually prefers his women plumper, but I can certainly see Anise’s appeal to him. Although willow thin, her hips flare enticingly, and her ass and tits are perfect rounded mounds of flesh begging to be sampled.
To be licked.
I wonder how she tastes. . .
“Stepsister!” Graham’s fierce correction brings me back to the present.
I frown. They are not just two strangers thrown together in whatever shit-storm Maraschino made. They’re more. They’re family, but something about the situation sits sideways. It’s the censure I heard in Plumsley’s voice. The brother must covet his sister.
I can’t say I blame him.
I shrug a shoulder at Plumpy. To each their own. We don’t know their story, although I plan to learn it.
“And how did Maraschino capture you?” I ask, bringing the conversation back on track.
“We got lost,” Graham tells me curtly. “You’re friends with King Kandine?”
“Yes, as I said, Kandi and I go way back. I’m his head Caner.”
Anise’s eyes grow large and I can tell she’s thinking all sorts of naughty things.
“What’s a Caner?” she asks timidly, but suggestively, and I almost nut in my pants hearing her say it.
Fuck, she’s cute. Perfectly submissive, but still full of fire. And that’s a damn miracle because I guarantee Maraschino spent more time trying to put it out than anything else. Maraschino can’t stand competition, and Anise is twenty-seven levels out of that cunt’s league.
“I harvest the candy canes that grow in Wintergreen Forest to be made into canes. For spanking.”
I say this with a perfectly straight face.
Now, Anise’s eyes glaze over.
It takes all my willpower not to pull her to me and grind my aching shaft against her soft sweetness. Fuck me, submissive and likes to be spanked; she and I are going to have a grand time together. As soon as her brother and Plumsley piss off; although, I’m not opposed to sharing. I simply want first taste.
Plumsley snorts next to me, assessing Anise’s reaction, as well.
“He makes walking canes,” he corrects.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t use them for both walking and spanking,” I point out.
“Whatever,” Graham interjects. “If you know the king so well, perhaps you can take us. So we don’t need to inconvenience Lord Plumsauce.”
“Plumsley,” Plumpy corrects caustically.
I raise an eyebrow at him. I’m surprised he’s letting the boy get a rise out of him. Normally, Plumsley is cooler than a cucumber. He must have more vested in the beautiful woman than I thought. As for her stepbrother, well, he’s a fool is he thinks I’m a better choice than Plumsley. I want his sister just as badly, if not worse.
And I always get what I want.
“I think Lord Plumsley should join us; there’s safety in numbers,” I decree, and Anise shakes her head in agreement.
Graham growls.
“Come with me. We need to talk,” he commands Anise.
