She turned her mind back to Eltanin. This was safer territory to explore. The king had no duty to her, and neither had she to him. But they had agreed, ostensibly, to be wed in two months time. Which meant that she felt no shame whatsoever imagining herself writhing on his lap. It might not be proper, but it was only indecent by virtue of being two months too early before she’d not only be allowed, but reasonably expected to think such thoughts. It was generally considered a good idea, after all, to be attracted to one’s husband. It made the entire ordeal more bearable. And Autumn had never really bothered with decency anyhow, so she didn’t see any reason why she should wait until she’d entered matrimony to entertain herself in this way.
The scene she’d conjured unspooled once more in her mind as she bit her lip and started rubbing herself in earnest. After climbing onto him, she would have pressed herself down in his lap, opened the clasps of his coat and dragged her mouth down his jaw. The king would have been smug, she thought. Not helping her at all, content to simply sit back and wait to see what she would do next. He would have been surprised but pleased by her boldness. Surely, no other princess had dared touch him this way before — by choosing this approach, Autumn would have immediately stood out from the rest.
How long, she wondered, since the last time a woman had laid with the Dark King? According to Knight, Eltanin had been cursed for a thousand years. She had known men to become pent-up with frustration after less than a month without the touch of a partner. Was the king the sort of man who did not care for the pleasures of the flesh, or would the heat and weight of her hips pressing down on his lap make him gasp with the desperation of a thousand years of unfulfilled need? She considered the possibility, but then decided that Eltanin would have probably just leered some more, the same way that he had at dinner. Like that moment in which he’d seemed as if he had wanted to devour her rather than his meal.
Autumn grasped her breast and moaned. She pinched her nipple with her fingers, imagined pressing her bosom to Eltanin’s face. She ran her nails delicately up and down her chest and thought about the rough drag of a beard on her soft skin. That goatee had to be good for something more than framing a smirk. She’d always favoured men with beards, especially older ones, ever since one of her mother’s knights had convinced her to spread her legs for him when she was seventeen.
He’d caught her fooling around with the cook’s son, a lovely boy whose hands were skilled enough to forgive his face. They’d been alone in her private sewing room, in which no one should have intruded without her express permission. But he’d apparently heard her moaning from the hallway during his patrol and, incapable of telling whether it was in pleasure or in pain, he’d came barging in to discover her with her skirts pulled up high and the boy’s hands kneading her as if she were a piece of dough.
The older man had sent the poor chap away, and Autumn had ordered him not to tell her mother what he’d seen. He’d replied that he had no intention of putting her in trouble, which might have been the end of it. But then the knight had looked at her thoughtfully — at the curves of her budding womanhood and the long fiery hair that she knew turned men wild — and he had advised her that if she wanted to rebel, then she should not settle for half-measures. If her legs could still hold her, he’d said, and her voice still worked, then her paramour must not have been very skilled. Was the quality of his efforts really worth the consequences she might face for having enjoyed them?
Autumn had understood the implied offer, and agreed that he had a point. She’d boldly demanded that he show his meaning and give her something worth getting in trouble about. The knight didn’t need to be asked twice. He’d taken a knee under the folds of her dress and had ensured that she never settled for boys again when she could have men instead. She remembered, fondly, how she’d screamed herself hoarse on his tongue and how his beard had rubbed her red all along her hips and at the crease of her thighs.
After completing this demonstration, the knight had carried her to bed and left her rooms. But Autumn was greedy, and quite enamoured with this new concept of ‘not doing things halfway’. So she’d cornered him in the armoury after his patrol and argued that he’d done a different thing to her than the cook’s son, and therefore how was she to tell who was best? Soon after, pressed to the stone wall in between a rack of swords and a suit of armour, she came screaming on his fingers, which were thick and coarse and not as dexterous as a cook’s, but did fill her very pleasantly.
Afterwards, amused by her hunger and overcome by his own lust, the knight had abandoned all pretenses of tutelage. He’d replaced his hand with his manhood and pulled another orgasm out of her before splashing messily on her thigh. Autumn, despite having been experimenting with her friends for almost a year by then, had never been filled by a man’s cock before; and she was in that moment quite glad that she’d chosen to pursue the matter with this seasoned knight who was both skilled and willing to show off. All the boys her age were so tediously intimidated by her royal status that they barely dared touch her at all.
