The Invitation (10 page)

Her breasts
began to ache. They felt uncomfortable and distended and she longed
to cradle them in her arms.

But she did as
she asked and kept her head held high.

The finger
pushed in deeper up her bottom and the discomfort grew severe. She
wanted to wriggle away but she remained rooted to the table top.
She could feel The King’s eyes on her face but she kept her gaze
trained ahead.

“Tell me how
much you like me slapping your tits.”

“I like it Your
Majesty.”

He slapped them
harder and faster and she couldn’t help but flinch.

“Tell me that
you love it.”

“I love it Your
Majesty.”

“Tell me to
finger fuck your arsehole harder. Tell me what a dirty fucking slag
you are.”

“Finger fuck me
harder Your Royal Highness, I am such a dirty slag.”

All at once the
abuse of her body stopped. Her head reeled. The King of England had
just done unspeakable things to her body and called her a dirty
fucking slag. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare.

“Well done, you
have pleased me. Lie on your back on the table and open your
legs.”

She did as he
asked, the table top digging painfully into her prominent shoulder
blades.

“You are a
natural sub. Most women would have run screaming from this room
regardless of whether or not I am The King of England. Have you
always known you were a submissive?”

“No Your
Lordship.”

Jane knew next
to nothing about the sexual art of dominance and submission, only
what she had read in trashy ‘BDSM’ novels as a teenager when they
had been all the rage. She had no idea she harboured such
inclinations.

“You are as
natural as they come and it pleases me greatly. Tell me, has my son
ever satisfied you with his tongue or fingers?”

Jane thought
back to their frequent, and ultimately dissatisfactory fumbles. In
fact they were so cringe inducing she was relieved to keep him at
bay by telling him she was saving herself for marriage. Sure, he
had grumbled, but she knew he respected her for it and was secretly
over the moon that she was a virgin.

“Rupert has
touched me Your Majesty, with his fingers. He hasn’t satisfied
me.”

“The useless
idiot. A man should be able play a woman’s cunt with the finesse of
a classical violinist. Play with your tits while I speak,
child.”

Obediently Jane
cupped her own breasts, feeling the weight of them pushing against
the palms of her hands.

He stroked the
soft, blonde, downy pubic hair adorning her crotch, trailing his
fingers lower, gently grazing the fleshy folds between her
legs.

She sucked in a
sharp intake of breath, not believing the explosion of fireworks
that shot out from her vagina at his light touch.

“Sensitive,” he
murmured. “My son is a fool, he should have forced himself upon you
a thousand times over, virginity be damned. Still, I am glad he has
not. Look at me when I speak. I want to see you cum for me.”

She wrenched
her gaze up to meet his, painfully conscious of the pleasure etched
upon her face. His deft fingers parted her swollen pussy lips and
slid inside her wet slit. She gasped when he located the sensitive
bud of her clit, applying just the smallest amount of pressure to
the aching nub. He allowed the layer of skin covering her clit to
do the work, dragging it in gentle circles with the tip of his
index finger.

The effect was
explosive. She came quick and hard, unconsciously clawing at her
own breasts as pleasure seized her body. The orgasm was short and
sharp, and disappeared as soon as it had arrived. She lay there
panting, her eyes locked with his, every nerve ending in her body
blazing, needing more.

“Get dressed
and wait here, you may drink the champagne. I won’t be long.”

Her heart gave
an unexpected lurch at the mere thought of him leaving her. She
wanted to ask where he was going but she bit down the question,
knowing it was not her place to ask.

And just like
that he was gone, leaving her alone and naked in the opulent
surroundings. Hastily she got dressed, her head positively spinning
with the sharp turn of events in her life.

End of
sample.