by Kitty Thomas
He tore his mouth from her throat. “Open to me.” His voice was a low, commanding growl that she couldn’t imagine not obeying. Her legs fell open and she gasped as fingers pressed inside her, drawing out moisture, then plunging in again for more as if he wanted to coat himself with as much of her as possible.
His invasion was delicious and decadent much as the bath and food had been. The more his fingers squirmed inside her body, the wetter she became in response.
After several minutes of this stimulation, her hips arched off the bed, and she began to pant, seeking her pleasure in earnest. He must have sensed the shift in her reactions, that she was climbing toward her orgasm, because he pulled his fingers away suddenly.
“Not yet, little one. I want you to beg me for it.”
She felt her whole body flush with embarrassment. What was happening between them was mild and probably nothing compared to his dark and perverted appetites, but she hadn’t been trained or raised for this. Why hadn’t he taken a woman who’d been properly trained? Everything about his touch felt richer, darker, more wanton in light of the knowledge that she wasn’t his equal, that she couldn’t just stop things and walk away.
Her other lovers hadn’t teased, nor had they spoken, except prior to the event to whisper the endearments necessary to get her clothes off—the magic incantation to part a woman’s thighs. Men recited it shamelessly to meet their carnal needs. This man would never utter such a pointless litany; he would merely possess what was his to take by divine right.
She looked away, the intensity of the moment becoming too much to tolerate. “Please... I-I can’t.”
The king’s eyes turned stormy. “You can’t? I saved you from amputation, fed you, bathed you, gave you a roof, and you... can’t?” His voice hadn’t risen, but the quiet command and condescending amusement made her afraid. It was as if he found her small rebellion adorable but intended to disabuse her of her notion of choices. No one had choices in the king’s presence. They obeyed or they suffered whatever consequences he deemed appropriate.
Stupid, Abigail. What did she mean she couldn’t? He could have her executed for looking at him weirdly, and no one in the kingdom would try to stop it. They’d say, “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” and rejoice in the streets.
The king flipped Abigail onto her stomach, startling her. The cry that came out of her mouth wasn’t from the sudden change in position, but from his hand coming down across her ass. He spanked her hard, his hand landing in quick, brutal succession, until she broke and the tears poured out of her.
“Please...please...”
He continued his assault on her flesh until she went boneless, her body giving into it, even if her voice still whimpered and pleaded.
“Good. Now beg for pleasure.”
Abigail still lay on her stomach, in shock, her wet cheek pressed against the bedsheets as he rubbed where he’d just struck her, soothing away the pain.
She closed her eyes. “Please let me come, Master.”
“Was that so hard? I’ll allow it, but you have to be the one to do it, now. Put your hand between your legs and rub yourself for me.”
He adjusted her body so that her ass was raised in the air. Her pussy was exposed, leaving nothing to his imagination, giving him a view that humiliated her. She wondered if he understood she wasn’t raised like this. She hadn’t been indoctrinated into their kingdom’s cultural attitudes about sex. She wasn’t as open and free as the others were. Abigail didn’t know if he even knew, or if he’d care if he did.
“Stroke yourself.” He was becoming impatient.
Though she was embarrassed and a little afraid of him now—as well as what his future sexual demands might be—she slipped her fingers between her thighs to obey. After a few minutes, she forgot the voyeuristic king as she pressed herself harder against her hand, her pleasure mounting higher.
As she touched herself, she perversely replayed the earlier scene in the hallway. She came as she re-imagined the moment he’d revealed he was the king, and she’d knelt and kissed his feet. It was a mystery why that horrid moment was the one that sent her over the edge into completion, but something about that extreme moment of fear heightened all her senses.
She didn’t have time to feel shame or worry about what might be wrong with her, because as soon as she came, he was behind her. His cock shoved past her entry, which had tightened from lack of use. She might have expected her body to recoil in revulsion. Instead, the excited flip in her stomach betrayed her as he buried himself deeper, his, fierce, animalistic thrusts revealing his own recent sexual drought.
He gripped her shoulder as he spilled inside her. His grip was so hard she feared she’d be a bruised mess by morning. As he tried to catch his breath, he said, “Are you sure you weren’t a virgin?”
When she didn’t reply, he rolled over and pulled her against him, covering them both with the blankets. His lips pressed tenderly against her forehead. The moment was fleeting, but she wanted to hold onto it forever.
“Sleep,” he said.
The king was asleep within minutes. For Abigail it took over an hour. It was far too loud inside her head, and she couldn’t shut off the thoughts. The last conscious realization that drifted through her mind was that her bottom was still warm and sore from his hand.
***
After one night with Abby in his bed, Niall found himself already attached. It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman. But that wasn’t the only thing that had made him so possessive of her in such short time. There was something real in her fear and desperation to please him, something that had been missing in the meticulously trained women presented for his harem. He hadn’t felt that spark with any of them, hadn’t felt any real submission. They behaved by rote, like well-trained sexual robots. Maybe another man would have been satisfied with that, but the king hadn’t been.
