Chapter Text
Valerius had been promising you his hot, thick cock all day.
Or, you had been begging for it all day, like the desperate, shameless fucking whore you were, and he had yet to say no.
Every chance that arose you had your body pressed against his.
Your ass stuck out and tempting him to come closer.
Your legs parted so you could grind yourself against his thigh, suckling on everything in sight just for the chance to show him what your pretty lips could do.
And he had been watching you with a cruel amusement in his gaze, a hunger that said he was ready to pounce but wouldn’t be telling you when.
And so you worked yourself up, a horny, desperate fucking mess from sunrise through the day, until afternoon arrived and you swirled your tongue around your teaspoon in the garden and made eye contact with him.
There, amongst as much company as you have been in all day, he finally lets out the quietest of sighs and the tiniest of nods, one only you can see – not Asra, not Nadia, not the other courtiers.
You.
Quickly, you clear your throat to excuse yourself and move to the bathroom.
You already know exactly where you want him, and as soon as you are behind closed yours your fingers are working to stretch out your already aching hole as you wait for him to join you.
It isn’t long before you hear his quite footfalls and he appears in the door, nodding for you to lay back on the white chaise in the far corner.
You scramble to follow his instruction, every limb shaking as you lay back with your legs spread and everything bared, clothes discarded on the floor.
He works his already semi-hard cock with long and slow movements as he steps up to you, sighing softly at the feel of his own hand, at the sight of your trembling body and dilated pupils. No part of you is still under that gaze, and every part is ready for him, for his thick length to stretch you and make you cry out for the entire palace to hear.
You can feel him on your tongue already, warm and soft and a little soapy, the perfect size to fill your mouth and throat, a comforting weight against your tongue.
Or, if he were to fuck your already stretched and aching hole, how the weight of his sack would slap against you as he fucked you, how he would angle his hips to ensure the head of his cock and the piercing there dragged along every inch of your insides and make tears streak down your cheeks from the bliss of it all.
Your nails are digging into your skin from your efforts to not touch yourself, and it seems like an eternity before he finally steps close enough for you to touch, if you were so allowed.
“Are you ready to take me, pet?” He murmurs.
You nod, desperate and eager, and you forget yourself for a moment when you do reach out for him.
He does not forget, though. His gaze immediately snaps to yours, pupils lethal little pinpricks. With a shiver, you retreat and resume your position, legs parted for him to settle between.
He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing it against but not in, just another moment of torture.
You’ve stopped breathing, and every few seconds you’re swallowing back another whine, another whimper. You’ve been ready for this all day, ready for his cock, ready to be fucked so hard you forget your own name.
“Stay still, pet,” he commands you quietly. “Like the obedient little cumslut I’ve trained you to be.”
And then you feel a familiar warmth inside of your aching hole, coating your walls, making them flutter.
His seed is spurting into you, but nothing that you love has come with it—not the stretch or warmth of his cock, not the flush of his hips against yours, not the pull of your hair as he makes you forget your name.
You wait, wait, for more, for something else, but it never comes. Ever the picture of propriety, his gaze is locked with yours and almost lethal with its stillness, as though daring you to complain.
Within moments he is done, letting the last of his warm seed spurt into you before he pulls away and walks to the basin to wash himself off.
You swallow another whine, but you don’t move, waiting for him to come back.
Surely there is more? Surely he’s going to give you something else?
Why would he use you for nothing more than a cumdump when there was so much more of you to use, so many warm holes for him to sheath his cock inside of, ways he could make you scream and cry out and remember that you belonged to him, and only him?
You’re stupid enough to think he will give you answers.
But within moments he is drying his hands on the towel and tucking himself back in. Adjusting his clothing. Fixing his braid, which isn’t a hair out of place anyway.
You begin to sit up, but his eyes snap around to you, and your entire body tenses.
“Stay,” he tells you. Like a dog. One hand is already on the door handle. “I’ll come fetch you when tea is done. If someone comes in here to find you, then so be it. Let them see what a desperate, impatient little slut you’ve been all day.”
And then he is gone.