The Prince And The Traitor

Prince Maillard was betrayed by his lover, Talia, and nearly assassinated by the radical group that she secretly worked with. Now, he keeps her as a pet, controlling her body and her pleasure using a high-tech chastity device. 4k words, very dark content rating.

Content warnings/tags: noncon; sexual slavery as a legal punishment; revenge sex; nonconsensual restraints; emotional abuse and humiliation.

It was the end of a long, exhausting day of intergalactic diplomacy and negotiations, and Prince Maillard welcomed the tranquility of the walk back to his living quarters.

There was a transport that could bring him near-instantly from his offices at the top of the station to his home at the center, but the long, meandering walk that connected the two passed through several public and private greenhouse-gardens, refreshing his spirit with the sight and scent of green plants and the soft sounds of splashing water from decorative fountains built into the greenhouse irrigation systems.

The walk also gave him time to play a little game of anticipation with the pet waiting in his quarters.

As he walked, he occasionally pulled out his tablet and toyed with the various settings on the open application. It had been developed as a custom order for the Prince, to match the piece of technology that it connected to back in his quarters; on his instruction, none of the settings had any labels, allowing him to adjust them in public or even in the middle of political meetings without comment.

He stopped for a moment beside a burbling artificial creek and twiddled with a sliding control, idly running the slider up and down in slow and then quicker movements. Then, once he was quite sure his pet was feeling his attention, he flipped one of the radial selections before hitting a button that would remember and repeat the pattern he had been wiggling the slider in.

The last half of the Prince's walk home saw him in a much better mood.

When he stepped into his living quarters, he found the recipient of his attentions immediately. She was in his receiving-room, bent over in a very expressive pose, one hand braced on the arm of his settee, the other pressed between her thighs. She was breathing heavily, her muscles straining and twitching against the invisible restraints that had been triggered by the radial selection on the application. Her thin dress was rucked up between her legs as if she had been trying to pull it up when the restraints had locked her into place.

"Talia," he greeted.

She bared her teeth at him. "You fucking bastard--ahhh," the anger in her voice faded into a whine of need as her eyes rolled back in her head.

The device that the Prince controlled was locked on to her body in multiple parts: two cuffs around her wrists, another two around her ankles, and--most vitally--the belt around her waist. Her hand, the one which had been trapped between her thighs when the Prince had triggered the magnetic field restraints on the cuffs, flexed and scrabbled against the metal plate of the belt now, scrunching the fabric of her dress.

The Prince pulled out his tablet, curious, and saw that the repeating pattern on the slider had kicked up to the higher speed, the slider rocking up and down in quick movements. Talia began to let out helpless, frustrated little grunts as the slider crept higher and higher on each oscillation.

The slider was connected to sonic pulse generators on the inside of the belt. Although no part of the belt pressed directly against Talia's sex, the sonic pulses--as it had been explained to the Prince--made it feel as if the air itself was vibrating against her clit and labia, providing very precise bursts of sensation that could feel incredibly intense. At a high enough setting, they could even bring her to orgasm without a single physical touch to her body.

Once the Prince had learned that, of course, he had promptly had the controls re-configured so that he would never accidentally push her over that threshold.

As the pattern dropped back into the slower waves, Talia let out a quiet sigh that might have been disappointment or relief, her breath shaking.

The Prince hummed and tapped the button to take back manual control of the slider, pushed it all the way to the top, and left it there.

Talia cried out and tried to jerk her hips forward, but they were held in place by the belt, restrained by the same magnetic field as the cuffs. Her naked toes curled against the floor. Her breasts, barely covered by the dress that was pressed obscenely tight between her legs where she was trying to rub herself, heaved as she sucked in a breath.

"Fu-u-uck," she gasped out, tilting her head back in a helpless display of need. "You're such a fucking--ughh..." she sagged as the Prince unlocked her restraints, allowing her to move freely again, but her pose didn't change much; she clutched tighter at the settee and rolled her hips, knees spreading sluttishly, her fingers scrabbling between her legs as she instinctively tried to reach her aching cunt.

"So disrespectful," the Prince scolded.