He’d quickly sent them away and determined to avoid the matter of a harem for a while. After all, he had a kingdom to get in order and no experience leading anything other than an army.
His time at war came back to him in crisp detail. The only thing that lay before him now was the mission. And the mission was keeping his new prize safe. Most of the court and the kingdom would fall in line on his say-so, even if they didn’t like it and gossiped privately amongst themselves. But there could still be open resistance. Part of him hoped for the opportunity to take a swift and firm stand.
When he’d awakened that morning and glanced over at his slave’s sleeping form, he’d known he’d made a good choice. Far from his tiredness overemphasizing her beauty the night before, it had diminished it. She was even lovelier in the light of morning than he’d thought. And her small, warm body pressed trustingly next to his had given him the best night’s rest of his life, not to mention the perfect way they had fit together when he’d taken her for the first time.
His thoughts drifted to the spanking. Though he wanted to show her kindness, he wouldn’t allow his slave to mistake it for weakness. She needed to understand she would obey his requests the first time every time, no exceptions. Hesitation or refusal would earn her punishment of whatever nature he desired. The sooner she learned, the more smoothly their relationship would go.
He’d cleared the court for his early morning business. He’d had her family brought in soon after sunrise and fed a hearty breakfast before being brought in to see him. If Abigail’s state of malnourishment was any indication, they’d be too hungry to properly hear him otherwise.
The family was ushered in, their faces painted with apprehension, despite the fullness of their stomachs. With the mother and father were two young boys, perhaps around eight or nine—twins from the look of it—a girl that was only a few years younger than Abigail, and a female toddler.
Most of the children had their gypsy father’s swarthy looks with dark complexion and hair, but the youngest girl was blonde and fair like her mother. Everyone but the toddler bowed appropriately. Instead of bowing, the yo
ungest girl gave him a toothy grin, not having the faintest notion of who he was, nor caring. She’d just had roast pork and eggs and biscuits with gravy for breakfast, so in her eyes, he was her friend. He hoped the rest of the family would feel that way soon enough.
“Please don’t look so anxious,” Niall said. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him to see Abigail’s family looking at him with such abject terror. He could understand why they might fear being brought in to see the king given the history of attacks on their kind by his father. “If I’d intended to harm you, would I have fed you first?”
The features on the adults’ faces seemed to relax by a small measure, acknowledging the logic therein.
Niall didn’t waste any time. “I’m giving you a house and land. It’s fifteen bedrooms, a parlor, a kitchen, a dining room, a ballroom, three bathrooms, and a conservatory, as well as a large and gracious entry hall. There is a well-kept garden in the back and stables with horses. Your servants will greet you when you arrive and take care of anything you need. The land is thirty-two acres. You’ll also be given a generous allowance to take care of any expenses for the house, food, clothing, and whatever else you care to purchase.”
The family stared at him for a moment, their eyes a little unfocused. It was as if the king had dropped a boulder on their heads instead of giving them a generous gift.
“Traditionally, ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ is the proper reply,” the king said.
“But, Your Majesty, why?” The father looked at him as if he wasn’t quite sure it was all real and that he wasn’t still asleep.
The doors at the back of the room opened, and Abigail entered in the green-jeweled slave garment. Her hair had been piled up and pinned on the top of her head like a Greek goddess.
Niall took a deep breath at the sight of her and adjusted his clothing so he wouldn’t look like an uncontrolled teenage boy getting his first taste of pussy. No one had ever looked so radiant in beads and jewels. The green made her eyes even more spectacular, and her dark, olive skin made the jewels seem to sparkle even brighter in contrast.
Abigail had excellent timing. He gestured for her with a flick of his fingers. She didn’t make eye contact with her family as she walked up to him. Niall found that a little odd but made no comment. He snapped and pointed at the cushion beside his feet, and she knelt.
He stroked the back of her neck languidly. “Because Abigail is mine, and so I’ve chosen to make sure her family is well cared for.”
The father’s face went dark. “I don’t care who you are. If you think we’ll live in luxury as payment for our daughter whoring herself out to you, you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Well, that was unexpected.
“Emilian, don’t,” his wife begged.
“You should listen to her,” Niall said calmly, still stroking Abigail’s skin. The muscles in her neck and shoulders had tensed considerably in the past few seconds. He was glad he’d chosen to do this part privately. If he had to make an example of someone, he didn’t want it to have to be a member of her family.
“And just so matters are clear,” Niall continued, “you aren’t being paid for prostituting your daughter. She wasn’t given a choice. She was caught stealing bread to feed you. Would you have preferred that I sent her back to you relieved of one of her hands? No one steals from me and walks free without paying a price. This is her price.”
Emilian’s eyes hadn’t softened. If possible they’d become sharper. There was murder in his gaze. If the king had been anybody else and hadn’t been surrounded by guards, he imagined he’d already be on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
“It would be better than her shaming the family as a whore,” the father said. “You may think gypsies are that way, but you know nothing. It is not how I raised my daughter to be.”
