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Beatrix had had it. Had It. Papa couldn't get her the diamond earrings she asked for last year, instead giving her a ruby necklace which does not even go with her undertones. How many times has she had to tell him she is Winter, not Autumn? Honest-ly!
Now this slave business! When she turned twenty years of age she was promised two things, her very own slave to toy with for pleasure and mirth, and of course ten proposals from the finest princes all over the world. Well, so far only two of the proposals had arrived and both candidates were inbred, with weird noses and big chins. Gross! And now papa was acting up with the slave business, too.
She had specific requests and they were not hard to fill. Twenty-five years of age maximum, blond hair, blue eyes, a fit body and a cute face. If the slave cried beautifully when whipped, that was a bonus but certainly not something she could require. Besides, she didn't want papa beating her slaves in advance! She wanted a fresh, virginal slave. Untouched by society or by anyone else. Only the best for Beatrix the Third, Crown Princess of Lumidia.
Wasn't the kingdom full of cute serfs like that? Couldn't papa have invaded a different country to make this happen? What was the army for, if not for invasions for goods such as this one? Honestly!
She stared hard at the old slave that had been presented to her. His brown, wavy hair was flecked with greys and his eyebrows rose to bushy heights. His beard was unkempt and also littered with silvery greys, she would have him shave it as soon as possible. He had to be at least a hundred years old! He stood tall before her, but she was sitting in her solid gold chair, which was raised at least a metre off the floor. She could stare at him right in the eye from this position, if she ever allowed such a thing to happen.
"How old are you!" She snapped at him.
"Fifty six, your highness," he said, a calm, deep tone to his voice.
"And where are you from!" she demanded.
"The viceroy of Graff owned me before the king invaded Graff," he said, his voice steady. "I used to be an advisor in the Graffian High Court."
"Graff, pfaff, faff," she said, waving her hand around nonchalantly. She had never heard of the place nor did she care to hear more about it. "Did you just forget to call me your highness? Oh you're gonna get it now. Strip."
He glanced at her, another insolent act, but obeyed. His clothes weren't luxurious. They were linen, and landed loosely against his form, tall and wiry. His long fingers began to open the buttons of his shirt, one by one and for a brief moment Beatrix found herself enjoying the display. His chest had some nice tone to it, with a triangle of soft looking chest hair, the colour of coffee with a drop of cream to it. His eyes were of similar tone, and she wanted to pull out her fan and smack him with it, then raise his chin with the folded up fan and study his eyes.
She wanted to humiliate him. Of course, she would do that plenty.
She got up from her chair and stomped over to him, finding herself quite a bit shorter than him. She would need a chair to stand on, or he would kneel.
"Kneel," she told him.
Slowly he went down on one, then two knees. She was now a head taller than him. His eyes still lowered, their exact tone a mystery to her. He was naked now, his old dick set atop wrinkly balls.
Why must papa torture her this way? Did he resent her for inheriting the throne? But he wrote the law himself. Succession was clear when her brother Beaumont ran off with his own pretty slave, rode off into the sunset with Porter or whatever the hell the blond slave's name was. And last the chamber maid told her, they had started a theatre in Prenmen! Her brother! An utterly useless worm, and no acting skills to boot.
Beatrix pointed at the, ugh, old thing with her folded up silk fan. "Does it work?"
"It does, sometimes, Mistress," the slave spoke, one part of his mouth curling slightly and oh, she did like the sound of that word. Especially with that gravelly deep voice of his, emerging from the soft lips buried in his beard.
"Say Mistress again."
"Mistress," he said.
She raised his chin with the end of her fan and finally gave the permission. "Look up at me."
He did and she found his eyes a deep chocolate with flecks of amber and honey. His eyelashes went on for days and his nose reached a beautiful, curved tip. And that mouth–
"Look away," she told him, finding herself strangely flushed with excitement. "I'll call you whatever pleases me. But what is your old name, slave?"
"Lachlan, Mistress," he said.
"You're old and wrinkled," she said, suddenly annoyed at herself for this brief lapse in judgment. She would never want an old slave like this! How dare papa do this to her! "You disgust me."
"Very well, Mistress," he said, and she nearly smacked him, because the mere word brought a chill down her spine.
"I should send you back and have you torn asunder by four horses," she said, her voice rising. "This is a disrespect to me and the very throne I will one day sir on! To bring me such a decrepit old slave!"