He walked past her and into his bedroom, tossing the tablet onto the bed as he began to strip out of his formal clothing, the panting and groans of Talia in the next room providing as nice of a backdrop as the running water had in the garden.

Talia had been his lover once, years ago. He had been enamored with her, had been prepared to marry her.

Then he had learned that she was a traitor--a spy, sent to report on him by a rebel group that wanted to overthrow his family's governance. He had nearly been assassinated in the fallout, but the rebel group had ultimately been captured, their surviving members sent to various prison camps to serve life sentences of hard labor.

Except for Talia. Prince Maillard had asked to oversee her sentence...personally.

She had always been a very demanding lover, insisting that he pleasure her in every way he was capable of. He had been more than happy to do so when she had him fooled; now that he knew her better, it provided a special satisfaction to control the orgasms that she had once thought were her right, tormenting her until she was desperate enough to beg and humiliate herself for the opportunity to earn even a single touch to her traitorous cunt.

"Remind me," he called, "when was the last time I gave you an orgasm?"

Talia didn't reply, but the conspicuous lack of insults--and the quiet whimpering noises that accompanied her heavy panting--said more than enough.

"A few months now at least," the Prince mused out loud. "And it was a ruin, wasn't it? That's right."

He smiled at the memory: he had locked Talia in place in a humiliating pose, bent back over the arm of the settee with her thighs spread, and had removed the belt. She had been so eager at first, and then had been so distressed when he insisted on just gently toying with her clitoris, blowing air on it and rubbing a soft brush back and forth until she sobbed out a weak, ruined orgasm under the teasing touches. She had been in a wonderful state after that, begging in a broken voice for him to fuck her leaking pussy so that she could come properly.

"Maybe we should try that again, to remind you of your place. What do you think?"

"No," Talia said immediately, sounding a great deal less rebellious.

Prince Maillard rejoined her in the front room, now wearing only a robe. Talia had lowered herself down to kneel on the floor--likely less out of respect and more because her legs couldn't hold her weight any longer under the assault of sonic stimulation--and she was shuddering with tension, one hand still pressing and grasping against the metal between her thighs like she couldn't help but try and touch her clit despite knowing full well that it was locked away from her.

He smirked down at her. "No?"

"Please," she gasped, her face twisting at the bitterness of the word. "Please, Maillard, not that again. I can't stand the ruins, they make me feel so--so empty. Anything else, please, I'm begging you."

"You're begging me? A minute ago you were cursing me," he pointed out. "But I suppose I should incentivize you when you demonstrate the ability to act civilized. Rewards are how you train an animal, isn't that right? Fine. No ruin today."

As he spoke, he tapped the slider on the tablet in his hands, turning off the sonic pulses as well. Talia groaned, relaxing on the floor into a huddle of sweat-damp limbs as the stimulation stopped.

Prince Maillard walked over and nudged her side with his foot. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" When she didn't immediately respond, he sighed. "When you show no gratitude, Talia, it makes me less inclined to be kind to you."

"Thank you," she muttered finally, sounding as if she had to fight to keep the sulk out of her voice.

"You're welcome," he responded politely, and smirked when she lifted her head enough to glare at him. "Up, now, I want to make use of you."

Talia pushed herself up onto her knees, clearly assuming that he meant to use her mouth--not an unreasonable assumption, since that was typically his preference; he found it especially entertaining to force her to suck him while subjecting her to the sonic pulses, making her moan around his cock in delicious desperation--but he gestured for her to keep rising. "On your feet. Over the arm of the settee, I suppose, the way that you were when I walked in; that was a very nice position."

She eyed him warily, but went where she was told, bending over the arm of the settee and bracing herself with both hands. "Here?"

"Legs spread," he instructed. She shifted her ankles further apart, and he hummed in satisfaction and tapped the tablet to lock her in place once again with the magnetic field restraints.

He walked over to her and rolled up the gauzy material of her dress, exposing her legs and then her thighs. There was a faint tremor in her thigh-muscles; the strain of arousal. He'd become quite familiar with it, now, after years of keeping her in need. When she went long enough without orgasm, even putting her in a position like this--one that her body associated with fucking--was enough to bring her close to the edge.

