Princess Nadine’s husband liked to touch her when he thought she was sleeping. Or perhaps he didn’t like it, but did it anyway, for what reasons she could not imagine.
When Prince Sado was awake, he could not get enough of letting her know how utterly contemptible he found her. Unworthy of his attentions, be they affectionate or violent – and they were never affectionate, not really. Not until the wee hours, when his touch was gentle for nothing more than a desire not to wake her.
She didn’t notice it, at first, because sleeping was so difficult that when it finally claimed her she slept like the dead. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could sleep comfortably, with arms wrapped around them and hot breath on their neck. There was no romance in the way he held her at night, only a prison; a reminder, first and last, that even sleep did not bring freedom.
It was an unpleasant surprise, the first time she’d roused with fingertips tracing the shape of her thighs, the edges of her ribcage. She’d done her very best to give the impression that she was still sleeping, because she was sure that it was a nasty trick, a cruel new game. But he had only touched, very soft and still and quiet, and that annoyed her even more. Knowing that he could be gentle and sweet, that he could enjoy her and explore her and simply chose not to give her that satisfaction.
Nadine had always found Sado’s claims of disgust to be either specious or mad. She did not suffer from any lack of self-esteem, and his various humiliations did not dim her certainty that she was fucking fabulous. Perhaps that was what annoyed him about her.
The moons were high in the sky, flooding their room with light, and he was touching her again. She wished that she could see the look on his face, wished she could do something about the arousal that made her skin prickle. Remaining still was difficult, as the pad of his thumb brushed over her nipple and his fingers followed the curve of her breast.
You could be so fucking good, why do you have to be such shit instead?
She imagined a world where he wasn’t thoroughly loathsome, where he finished what he started instead of keeping her from climax. A world where he touched her like this while she was awake, a world where he rode her until she was done, a world without his goddamn pain stick bullshit.
The imagining did not help matters, and neither did the erection pressing into her back. That was a first, and she tried not to recoil from it, tried not to make a sound that would reveal her consternation. He was wrapping her hair around his fingers, exploring the way the curls bounced, fell from his hands. It was the alien things that seemed to fascinate him, her hair and the curve of her ear and the set of her mouth. The tiniest of whimpers escaped her, and he froze, waited to see if he’d woken her. The night air felt cold on her back as he withdrew from her, and she couldn’t help shivering as what felt like his knuckles slid down her spine.
When he drew close again, wrapped his arms around her once more, she felt a faintly disappointed sort of relief. It seemed he had decided to go back to sleep, rather than risk being caught in untoward behaviors. Or, so it seemed before his hips started to move, rubbing himself against her skin as if he were a dog and she a particularly alluring leg.
Are you fucking shitting me.
His hand moved to cover her mouth, and she realized that he no longer cared about letting her sleep. No more secret touches, this night. Nadine pretended that it was this that had roused her, furrowing her brow and cracking her eyes open. She made a muffled, indignant noise into his palm, which he rewarded by pushing his thumb into her mouth. She responded by very sensibly biting down on the digit, and his displeased nnn seemed shockingly loud in the night.
“Pretending you are not a little heathen whore will do you no good,” he rasped, and she made a noise like harrumph and bit down harder. “Use that mouth properly, princess, or we’ll be here all night.” She groaned, and hoped that Sado thought it a noise of distaste, hoped he didn’t notice that her thighs were pressed together tight. She loosened her jaw, wrapped her lips around him and sucked, ran the tip of her tongue over the divots in his skin that her teeth had made. She thought she felt him shudder, but it was difficult to tell. He slid the wet digit from her mouth, ran it over her lower lip and then over her breast once more. “Again,” he ordered, “but lower.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she said shakily, because she was still half-asleep and that made her too honest.
“If I have to do that, then you really are useless.” Nadine attempted to elbow him in the ribs, but his hands took her wrists and held them still, and squirming didn’t help when he was still pressed tight along her back. “Be a good girl,” he suggested, “and I’ll give you a reward.”
It was an absurd and paltry offer, but her struggling stopped, processing his words with a brain made slow with sleep and desire. “What sort of reward?” she asked warily, when she ought to have been insulted to act like a pet in want of a treat. His mmm of amusement did not reassure her.
“You’ll find out when you’ve been a good little cocksucker, and not before.” Despite this assertion, one of his hands slid between her legs, fingers drawing tiny circles in just the right spot to make her gasp with delight.
It’s a trick, it’s a trap, he’s going to disappoint me but oh god what if he didn’t?
“I’m not a good cocksucker,” she said finally, as he rolled onto his back and she slid down between his knees, “I am the best cocksucker.”
This was, as far as she was concerned, completely accurate.
One hand dug into his thigh, the other held her black curls out of her face so that he could watch her bob and suck and lick. She couldn’t see the look on his face, but she imagined that it was unpleasant, the way it always was when he was secretly enjoying himself. The tip of her tongue followed a vein, and the noise that he made was one she hadn’t heard from him before.
