Chapter Five
I obey him.
I wonder, as I slide onto the satin coverlet, if a time will come that I do as he says without question because I’m conditioned to, and not because of our deal. Because his tone of voice, the way he moves slowly toward me, enchant me. I could fall under his spell, like the foolish human I am, despite the warnings I heard all of my life.
Of course, my mother fell under such a spell. Thrace’s spell. Luthian is just as dangerous, and I need to keep my wits about me.
But it’s difficult, with the way he looks at me.
Sarta waves her wand and is instantly transformed. Her string and ribbon hair lays in an impossibly long curtain of ringlets against her pearl skin, every inch of which is exposed. Her lace wings are folded against her back, and the two small protrusions from her forehead glimmer with light so pure, it looks like diamonds sparkling in the air.
“I firmly believe that one learns best by doing. And, it helps if one learns from an expert. Wouldn’t you agree, Sartas?”
I frown at the mispronunciation of the name, until the mattress dips and I find myself with my head between Sarta’s thighs, her hands on my breasts, while she also stands beside Luthian.
“I-I don’t understand.”
“I’m very busy. I wouldn’t be able to sustain my career as the foremost designer to the most glamorous court in Fablemere if I couldn’t divide up my time,” the Sarta beside Luthian explains. The Sarta at my head adds, “And while Luthian is extremely skilled at this particular activity, it truly takes someone who owns a cunt to teach the deepest possible understanding in this endeavor.”
“Sarta will use her mouth on you,” Luthian explains. “You will be called upon by many different types of faeries at court, and you’ll need to know how to pleasure them all. You’ll imitate what you feel on Sarta as she demonstrates.”
The Sarta at my head carefully moves my hair to avoid kneeling on it as she straddles my face, and I am confronted with a delicate blue shell, complete with a violet pearl. I’ve been curious enough to peak at myself in the looking glass, so I’m familiar with the parts, but hers are different. Smoother, hairless, and without the frilled inner labia. Still, she’s similar enough that I recognize her anatomy.
What I have never been confronted with is the sensation of a wet, pointed tongue swiping across my sex. I gasp and instinctively raise my hips to follow it.
“That’s not what you’re here for,” Luthian reprimands me. “Which is why you won’t reach climax during this exercise, no matter how close she will bring you. Now, Sarta, again. And Cenere? Remember to mirror her.”
Sarta repeats the tongue swipe, and I mimic it, tasting the silky wetness on her double. She tastes the way I imagine the sea might.
But she sounds better, giving a little gasp of excitement. Knowing that I’ve caused it sends a pulse of desire to my singing flesh. I want to make her gasp again.
Sarta between my legs gives me another lick, this time downward, her tongue poking into my entrance. I dutifully repeat the action, and Sarta on my face squirms.
“Good,” Luthian murmurs. I feel his weight as he settles beside us on the bed. His clothed body presses against me, his hands find my breasts. Lost in dizzying arousal, I almost forget that I must mimic the wide, up-and-down sweep of Sarta’s tongue as she bathes my intimate flesh in her saliva.
“She should be getting very wet now,” Luthian says, and I don’t know if he’s talking about me or Sarta. I am very wet; I feel the silken heaviness of it leaking from my opening.
Sarta continues the same lazy motion. I try to wriggle closer to her wicked tongue, my stiff, aching bud desperate for more attention. I know that she feels exactly what she’s doing to me, because I’m copying her every stroke. How has she not gone mad from the anticipation yet?
She parts me with her fingers, and I reach up to do the same. Her pussy makes a slick sound. She runs her tongue up the frilled edge of one of my inner petals. Here, our anatomy diverges; instead of two folds of inner flesh, there are smooth ridges. When I test them with my tongue the way she’s licking me, she moans loudly.
“Where your clitoris is a little, hooded pearl,” Luthian begins, and his fingertip touches the named part, not moving, just applying maddening pressure. “Hers is more like... like the fork in a tree branch. When you touch a faery there, it feels quite like... well, show her, Sarta.”
Sarta’s tongue laves over my clit and I buck my hips.
I forget to repeat the action, and her mouth pulls away. She holds me open wide for Luthian to deliver a sharp slap to my most sensitive area.
Crying out, I rush to lick the Sarta on my face, and she coos and rocks her hips.
“Keep going like that,” she moans, while the version of her between my legs shows me exactly how.
The pleasure is unbearable. Building, building, piling on top of what I felt the night before, but never breaking. I need release, badly. I would beg for it, if my mouth wasn’t full of Sarta’s clit, her juices. I bury my face in her, gasp for air, and go back for more.
Sarta between my legs is struggling to maintain focus; it’s apparent from the erratic, stuttering movements of her tongue. I follow each one exactly, intoxicated by the knowledge that I’m making her come so undone that she can’t concentrate, even though she’s the one directing me. Still, it’s not enough. Every one of her sucking kisses and rapid flicks should be the one that sends me screaming into an abyss of ecstasy, but it never happens. I’m suspended on the painful edge of a powerful climax, with nothing but Luthian’s magic holding me back.
When she cries out with her release, I wail in disappointment.
“Well done,” Luthian says, and gives Sarta on my face a little pat. “Now, another game.”
“Please let me come,” I beg him. “Please. I feel like I’m going to die.”
“Get used to it,” he says flatly. “There will be many times that you’re forced to watch someone else have the pleasure you crave. Right now, for example.”