He pulled her dress up further, exposing the high-tech chastity belt clasped around her waist, and then the taut skin of her stomach that trembled even more noticeably, broadcasting her body's urge to be fucked. He placed a hand there, feeling her core shudder as she exhaled heavily at the touch.

"Poor empty pussy," he mocked, massaging her stomach. The muscles flexed under his hand as her body tried to move, attempting to hump at him, but the instinctive, animal movement was restrained by the magnetic fields fixing the belt in place.

He put the tablet aside on the back of the settee, and then tossed her dress up and out of the way. Talia huffed quietly at the indignity as the fabric fell over her head, hiding her face while leaving her body fully exposed.

The huff quickly became a little gasp when the Prince reached up and massaged one of her breasts, rubbing gently at her nipple until it pebbled up under his touch.

One of the permanent restrictions on her cuffs meant that she couldn't move her hands close enough to her chest to stimulate her nipples herself. He wasn't convinced that she would be able to bring herself to orgasm that way, but he'd rather be safe than sorry; and besides, it brought him amusement to sometimes find her rubbing her breasts against the edge of a table or into the rough material of the settee, helplessly seeking the only source of stimulation available to her.

Desperate as she was, even the light touch of his fingers at her nipple had her tense and shuddering, her breathing erratic as she squirmed against the restraints. Her exhales began to come out in little whimpers again, a truly pathetic sound that she clearly had no control over.

"I almost feel bad," he told her, "denying that gorgeous cunt of yours. It's practically a waste, isn't it? Neglecting such a beautiful, healthy body? If only it wasn't inhabited by such a conniving bitch."

He dropped his hand from her breast and reached over to tap on the tablet again, and Talia let out a low, warbling cry as an instrument inside the belt began to breach her--but not in the hole she wanted it. He'd started the routine that would prepare her asshole for him: the belt would stretch her with a nozzle, and then pump enough lube into her that she would be almost as wet in the back as the front.

"Well, us royals are wasteful by nature, anyway," he said, gripping her breast again as the routine went to work on her pliant body. "Isn't that what you wrote in that manifesto?"

"Maillard," she begged quietly, a shudder going through her as the machine teased her anus open, leaving her cunt no doubt feeling very neglected.

"Anything but a ruin, remember? I'm honoring your request," he said, pinching and tugging at her nipple until she gasped.

It took a minute or so for the routine to run. The Prince entertained himself with her body for that minute, tweaking her nipples and pressing on her stomach as she groaned with alternating arousal and discomfort under the machine's insensitive, unyielding ministrations.

Once she'd been thoroughly prepared, the belt automatically unlocked itself and--using the magnetic field system that locked it into place when restraining her--lowered itself slowly down to the floor.

"There you are," Prince Maillard said, leaning back to get a good look between Talia's legs. Her anus clenched and bubbled with lube, making it look just as desperate as her pussy, which gaped open as if attempting to entice any nearby cocks to just slip in.

It had been over a year since he'd stuck anything in that wet, needy pussy, and longer than that since he'd let her come with her cunt full. Usually, when he granted her release, he did it in a way that amused him--often locking her in place over a piece of furniture, or on the floor kneeling over his foot, and then letting her hump and rub her clit against whatever was within reach until she came.

She missed the vaginal stimulation more than anything, he knew. She had always demanded something in her pussy when they were lovers--if he was going down on her, he absolutely had to put his fingers in her as well, or else she would raise hell. Talia was a heavy squirter when she was properly fucked, and clitoral stimulation alone wasn't always enough to make her fully unleash; she would just let loose little splashes of fluid, whimpering and shaking as she strained to hold herself up and keep humping through her orgasm so as not to accidentally ruin it herself. Prince Maillard imagined there must be some discomfort in that pressure building up inside of her and not releasing.

The last time he had fucked her cunt, almost two years ago now, she'd sobbed with gratitude, coming twice on the thick stretch of his cock without a single touch to her clit. She'd left a veritable puddle on his bedroom floor with how much she'd squirted.

