The Courts Rebel Prince Pt 03

*All characters are 18+. This is a work of fiction for erotic entertainment only. Real-life sex should always be with enthusiastic consent.*

Copyright 2024 Sastri Vera

***

Davis rubbed oil on my belly. "You're coming along nicely. Maybe you'll get lucky today."

I hoped not. So far, none of the lords took a liking to me for longer than a few nights. I wasn't especially pretty, well-trained, or well-bred. Not that many noble ladies were palace whores, but a few had nice manners and could pass as a servant in a household. I had read fairy tales and romances, hardly subjects fit for court.

And now that my belly was swollen, no noble would want me as more than a plaything.

"Yes, my lord," I murmured dutifully. Resistance had been quite fucked out of me.

"Good girl." He patted my cheek. "Go on, then. Be on your best behavior. The prince is coming today."

I stumbled as I joined the other girls. The prince. No wonder we were made pretty today, more than usual. Oil gleamed on all the girls, those with darker skin looking like burnished copper. They shone beautifully, and they knew it, their chins lifted proudly to greet our visitor.

He walked in flanked by two guards, their armor matching the prince's blue trimmed in gold. My eyes dropped to the floor. We whores were never allowed to wear anything except our collars. I missed even the flimsy materials the king had adorned me with.

"My prince." Davis bowed low. "Welcome back to the palace. It has been an age! May I recommend a lady for you, Your Highness? Nera here--"

Elegant fingers rose into the air. "I'd like to have a look at them, Davis. If that isn't a bother."

"Of course, of course."

Nera would've been a lovely choice. She was a particular beauty, even to me, and skilled in the bedroom also. Her collar was white -- she'd never be tossed to the dining halls, a toy for all the court to play with. Some lord was sure to buy her soon.

I stood at the far end of the line with a few other girls like me. Our swollen bellies marked us. No lord wanted to manage a whore's babe. A few men were fond of our bodies in this state, but their desires were even more twisted than usual.

The prince strode down the line, examining each girl briefly. He hardly paused at the proud, confident girls. A few words were exchanged between the less lovely but still quite eager women. It seemed he would choose a shy creature, new to court but not to our trade, then he moved on again. Until he finally came to us.

Why he bothered, other than to mock us, I was sure I didn't want to know. The prince could father any number of children on any girl he wished -- no need to fantasize that my babe might be his.

But he stopped right in front of me. "Lift your chin, girl," he said with that arrogant, bored tone of nobility to a peasant.

"My apologies, my prince," I murmured in a dull voice. Keeping my eyes down, I raised my head.

What did it matter why he was interested in me? I had no control anyway. There was no use in speculating.

"What is your name?"

"Fiona, Your Highness."

"Davis, tell me about her."

He stared silently for a full minute while Davis struggled to remember who I was. A peasant, caught in the spring, broken several months ago. Obedient, Davis said grudgingly. The girls beside me shifted, one of them sighing impatiently. She'd probably get a spanking later.

"This one," the prince declared. "Send her to my chambers." He turned and swiftly walked out of the hall.

Davis scowled at me, likely wondering why I'd been chosen. I didn't have any answers for him.

One of the prince's guards led me through the halls. We walked in silence. His steps were rushed, and I had to hurry at times to keep up. Perhaps he was too busy to take a few minutes with me, or he didn't care for my appearance. There was a small benefit to my pregnancy.

I was panting by the time we reached the prince's rooms. The guard shoved me in and slammed the door closed. No interest at all. Since the rooms were empty, I sank to the floor and caught my breath. At least the rugs were soft. Some lords didn't allow whores to dirty their furniture, so I avoided chairs, but the entire floor was covered in thick rugs. I'd spent more than a few nights on cold stone. Hopefully not tonight.

Hours later, as I dozed against a wall, the doors finally opened. I scrambled to my knees.

The door shut. Leather boots thumped to a stop in front of me.

"Why are you on the floor?" the prince asked in a mild tone.

I bowed my head lower. "My apologies, Your Highness. I was tired, is all."

He sighed, sounding more exhausted than I was. "Sit in a chair, please."

While I awkwardly found my feet, he removed his coat and settled into a seat beside the windows. I made myself sit close to him. The seemingly kinder lords, those few who spoke softly and said 'please', were often the most cruel. Like the king. I knew I should not show fear, but I hardly dared breathe.

He sat still for a long while. Building my fear, perhaps, though I began to feel numb again as my skin chilled. The windows were cold. I shivered.