Then she turned around, and looked at him. His body flushed pink, his hands carefully folded over a taut stomach, the trail of hair leading her gaze down from his navel. His cock, standing tall and purple, even though she was just standing there in her blue satin gown. She was simply admonishing him! Berating him for being old and weak!
And that cock of his–
"Touch yourself, Lachlan," she instructed on a whim, feeling herself get dizzy with power.
He pulled at it, his eyes fluttering shut, his long fingers grabbing a hold at the base. The mushroom head glistened with his excitement. His finger dipped to spread the wetness over his length and Beatrix felt her breath catch.
"Open your eyes," she told him, and he did. "That wrinkly old thing of yours seems to be working? Did you lie to me, Lachlan? I don't treat liars kindly."
"I didn't lie to you, Mistress," he told her, cock still in hand. "I simply didn't expect to be served up to such a beautiful Mistress."
Beatrix felt hot from the top of her ears all the way down to her toes. "Don't think flattery will get you kindness, slave. Not in my court."
"Yes, Mistress," he said, with some amusement in his voice.
"But on the off chance that I don't find your words displeasing," she continued airily, feeling a tingle start between her legs, her sex filling with blood, "Tell me how you find me beautiful."
Beatrix settled into her chair, her legs crossed, –and how was she so turned on so soon, how– and waved her fan to signal that he may speak.
"You are indeed beautiful, Mistress," he began. "Your red hued hair that falls into the longest, most mesmerising plait I have ever seen. Your startling green eyes. Your graceful, slender body. Your breasts–"
"Quiet!" Beatrix snapped. Such insolence!
She had never heard of a slave describe a master with such romantic, intimate detail. Of course, she had never had a slave to begin with. He was her first. She had longed to break in a fresh, young thing like she had read in all the books about lecherous princes and their nubile young slave girls. She wanted to be a lecherous prince! But she had never, strictly speaking, done this. She had never had a man look at her breasts, much less describe them.
Lachlan looked down, but his cock was still hard and she remained captivated by it.
"Of course I am beautiful," she spat at him, furious and increasingly turned on. "I am the most heavenly being in all of land. A future queen. If your dick didn't get hard looking at me, it should be cut off and discarded for being a nuisance."
He bit his lip and groaned. "Yes, Mistress."
"How may you please me, Lachlan?" She held her breath in, awaiting his answer.
"I'll kiss places on your body so tenderly you will feel your skin burn with desire, my Mistress, your highness." His fist moved rapidly against his cock. "I will make you scream with joy even every single day at a moment's notice. Your every desire will be fulfilled richer than you could imagine. I want to taste your flesh until it quivers."
"Slow down," she told him, much sweeter this time. "You haven't got my permission to reach the conclusion."
She used the phrase the books she had read used, but coming from her mouth it sounded far too poetic and demure for the primal display she was treated with. Her skin was already alive with anticipation from his words.
"Please, Mistress, your highness, your incredible, heavenly presence, please," he begged, anguished and holding the base of his cock steady, hand unmoving. "Please may I come."
Come, what an uncomplicated turn of phrase! She had actually never come herself but she knew of the act well from poetry and books. She was delighted by the ingenuity of her slave. Old as he was.
He looked to be in pain, his eyes dark and cheeks red. The suffering brought her mirth but she also longed to see him reach his peak.
"You may come, my Lachlan." She smiled at the phrase. Her! She owned a person! How very delightful was that!
The thought thrilled her and the sight of him unfolding in front of her turned her on more than any story in any book she had ever read. His deep voice moaned, biting his lip to keep sound within. His hand moved up and down on his hard length faster and faster and then suddenly a thought came to her.
"Stop! Stop at once!" She got up, frustrated with herself.
She wanted everything, now! She wanted him to deliver on his words, and she was already so wet in her sex, wetter than some books had ever managed to make her. Her skin was more alive than any of her own fantasies, thought up in the dark of the bedchamber. She wanted him, he didn't get to have all the fun for himself! How dare he.
"Kiss me," she demanded.
"Mistress," he breathed out, desperate. "Slaves don't normally–"
"I get what I want," she said, voice steady and demanding and bent over enough to get in his face. "You better get used to that, Lachlan. Or suffer consequences."
His other hand lifted from his side and gently touched her chin with two fingers. Then his mouth captured hers, soft lips against her slightly opened mouth. She could breathe in his scent, musk, tobacco and soap, intoxicating and masculine. His tongue licked slowly at her mouth and when she dared bring her out to his, she sighed at the meeting. It was wet and hot like tea made with water left boiling too long. She was sure he could scald her if he kept going. His hand left its place on her chin to stroke her throat, featherlight and gentle, making her feel more heat between her legs.
