*All characters are 18+. This is fiction for erotic entertainment only; I do not condone nonconsensual sex.*
The first thing I learned in the palace was to never fall in love.
Well, the first thing was to obey, I suppose, but with this collar around my neck, there was no other choice. Any noble could touch it and command me -- my body would obey no matter what I wanted.
But the collar could not force my emotions or my thoughts. And this court enjoyed its cruel games.
Today, my body rocked on the smooth mahogany table as the third lord this night pounded away inside me, stroking my soaked inner walls, driving me closer to another unwanted rush of heat and bliss. I pushed at his chest, struggling weakly to escape his thrusting, to avoid the building pleasure. Sometimes they liked it when I fought, but I couldn't help it; I wasn't here by choice.
A few courtiers watched, but most in the dining hall ignored us. I wasn't the only entertainment but most of the lords near me had already taken their turns, emptying themselves down my throat or on my naked body. I hoped this one would at least be my last tonight.
"You're a tight little whore," the man grunted.
"Please stop, please..." I gasped as he thrust harder, deeper, faster, seemingly spurred onward by my struggles and my cries. His thick shaft simply continued to plunge in and out, stretching me, filling me, invading me as he took his pleasure from my flesh.
And I couldn't help but lift my hips to meet his every thrust even while my palms pressed against his chest, while I panted and moaned and sought my own release.
No. I had to stop, I didn't want to give them my pleasure. Not again. My body betrayed me almost every time a cock penetrated me, used me, finished inside me. Please not this time, please--
"Ah! Ahh! AHH! Ohhh..." Too late. Despair accompanied the waves of bliss, my inner muscles clenching on the thick shaft ramming in and out of my spasming tunnel.
"Mmm, you're a good fucking whore, coming on my cock. Yes, take it, take my cum, you slut," he groaned, pumping a few more times before his cock twitched and released hot streams of fluid deep inside me.
I screamed again, a strangled sound while I tried to suppress another pulse of ecstasy from the heat of his seed flooding my womb.
When my cries of pleasure faded, I faintly heard a voice.
"Bring her to me."
The king hadn't shouted over the din of clattering silverware, scattered conversation, and a few other thumping tables, but silence fell nonetheless. I was glad for the moment of peace as the man above me retreated.
A guard pulled me off the table.
Me? Why would the king want me?
I stared at the ground in front of the dais where he sat on his throne, cum dripping from between my legs, streaking across my stomach, sliding down my breasts, my face.
"What is your name?" That deep, echoing voice grabbed me. I couldn't breathe.
The guard shook me.
"Fiona," I barely managed to whisper.
The guard slapped me. "You address the king as 'sire'."
The king waved away my feeble attempt to speak again. "Clean her up and place her in my chambers."
My exhausted daze faded sometime in the bath while a servant wiped my skin with a wet cloth. The water was scented -- rose and lavender. The servant dried me with soft cotton towels and wrapped me in a satin robe.
A dream. This must be a dream; I'd finally been fucked out of my mind.
Well, at least it was a pleasant dream. I laid down on the softest, largest bed I had ever seen, and promptly fell asleep.
--
"Fiona."
I flailed awake, tangling the sheets with my robe, my heart leaping into my throat. Oh. I guess it wasn't a dream.
The king -- I realized I didn't know his name -- strode toward a chair, then sat to kick off his shoes. He glanced at me.
"Remove your robe. You will wear nothing whilst you are in my chambers."
"Yes, sire," I murmured.
He proceeded to undress as well, revealing his broad shoulders and toned body. I suppressed a sigh. Of course, I knew he was going to take me.
"What do you want?" he asked idly.
I blinked at the question no one in the palace had ever asked me. "My king?"
He nodded at my collar. "You are not here willingly. If you serve me well, I may set you free. What do you desire beyond that freedom? Wealth, land, a husband?"
I stared, my mind completely blank. The king... was offering me freedom? And perhaps more? Impossible. Nonsense. But he spoke so casually as if suggesting a perfectly normal arrangement. Maybe it was, for him.
He smiled, climbing onto the bed at my feet. "Love? Do you wish to be courted like a lady?"
My face flushed. Yes, I wanted love. Once. No one loves a whore. I bit my lip. "I -- I don't know."
His hands ran up my legs, spread them apart, kneaded my thighs. He brushed my hips and my pelvis before his fingers reached my mound, lightly exploring every inch of my soft flesh.
I felt myself responding as usual, my skin heating, my core flooding with desire. My cheeks turned redder. I was so easily aroused, it made me feel like a whore that my body readily accepted every man who used me. His question seemed all the more ridiculous. What did I want? What did it matter?
His fingers were slowly chasing away my embarrassment and despair. He massaged my mound without touching the most sensitive bits, sliding his hands back and forth along my inner thighs. I was dripping by the time he pressed a single finger to my slit, the tingling warmth almost overwhelming as he dragged that digit slowly in my wetness, gradually up to my clit, and finally pressing his fingers at the top of my mound in a small, sweet circle.