His arm reached out, his fingers brushing my collar. My body went still, despite the cold.

"Release."

The collar bounced off my belly, fell to my lap. I stared at it, uncomprehending. The prince took back his arm, retrieving the collar as he went.

Quietly, he said, "My name is Thomas. Fiona is a lovely name. It's a pleasure to meet you, Fiona."

My mouth was dry. "Thank you, my prince." No one had removed my collar before. No one. I'd grown used to the supple edges of it rubbing my neck; I felt more naked without it. Adrift.

"Fiona. Listen to me, please. I wish to help you, if you'll let me. Do you understand? I can get you out of the palace. Far, far away."

His words were senseless. I may as well have imagined them. How long had I dreamed of escape, of running free in the woods again? I hadn't felt the forest beneath my feet in months.

Laughter died before it reached my lips. Tears attempted to fall, but I blinked them away. I stared at the floor and said nothing.

A few minutes passed. The prince stood, gesturing to a cushioned sofa. "Sleep there tonight, Fiona. We'll speak again tomorrow."

I shivered again as he walked away.

My fingers went to my throat. The touch of my cool skin sent a shock through my chest. Ah, a taste of freedom. Bittersweet. But I'd learned my lesson. The prince wouldn't catch me so easily. Perhaps if I proved immune to his efforts, he'd give up. I'd rather be beaten out of frustration than fall for the nobles' games a third time.

The sofa was warm. I stirred in the night, finding a quilt laid over me. If the room wasn't chilly, I would've thrown it off.

In the morning, the prince insisted I have breakfast with him. The servant who brought the meal gave me an odd glance. I was draped in blue robes far too large for my small body. The prince had insisted on that, too.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked when the servant left.

"Yes, my prince."

"Thomas, please. Have you thought about what I said?"

I nibbled on buttered bread, savoring the taste and delaying my response. "Whatever you wish, Your Highness."

We ate in silence. Then, "Do you not want to be freed? I apologize if I misjudged. If you enjoy your life here... Certainly, I will not take you from it." He sounded skeptical.

A flush of anger loosened my tongue more than his kindness had. I put down my toast and met his eyes for the first time, ignoring the shock of his brilliant blue eyes and handsome face. Of course, the prince should be handsome.

"Why help me? You have nothing to gain. You're the prince! The last person in this country to care about a whore."

There. That was satisfaction in his lovely eyes. He'd roused an emotion out of me and was proud of himself. I lowered my gaze, embarrassment deepening the color in my cheeks.

Yet he didn't stop there.

"To be blunt, Fiona, you will not be missed. Someone like you is easy to sneak away. It is no hardship for me to take an extra servant and return with one less member of my entourage."

I was no one. That was true. His plan was simple and easily accomplished.

He talked about a country to the east where slavery was outlawed, and women were the equal of men -- could own property, did not need to marry, even held titles in their own right. It sounded like a fairy tale.

It sounded better than anything I could've dreamed up on my own. A treacherous spark of hope lit in my chest. I snuffed it out angrily and opened my mouth to refuse.

Loud knocking interrupted me.

"The Duke Charles to see you, Your Highness," a muffled voice called from beyond the door.

The prince stiffened. That was my only warning.

Before the prince could respond, the door opened. I jumped to my feet, stumbling on the robe. Who was this duke, that he felt able to barge in uninvited on the prince? I might not be well acquainted with court etiquette, but a prince clearly outranked any lord.

The prince rose, his voice cold. "Lord Chancellor. Congratulations on your appointment." Turning his head slightly, he dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I felt the duke's eyes on me as I headed to the prince's bedroom. "Welcome home, my prince, and thank you. I am most fortunate, indeed. Am I interrupting your time with a lady? I'm afraid I don't recognize her."

The prince sounded bored. "Hmm? Oh, she's no one. You caught me relaxing from my journey, my lord."

There was a pause. "I see. Do you not collar your pleasure slaves?"

Another pause, and some shuffling as they settled into seats. I hesitated in the hall, curious what the prince would say.

He replied with the usual arrogant amusement of nobility. "I prefer my prey uncollared. The illusion of freedom makes breaking them so much sweeter."

My hand went to the wall, steadying myself as the world spun.

Breaking me. As I thought. I continued on, my head lowered.