She sank down to her knees, and his hands steadied her. She was smaller than him again, but felt all the more powerful for it. He kept kissing her, slow and teasing, and it drove her wild. His beard scratched her chin and cheek, but even that sensation drove her closer to the precipice. She touched him - her property, hers to do whatever she pleased - and her small hands travelled across his chest, that fur on his chest that her fingers could sink into. Her hands found his sides, the softness of him there, his stomach and down to, oh–
"It has wilted," she said, disappointed, furious. "Why has it done that?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress," Lachlan said, lowering his gaze.
She smacked him on the cheek, as hard as she could muster. Disappointingly, it did not leave a mark.
"For this, you must pay," she told him. "Ask them to bathe you again and trim that hideous beard of yours, treat it with oils and waxes. It must not leave a mark on my beautiful skin. You will spend the night with me and I assure you that not a moment of it will be restful. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mistress," he said and while she could not detect an actual smile on his face, she sensed some semblance of satisfaction in her voice.
Maybe her dear old Lachlan was actually like one of the naughtier slave girls in the novels she so loved to read as a young girl. The ones that loved the abuse so much their bodies grew heated with it, no matter how cruelly their master treated them. What were those girls called, Beatrix wondered?
Oh, that's right. Sluts.
"Are you a slut, Lachlan?" She piped up before he exited the hall.
Now he was definitely amused, but not so much that she could accuse him of being insubordinate. "I will be whatever you need me to be, my Mistress."
Beatrix smiled happily. She would not be a cruel Mistress, not if Lachlan treated her as well as he had kissed her mouth earlier.
Although she did still want those diamond earrings and papa was not forgiven for bringing her a slave she hadn't asked for. She deserved only the best. If Lachlan could rise to that level, perhaps he would be allowed to serve her for the rest of his days.
If not, four horses awaited him.
***
When Lachlan had heard about the invasion of Graff, his mind had immediately taken him back to thirty or so odd years ago when his own kingdom had been invaded. His father had served as the king's hand and the viceroy had had most of the court killed. But he had only been a young man, still educated at the court. He had been taken as a slave, first humiliated endlessly by the viceroy and anyone else who he wished to give the boy to for a night or two. But soon the viceroy had seen another use for him. After all, Lachlan spoke many languages and had studied governance.
Over the next decades he had risen in influence and power and even been given his own slave girl, who he had treated very kindly. But his mind had been moulded by the older viceroy's cruelty. The degradation, the humiliation, the total subservience. He had craved it.
He craved it to this very day.
Upon the invasion by Lumidia, he thought he might be killed immediately or sold to a farm. He did not expect to be personally picked by the king to be the crown princess' plaything. Perhaps it had been a cruel joke at first, but it suited him just fine. She was easy on the eyes. The long plait of burgundy red, the freckled nose and cheeks, the green gaze that blazed a flame through him when she allowed him to look.
She was young and naive, perhaps, sheltered in the court and had not yet learned about the cruel world outside the palaces. She seemed to flush suddenly and take such delight in him, humiliating him with ease. The words ran through him like a well-sharpened knife through flesh. She was flighty. If she wasn't pleased with him, he would surely be slaughtered like cattle without a moment's hesitation. But if she was pleased, he could gain everything he had ever asked for in life.
After a scrub and a trim for his beard, he was fed simply and sent to her bed.
"Lachlan!" She sat up in bed, he saw in the corner of her eye. "I didn't expect you this early. Though of course I ought to have you any moment I so choose."
"Of course, Mistress," he agreed.
"Are you eager to serve me?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Why not look at me, then?" She seemed to understand the problem soon. "Oh! Lachlan. Look at me. In my bedroom you may always look at me unless I specifically forbid it."
He raised his eyes to hers, finding her mesmerising. She was dressed in her nightgown, a white cotton gown that bunched around her bosom and loosened below it. Her hair was open, loose around the shoulders. Her freckled cheeks had been made pink.
"Thank you, Mistress," he said, and the words brought warmth that spread throughout his body. A tingle began at the nape of his neck, a familiar one he had not felt in years. The joy of submission.
He was hardening already.
"In the books, the princes just bend over their slave girls and take them by force," she mused out loud. "Unfortunately I don't think that would bring me as much joy as it might you, the good slut that you are."
He almost smiled, but maintained his expression bland.