“Emilian!” the wife hissed, her eyes filling with increasing terror.
Niall could hear Abigail’s quiet crying, and almost regretted bringing her in for this. He hadn’t guessed it would play out this way. Typically, it was an honor to be brought into the king’s harem, not an insult. This was especially true of the woman chosen first, whose status was hardly different than that of a queen in other kingdoms.
Most queens were little more than slaves when you thought about it. As long as there existed a king, her power was whatever he indulged her with. Was honesty in labels not a better thing than polite lies? He’d always been proud that Himeros was open and free in ways other kingdoms weren’t, that citizens were able to partake in and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh without irrational guilt or shame coming over them.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but your daughter hasn’t whored herself as you so tactfully put it. This is the highest position for a woman in this kingdom. It will result in an heir that is part gypsy. It will end the feuding. She didn’t choose this. I did. She is my property with absolutely no say in the matter. So if you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me, but be careful with how you express it. I’m still the king and who you are to her is the only reason you aren’t in the dungeon. I’m giving you all this because it’s proper and because I can’t allow my slave’s family to starve. It wouldn’t be right. You will be escorted to your new dwelling and a tailor and seamstress will be at your disposal by this afternoon. Don’t come to court or the castle again without an invitation, for your sake as well as your daughter’s. And when you are invited, I suggest you conduct yourself more cordially.”
Niall waved a hand, the doors opened, and the family was escorted out. When he was alone with Abigail, the king made eye contact with the head guard. “Leave us and allow no one in.”
John arched a brow but bowed and led the men out into the hallway.
***
Abigail tensed, fearing some sort of punishment was coming, though she couldn’t figure out what she could have done to offend the king.
He patted the chaise beside him. “Come, sit and talk with me.”
With his help, she rose from the cushion and moved to where he’d directed her. The throne room was different than that of many kingdoms. Most had two thrones: a large one for the king and a smaller one for the queen. In Himeros, there was only one throne. It had one armrest instead of two. On the right, the space where the armrest would have been was open, and attached to the throne was a chaise upon which the most favored slave—or the most favored slave of the moment—reclined, her head resting on the king’s lap.
Abigail lay across the chaise, relaxing only when his fingers threaded soothingly through her hair. He didn’t seem angry with her. Still, she didn’t understand why he’d make her suffer through her family’s visit.
“Tell me what all that was about. Why would your family react that way? Why wouldn’t they be honored that I chose you? For god’s sake, I didn’t just choose you, I took you first. Possibly exclusively. Most parents would be effusive with their gratitude and pride.”
“We’re not that way,” she said quietly, still afraid of enraging the king. “Are you going to get rid of me?”
“Of course not. You’re mine whether your family approves or not. I’m just trying to understand.”
She’d always known Himeros was a permissive society, at least from the time she’d finally figured out what slave girls did. The kingdom was known for its perversions, and tended to attract travelers and foreign leaders who wanted to get away from the repressive propriety of their own kingdoms. All the feasts and festivals were orgies after dark for the adults that remained.
“When my father and mother married, he was shut off from the tribe. The gypsies stay on the fringes. I guess they’re always assumed to be laid back with regards to sexuality, but they’re pretty private. And they aren’t welcome in the culture, anyway, so there isn’t much exposure to it. Because my father was shut off from the tribe and my mother was cut off from everyone else, we’ve been outcasts from both groups. I’ve been raised to see everything that happens in court as dirty and immoral. There is no
way my family can ever see things in the same way others in the kingdom do. I’m not even sure if I can. We have a sense of modesty you don’t have—and maybe can’t even comprehend.”
There was a bit of an edge to the king’s voice when he replied, an edge Abigail wished she could erase. “If our ways disgust you so much, why hasn’t your family packed up and moved elsewhere?”
“It’s not so easy when you have no money. We can’t just leave. Even if we did, gypsies aren’t welcomed in many other places, either. We’d face the same social problems. I think this was easier for my parents. My father likes being able to look down on something he disapproves of in the people who look down on him. Please don’t be angry with me. I can’t help how I was raised. They can’t help that they were shut off from everyone. How can you begin to understand a culture that pushes you out? Of course we’d react differently.”
“And do you hold the same extreme feelings of disgust toward our ways?”
She didn’t say anything. It felt too exposing to be draped across his lap in a slave garment with his guards standing just outside. If she’d been wearing something else or had been in a different setting, perhaps it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable, but she felt foolish being here, dressed like this, when she didn’t fit into their ways at all. She felt like a ridiculous prude in his presence and thought he must think the same thing.
Secretly, Abigail had considered the permissiveness of Himeros to be liberating, or at least potentially so. She wished she didn’t understand the concept of shame being linked and mixed with sex. She wished she could erase her upbringing so she could be as free as the women she’d caught glimpses of as they’d danced for the king.
