Chapter 2
Viola
The prince’s hand tangled in my hair, keeping my head in place so that he could press the velvet-smooth head of his cock against my pursed lips. “Open,” he said, and I did, with a sob, letting him push into my mouth with deliberate slowness.
As the thick shaft slid deeper, stretching my lips, filling my mouth, something in me shattered.
My hands moved of their own volition, reaching behind me to grasp my burning buttocks.
With a sob that vibrated around his thrusting cock, I pulled my cheeks apart, exposing the tiny flower of my most private opening to the empty air behind me.
The prince’s grip tightened in my hair. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice tight with pleasure. “Show me how much you want it there. Show me how empty you feel.”
My face burned with humiliation as I spread myself wider, my hips squirming against the bench, desperately seeking friction against my aching clit.
The prince fucked my mouth with methodical strokes, each thrust going deeper until I felt him hit the back of my throat.
I gagged, eyes watering, but he didn’t relent.
His rhythm was unhurried yet insistent, giving me just enough time to breathe before pushing in again.
My jaw ached, my lips stretched wide around his massive girth.
“You present such a lovely picture,” he said, his voice steady despite his obvious pleasure.
“Former President Herranofar, presenting her holes like a proper Euporian bed girl.” He twisted his fingers in my hair, angling my face to take him deeper.
“You will learn that this is who you truly are—I promise.”
I moaned around his cock, the vibration making him hiss with pleasure. My hips worked against the punishment bench, searching for pressure against my pussy. The burning welts across my bottom only intensified the need coiling inside me.
The prince withdrew suddenly, leaving me gasping.
“Picture yourself, you little slut,” he said, his tone amused, yet darkly appreciative.
“So desperate for release.” He traced a finger along my jaw, collecting the saliva that had escaped my lips.
“I hope you weren’t expecting to climax anytime soon.
Your governor is set to suppress your sweet cunny just enough to keep you from orgasm. ”
“Please,” I whispered, hating myself for begging.
“No, Viola. Your defiance has consequences. You’ll remain on the edge until I decide otherwise.” His smile was cruel and beautiful. “Perhaps after the reception, if you prove particularly obedient.”
I whimpered, the prospect of prolonged denial both terrifying and perversely arousing. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, how he was reshaping my reality around his control.
“Keep your cheeks spread,” he ordered, moving behind me.
I felt his hand press firmly against my bottom, stilling my desperate movements. His touch was cool against my welts, a momentary relief that vanished when I felt something slick probe at my exposed anus.
“Take it,” he commanded as his middle finger pressed insistently against the tight ring of muscle.
I gasped as he breached me, the intrusion both uncomfortable and shamefully exciting. He worked his finger deeper with deliberate patience, twisting and exploring as if mapping my most intimate territory.
“I’ll take you here tomorrow night,” he informed me casually, as if discussing dinner plans rather than sexual conquest. “After the reception, when you’ve spent hours naked among the Euporian elite, I’ll bend you over and claim this sweet little hole.”
His finger pressed deeper, finding some spot inside that made me cry out. My inner muscles clenched around the invasion, my body betraying me yet again with its eager response.
“Please,” I sobbed, my hips working against his hand. “Please let me come, Sire.”
“No,” he said simply, withdrawing his finger. “Not until you’ve earned it.”
Frustration and need overwhelmed me. In a moment of desperate defiance, I started to squirm again, trying to press my clit hard enough against the bench to trigger my release, not caring about the further punishment I knew I would receive or what the prince had said about the governor preventing me from climaxing…
Prince Hendren moved back to the front of the bench. Reaching over my back, he took hold of my whipped bottom and held it firmly in place, raising my pussy off the leather surface. I cried out as he squeezed the welts from the naval cat.
Worse, he had his enormous, rigid manhood in his left hand, pumping it rapidly, the purple head a scant centimeter from my eyes.
To my horror I found that I had opened my mouth, and that saliva had gathered inside it, as if something inside me were desperate to please my master that way, desperate to have his seed inside me.
I moaned piteously, and as I heard the sound I found myself overwhelmed by a vertiginous series of memories: my sexual history before the Vionian revolt and the coming of the Magisterians… before I had signed the disastrous treaty that had turned me into a captive sexual plaything.
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.
The heat razor hummed softly as he pressed it against my skin. It felt warm, but not painful, and I watched in horrified fascination as my pubic hair simply fell away beneath its glowing tip. Prince Hendren worked with meticulous precision, removing every trace of hair from my mound.
“Wider,” he instructed the servants, who pulled my legs further apart. The position exposed me obscenely, allowing him access to every fold and crevice.
He continued his work, moving the heat razor along my outer lips, then carefully tracing my inner labia. Despite my humiliation, I felt my body responding to his touch, to the gentle heat of the device as it glided over my most sensitive areas.
“Raise her slightly,” he said. “I need access to her bottom.”
The servants adjusted my position, tilting my hips upward. I closed my eyes, unable to watch as Prince Hendren ran the heat razor along the cleft of my buttocks, removing even the fine hairs there. His fingers spread me open to ensure he missed nothing.
“There,” he said finally, setting the device aside. “Much better.”
His hand caressed my newly bare mound, the touch sending unwelcome shivers through my body.
“It’s extremely important to me that your cunt looks and feels submissive, Viola,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.
“This smoothness will help you learn your place, as well as display my ownership of your beautiful body and the subjugation of your strong will.”
I bit my lip to keep from protesting. The loss of such an intimate part of myself—even just the hair that had covered my sex since puberty—felt like another piece of my identity stripped away.
“Every time you feel the air against your bare skin, every time you notice the smoothness between your thighs, you’ll remember who you belong to,” he continued, running his thumb over my exposed labia. “You’ll remember that your body exists for my pleasure, not yours.”
The servants released my legs at his signal, but remained nearby as he helped me to my feet. My knees felt weak, my bare sex uncomfortably sensitive as I stood.
“You may leave us,” Prince Hendren told the servants. When they had gone, he lifted my chin with one finger. “It’s time for our mission to Euporia to begin.”