"You may kiss me as you did earlier," she said, and her blush blossomed further. "I mean, I demand it. Come here."
He joined her in bed, a four poster bed that could have fit five people at its width. The mattress gave way, softer than a dream. He had been sleeping on hay for three weeks. This in itself was a gift enough.
The closer he got, the more he saw how turned on the princess was. And how delicate she was. She was roughly half his height, with tiny hands and face. Her breasts were smaller, but filled the bust of her dress perfectly. Her chest was flushed like her cheeks, and if he studied he could see her nipples harden beneath the cotton. All of her was scented with almond and lavender and honey. Sweet, like fine confectionery.
She pulled him by his rough linen shirt front towards herself. Their mouths met and if she was coy before, she now was more confident with her kissing. Her tongue was the one that opened his lips, invaded his mouth first. She moaned into the kiss. A thought passed him, exhilarating and strange; what if he had been her first kiss.
"You must strip," she told him, her hands fluttering over his chest and neck. He stepped back to obey the command and she watched, a smile playing at her lips.
"You must be so embarrassed over our last time together," she said, her tone at once derisive and intense with heat. "Your poor little thing, succumbing to old age. We could have made love and yet you disappointed me."
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he told her.
"They have groomed you so well for me," she said. "Maybe I won't be rubbed raw by your hairs. You know what must happen if that should occur, do you not?"
"I do not, your highness," he replied.
"I read in a book once the slave was humiliated most by sucking the toes of her master," Beatrix said lightly. "Wouldn't that be a fitting punishment, Lachlan?"
"If you think so, Mistress," he agreed and his dick twitched desperately. He could think of nothing more arousing.
"You are already hard," the princess spoke and sounded vaguely disappointed. "In the books the slave is cowering in fear the first few weeks. But you're so old you have already been broken in, like a horse ready for retirement. Ugh. Why couldn't papa give me a new toy to play with."
She seemed suddenly distraught. He hated seeing her like this and he feared a sour mood might make her cast him aside. Then he really would be in danger.
"May I offer an opinion, as useless as it may be to someone of your standing, my Mistress?"
She sighed. "Continue, I suppose, though it won't do any good."
"A slave will always need training for a new master or Mistress," he said gently. "The way I am required to serve you is completely unknown to me. You need to break me in completely, Mistress."
Her eyes lit up. "Yes, precisely. You know nothing about how to serve me! I must keep you on a very tight leash and be merciless if you misbehave. And indeed, what do I want you to do? Kiss me again."
He did, cupping her face as their mouths moved together and he allowed his hand to drop to her throat. She gasped at the touch, and this made him hungrier for more. He had not touched a young woman like her, not since his very first time as a young man. His hand found her breast, its cotton prison and his palm glided over the hard nipple, a touch so small and yet with such promise. She moaned and then gained her senses, swatting his hand away.
"Our first training session and you would defy me in such a manner!" she snapped at him. "How dare you! I ought to have you whipped for such behaviour!"
"My actions were inexcusable, Mistress," he said, finding it in himself to act shamefaced when all the berating did was turn him on further.
She blushed a deep red. "I'm shocked. Suck my toes you pathetic old man."
Her delicate foot rose in the air as he moved down the bed to access it. Her feet smelled like the rest of her, pampered and sweet. He licked the underside of her big toe and took it in his mouth, gentle and slow.
His Mistress threw her head back, a cry escaping her mouth. "Do– do that again."
She really was sensitive to touch. Perhaps his theory about her being sheltered was true and she lacked certain experiences. All this would only make it easier to maintain his position in her favour.
He sucked the sum of her toes into his mouth and narrowly avoided her other foot shooting out and kicking him in the face. She cried out again, wanton.
"What else do you like, Mistress?" His cock pressed hard against the softness of the bed, providing no release. He considered rutting against it to see if it would earn him another sweet punishment.
"You said you might kiss me until my flesh quivered. How might you accomplish such a tall task, I wonder?"
"It would require me to get beneath the layers of nightgown you have on, Mistress," he told her. "Do you want me to undress you?"
"Do it," she said, panting.
He pulled up the thin layers of cotton to find her mound, red-hued brown hair covering it. His mouth watered at the sight. When he pressed his lips against it, she bucked against the touch already, a mere press. She would be so easy to come undone, and the prospect excited him.
"Might I open your legs, Mistress?" His hands touched the skin where her thighs met one another, pressed together as if to preserve her last sanctity. Her final chaperone.