Now, the Prince reached down and brushed his fingers lightly over her labia. Talia let out a rough, wailing cry as her cunt pulsed, visibly squeezing on the empty air, as if it was trying its hardest to come from the first direct touch that it had felt in months.

"What a pitiful mess," he mused as he untied his robe and took his cock in hand. Her cunt clenched and dripped in response, though it was hard to know if it was because of his words or just the nearness of his cock to her aching hole.

He was already quite hard from listening to her whimper and cry. He rubbed the head of his cock against her labia as well--just a quick grind that made her cunt squeeze again and forced another pathetically hopeful noise from her throat, as if she was far gone enough to hope that he might have changed his mind--and then he guided himself up and between the plump cheeks of her ass, pressing into the tight, slick heat of her anus.

"Ohh," Talia moaned, her voice wavering, torn between audible disappointment and the obvious pleasure of being stretched open, even if it wasn't where she wanted to feel it. "Maillard, I...please..."

"I've already been nice enough to you today," he informed her, pressing inexorably into her, faster than was likely comfortable; with the ample amount of lubricant dripping out of her, he knew she wouldn't sustain any real damage, though the pain of the stretch as he pressed deeper was obviously interfering with her enjoyment. "Don't get greedy, now."

"Yes," she whispered quietly, bereft but obedient, and Prince Maillard groaned in satisfaction. It had taken months of work to find this side of her: when she needed strongly enough, and he handled her firmly enough, she would become a meek, whimpering little creature, no longer able to express any frustration or anger, just absorbed by her arousal and overwhelmed by whatever attention he deigned to give her.

"That's right. Squeeze tight now," he murmured, and she did, whimpering quietly at the discomfort as she tensed up around his cock and then whimpering again when he didn't stop driving inwards, bullying against the press of her muscles. "Mmm. You're such a good whore like this, Talia."

She could only make a quiet, shaking noise in response. As he finally rooted himself fully inside her, his scrotum nudged up against her vulva, and he could feel the smear of it as she dripped on him desperately.

He remained there for a moment, enjoying the hot clasp of her body around his cock and the quiet noises she was making, little bewildered, begging gasps, like she was trying to remember whether there was some way she could ask for an orgasm that wouldn't get her reprimanded.

"I've been thinking," he informed her, stroking one of her shaking hips. "I might start using you this way more often. It's almost like fucking your cunt, isn't it? Don't you think so?"

"Maillard..." she whined, incoherent, as her body pulsed around him and he felt another trickle of hot fluid against his balls. "Please..."

"I guess it's mostly just curiosity," he confessed. "I want to see if you can learn to come from this, if we give it a good effort. Just this, of course--I'll be leaving your cunt and your clit well alone."

He began to rock inside her, and she let out a senseless gasp, her fingers scrabbling at the fabric of the settee. She arched her back, trying to fuck herself back on him instinctively; now that the belt wasn't in place to restrain her, she was only secured at her wrists and ankles, giving her a bit more space to squirm.

Maillard grabbed onto her to hold her in place. "None of that, now. You'll take what I give to you," he reminded her, drawing partway out and then rocking in again. She whined and shuddered. "What do you think? Could you learn to come from this? They say that some women can."

"No," she moaned, despairing.

He laughed. "Spoiled bitch. We'll see, I suppose."

After that, he began to pick up his pace, rutting into her hard enough that his balls slapped audibly--and wetly--against her sopping vulva. She grunted in discomfort at first at the speed, and then, after a few minutes, began to moan lowly, her spine jolting each time his body impacted hers.

By then he was already close to reaching his own peak, and he had no interest in restraining himself to see if he could get her any nearer to the edge. As he grew closer, his balls drew up, no longer providing her the same gentle, teasing slaps to her sex, leaving her whimpering and bereft, with no source of pleasure but the steady pump of his cock inside her ass.

When he ground deep into her for a final time and emptied himself inside her, she whined pitifully, squirming in his grip in an attempt to rock her hips on his pulsing cock.

"Needy cunt," he commented, and she clenched around him in response, making him hum in pleasure as the last of his orgasm was milked from him.