Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Pleasure, certainly—with men and women, the way a proper Artemisian elite should handle it. Not too much pleasure though, because a woman rising through the ranks couldn’t let herself be distracted. Never… never… never that, though. Never my bottom.
Nor had I ever felt the need for a climax as greatly as I did now, as I held my buttocks spread, and the prince gripped me so dominantly there. Never had I wanted to have a penis in my mouth, my mouth watering as if my master were denying me a delicious treat by keeping it in his own grasp.
His hand moved faster, the slick sounds of his self-pleasure filling the stateroom. I watched, transfixed, as his breathing quickened. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, a reflex I couldn’t control.
“Do you want this, Viola?” he asked, his voice husky. “Do you want me to mark your sweet face?”
“Yes,” I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
Prince Hendren’s body tensed. A grunt escaped his chest. The first hot spurt landed across my cheek, the second across my lips. I gasped, tasting him, as rope after rope of his seed painted my face. My entire body convulsed with need, my sex clenching around emptiness as he claimed me in this shameful way. Tears leaked from my eyes—not from pain or even humiliation, but from the terrible knowledge that I wanted more, that the feel of his essence marking me had pushed me closer to the edge of release.
His seed dripped down my chin and onto my neck, a warm, viscous reminder of my new status. I couldn’t look away from his face, from the satisfaction in his eyes as he surveyed his handiwork. The face that still graced my presidential portrait, back on Artemisia, hanging now in what had become a Magisterian reformation center, made a canvas for his masculine pleasure.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing his forefinger through the wetness on my cheek. “Now you look like what you truly are.” He pushed his finger between my lips. “Clean it.”
I sucked obediently, tasting the salt of him, my body still trembling with denied release.
“You’ll wear my seed to the reception,” he said, releasing my bottom at last. “My mark on your skin, even more meaningful than your collar. No one else will see it, but you’ll feel it. You’ll know.”
He stepped back, tucking himself away with casual efficiency, once again the immaculate Magisterian prince while I remained a debased creature, face covered in his seed, bottom burning from his discipline.
“We’ll be in orbit over Euporia in three hours,” he informed me, straightening his uniform. “You’ll be bathed and prepared by my servants, but I know for certain that this pretty picture—” he gestured to my face “—will remain present in your mind, no matter how you try to scrub my seed off, reminding you of what you truly need.”
I didn’t see Prince Hendren again until just before we disembarked, when he came to the sumptuous bathroom where two serving women had just finished bathing me. I stood dripping as they patted my skin dry with soft towels, my face burning with the memory of what had happened earlier. Though they had washed his seed from my face, I could still feel it there, just as he had predicted, marking me as his possession.
“On the bench,” Prince Hendren ordered, gesturing to the padded surface near the bath. “Put her on her back.”
The servants exchanged a glance before one of them guided me toward the bench. “Yes, Your Highness,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.
“Legs up and open,” he instructed them as they positioned me. “Hold them for me.”
I gasped as they complied, each servant taking one of my legs and pulling them back and apart, exposing my pussy and my anus completely. One of them slid a soft towel beneath me.
“Perfect,” the prince said, his gaze traveling over my displayed body. He reached into a leather case and withdrew what looked like a sleek metal wand. When he pressed a button, a soft blue light emanated from its tip.
“Do you know what this is, Viola?” he asked, holding the device where I could see it.
I shook my head, my heart racing.
“A heat razor. Standard issue for Magisterian women.” He stepped closer, positioning himself between my spread thighs. “It removes unwanted hair without pain or irritation.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized his intention. “No,” I whispered, “Please. I thought…”
Other women on Artemisia, I knew, had been made to submit to the removal of their pubic hair. I had felt certain that because the prince had left mine intact until this moment I had been allowed this one bit of dignity, in exchange for having been the leader of a whole world.
He ignored my plea, bringing the device to the triangle of dark curls between my legs. “Hold her perfectly still,” he instructed the servants.