"Yes, Lachlan," she breathed out and her name sounded so lovely from her mouth.
He nudged her thighs apart and kissed at the innermost corners of them, drawing further sweet sounds from his Mistress. He took a careful first lick across the length of her sex and pressed the tip of his tongue to the top of her folds, probing in slightly. She arched against the bed. “Do that again.”
He teased his tongue to the part he knew needed the touch the most, while his fingers slid along her lips and found her wetness. Her fists squeezed the soft cotton of the bed and when he looked up, he could see her slackjawed against the pillows, her hair spreading beneath her hair. She was already close, and his finger pushed in, slow and careful.
He was desperate to know how many had explored her depth before him. It was a shame a slave would never be allowed to ask, he had to coax the truth out of her in other ways. He thought of the variations on the theme. Whether a maid had undressed her one night and touched her until she shook against the maid’s fingers, or whether a rogue had entered the court and seduced her to be pliable beneath his fingers. She could not be a virgin, she was too keen for sexual touch to be twenty and still untouched in that manner. But she was definitely inexperienced in some way, for the way that every touch he laid on her body seemed like her first time experiencing such pleasure.
Her pussy was so wet and hot around his finger, the folds tightening around him as he pushed in another. He wanted her so much, but it would never be punishment for him to fuck her. It would be his greatest reward. He wouldn’t rush; time might allow him grace to get there eventually.
His tongue flicked against her nub, then sucked it between his lips. She cried out again, and he could feel her thighs tighten against one of his hands. He would always ask for permission; she would never have to. His fingers curled inside of her, moved in and out, with her palm bringing pressure to her opening and his tongue worked at her clitoris. It had blossomed into a huge teardrop pearl and when he rolled his tongue against it, his lips holding it in place, she finally came undone.
Her scream was endless, her back rose from the bed and then crashed back down. His fingers emerged from within her and pressed against her once more, seeing if he could bring her a new wave. But she was too far gone from the first one. Her cries evaporated into the heat between them, and when he came up for air, finally, she was still moaning softly.
“Lachlan,” she gasped. “How did you–”
“You told me what you wanted, Mistress,” he said, demure. “I hope that was satisfactory.”
“What would you like as a reward, Lachlan?” she asked, gaining some of her composure.
“May I touch myself, Mistress?” he asked, his prick leaking still into the sheets.
“You may,” she told him.
“While watching you, Mistress?” he asked, overtaken by a fantasy, but her pretty face frowned at him.
“Oh, in the books they would never let a slave do such an arousing act.” She smiled at him. “I will give you the grace of knowing I am watching you as you do it, and you do not have to leave the bed. But you cannot look at me.”
“I understand, Mistress,” he said, humiliation heating his chest.
His hand moved to his cock, red and purple, and tugged at it slowly. His hand increased its pace and he heard a soft gasp from her, and it was enough to drive him wild. The mere thought of meeting her eye while touching himself drove him over the brink, spilling over his fist and stomach. He cleaned the mess while still delirious from the waves, wiping with his own clothes, the roughness of the fabric leaving a red mark on his skin.
He knew she was watching, making delighted sounds as he came all over himself. He would happily serve her for the rest of his life, even if he got nothing more than this; her pleasure and his own release, with some modicum of dignity delivered within.
“Your old prick does function after all,” she said lightly, “who would have ever thought!”
“Yes, Mistress,” he told her.
“How very pleasant,” she said airily. “Well, I would hope that tonight’s training session was of some value to you. I did have to punish you but you performed your duties to the best of your abilities and I cannot fault you for the things you lack just yet. We will work hard and maybe in due time you will be my perfect little plaything. Won’t you, Lachlan?”
“Yes, your highness,” he told her, gaze lowered once more.
“I do not require a sleeping companion, so you have to leave for your own bed. However, I will ask that they no longer make you sleep on hay,” she said, sounding annoyed. “How dare they do such a thing! Even my dolls slept on silk sheets when I was a child! What an insult to a future queen and my new toy!”
He merely nodded, but felt something bloom in his chest. She would, after all, treat him well. He would do as she asked, and give her ideas for what to ask, so that his position may only improve.
***
Lachlan, her perfect slut! Beatrix thought she ought to write a book of her own. The only problem? She was having problems with coming up with creative ways of both pleasuring herself and punishing him. He rarely did things wrong - in fact, she had had to make up some things that he did wrong, just so she could punish him in ways she found delightful and fun.