“Is this what you did to the gardener?” he asked hoarsely, and her lips curled into a smile before wrapping around him again. “Take his filthy, common flesh into your heathen mouth? Swallow his seed as if you were no better than trash?” He was making it painfully obvious that she was driving him mad, and she was pleased beyond reason.
“Am I not trash?” Nadine asked sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes and running kisses along his shaft. He made that noise again, as if she’d knocked the words out of him and he couldn’t breathe.
“You are worse,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Unruly savage, common whore, heretic. You should beg for my forgiveness, you should beg to be allowed to please me.”
As close as that, are you?
“Would you like me to stop?” she asked, eyes wide with feigned sincerity, breath cold against his slick skin. He snarled and grabbed her by the hair, shoved her down so that the length of him disappeared into her mouth in an attempt to make her choke. She only barely managed not to laugh.
“I own you,” he declared, voice almost shrill, and she thought that he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone. He seemed to have realized that she was leading him by the cock – metaphorically speaking – and he was not pleased. “You cannot bewitch me, with that lying whore mouth.” This time she couldn’t help but giggle, and the sound made him release her – or perhaps the feeling. Laughing was not something she usually did while giving head, and so she hadn’t the slightest idea what it might feel like.
“Sa-do,” she sang, elongating all the vowels as her fingers wrapped themselves tight around the base of his shaft. Her voice was husky and teasing, and she spoke between long licks of her prodigious tongue. “I don’t have to beg, do I? Because you like it. Your wicked, wicked wife. You are bewitched. I bet you don’t even know why you want me.”
“Liar.”
“Do you think your subjects know, Sado? That your princess turns to common flesh? Do you think they wonder where your deficiency lies?”
“Their curiosity will rot their tongues. I will lock them so deep in the dungeon that they will see no light, I will have them in chains alongside anyone who touches you until they know not to debase themselves with thoughts of Sado’s whore.”
“Sado the cuckold,” she continued, as if he’d said nothing at all, and the way he squirmed and snarled with his cock in her hand almost made it worth it to hate him and want him so badly. “Sado, who married a whore and can’t even please her.”
“I will drag you to the market on your hands and knees,” he swore, and now he must have been angry, by the way that he yanked on her hair with a white-knuckled fist. “I will take you in front of everyone, the entire kingdom will watch you writhe and hear the noises that you make, and I will tie your spent body to the top of Ala Ma as a warning.”
“The other girls of your kingdom,” she asked, hair still pulled back painfully, thumb tracing circles on the head of his cock, “will they debase themselves as shamelessly as a heathen? Will they bow before you with eager mouths, the other women you might marry?” This question loosened his grip, though only enough for her to slide her lips around the base of his shaft once more.
“You are not being a very good girl,” he accused, and she recalled that she’d been doing this for something other than the fun of it. Her retort was to keep bobbing, to make whimpering little noises that were muffled by his skin. Greedy, slavering, eager, pleading noises. His hips bucked and he made that strangled noise again, like music to her ears. “Yes,” he breathed, “that’s the tame little princess I wanted to hear. You can be a good girl, can’t you?” It took a great deal of willpower not to bite him or make any smart remarks, and he shot acknowledgement of her success down the back of her throat. She swallowed, licked her lips, and narrowed her eyes incredulously when he ordered her to thank him.
“Excuse me?”
“You do want your reward, don’t you? Rewards are for princesses well-trained enough to show gratitude.”
For far too long a moment, she actually considered it. “I was never actually going to like this reward, was I?”
“You might have, if you’d kept your fool mouth full. You might still, depraved little thing.” He was gloating, and perhaps the look in her eyes was a warning. Sado sat upright, pulled his wife into his lap so that her teeth would no longer pose a threat to his testicles. She squirmed less forcefully than she could have, and the sight of her impotent fury and frustrated lust almost had him hard again. For reasons not entirely clear, he grabbed onto her wrists, sunk his teeth into her shoulder until she was docile.
There was something about her wrists, the slender shape of them, the way he could feel her bones and how easily they might break. They were fragile, like the rest of her, and his hands could engulf them totally. It shouldn’t have been attractive. It wasn’t.
Sometimes Sado wanted her so badly that he thought he’d rather kill her instead.
He admired the marks that his teeth had made in her dark brown skin, and hoped that she’d have bruises. Nadine was glaring at him, with her strange green eyes, and he wondered if she could even see his face. She was defective. It made no sense to want her.
He draped her across his lap, held her still until he was sure she wouldn’t move. It was tempting to run his fingers over her spine, to feel her shoulderblades, to see how the girl inside the body would respond to his explorations. He hated her for making him curious. He ran a hand up the back of her thighs and was pleased when she held her breath. “I could still be generous,” he lied, “if it asked nicely.” He could see her jaw tense, could imagine the twitch of her lip. Nothing infuriated her as easily as when he called her it. It was presumptuous of her to think that she didn’t deserve it, when legally speaking she wasn’t even a person. It was only his graciousness that made her his wife, when he could as easily have kept her on a leash.
