The Sold For Service Bundle

by Nadia Nightside

  Grunting, his slaps began to taper off, and his hands swallowed my waist, pulling me close. With hot, heavy spurts, his cock spasmed inside my cunt and filled me with his seed.

  He would have known I was a fertile slut, made for breeding as much as I was for fucking. Very easily, he could have made me pregnant that very night. I would have welcomed it. I would have thanked him for it with days of blowjobs.

  “That’s all,” he said, pulling off and out of me. “That’s all for tonight. No more.”

  I could have been mistaken, but it’s possible that in his eyes I saw great terror at what he had done to me. The marks he left on my pristine polished ass. But that could not be—for I had enjoyed every last blow he had given me greater than the one before it. Cried out my thanks every time. For me, the night had gone perfectly, up until the point he told me to leave.

  Of course, I obeyed, and left as soon as I had gathered myself and the remains of my tattered clothes around me. I took them up not because I felt shame at my nakedness in the halls, but because I did not wish to dirty his area further.

  This Prince would need something of a gentle hand, I decided, to let him know that he was well within his rights to abuse my ass, and any parts of my body, as he wished.

  * * * * *

  My days in the Palace Imperial, at that time, were not especially interesting. Both of the Princes were busy during the day taking care of their Princely duties. I never met the Emperor, and nor did I expect to, consumed as he was with running the entire Empire. As such, I spent most of my time in my quarters, performing my chant and waiting to be called upon.

  The night after Frederik took his privileges with me, Prince Cullen decided that I was to be honored by being called into his quarters. As the dress I had worn with Frederik had such lovely results, I wore a similar outfit this time—though red instead of violet. I hoped the turn of my long legs and display of my proud, large breasts would be enough to encourage Cullen to be more forward with me this time.

  When I got there, right away I could tell the tone was to be much harsher than the last time I was there. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the way in which the windows were shut and the only light came from the small lamp on his desk, but in any case, I knew straight off that Cullen was upset.

  “I understand you recently spent time with my rival, Frederik.”

  He sat on the front of his desk, one hand covering his face.

  “That is correct, your Highness.”

  “Tell me what the two of you engaged in. Spare me no detail.”

  I gulped. I did not want to disobey, and knew that I would tell him, but at the same time, I was fairly certain that what I would say would upset him.

  Over the next few minutes, I revealed it all. The slapping, the spanking, the brilliantly furious sex.

  When I finished, I found that I was wrong. He was not upset. He was furious.

  “Show me,” he demanded. “Show me right now.”

  Knowing what he meant, I turned around and lifted up the tight hem of my dress, showing him the marks on my ass.

  “I cannot believe this! He has harmed you. You! Who could not harm him back! What sort of monster is he?”

  I turned back around, stepping closer to Cullen.

  “No, please, my Prince, do not be angry.”

  “Do not be angry?” His face flamed. “Do not be angry? After how he treated you? I must fight him. I must harm him, now, to show him what happens when he takes advantage of innocents. I must...must...”

  As he paced and built up his fury, I had followed him, sliding my hands down his pants and around his cock. Within moments, I had him entirely unbuckled, stroking him soft and sure.

  “Shh, my Prince,” I cooed in his ear, stroking his cock. “It is all right. It is all quite all right.”

  He seemed stunned by my forwardness. Had no one taken him in such a passionate embrace before?

  You could easily imagine such a thing happening. A prince like him, who had been trained and educated to operate exclusively with impeccable etiquette. Not a single woman taken advantage of, nor any fetching suitor cornered at a ball to fill with tall tales about all the honors he would bestow upon her should she favor him with a quick blowjob behind the curtains where no one would see.

  Romance was a thing of abstracts for him—strange whispered signals that had no basis in reality, men and women operating in a series of satellite movements for one another on some esoteric gravitational path that had no pull on the planet he stood on. If he were to have a wife, it would be arranged for him by someone else, and no doubt she would have been in the same boat as he. Perhaps they would have discovered what passion was only years into their union, maybe even only after discovering that their only true passion was a dislike for one another.

  Not so for a slave, such as I. I knew that passion was a created constant—that it had to be worked at and manufactured regularly, even among the people who love one another. I knew that despite all my obedience, unless my princely Master knew the thrill of my touch on a regular, erotic basis, he would never know all the unique and varied ways I could serve him and him alone.

  And so I stroked his beastly, huge brown cock, smiling and moaning softly. I wanted him to know how badly I loved to touch him, how great my desire was for his cock and his cock alone in that moment.

  “Please let me keep stroking, my Prince? My Master Prince?” I asked. “Won’t you please? I need to stroke your cock...I need to feel it. I want to know what your cock feels like as you pulse in my hands...yes, like that!” I gasped, happy at his response. “I want to feel what your cock does when you explode, when you cum like only you can cum. I want to know it intimately, Sire. I want to feel it so deeply that it is etched into the palms of my hands, please Master...

  “Oh...my god. Francesca...I...”

  He bucked in my hands, his body first tense, then relaxed, then tense again.

  “Do you like it when I call you my Master, my Prince? Does that please you?”

  “Y-yes. Very much so.”