She’d never laid with that particular man again, as she was still a royal princess and did not want him to get ideas above his station, like perhaps finishing inside of her. But she never forgot what he’d taught her about being bold. It had served her well, up until her mother decided her boldness was reason enough to give her away to a wizard.
In the bath, the fingers of her right hand slipped between her folds as she thought some more about what might have happened if she had claimed the king. She wouldn’t have taken him out of his clothes, that first time, she decided. Let him come messily into his pants. Let him crave her body. She never gave men — especially not older or powerful ones — what they fully wanted on the first encounter, having found through experience that they became much more malleable when she gave them a reason to come back and beg her for it. Autumn clenched in pleasure around her fingers at the thought of dominating the Wizard King, of being in control of whether she took him into her or not, whether he got to come or not…
In her fantasy, the King was still watching her with his deep dark eyes. He wasn’t touching her with his hands, keeping to his promise, but the smirk wavered on his face as she ground herself down against the hard bulge of his pants. She pictured her moans echoing obscenely through the gloomy hall, her voice filling the stale air of this empty land. There was something almost profane about this conjuring of her mind, and Autumn gasped and trashed in the hot water as she chased the thought. The dark throneroom and it’s even darker throne had long been a symbol of evil in the stories and fairytales of her home kingdom. A great taboo, an untouchable power. Yet here she was, desecrating it in her mind with her voice and her body and the sinuous movements of her hips.
She hooked a leg over the rim of the tub, hand working faster as the scene unspooled further in her mind. Legs twitching beneath hers. Eltanin’s smirk finally evaporating as he gripped the arms of his throne, straining to keep his self-control. His gaze boring into hers as she ground herself down with renewed vigor to meet the stuttering thrusts he couldn’t quite stop himself from making. The rough, almost painful sensation of the fabric of his pants as she rubbed herself against his covered dick. How wet she was, and how soaked the barrier of his clothes was becoming from the combination of her body and the signs of his imminent pleasure. His peak cresting first, the prideful king finally closing his eyes as his mouth parted open on a moan, his nails digging into the wood of his throne, his stomach quivering. The sweet taste of victory exploding on her tongue as she finally bent to kiss him.
In her bath, Autumn cried out as she came hard, her hips twitching uncontrollably and banging her knee on the side of the tub. Waves after waves of ecstasy rolled through her as she clenched around her own knuckles, almost blacking out from the sheer force of it.
The shame followed, anger swift on its heels.
She pulled her hands away from her body and slapped them into the water.
“Fuck!”
She slapped her hands some more, sending soapy waves rolling over the rim of the tub and doubtlessly making a mess of the rug. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Autumn slid across the bottom of the bath and tilted her head backwards, letting the hot soapy water close over her face. She held still for a beat, willing the warmth and silence to soothe the tempest in her mind. What a horrible idea indulging in this fantasy had turned out to be! She hadn’t intended for it to be so intense, or to picture herself actually kissing the king. This felt like a line too far, in some obscure way. She hated the man! King Eltanin was a despicable, cruel, twisted monster and she didn’t — she didn’t want to kiss him! What the fuck!
Autumn could picture herself having sex with him just fine, because he was sinfully attractive and they were to be married (in theory). That was fine. But she didn’t like him in any way, shape, or form. The waves of pure happy bliss she’d felt while orgasming to the idea of kissing him… Yuck.
Clearly, she would have to do some mental readjusting about this whole situation. To start with, no more angry wanks while thinking about the king. That had just been ill-advised across the board. Autumn was many things, but weak to the charms of a dark, sexy, evil wizard was not one of them. Even if he had a beard and greying hairs around the temples and long graceful limbs, which were all things that she’d been known to go a little weak in the knees for. She was here to make his life miserable, damnit all, not the other way around. She tried to picture her anger simply drifting away, dissolving into the warm water. It was pleasant, but now her knees were sticking out and getting cold. She sat back up with a grudging sigh. There was no point lingering in the bath now; she’d only make herself even more miserable if she did.
After drying herself with one of the ridiculous black towels, Autumn trudged back towards the bedchamber part of her suite, only to freeze once she walked past the main set of doors. The ones that Knight was almost certainly still standing guard behind. She whipped her head towards the bathroom and then back at the door, trying to estimate how far apart they were, and how much the sound of her pleasuring herself might have carried.
Hot shame burned through her once more, and then anger about feeling shame, topped by a fresh coating of more anger towards the situation in general. She finally gave up the day for a waste, and went to bed hoping that she would be able to find the courage to look Knight in the eye come morning.
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