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“No, Viola,” he said, forcing her back down to her knees. “Your punishment isn’t over. It lasts as long as I say it does.”
She gave a whimper as His Royal Highness began to lead her to the door. I couldn’t suppress a tiny noise of my own at the sight of her punished bottom, and of her pussy lips between her thighs as the deposed president crawled awkwardly away.
When I looked up at Philip, I saw him once again looking at me in his assessing way, the little smile on his lips. Every time I saw it the effect on me—heart, mind, body, all of them—seemed greater. I chewed the inside of my cheek as he, seeing he had my attention again, began to open the flat black box.
The director had gone, exiting the state bedroom behind the prince and Viola. My guardian and I were for the first time the only people in that gorgeous bedroom. Philip sat on the side of the bed, now, and held out the open box to me, its contents wrapped in pink tissue paper so that for a moment I thought—absurdly—that it must hold a scarf.
He pulled the tissue paper away to reveal something lacy and white, and I frowned as my eyes tried to interpret the folded shapes of the fabric. When I finally understood, I blushed to the roots of my hair. I had seen a picture, once, of a girl wearing things like the ones in the box. We didn’t even have a word for it on Artemisia, though:underwear,orpanties, didn’t seem to describe it except in the vaguest way.
“You’re going to wear this lingerie tonight, Sara,” Philip said, “when I fuck you for the first time on your live broadcast.”
CHAPTER20
Sara
How could he just say that? I wasn’t a prude: I used f-bombs all the time, but on Artemisia we didn’t use that wordthatway. We talked about ‘having sex.’ I guessed sometimes a woman—or a man—might say, “Let’s fuck,” but…
For a moment I couldn’t figure it out, but then I did, and I felt myself blush again.
No Artemisian man would sayI’m going to fuck you.
The verbfuck, on my world, had for all intents and purposes become entirely intransitive, when it came to the actual act of sexual intercourse. I was a word nerd, the way a public relations secretary needed to be, so I thought about those kinds of things: transitive verbs that took direct objects, likeMy guardian is going tofuckmy little cunny very hard with his big, stiff penis;and intransitive ones that didn’t, likeSara’s little cunnyclencheswhen she thinks about her guardian’s hard cock inside her.
On Artemisia we could sayFuck thisor evenFuck him, but we couldn’t sayHe’s going to put me in a lacy bra and panties and fuck me tonight.
The heat surged into my cheeks. To my dismay I realized that Philip must have turned down the governor, because the tingle down there didn’tgoanywhere. It felt like I would clench a little, thinking about the ordeal that awaited me, and the unacceptable, wanton part of me wanted to feel that clench, as a sort of reward for letting my mind conceptualize it despite how shameful it seemed.
But I didn’t. Instead of feeling that tiny release, the barest hint of the release I knew Philipcouldgive me if he chose, I felt a dull, neutral sensation. It didn’t actually feel numb between my legs, but after what my guardian had allowed me for the last few minutes, while I had to watch Viola’s spanking and feel her cleaning my pussy, the lack of stimulation seemed like a kind of numbness.
My eyes traveled from the mortifying sight of the underwear—thelingerie—in the box to Philip’s other hand, where he held the controller, his thumb on the surface. I looked up from there at his face, and found his own gaze rising from the silver card to look back at me, obviously judging the effect of the adjustment he had made to my body’s sexual responses.
Against my will I felt my forehead crease hard. I took my lower lip between my teeth. I knew my face revealed everything to him about how this ‘gift’ and his words had made me feel. It seemed even worse to me that my eyes showed him those intimate details than that he could look at the controller in his hand and see just how lewdly my clit had reacted to his latest act of dominance. The combination of the two made me feel utterly powerless, completely at his mercy.
You are exactly that, my mind told me. The thought brought two reactions into my head, entirely opposite to one another. First, that I had to fight with every ounce of my being, to show the prince and Viola and above all Philip himself that they might have figured out my shameful little secret but they couldn’t break my spirit if they sent me into servitude for the rest of my days.
Second, that it made no sense to keep resisting… that I should feel lucky that the man who intended to dress me in lace and fuck me in every place a man could fuck a girl seemed like a decent sort of man, as Magisterians went. So handsome. So dominant and yet so kind, in a certain way.
So firm-handed, and doubtless so big and hard down there.
Lieutenant Saint-John’s voice came from somewhere outside the little world that Philip’s gaze, fixed on me, seemed to create just for the two of us.
“Here you go,” the director said.
I became aware at the same time of other masculine voices, coming from the same direction: the cameramen, of course.
I couldn’t have taken my eyes from Philip’s face if I had wanted to—and I definitely didn’t want to. I didn’t want to see what the lieutenant had brought, and I didn’t want to see the cameras or the men who would operate them, all certainly looking at my naked, blushing body there on the bed.
For just a moment, Philip’s smile broadened, and despite myself I felt reassured again by that expression. Intellectually, I had absolutely no reason to trust him, but his upcurved mouth and his dark eyes seemed to say—just for an instant—that the two of us shared some secret. That secret, my guardian’s face said, involved both of us understanding that the terrible degradation I would undergo wouldn’t, in some very important sense, represent the truth of the matter.
Philip’s eyes said,It’s going to look to those millions of people like I’m training you as a fuck toy against your will—that you’re going into sexual servitude as an unwilling, subjugated whore. You and I know better. We both know that when I make you put on this lacy underwear, threatening you with a whipping if you disobey, you won’t really do it under that duress.
His eyes dropped to the box in his hands, and I gave a sob as I followed his gaze and watched him put the lid back on it and set it gently toward the foot of the bed.
For later.I closed my eyes, trying to erase from my memory the image of those pretty things and of what I would look like in them.
“Look, Sara,” Philip said, his voice coaxing and gentle.
I succeeded in ridding my mind’s eye of the picture of the lingerie, because I had to concentrate on not seeing the worse thing I felt certain my guardian had just received from his director friend. I squeezed my eyelids more tightly shut.