  Soon, I was kneeling before his majestic cock, stroking it still. Every few strokes I would push forward, sliding my tongue along its surface, licking up the delicious salty product of his precum spasms.

  “Please, cum on me, Master? Cum on my face? Cum on your slave, please?”

  “Oh, Francesca...” he moaned, his body trembling with pleasure. “You have me so close.”

  Encouraged by this, I stroked all the harder. My gentle, soft hand slid up and down his thick, magnificent rod, urging him still.

  “Please cum? Please cum, Master? Please cum, Master? Please cum, my Master?”

  Hips thrashing, he came, finally, all over my face. I eagerly lapped it all up, staring up at him with obedient, servile eyes.

  “That’s enough,” he said suddenly, pulling away from me. “Enough for today. Leave me now.”

  Still a bit blissed out from just feeling the cum of my Master on my face, his words—and command—didn’t quite register with me.

  “I can stay if you’d like, Master...”

  “Did I mince my words? Leave, slave!”

  Of course, I obeyed, some cum still on my face as I exited out into the hall. As I left, I made a careful note of his sudden embarrassment.

  Was he ashamed of his desire to be called Master?

  * * * * *

  A week passed, with my days split between Frederik and Cullen. The date of the ceremony was fast approaching. I still had yet to convince either to talk with the other; all they really wanted to do was use me sexually.

  Which, of course, I was all for. I am, after all, terrific at sex.

  Neither mentioned their previous embarrassment with me. In fact, both had begun to not speak to me at all. Cullen would pull me into his quarters, and expected right away for me to say nothing and to give him a silent, obedient handjob.

  Frederik, on the other hand, ordered me to get on my hands and knees and stay silent as he drove his cock into
my waiting, fertile cunt.

  Both men apparently abandoned what they enjoyed the most—what embarrassed them the most. The spanking and slapping for Frederik, and any hints of calling Cullen my Master.

  This was quite all right. These sorts of things took time for anyone to accept. Everyone thought their kinks deeply forbidden when, most of the time, they were as natural and wonderful as could be.

  But, in my role as concubine, I was also expected to facilitate some agreement between the two.

  Typically, a concubine was used primarily for sexual purposes for the first several weeks of her tenure. Over time, she would be able to reveal to her mated lover that she was capable of vast discourse on all manner of subjects.

  But, I had only been given two weeks time with which to formulate some meaningful dialogue between myself and two princes, not just one. If I’d had a month, it perhaps would have been doable, but with just a week left, it seemed hopeless.

  I said as much to Margot, who rejected my protestations out of hand after she called me into her small steward's office to discuss the matter.

  “This is what we bought you for,” she said, reviewing several documents for the upcoming ball. “And you tell us now that is not achievable?”

  “I am doing my very best, Madam, I assure you—”

  “I’m well aware. You can do no less, can you?”

  I nodded firmly. “That’s correct.”

  “And you were the very best we could buy. And yet here we are, with a goal that cannot be reached in the time it needs.” She sighed, setting her documents aside. “I need not tell you again the gravity of the situation, Francesca.”

  “No, Madam.”

  She stood up and began to rifle through a nearby cabinet. It, like her desk, was layered with documents and letters and a great many manila folders. Continuing to search, her entire body seemed swallowed up by the cabinet, until she was in almost more than halfway. Finally, she pulled out with a large bottle in hand.

  “I happen to know that this particular vintage of whiskey,” she placed the oblong bottle in my hands, “is Prince Frederik’s favorite vintage. It is more than possible that he will view this gift with some gratitude. Tell him you got it from, oh, I don’t know. Say it was a gift from some visiting noble’s slave, perhaps, congratulating you on your high station. It’s not so very unusual to happen.”

  “Thank you, Madam.” I held the bottle up. The liquid inside was thick and brown, almost red, and had a luster akin to polished cherry wood. “I shall put this to good use, I assure you.”

  “Our very kingdom is on the line, my dear. Please be sure that you do.”

  * * * * *

  Later that evening, I met with Prince Frederik, as had become custom.

  He’d had rather a bad day, as it turned out.

  You would think that a Prince might have his days free and his nights freer. Not so for Imperial Hundret, whose pragmatic people, willing as they were to shower their royalty in opulence, quite expected their leaders to work for their high station and luxuries.

  Frederik’s division of responsibilities consisted of a great many executive branches in the government—including economics, military, infrastructure, and more—but on that particular day, what was giving him the most headaches was the price of grain.

  “These damned Berokians!”

  I heard him yell this, followed shortly by several thuds and a crash, right as I approached his door for the evening. After I entered, I saw him in a state, with his computer overturned to the floor and his phone smashed against the wall. Apparently, the Berokians and their network of spies had further delayed a shipment of grain to the capital, exacerbating the problem of feeding the many inhabitants and citizens of Bande.

  In short order, I revealed to him the gift of the whiskey. For many hours beforehand, I had practiced and perfected my cover story for holding the gift, as Margot had instructed. I even found out the name of the sub-slave who would have been at work for the slave Tatiana, belonging to the Count of Heraten, whom I had picked as my “benefactor.” Through careful inquisition, I discovered their exact date of arrival in the palace, when they would leave, and the stops they had made on the way, should I need to talk about the particulars of the conversations we “had” with one another.

