Raya is slowly losing her mind.
Not in the figurative sense, of exasperation, or mental exhaustion. In the literal sense. She can feel her sanity slipping away. At one point, in the not too distant past, she was an intelligent well-rounded person. With skills, and interests, and aspirations. But now her every thought twists itself to be about sex, about hard cocks and sweaty naked bodies grinding against each other, and she finds herself utterly unable to think of anything but satisfying her simmering needs.
True to Simon's word, his research is taking hours. As the minutes tick slowly by, and morning turns to afternoon and then dusk, Simon slowly makes his way through his books. Only an occasional "hmm" or scribbled note on parchment marks the passing of time. He seems comfortable sitting on the cloak he's laid out on the stone floor, as if he's prepared to go for hours more.
Seated at his side, Raya is pretty sure she'll be dead by then. Death by orgasm denial is a thing, isn't it? It must be; nobody can live like this. Raya is acutely aware of the wet spot her pussy is leaving on Simon's cloak, but there's nothing she can do about it. Even though Simon almost definitely hadn't meant it that way, her Collar has interpreted his instruction to "stay by my side" as a command, and Raya is compelled to obey.
In a way, that's nice. It feels right. Simon gives a command, even an off-the-cuff one that he doesn't really mean to give, and Raya obeys. His role is to provide protection; hers to provide obedience. To just turn her brain off, and mindlessly surrender to the whims of her benevolent master. It was a strangely irresistible compulsion. If only his whims weren't so constrained by his piety.
But even as a part of Raya revels in the accidental control Simon is exerting over her, the rest of her rages against it. All she needs is a minute of privacy, no more than that, and she can get herself off and end the torture. But no. She can't even ask. "I don't want you out of my sight" Simon had said, and it simply isn't an option to violate that command.
And so Raya sits quietly next to Simon, and tries to concentrate on anything other than how badly she wants him to just pull his pants down and fuck her. Like finally getting out of the keep. That's a happy thought. Seeing her friends at the monastery again after all these months, when Simon delivers her to safety. Of course men aren't normally allowed in the monastery, but an exception would surely be made for the hero returning one of their own, in need of rest and recovery from the injuries he'd sustained in rescuing her. Raya would offer up her own room, and in the dead of night she'd come creeping down the hallway...
Gah! No. Raya shakes her head angrily. You're supposed to NOT be thinking of fucking Simon. It's no use. She can't do it. She's already tried conjuring up the saddest memory she could think of, the day her dog Rolo passed away. That had worked for around a minute. Until somehow the memory of the burial had transformed into a fantasy orgy, with Simon bending her over a tombstone and taking her roughly from behind.
It's quite a pair they make, sitting side by side. Him; tall, dark and handsome, calmly engaging in the pursuit of scholarship. Her; naked, wet and horny, desperately trying to concoct a plan to get fucked. Somehow, this all feels right. Why should she wear clothes? She's a creature of pure sex, an object to be used for pleasure, a vessel by which her masters may satisfy their needs. Zeff has trained her well for that role, and for the first time she's eager to embrace it.
Except Simon hasn't gotten the memo. Raya has long since tried everything she can think of to entice him. Licking her lips - men like that, right? - twirling her hair, running her hand slowly up her thigh. As the hours have ticked by, she's gotten less subtle. Big yawns and stretches that thrust her breasts out invitingly. Sitting in poses carefully chosen to accidentally-on-purpose ensure all the goods are well displayed to Simon.
But the harder Raya tries to provoke a rise out of Simon, the harder he tries to ignore her - and his willpower proves up to the task. Raya has no option but to sit there, defeated and rejected, and let her mind conjure up a fantasy Simon to fuck her silly while the real one is buried in his books. Is there any chance he's gay? If she can't get him to abandon the principles of his church (which, when considered that way, is an awful thing for Raya to be trying anyway - she realizes that, but can't stop herself) is she at least making him hard for her?
Oh god, she's staring at the bulge in his pants again. Raya gives a start, and tears her eyes away guiltily. Simon's already caught her at it twice, looking up from his book with an unreadable expression on his face, making Raya blush and look away.
Stop staring at his pants, you harlot, Raya tells herself. Stop imagining what his cock looks like
. She has to focus on something safer. Like Simon's shoulders. His thick, powerful shoulders, straining against his tight linen shirt. Or his muscular arms, with the angry purple welts on them still showing the evidence of the battles he's fought on her behalf. Or his red lips, and the cute way he bites the lower one as he concentrates on a text. What it would feel like to have those soft lips pressed up against her own, for him to nibble on her lower lip, for their tongues to meet and push against each other...
Her pussy is leaking again.
Suddenly Simon's shoulders tense, and he looks up from his book to stare at the entrance to the dining room. Raya can immediately sense that something is wrong.
"It's Zeff," Simon says quietly. "One of my wards was just activated. He's on this floor."
