Game

‘Don’t get used to it.’

‘As if I would. Now, about that Dark Prince …’

***

The very next evening, after work, the Princess presents herself to His Royal Highness the Prince of Petite Mort. She is belligerent and feisty, thrusting out her chest as she stands before him.

‘I demand an explanation,’ says the Prince, who is rather dashing in leather trousers and a sword belt, though the sword is only the plastic toy kind. The riding crop in his hand, however, is real. ‘Why did you run away to the forest?’

‘Because I didn’t want to marry a tyrant.’

‘Tyrant, eh? I’ll show you tyrant.’ He whacks the crop against his thigh, making a delicious whippy sound that melts the Princess’s resistance, not to mention her pussy. ‘Thought you could dishonour your pledge, did you? No such luck, my tempestuous beauty.’

Smirk break. He does overegg it a bit sometimes.

‘You won’t be smiling for much longer. I’m going to continue with the marriage.’

‘Oh, but –’

‘And you will bend to my will. And my whip.’

‘Yikes. But there’s something I must tell you. It might change your mind. I am no longer a virgin.’

‘Wha– but, you, what? No longer a virgin? How?’

‘The usual method, I think.’

He cracks the whip again, then grabs me by the forearm and pulls me close, capturing my chin in a firm grip.

‘Who? I’ll have his head on a pike.’

‘I don’t know his name. Some peasant of the forest.’

‘He violated you?’

‘No, I wanted it. I begged him to deflower me.’

‘A peasant!’ The Dark Prince’s roar could wake the slumberers of neighbouring lands. ‘You gave your maidenhead to a peasant? Willingly?’

‘Aye. Still want me for your bride?’

He yanks me over to the table and bends me over it, holding me down with a hand on my spine.

‘You’ll pay for your sluttish ways, my little whore princess. And yes, you will be my bride. I’m not giving up the chance to rule your father’s lands because you can’t keep your legs shut. Oh no. But you will learn not to repeat your loose behaviour, unless it’s in my bed.’

God, he’s good at this. My juices gush and I squeeze my trembling thighs together. My blood is up and rioting through my veins. Do it, I silently beg him, whip me.

The skirt comes up, petticoats and all, and I barely have time to screw my eyes shut before the first stroke whistles down, a bar of red heat lighting up my arse.

My lusty yell is only partly one of pain. I am wild with exhilaration. The rougher he plays, the crazier I get. I wonder what it would take to break me, and if he’ll ever reach that point. The idea excites me even more.

He wields the crop with an expert hand, laying a succession of hard, fast strokes until I want to jump up and hop about, but his other hand on my back holds me in place so that all I can do is take it. Stroke after stroke, burn after burn, while he rants and raves about what a whore I am and how I will submit to him and him alone.

I don’t know how many he gives me, but it must be near fifty at least when he lays the crop aside and runs a hand over my scorched and welted bottom.

‘What did that teach you, Princess?’ he pants, sounding quite exhausted.

‘It taught me who my master is,’ I sigh.

‘Yes. That was my intention. So, I have conquered you?’

‘Oh, you have. It’s so sore, ouch.’

His hand glides over the burning skin and then dips lower, to the wet ridges of my pussy, alighting on my needy clit.

‘You are in heat, Princess. The whipping has given you pleasure?’

‘No,’ I lie. ‘Only pain and humiliation.’

‘Then why are you so wet here? Are you truly a slut who wants cock all the time?’

‘No, no.’

‘You are.’ He shoves two fingers up inside me. ‘And this is where you took peasant cock. How was it? Was he a good size?’

‘He was long and thick and he used it well.’

He smacks my bum hard and I whimper and twist my hips.

‘I have decided that I will take your virginity, Princess.’

‘What? But …’

One wetted fingertip slips between my rear cheeks until it finds the tight pucker it seeks.

‘There is more than one kind of virginity.’

‘Oh God. Not there. Please, not there.’

‘You should have thought of that when you welcomed peasant cock into your hungry cunt, Princess. I’m not going where some serf has been. I shall have to use an alternative. It won’t get me many heirs, I suppose, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come. To it.’

Cold lubricant drips onto the tiny aperture. My hot arse welcomes it, but I am still nervous and focused, as I always am when Lloyd takes me this way. Somehow, it seems like a much bigger and bolder step than mere cock-in-cunt sex. There’s a momentous quality to it.

But he knows I can take it, and he knows exactly how rough he can be, and that’s exactly how rough he is, shoving his cock firmly into my bottom until he is wedged tight and I have squealed and squirmed through the difficult moment of full penetration.

‘There we are, Princess,’ he whispers. ‘Your arse is stuffed with a royal cock. How does it compare with what that peasant gave you?’

‘I feel owned, sir, and taken.’