Tears slipped from my eyes. He'd managed to snare me, after all. Was one kind man too much to hope for in this place? I was foolish to imagine the prince any different than his father. He'd lived his entire life with the luxuries of court, the use of any woman he desired. Why did I think I was different?

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and breathed deeply. I wouldn't let him see me like this. No, he wouldn't get the joy of seeing my pain. No one would, ever again.

I let the soft robe pool on the floor. I laid myself on his luxurious bed, only absently noting the comfort and wealth. My legs parted, and I waited.

Inevitably, footsteps approached. Two sets. Ah, the duke wanted a taste. He'd be disappointed. They both would.

Shadows fell over me. The prince to my right, the duke a step behind him. I refused to meet their eyes. I didn't move at all.

The chancellor laughed harshly. "Already broken, is she? To be expected, considering." He stepped closer and rubbed my swollen belly.

Nothing of familiarity and kindness remained in the prince's tone. "There's spine in her yet, there always is in a new mother. I'll find it."

A chill ran down my back. That was my fear. They

could

hurt me more. I was still new to the court, only barely suffering the beginnings of what they could do to me. Perhaps my pregnancy was a mercy.

The prince climbed between my legs first. If I needed more proof of his cruelty, I found it as soon as he removed his trousers, his engorged cock not able to lie as well as his courtly tongue. He wanted me. And with efficiency, before I was ready, he grabbed my hips and penetrated me.

"Ah!" A pained grunt opened my lips when I refused to make any other sounds. I was not ready. My fingers grasped the sheets tightly. My pussy clutched just as desperately at the prince's cock.

"Ah!" the Duke mocked. "She has a voice! Such a sweet cry. I do like that sound."

The prince said nothing, only thrusting harder inside me, his grip sliding beneath my ass, hitching my hips into the air as he impaled me deeper and deeper. Within a few burning thrusts, my body made it easier for him to violate me, the friction stimulating a response out of habit and necessity. What I wanted never mattered to anyone, not even my own flesh.

Pain receded. Inevitable tension coiled. My body responded to the relentless strokes, pleasure rising and rising. My gasps became whimpers became a scream, the humiliating announcement of my peak that so many nobles found entertaining. The memory of their laughter rang in my ears as my pussy twitched around the prince's cock.

He paused at my scream, his shaft thick and hard inside my spasming walls. No doubt he was enjoying the feeling of my pussy fluttering along the length of him, the knowledge that he'd raped a girl to climax. They all did.

I was glad I couldn't see his expression through the tears trailing down my cheeks. Pleasure claimed every taut muscle in my body. That was horrible enough. I didn't need to see the prince's smug triumph.

The Duke commented, "She enjoys our attention. I never understood whores who resist pleasure. If they simply accept their place, surely they would be happier. We feed them, provide a warm place to sleep. Is this not a fair exchange?"

"I enjoy their resistance. I chose her for it," the prince grunted as he thrust harder. His words were blunt knives to my battered heart.

At least he finished quickly. The warmth of his cum bathed my insides, and I choked back a fresh wave of tears at the disgusting feeling of yet another depraved noble taking his pleasure from my body.

He withdrew as soon as his cock stopped twitching, his cum pouring out of me, liquid proof of his deceit. The Duke was eager to take his place.

Duke Charles wasn't so quick. First, he teased me with his cock, a torturous silky glide back and forth along my slit. I tried so hard not to react, but my body always, always betrayed me. Not even minutes passed before I was biting my lip and breathing hard, moaning gasps issuing from my mouth as he ever-so-slowly penetrated me.

"Honestly, girl," he chided me, "Just admit you like how men use you. Why not let yourself drown in pleasure? So many whores do, and they find life much more tolerable. Why do you insist on being miserable?"

I whimpered as his cock spread me open during his condescending speech. My lips closed and my face flushed from the effort to keep quiet. That tiny dignity of not giving in was all I had left. So long as I resisted, they hadn't taken everything from me. Not yet.

He chuckled. "Stubborn, stupid whore. It doesn't matter to me what you do. Your body's just as pleasurable all the same." His hands caressed my swollen belly as his cock bottomed out inside me. He leaned over, murmuring as he pulled out, "Warm, wet, and tight. Just like a good slut should be." Then he slammed back in.

"Ahh!" The shriek of pleasure burst from my lips. As that beautiful, terrible wave faded, he thrust again, sending another crashing over me. Over and over, the unceasing assault on my senses continued.