Sarta climbs off my face and lies down beside me, her naked flesh warm and replete with satisfaction while I sweat and shake, poised on the brink.
The other Sarta slides to the end of the bed and bends over it, while Luthian goes to stand behind her, unlacing his breeches. I watch with fascination as he frees his cock and strokes the impressive length.
“Describe it for her, Sarta,” he instructs. “And demonstrate with your fingers.”
Sarta beside me places her hand between my legs and slowly eases a finger into me as he pushes into her counterpart’s body.
Luthian groans and clucks his tongue. “Just one finger? I’m insulted.”
She tips her head back and moans. She withdraws in time with him, cups her hand, and this time, pushes all four fingers into my tight opening. I curl up, clenching down on the fullness.
“Mmm, that’s what it feels like,” Sarta at the end of the bed tells me. Her hand speeds up as Luthian’s hips do, and soon the room is filled with the slap of skin against skin, the obscene, thick, wet sound of her fingers plunging and twisting, and her breathless voice trying to describe it all.
“He’s so big,” she moans. “So hard.”
My cunt aches to be filled deeper, to take Luthian inside of me. I can’t tear my gaze away from the sheer bliss on their faces. Every one of her moans is echoed by her double at my side, who whispers torturous things like, “I’m so close. He’s going to make me come. Are you close, Cenere?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes shining with tears. “Yes, I’m so close. Please, let me come!”
The three of them laugh and I sob in despair.
“He’s close, too.” Sarta’s teeth close over my earlobe, sending a renewed shudder of sensation through me as her hand pummels my cunt. She writhes, stiffens, cries out in unison with Sarta at the end of the bed, while I throb, still suspended precariously close to the edge but unable to fall over.
“He’s coming,” she gasps, still in the throes of ecstasy. “I can feel it bursting inside of me.”
When he withdraws, he thrusts his cock through his fist a few more times, releasing slashes of cum across her back with each stroke. Her fingers withdraw, too, and I whine in disappointment.
Luthian staggers to a chair and falls heavily into it, and Sarta enfolds her double into an embrace, becoming one body again.
“Come sit in my lap,” Luthian tells me, still stroking himself after the shimmering white fluid has subsided. I think of the length of him, coated in it, how it would slide so easily into me.
But when I reach him, he spins me to sit with my back against his chest, his cock trapped between us, resting against the cleft of my ass. He grinds on me and traps one of my ankles then the other against the legs of the chair with his booted feet.
“Don’t struggle,” he warns, capturing my arms and twisting them behind my back. “Be a good girl and I promise you; you will be rewarded.”
All I can think of is how much I want to come. How I’ve teetered on the edge, ready to spill over, for what feels like hours. Surely, he’s saying that he’ll let me, finally, if I obey him. Fighting would be futile, anyway; I’ve already agreed to let him utterly control me.
When Sarta approaches with her wand, my body writhes against my will. I want to sit still. I want to do everything he’s asking me. But the wand grows smaller, smaller, until it’s an actual needle, and she kneels between my legs.
“A little pain, that’s all,” Luthian croons in my ear.
I gasp. “What?”
Sarta holds up a delicate golden ring with a dangling pearl. “It’s the fashion at court. And it will look very pretty on you.”
“Wait…” My throat goes utterly dry with fear and I try to shift away from her.
“Hold still,” Luthian growls. “Or I might never let you come.”
I whimper and squeeze my eyes shut as Sarta’s fingers probe my throbbing clit. The tip of what must be her pinkie finger glides beneath the hood, stretches it, and I bite my lip. My body trembles in fear.
When the needle pricks that most intimate flesh, I imagine a searing poker thrusting through Cadwyn Thrace’s neck. Luthian’s tongue curls around my ear. “Come.”
I scream and curl up, not only from the agonizing punch of the needle sliding through, but the long-denied pleasure that entwines itself with that pain, exploding through me. I feel Luthian’s cock, hot and sticky against my ass, and I want to lift myself up and impale myself on him, as I imagine impaling Thrace, as I see the needle violating my flesh in my mind’s eye.
“Come,” Luthian whispers again, and my body obeys him. My legs kick and wetness bursts from my core, bathing my thighs. “Come.”
I lose all sense of where I am as I climax seemingly endlessly after hours of torturous denial. I forget Sarta between my legs, Luthian at my back. The pleasure is too much, the stinging of my punctured flesh is too much, and I’m lost, sobbing, my body snapping like a whip in the bonds of Luthian’s hold on me.
“Come,” he snarls, his teeth sinking into the skin below my ear.
“No!” I cry out. “Not again, please!” And it’s all I can manage before I’m brutally shoved over the edge again, my sensitive flesh and worn out muscles screaming for mercy.
He grips my jaw painfully, pushing my cheeks into my teeth in his punishing grasp. “You are never to speak that word to me again. Do you understand?”
Tears stream down my face, over his fingers, as I try to nod.
He stands, dragging me to my feet, and jerks me across the floor to the bed. He shoves me onto the mattress without a care for how I land upon it, which is in a jumble of limbs.
“You’ll stay here and rest,” he orders coldly. “I expect to see you apply some of your new knowledge at dinner tonight. Dress appropriately.”
“Yes, Guardian.” I somehow manage to force my voice past the tears in my throat.
“In the meantime…” He tucks himself away and laces up his breeches with nimble fingers. “Come. Until you lose consciousness.”
He flicks his fingers, dooming me, and leaves the room.