  None of this was necessary.

  Frederik took one look at the bottle I presented him with, and with the pressures of the day weighing heavily on his mind, he immediately popped it open, becoming rather drunk in less than half an hour. As he drank, he bid me to sit on his lap, occasionally taking my own sips of the very strong, and very bitter liquid. I do not particularly care for the taste of alcohol or the effects it has on my performance as a lovemaker—like with most activities, alcohol seems to improve the sensations but in fact only dulls your mind to the real pleasures that wait therein—but like most men who drank heavily, Frederik did not like to drink alone. His pleasure was paramount to me, and so I took my sips dutifully, gaining a slight buzz as he got somewhat sloshy.

  “I am very sorry you are upset, Sire,” I said finally, after his muscles started to relax.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  My hands slid down to his crotch, grasping there for his meat. He did not object.

  “It’s not the Berokians fault either, damn them.”

  “May I ask what is bothering you, Sir?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Yes. Sure. Why not. It’s this ceremony. You know about it, I have no doubt. I have no doubt, indeed, that that’s why you were given to both of us. Father’s political instruments are about as blunt as my cock.”

  “Then might I assume they could easily be equally as effective, Sir?”

  “Ha!” He squeezed my tight, encouraging me to massage his cock all the more. “They might, at that.”

  The time had come, with him so drunk, to take a risk.

  “Might I ask what is, according to you, the real source of the problem between you and your brother?”

  The whiskey had a strong smell to it. Over time, it had clung to his mouth. He took me forward and bid that I kiss him, and I did, gladly. The taste of the whiskey suited him; he was a whiskey sort of man, so broad of shoulders and muscular. Eventually, he pushed me back, and I thought that was all the answer I would receive.

  But then, he said, “He did not come to my mother’s funeral. I won’t forgive him for that.”

  “Did he have any reason?”

  “Oh, certainly. Cullen always has his reasons. Haven’t you listened to him? He as reasons for all the shitty manners in which he acts. 'Formality' this and 'tradition' that. It's all a cover for him wanting to be an ass.”

  “That certainly sounds frustrating, Sire. But still, it seems as though the empire needs some sort of leadership.”

  Briefly, he laughed. “True enough.”

  “Do you think it would be possible at all for you two to talk?”

  His drunk thoughts processed this over a great length of time as I stroked his cock through his pants—so great, in fact, that I had started to think he had forgotten I asked.

  “Sure,” he said finally. “Sure. Put it down for tomorrow’s schedule.” He tapped one thick finger down on his date book. “Put it down! I’ll talk to him. If only to tell him what an ass he is.”

  That would have to do. As long as the parties were talking, for whatever reason, then diplomacy was possible.

  * * * * *

  As I had expected, Prince Frederik passed out before we were able to make much headway with lovemaking. He was too fond of that particular whiskey and had suffered through too poor of a day to do otherwise. Still, in the future, I would try and entreat him to drink a little less, so that I might ease his pain in other, more effective manners. Manners, of course, that involved his preciously hot load piling into my needy, servile pussy.

  The grain issues with the Berokians actually caught the attention of Cullen as well, as he was charged with feeding the military. He’d had to jump through a gre
at many hoops to arrange some new influx of steady food for them, keeping him completely occupied while Frederik remained busy with trying to solve the initial problem. Meanwhile, I spent my time learning the castle, reviewing the names and duties of the various servants on the fifteenth step, and exploring the in-step as much as I dared with my armed escort.

  Before I knew it, the ceremony was just two days away, and Margot still breathed down my neck at least twice a day asking for what progress I had made. All I could admit to was all that happened—that Frederik had agreed to meet, and that I waited to speak with Cullen for any forward movement.

  My chance came quite late in the evening, nearing my normal bed time. I was dressed in little more than a night gown and tight, smoky black stockings (which I wore always when going to sleep, just in case of such an event as this) when I arrived at Cullen’s quarters at his behest.

  He invited me to his bedroom, which was odd for him, and sat me down across from him at a small table. I imagined he took his breakfasts there, and perhaps some lunches and dinners as well. I could see the ring marks from his cups, the marks where his knife has missed their mark on the plate.

  Very shortly, unusual for him, he got straight to the matter at hand. “I must admit to some jealousy, slave.”

  “Oh yes, my Prince?”

  “Yes. I...when I heard what Frederik had done to you, I was envious. I wanted that, from you. I thought to warm you up to such lengths, to let you slide in to the depths of my depravity.”

  I tried not to laugh. Instead, I smiled as warmly as I could. “My Prince, let me assure you that no matter how low you may consider your depravity, should you simply order me to celebrate it, I will do so, and sincerely. This is the extent of my obedience to your honor.”

  He stood up now, hands clasped behind his back. Clearly, no matter what I said, he expected to shock me. I tried to imbue my voice, accordingly, with some manner of awe—I thought it would please him to have his expectations fulfilled in this manner.

  “I am a fan of bondage, slave. Does that surprise you?”