“No!”
His chuckle made her smile also. There was an allure to such banter.
“You are awful,” she whispered, and still no one else was within earshot.
“Yes. However, as you agreed only this morning, I will do whatever I wish to you, and your butt.”
Oh. Po squeezed her thighs together. She had said that. She sat, staring ahead and wondering at how even his quite menacing statement aroused her.
Was she a deviant princess, or just a naughty one? Po chewed her lip. Perhaps the palace library needed a few volumes added to it, to be kept shelved in a corner inside a locked cabinet. With blank spines and warnings on the front…
Do not enter. The Joys of Deviant Kinky Sex within.
At the midday stop, she watched Ruth set up her portable shop using her foldable rucksack. A sign: THERAPY was also hung, and she watched a guard, Shades, and even their floof machine, Ruff, sit on the stool before it. Children arrived and enticed the bunny away, probably with food. They ended up plucking flowers and grass to offer the poor critter then doing a dance around him.
Seeing it all from a distance, with the sun beating down on her back and hair, made her feel terribly lazy.
She munched a sandwich sourced from another trader and wondered at how Shades had become Ruth’s assistant. He seemed to enjoy the whole situation—the taking of money, the sales pitch, the showing of wares. The two of them were not lovers as far as she knew.
Ruff wandered from the shop to where she and John sat beside the wagon, and she fed him pieces of vegetable from the sandwich. Never-ending munchers—rabbits. Dragonflies and various other insects drifted above the seeding grass. The sun was now behind the wagon. The grass around her was dry and sometimes smelled of lemon when she shifted position, and little blue flowers dotted the field. This life could be a fulfilling one, though the guards riding past warned there were threats also.
The invitation to a second banquet, that night, came as they packed up to move on again. The rider handed it down to John and galloped on, without saying a word to either of them. Though she was a slave, she remembered, and so was not worthy of conversation.
No special garment had been sent this time, just the invitation. They would have to go. One did not refuse a royal command.
She eyed John. Unless it was her command, and you were John.
Knowing what had happened yesterday and wondering what the prince had in mind for tonight made her anxious. It was a novel feeling, to fear the future.
Clearly, he had chosen them especially, singled them out. The reason was obvious.
He must have an inkling as to who she was. Yet they needed more time. If he continued to seem unsure, she would have to continue to pretend to be a slave.
“When can we leave?” she asked John. “I fear the prince knows more than he has said.”
“Not yet. Rocky is far less lame, but not yet. If we run, I may have to kill.”
“Hmmm.”
She hadn’t seen him kill anything, yet. It seemed, somehow… preposterous.
CHAPTER TWELVE
prince may not have sent clothes but on entering the marquee a step behind John, a servant presented a new dress, draped over his arm—red this time, but of the exact same design as the white, with laced back and that peekaboo hole.
“Your girl may use the bathroom,” the servant said, pointing.
Of course she knew where it was, having been directed to it the night before. Though Kostan was considered a backward country compared to Bitzocoin, this mobile bathroom was luxurious. The cubicle held a seat and was not some hole in the ground. Perfumed air too, and there was a small basin with gold taps. The door was canvas and so were the walls. Underfoot was a rug.
The underwear were a flimsy red pair of panties and bra. Po sighed, holding them up to the lantern and seeing almost every detail through them. She shrugged out of her riding clothes and slipped on the clothes. More of her cleavage seemed to show than the previous night.
If this prince ever visited her country, she might have him served as an entrée—filleted and marinated in acid.
The evening went as before, with little occurring at first except for the consumption of food, and when directed she fed John as well as herself, so as not to draw attention. But after the roast pig, quail, lemon sorbets, cheeses, and much wine had been disposed of, the games truly began.
One by one, the three slaves of the other guests were called to the prince and to the glee of his rapt audience, he inserted various things into their nether holes—from their squeals and cries and the ducklike way they walked back to their owners, it was not pleasant and had after effects, and the objects were likely still inside their bottoms.
“What has he done?” she quietly asked John, leaning toward him.
“Put ginger pieces in them. It is called figging.”
“Ah.” No wiser, or not much, she straightened.
“Sets your bottom on fire but can also arouse.”
“Oh.” The things she did not know.
Of course the Kostanians did not invent BDSM; they had no such thing. Safe and sane was not in the prince’s realm, even if ginger figging was. The Kostanians did however know a lot about kink. Among their favorite proclivities were bondage, caning, flogging, and machine fucking with a dildo spear, though they powered it with a treadmill run by camels.
This was considered completely normal in Kostan.
They also thought they’d invented polyamory, but this was incorrect. Everyone