Keeping a slave was actually quite hard work. She had thought up many delicious punishments for him, only to find that when he came back to her, beaten and bruised, she didn't like seeing the scarred skin or the blur and purple bruising. She wanted a pretty slave! Even if he was just an old man!
He had touched her breast again, and as amazing as it had felt, she had rapped his hand with the hard bamboo wood part of her fan for that. He pulled his hand, smarting from the pain and she had done it again to prove a point. Very fun. Maybe she ought to keep all the punishment to herself within the bedroom. That could be a unique thing only she, Beatrix the Third did!
She had never been with a man, of course, and the books only gave her ideas with how to abuse a girl slave, which Lachlan wasn’t. She knew there were devices that ladies could wear with appendages and such, but it seemed like a lot of work for not a whole lot of reward. Maybe later.
However, she did enjoy Lachlan kissing her between her legs. In fact, he had been allowed to do so every night since the first time and sometimes multiple times per day, if it suited her whims. He was quite good at it and this coming sensation was really the best thing she had ever felt, even including the time when papa made her a future queen.
When she was sated and happy, she allowed him to talk more and even on occasion, ask her questions. So far he had asked her the following: how did she feel about becoming queen? Answer: brilliant! She couldn’t wait to rule over a whole nation and make people dance to her whims. How many had slept in her bed? Answer: Strange question, it was her bed after all. Why should anyone else be allowed to sleep in it?
She had begun to have a fascination with his prick. It was old and disgusting, of course, but the fact was, she had never explored a man’s penis before. She liked the way it swelled when he was aroused, and enjoyed watching him touch himself. She thought of the slave girls in the books taking cock in all sorts of places and how that might feel for herself. She knew that sometimes that resulted in the slaves getting pregnant, and she was a smidge worried about it.
So one night, after he had licked her for what felt like hours, she thought she would ask.
“Lachlan, how does a girl become with child?”
His eyes widened slightly, his hand stilling against her navel, where it had been worshipping her before. She loved it when his hands worshipped her. It felt so lovely and made her feel very warm inside. Sometimes she enjoyed it so much he had to kiss her sex again, and again, and in this loop they would go until she would finally allow him to rut against the sheets and come himself.
“Well, Mistress, it takes a man’s release inside of the girl to get her to that state,” he said coyly.
“What on earth does that mean?” she asked, surprised. “You can’t touch yourself while you are inside a girl, surely?”
Lachlan’s lips almost curled into an insolent smile, but he held steady and she withdrew her thoughts of future punishment. Though she could always go for more of him worshipping her feet.
“There is a motion, a sort of dance one does to get himself there,” he says gently. “Mistress, why do you ask this?”
“Well, you old fool, it has come to my attention that your cock sits there useless while it could have many uses for me that you have never even thought to mention.” She laughed, pearly and loud. “What else are you hiding from me, Lachlan?”
“I mean to hide nothing, Mistress,” Lachlan replied, and his tongue darted out to swipe over his lower lip. “Whatever you need is what I will give. As it happens, there are ways to do without causing pregnancy.”
“There are?” She sat up on the bed. “Good heavens, let me know.”
“A sort of cover for the man’s appendage,” Lachlan explains. “It stops the seed from spreading into the womb, where it may cause further consequences.”
“How very fascinating!” Beatrix clapped her hands together. “But is this pleasurable for the girl? The slave girls seem to enjoy it plenty but we all know they are much like yourself, complete sluts.”
Lachlan’s eyes twinkled, a transgression she sometimes allowed him. “Well, I have known some women to find the act very pleasurable. Mistress, you know I will always give you my best.”
“But is your best good enough, I wonder,” she said, biting on her forefinger. “Don’t answer that,” she added sternly.
Papa was always going about her purity and precious gift that she must give to her future husband. But what the hell did she need a man for at this stage of her life, she wondered. She already had kingdom, gold, treasure and land. She already had an army and enough servants that she could throw half of them off a cliff and not worry about it.
"Oh, this is a pickle," she said, mostly to herself. "Lachlan, you will demonstrate with another slave, maybe one of the kitchen ones, and I will see if I want that wrinkly thing in me."
"As you wish, Mistress," he told her, head bowed.
"Now worship my breasts," she said, an impulsive thought.
Every time his hand had hovered over her breast, the sensation had been quite exciting, even if she had him punished for it mercilessly. He had a certain light touch which she enjoyed. Her nipples got very hard and sensitive and his fingers could probably handle them with expertise.
