Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry!”
She keeps saying that, but what does it mean? Is she sorry she is in pain? I am sure of that. Is she sorry to have earned my ire? Yes, likely. But is she sorry for having put herself in danger? I am not so convinced she is sorry for that particular sin. I believe her contrition is more externalized. And I believe she deserves more and greater punishment than this.
“You are the most important thing in the world to me,” I tell her. “There is no other beside you. If you do not safeguard yourself, you not only risk yourself, you risk us all. Do you not see how the world reacts to you? How dragons show you mercy, how the usher of The End refused to let you stay in her tavern, how Luck himself manifests in order to be by your side? You are loved, Emmaline, and not just by me, but by all creation. But until you believe it, until you understand it, it will mean nothing.”
Emmaline begins to sob, and by the state of her skin and her overall demeanor, I know that she is at the end of what she can bear. If this method of discipline is to work at all, it must have worked by now.
Instead of further thrashing her, I instead begin to comfort her. I rub her bottom instead of slapping it, and I stroke her hair. I keep her over my lap in the position she has earned and I do my best to soothe her.
“I do this out of love for you,” I tell her.
“I know! That makes it worse!”
Her wail is so heartfelt and so sweet, I can stand to have her over my lap no longer. Instead, I lift her up and kiss her deeply, tasting the salty tang of her tears. She is such a fascinating little thing, a creature I can barely understand, let alone control. Emmaline’s power is chaotic and borne of instinct.
Her kiss is intoxicating, even tremulous and chastened as it is. Before I can decide whether or not it is wise to do so, we are making love. My cock has been throbbing from the moment her pants came down. She is an absolute beauty, a wild and stunning creature, and I need to be inside her.
Emmaline
I want him to fuck me. No. I need him to fuck me. I need his forgiveness and his love. I need his cock. My ass is sore and my conscience is burning, and I feel as though true absolution can only come when I do. All of which is to say, I am so wet I can barely stand it.
He lays me down on the grass and he makes love to me, parting my thighs and surging between them, his thick cock finding the welcoming, wet entrance of my body with unerring royal lust.
“I have missed you,” he whispers down to me as he fills me with one long, slow stroke, a moment of tenderness after the barrage of punishment. “I love you, Emmaline. I adore you, and I would go anywhere, become anything to claim you.”
Golden light falls across our naked bodies as we mate in the open, my naked thighs soft and pale, wrapped around his powerful scaled back. There is always something a little perverse about fucking King Charming, something wrong and unnatural about having my pussy stretched by an alien king. But I revel in that wrongness. I feel the energy of it deep inside me, making every sensation more intense, delivering me the pleasure of submission to a force of nature far greater and stranger than I. King Charming still has his secrets, I see them hiding in his eyes. When he looks at me, there is a certain melancholy. I used to think it was because of our failed wedding, but now I am almost entirely certain it is because he carries a burden he refuses to share.
The closer we physically become, the deeper he sinks inside me, and the more my intimate places, my inner self wraps around him, the more certain I am that my lover, my king, is a creature of tragedy.
I want to alleviate that sadness. I want to make him happy. For now, all I can do is submit my body and envelop him in my flesh. I can take each and every one of the powerful strokes of his hips, and I can become a vessel for his seed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse, my voice guttural and desperate as my clit is rubbed repeatedly against the hard line of his pubic bone, my pussy leaking desire all over him. I feel the ripples of orgasm growing inside me, rising with every thrust, then falling as he pulls out again. I need him harder, faster, and he seems to understand that, for he pulls out of me, turns me over onto my hands and knees, grips my hip and plunges deep into my cunt, fucking me with hard, dominant, completely possessive strokes.