And the prince watched us, silent, calm, still. He seemed to only be observing, his bored eyes on my white-knuckled fingers one moment, then my pregnant belly the next. Perhaps he didn't like me gripping his sheets so tightly, that I might rip the soft fabric. He shouldn't have commanded me to his bedroom, then. More than one lord had me on the floor.

It felt like the Duke fucked me for hours. Whenever he seemed to approach his peak, he slowed and played with my belly or my tits. A few times, he had me change positions, commanding me to my hands and knees like a proper bitch, he'd said, or dragging my legs off the bed and impaling me deeper, more painfully from that angle. He laughed every time my pussy clamped and twitched, my body giving him all the entertainment he wanted.

The prince was dressed and covering a yawn behind his hand. Even he was tired. I was exhausted. When the Duke's thumb circled my clit, my thighs tensed and I whimpered. Despite myself, I pushed at his hand, finally overcome with the need for the unbearable sensations to stop.

Firm fingers closed on my wrist and pinned my arm to the bed. The prince had grabbed me, his grip painfully tight. Surprised, I met his eyes and shrank from the unexpected fury in his dark expression.

"Don't fight us, girl," he growled. "You can't possibly win."

"Oh, let her go!" The Duke laughed. I hadn't meant to struggle. Of course, I knew I couldn't win, couldn't escape, couldn't prevent a single thrust. Sobbing in despair, my arms went limp. The prince's fingers curled tighter.

He released me as the Duke thrust faster, his panting breaths accompanied by low groans. Finally. He was finally almost done. I could've thanked him then. I hated myself for the thought.

"Ahh..." the Duke groaned as his cock swelled inside me. Rope after rope of hot cum hit my cervix, coated my inner walls, marked me like so many men had before. Pleasure and despair twisted as my pussy squeezed instinctively.

He patted my stomach. "Not bad for a whore. I prefer mine fresh, with a bit more fight in them. Gets the blood pumping when they kick and scratch." He chuckled. I remained silent.

Finished with me, they left the room, finally.

"Stay there, girl," the prince snapped over his shoulder as though to a dog.

I didn't move. Their cum trickled out of me gradually. Low murmurs and occasional laughter drifted to my ears. My skin was chilled and the fluids somewhat dried when a dull thump pronounced the duke's exit.

The prince was still in these chambers. I heard his quiet steps moving about. When those steps drew closer, I was too tired to be afraid.

He sat on the edge of the bed by my legs. Soft, moist warmth brushed my thighs. A damp cloth dragged up my skin, carefully, slowly wiping my sore flesh.

"I'm sorry. Fiona... I beg your forgiveness, I did not have a choice. The situation is complicated," he murmured as the cloth brushed my skin.

His gentle touch conflicted with the harsh way he'd fucked me. Perhaps he regretted his rough treatment? Doubtful.

"I live to serve, my prince," I managed to whisper.

"Fiona. Please." He sighed, his hand resting on my thigh. I'd rather he not touch me at all. I'd rather remain filthy and covered with their cum than receive the falsely cruel kindness of a court-trained liar. "The king doesn't think much of me, and the court knows it. My title is nearly meaningless. His new chancellor would be eager to report behavior ill-fitting for a prince."

Such as kindness towards a whore.

A pang of doubt touched my chest. Why was I so ready to believe him? I wanted to. Oh, how badly I wanted to believe this lie. He'd cracked my armor and left me fragile, vulnerable. I hadn't cried in over a month.

My eyes closed as another tear slipped. "Please," I whispered. "Please don't... touch me."

I don't know why I asked. If he obeyed, it would give me hope. I didn't want hope. I couldn't bear to have hope.

His hand lifted. "I have a private bathing chamber," he murmured. "The water has been warmed. You're welcome to it. I'll have dinner brought there. I won't return tonight."

He set a towel on the bed and stood. "Please think on what I said, Fiona. I depart tomorrow. I'd like you to come with me."

And then I was alone in the prince's chambers. I dragged myself to the bath, partly out of habit, mostly without any thought at all. If he lied and assaulted me in the water, so be it. If he spoke the truth, it proved nothing. A clean whore was usually preferred.

The bath helped, though. I didn't like to admit it, but the luxurious warmth washed away some of my despair. A bowl of rose-scented soap almost brought a smile to my lips. I doubted the prince used flowery soaps.

What if... I touched my belly and allowed myself to imagine the impossible. What if the prince wasn't lying? If he had to put on an act so no one would stop him from helping people. It was a nice dream to fall asleep to.