She was excited again. Training her slave was so fun! She was teaching him so well.
His hand hesitantly cupped her right breast and two fingers gently held her nipple between them. He pulled at it, ever so slowly and released it, the breast gently landing back. She moaned, throwing her head back against the pillow. Yes, she was training him very well. This was all her own doing! She was the most brilliant slave master on the planet.
"Kiss them," she gasped, thinking of Lachlan’s brilliant mouth.
His mouth covered one nipple as his palm teased the other, making it harden beneath his touch. Beatrix whimpered. She could feel herself get wet between the legs. Once Lachlan had told her that she was so wet and indeed she had hit him on the mouth for it, but now she loved the phrase and adored the sensation.
She was using her slutty slave for her own pleasure and she was so great at it! His mouth sucked tenderly at her nipple and she wanted more. Her hand pushed him from the back of his head and he took the wordless instruction perfectly, taking what was left of her tit into his mouth. His tongue flicked against the delicate underside. Her back arched and his other hand crept to the small of her back as she sat up.
His finger drew little patterns against the small of her back, and her hands dug into his hair to hold him there tightly. His mouth switched from one tit to the other and the hardened, wet nipple hit the cool air of the room, then his other hand found it once more.
She was on fire and so wet and unsure how he might bring her to come from just her breasts. Could it be accomplished? Certainly, she was the most clever princess in the known world. But he was just an old man slave.
She better allow him the grace of other methods.
"Lachlan, touch me," she gasped. "I'm so wet, make me come right now. But don't stop what your mouth is– oh–"
His fingers had already moved under her skirt and between her legs. Her nub was swollen and wanting, and his thumb rubbed against it in the same pattern as his fingers had touched her back moments earlier. God, he was good. But of course, he had been trained by the best: herself.
She felt the signature tightening of her muscles, like the whole of her body contracting and then softening, widening with pleasure. She screamed, not holding back any and Lachlan’s mouth still held onto her breast. She felt warm and flushed and perfect, and she cradled his head against her chest for a good long time after the waves had washed over her.
"Oh, Lachlan," she said. "I think I should be commended for taking pity on an old man such as yourself. I have taught you so well."
"You have, Mistress," he agreed with a smile against her skin. Her beard tickled her clavicle but it was in much better condition now that she had the servants look after it. Now she was quite fond of it.
And if she began hating it, of course it would be shaved. His body was hers to toy with.
"Why do the slave girls love sucking their master's cock so much?" The question escaped her lips without her meaning to. But Lachlan’s dick had so many uses and she didn't get to do any of it! It was most unfair.
"I wouldn't know, Mistress," Lachlan said, but she could detect amusement in his voice. God she loved him! Her perfect slut.
"Maybe you will suck off a stable boy to demonstrate one time or another," she told him. "Wouldn't that be so humiliating and horrible?"
"It would, Mistress," he agreed but she could feel him harden against her thigh.
That wrinkly sad cock of his! She liked it as well.
Papa had tried to mess with her but she was too intelligent for him. She had trained this slave to her perfect specifications.
She fell asleep like this, considering her own brilliance.
***
His beautiful young Mistress was very fickle. Just when he thought he had figured out her punishments and rewards to know what to do and what not to do, she changed her mind completely.
He had been punished numerous times for daring to brush his fingers over her small, perky breasts and now all he was instructed to do was to worship them. Not that he minded. They tasted sweet in his mouth. She was brought close to the edge just by having her nipples played with long enough. He was quite happy to do so.
Of course, she loved creating new forms of punishment but he noticed the lack of violence to them. Her small hands would smack or spank him with ease but she no longer had him whipped or his body pelted with rocks.
She brought a stable boy to him and he had to suck off the young man in front of her. He had sucked the older viceroy's cock for years, so this wasn't new to him, but what was new was the audience of a flushed princess. She sat on the bed, watching the proceedings with a bright glow to her face. The stable boy was around her own age, and his cock was monstrous, lengthy and pink with arousal. His hands grabbed at Lachlan’s head and held it tight while he fucked his mouth, using it for his pleasure.
The princess gasped.
"How very delightful!" She stood up when Lachlan brought the lad to completion. "And his spill all over your beard, Lachlan! How arousing. You must eat me immediately. And you may go, stupid boy. This isn't your slave. He is all mine!"
The satisfaction of the night lingered with him.
Another evening, one of the kitchen slaves was brought for him to fuck in front of her. The girl was older than the princess but younger than him by decades, and his cock rose at the prospect of both fucking her and having the Mistress watch him do it.
