Chapter 53
Meridian
Meridian felt the warmth of Horatio’s body long after he’d left.
Not that he enjoyed it.
That stupid guitar player hadn’t done anything Meridian hoped he would, even though he’d left his restraints so loose a toddler could have escaped them.
“Good,” Meridian muttered. “I didn’t want anything from him anyway.”
Then why did you bring him here?
“Shut up.” If he wasn’t tied down, he would have stabbed his brain with a pen. “I only brought him here to see if he would beg for my services.”
Meridian hadn’t set out to become a Dom-for-hire. Paddling royals never entered his mind until a visitor from Petulia spilled a cup of Earl Grey on him.
· · ·
“Your majesty, I am so sorry!” Lord Griffon swabbed at Meridian’s silk jacket with a cloth napkin. “How clumsy of me.”
Meridian pushed his hands away. “I suppose I can forgive you.”
Lord Griffon averted his eyes. “Or, you could punish me. I would like that.”
“I don’t… I mean, what are you saying… exactly?”
“Come now, sire. You should know better than anyone that ruling over others is tedious. We nobles crave to be, shall I say, dominated on occasion? I prefer a strong paddling on my bare bottom, but others enjoy being tied up and whipped. All in good fun, of course.”
Barely nineteen and a virgin, Meridian wasn’t sure how to proceed, but he was eager to please since Lord Griffon had a prized racehorse he’d been salivating after.
“As you can imagine, my schedule is booked solid, but I suppose I could try to fit you in. I’ll send a courier with an exact date after I check my schedule.”
Lord Griffon smiled while adjusting his ascot. “Delicious. I look forward to it.”
Once his guest had left, Meridian pumped his butler for information. Brimley told him everything he needed to know about pleasing a sub and concluded the lesson with a tour of the castle sex dungeon—a room Meridian never even knew existed.
“Very, um, enlightening.” Meridian turned a paddle over in his hands. Could he really spank another man’s ass with this?
“Perhaps you should practice on me, your majesty?” Brimley said a little too eagerly.
Thirty minutes later, he knew how much pressure to use, and his butler stood grinning, pants wet with semen, ample ass a deep shade of pink.
“Lord Griffon will be well-pleased, sire. Would you like me to draw up a contract? If you don’t ask for payment up front, you’ll get nothing in return.”
Meridian rubbed his hands together. “I want the stallion he’s always bragging about.”
Brimley took care of the rest. The contract. The engraved invitation. He’d even cleaned the dungeon until it gleamed. Lord Griffon clapped his hands at the sight when Meridian led him inside one week later.
“It’s just as grand as when King Gerald was alive.”
Meridian almost choked on his own spit. His grandfather spanked other men? He pretended to know everything, of course. “I never met the man, but I’ve been told he had a strong hand.”
“And a soft mouth.” Lord Griffon groaned. “My apologies, your majesty. That just slipped out. Shall we proceed?”
Since he’d practiced the routine on Brimley, Meridian didn’t feel as awkward as he expected.
But after paddling Lord Griffon to climax, he did feel empty.
His own dick hung limp and sad, without even a twitch of arousal.
Luckily, he’d hidden his genitalia under a fearsome codpiece, so his guest was none the wiser.
Lord Griffon, on the other hand, was extremely satisfied, so much so that a few months later, Meridian had over twenty royals on his roster, with dozens more to consider.
And with that, a legend was born.
· · ·
Staring at the ceiling, Meridian felt fresh tears sting his eyes. Legend or not, he had never once achieved an erection or orgasm.
And it was slowly driving him mad.
The Guitar Slayer got your motor running, though, didn’t he?
“Yes. But only because he’s so fit and athletic. Like a rugby player.”
Clairidia’s national team won the cup last year, and Meridian had watched every televised game. Sometimes, he imagined he was in that pile of players wrestling for the ball, tight shorts bunched into his ass crack while a teammate groped his buttocks.
No. He was a top. A Dom.
A king.
His father’s voice echoed in his head.
“Never bow down to anyone, Meridian. The mightiest kings and queens rule with an iron fist. And they don’t wear lipstick!” His father had scrubbed Meridian’s mouth with a rag, holding his face tight like he wanted to break it.
“But Mommy always let me.”
Father got right into his face then. “She’s not here. I am. And your days of being a fancy lad are over. You’re nine years old—practically a man.”
Now, tears leaked under his mask, loosening the chin piece. It fell off as he sobbed. Alone. Always alone. He could scream bloody murder right now, and no one would come.
Meridian imagined his father’s ghost laughing at him.
“What a legacy. Paddling strange men while the rest of Clairidia prays for your demise.”
It was true. All of Clairidia blamed Meridian for his father’s death. The memory still devastated him: King Vane, drunk and sobbing, standing on the low wall of the highest tower, arms spread like wings.
“Father, no!” he’d screamed.
“Every time I look at your face, I see her. The pain is too much.”
And with that, he’d tipped backward—tumbling into the night—the only sound the rippling of his clothing as he plummeted to the ground below.
Meridian started wearing masks after that.
First, masquerade masks. Then, after Alistar told him about the rumor spreading like wildfire throughout his kingdom, hand-sculpted terrors. If Clairidia wanted a monster—he’d give them one—terrifying enough to rival their worst nightmares.
“Fuck them all!” he roared. “Death will be a comfort.”
But did he really want to die? He’d craved death for years—which was why he’d brought Horatio Slice across dimensions in the first place.
His many attempts to end it all were unsuccessful due to his mother’s enchantments.
But after this morning, with that hard body hovering so close, he felt an unfamiliar longing for… something.
And it gave him a tiny glimmer of hope.
He was right here, practically offering himself on a silver platter, and I said nothing.
“Fuck!”
His dick twitched.
He craned his neck to look. Was it maybe a little hard? Maybe just a touch wet at the tip? He clenched the plug in his ass, the one he’d turned into a tail with his own hair, but the familiar sensation brought no comfort this time.
It only added to the ache.