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The palace is a caricature of ancient times, cold white walls with columns of the Corinthian order gracing every corner of the property. Imposing chandeliers hang from the walls, and statues of sex mount every hall. Men are celebrated with paintings and long histories of their achievements, women and their efforts intentionally ignored. Staff buzzes around the place in uniform, taught to obey the royals and their customs.
The palace’s spread across several levels, enough to view the city of Katantia and the impressive mountain hill. Still, it’s compact in size. The royals own this place and most of the island, but space is limited. It’s not the château de Versailles, but who the fuck cares. King Aram Wraith certainly doesn’t. His government operates in his place of residence, right here in the fucking palace.
King Aram Wraith also hosts his esteemed guests here.
I’m one of a dozen.
I booked my stay spontaneously because Katantians are unpredictable. They have a temperament I don’t understand, being a good ol’ white boy from the land of the free. It’s been the plan for months that I would come here and cause havoc, but only a month ago, it all came together.
Aris Wraith graduated from Cambridge. I wonder whose dick he had to suck for that? How much did he pay? Hopefully more than I had to pay to have a Katantia-cation.
That dumb piece of dick surely doesn’t possess the brain cells for a degree from kindergarten.
With the news of the oldest male offspring coming home as a hero after being overseas for so long, Big Daddy had me run my scheme.
Like I said before, King Aram Wraith isn’t desperate for tourists. His shores are full, so are all the holes of his women.
Fuck. No. Don’t go there.
No.
I heave, sweat pouring out of me in waves. My heart hammers inside of my chest, ready to die. This isn’t the type of heartbreak good white boys like me deserve to experience. What did I ever do to witness a father rape his daughter in front of his side piece and an eager audience that craves pain and depravity? And to think that this is the norm on Katantia.
Everyone knows about Kamila and her father. It’s been this way since she turned nineteen. She’s almost thirty now.
My sprint to the en suite bathroom makes me fall on my face, hard against the floor tiles in front of the toilet.
I let go, my stomach emptying itself all over the floor.
Nice. Now, I have to change outfits. Good thing Big Daddy’s generous with taxpayers’ money.
I didn’t have to look at Kamila Ruby Wraith to feel her pain. It was all over me the instant I stepped foot in that hall. It was decorated for a ball, soft music masquerading for what was to come.
I’d done my research on Katantia. I knew of Kamila and her father’s complex relationship. Seeing it up close, I realized that it’s much less than complex. Her father’s an abusive shit that’s fucked with his daughter to the point of no return.
Outside of this hall, Kamila Ruby Wraith is as normal as can be. She is a light among the darkness and lust that Katantia is shrouded in. She is a graceful princess, giving the Windsors a run for their money.
Inside this fake ball I paid to attend, she transformed into a mindless whore for her dad’s pleasure.
I couldn’t bear it, applying all the methods in my arsenal to keep a straight face. I’d have shot my own dick just to get through it.
I deserve an award for my performance. Of course, I’m never going to get it, but that’s beside the point.
Growing up the way I did, nothing prepared me for such scenes. Now that I think of it, Dad always sugarcoated his experiences in the War…
I wouldn’t ever forget what the King of Katantia did to his daughter, and it made it that much easier to go through with Big Daddy’s plan.
Katantians are naïve.
Wave a wad of cash in front of their faces, and they let you in. That’s what I’ve done. To them, I’m Quentin, a cash cow ready to be milked dry. I’ve inherited Daddy’s businesses, and I’m looking for holes to fuck. In their eyes, I want to be treated like a celebrity, glimpse behind the curtain of Katantia.
I’m supposed to be enjoying this, but I’ve been pretending to have caught something to justify my stay inside the palace. It’s unprofessional, and I’m sure Big Daddy will spank me for it, but, hey. I saved a couple of cents! I’m a hero already. Why pay for pussy when I never have to back home?
Perhaps it’s the military brat in me. The good values my mom instilled in me. Sure, I’ll make a bitch deepthroat me, but I won’t force her. Momma’s dead, and if she’s watching me, I don’t want her to think badly of her son.
I can have my fun.
But she’s my God. My brother and I are Momma’s boys through and through. We didn’t grow up in the south nor did we move a lot for military brats. We were privileged to be stationary. Yet, sometimes, we felt like Texas transplants in California where we grew up. Momma knew that her twin boys were to become proper gentlemen, serving their country and God.