Perhaps he still might.
“Go eat shit and die,” she snarled, and he smiled. No one was so vulgar in his presence; no one addressed him that way. It was a novelty, and he wanted to beat it out of her.
“Maybe this time you’ll learn your lesson,” he suggested, palm resting on the gentle curve of her ass.
“Nope.” Her defiance and her stubbornness made him want her again, and the wanting made him want to wring her neck. He raised his hand, brought it down with a sharp crack against her skin that made her cry out. He hadn’t expected that, the way her back arched and her eyes went wide, the way her still-swollen lips went round. He struck again immediately, harder, wanted to see if she’d do it again. She tried not to, this time, but that only made the little sound more pained when it escaped her anyway.
It was a blessing for a god to allow himself to hit someone of common flesh. It was why they weren’t allowed to do it. But his heathen wife didn’t realize how he was lowering himself, and so he was allowed to indulge.
Again and again and again, and her skin turned red and hot, until she managed to swallow her sounds. Her breathing was ragged and he found himself wiping a tear from her cheek, licking the saltwater from his hand.
“Now wasn’t that worth the trouble?” he purred, and Nadine grit her teeth and thought about breaking his fingers. He was stroking his fingertips along the sensitive skin, and he felt cold against the heat of her pain.
“I’ve had better,” she said flatly, but he continued to pet her like a cat in his lap. His cock was hard again, and pressing into her stomach.
“Would you like me to fuck you?” he asked cheerfully, and she might have lied if he hadn’t slipped his hand between her legs to find where she was slick and swollen.
“I don’t see why I should bother,” she grumbled. “It’s not like you’ll actually improve the situation.” His fingers drew little circles, dipped inside her and curled, and it wasn’t fair that it felt so fucking good.
“I am feeling benevolent,” he said loftily, and she didn’t believe it for a second. She didn’t bother struggling when he picked her up and laid her on her back. She just didn’t have the damn energy to be angry, to be disappointed, to be frustrated. He spread her knees, paused with a frown right before he might have entered her. “You don’t believe me,” he said incredulously, and she barked a laugh at how offended he seemed. “Look,” he insisted, holding up his empty palms for her appraisal, “no pakala.” He took her chin between two fingers, and when she bit her lip he stared. “Nothing but my hands,” he emphasized, as if those weren’t enough.
“If I wanted an orgasm,” she explained spitefully, “I’d head to the bottom of the kingdom.” His brow furrowed and his jaw set with an nnn; had she hurt his pride? She felt him slide inside her, the sensation growing familiar now, and she wiggled experimentally. His nostrils flared and he pinned her wrists above her head, thrust hard and deep in a way that made her ache.
“You are a presumptuous little slut,” he said matter-of-factly, and she tried to ignore that she was rocking her hips against him, pulling against the hand that held her arms in place. “Vulgar and base and treasonous – and so utterly desperate to get fucked that it is quite frankly pathetic.”
It was working, damn him, she was growling and arching and wishing she could get her hands on him. “You’re pathetic,” she countered breathlessly, “losing your shit the instant there’s a mouth on your dick, can’t even fuck a girl that fights back.” She wished that she had fingernails, to claw at his back and make him bleed; he slapped her, not as hard as he could have, and it made her gasp and groan.
“You can fight back,” he said, though he didn’t release her hands, “but I don’t see what the point would be, weak little thing that you are.” He let her go, leaned back, lifted her legs and drew back one hand to smack the still-sore skin of her ass. Nadine grunted, bucked her hips, hated him for the disappointment that was surely as imminent as her climax seemed. On impulse she launched herself upright, so that she was mounting his lap as she crushed her mouth to his and wrapped her fingers around his neck. He was surprised enough for his brown eyes to go wide, not surprised enough to stop pounding into her. She bounced in his lap with his fingers digging into her hips, and she ground herself against him, sucked at his tongue. He made a noise of shocked distress, and only then did she realize that she’d begun pulling at the pins in his hair, had started unraveling his braids. “Who do you think you are?” he snarled, yanking her hair and exposing her throat to his eager teeth.
“Your wife,” she cackled, as silky brown hair tumbled down his shoulders and back, trailed over her stomach. She grabbed fists full of it, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her chest so hard to his that she could feel his every contour. Someone was making noises, guttural and high, and it occurred to her that the voice was her own.”You’re awful,” she was gasping, as the core of her exploded, as pleasure washed through her in wave after wave and light burst in her brain. “An awful, backwards, ignorant, arrogant, fuck you, oh my god, fuck you, fuck!”
He was still biting at her neck as she started to come down, as she started to go limp, and she thought that she would probably have bruises. She did not bother offering any resistance as he kissed her, and so he wound up pushing her onto her back. Nadine forgot that she wasn’t supposed to sigh contentedly as he buried himself deep and flooded her insides with heat. For a moment, everything was bliss.
“And now,” he preened, officially ruining the moment, “you’ll know exactly what it is you’re missing.”
“Go die in a fire.”
Nadine Pascal-Said 