He knew it would be too much to ask to enter her, yet her fascination with the act didn't end with their conversation about pregnancy. She had held his cock between her two fingers and asked him if this little old thing would fill her up like the big cocks of the princes in her books. He had nearly exploded from the touch. He had heard of male slaves getting their penises removed and the thought of her whims struck fear into him. Surely she would not, but if she ever got the idea, he had to make sure his cock was of use to her.
The kitchen slave was frightened and he tried to smooth his hands over her body to soothe her somewhat. Between her legs she was moist but not as moist as he would have liked, but the princess was impatient.
"Get to it, Lachlan," she demanded and he had to acquiesce.
He entered the slave and she cried out, half pain, half surprise. With each movement she became wetter for him, more pliant and hot. He reached for her hips and one hand touched her breast, but when he saw a brief look of fury on the Mistress' face his hand retreated.
Eventually his hand moved to caress the slave's nub, surreptitiously. She came around him, crying wanton and needy and he increased his pace and spilled inside her with no warning.
The slave was dismissed and he was left to wait for the princess' judgement.
"Very well," Beatrix spoke. "The slut seemed to enjoy it. But I'm not yet convinced. You are an excellent cocksucker, though. I shall bring you a new stable boy to entertain every single night."
"As you wish, Mistress," he said even as humiliation blotched his cheeks red.
***
Papa was back from his big important trip to establish trade and diplomatic relations with Who Cares and Whatever. His personal servant, another old wrinkled man named Amos, had of course gossipped away about what she had been up to while he was gone. She had been training her slave! As was her right to!
Papa was furious with her for no reason.
"You have neglected your studies in languages and governance, Beatrix!" How dare he raise his voice at her.
"I have not!" She harrumphed. "I have been studying diligently."
"Every servant I have asked said you spend days breaking in your slave, who spends his days under your skirts," her father said derisively. "And to think you have even called him by his actual name. It's embarrassing."
"Embarrassing!" She folded arms over her chest. "I am doing my duty! Lachlan cannot know how to be a toy without instruction. I have to keep the old fool in line. Besides," she added haughtily, "Lachlan knows more about governance than the stupid Miss Victoria you hired to teach me. He has actually served a court! What has she done besides eating too much dessert?"
"Shut up!" King Brampton bellowed. "Shut up, you stupid brat, you insolent child. I will have the slave taken away and killed if you don't attend your lessons. I have not built a kingdom for you to ruin it the moment you step on the throne."
"Papa!" She stood up from her seat. "You would not! He is my slave! My toy! Not yours! Oh, papa, how very dare you!"
"You deserve a nice young slave," her father said, smiling deviously. "Just as you wanted, dear."
"You…!"
Beatrix couldn't believe her ears. The gall of papa! The ego on him! She did not want a young idiot slave who didn't know which point within her triggered orgasm, another word Lachlan had taught her. And what use was a young dick! A pretty boy virgin probably did not even know how to suck off a stable boy in such a way that made her wet with need.
No, she would not allow this.
"You are a hypocrite, papa," she said calmly. "Lest we forget who Amos was to you at one point."
"Don't you dare speak his name. He is a trusted advisor–" papa started but she cut him off.
"Oh, please, papa, Beau told me the story as soon as I turned eighteen! He was a whore you took a liking to before you got engaged to mama." She snorted. "Surprised there are even two of us to begin with, considering mama always lived in her own palace."
"She loved the garden and did not want to leave," her father said, faltering. "Her condition was such that–"
"Her condition was that her husband wanted to spend the night with his man servant, not her." She smiled sweetly at him. "Now if this story was to get out, I wonder how our diplomatic allies would feel about the king's judgement."
"Are you–" His eyes widened with shock. "Threatening me?"
"It is merely an idle thought." She turned to look at him, eyes steely. "So if Amos is allowed to stay, so is Lachlan. I do as I please, as you were once allowed."
Her father, the king, straightened his velvet jacket. "You have made your point. I warn you, Beatrix, do not make an enemy of me."
"Or what, you will rewrite succession to benefit my useless brother? Father, he cannot even write his own name. B O W Mont, remember how we laughed about it?"
Her father smirked. "I do recall."
"Now I must study, papa," she said and waved her hand at him.
She raised a book to her lap. THE DARK PRINCE AND HIS WANTON MAIDENS, the title said in red and gold engraved lettering.
She was intelligent and wise and humble, but had much to learn, still.