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Ingrid sat rigidly in front of the mirror as a pair of young maids dressed her.
She is used to this ritual by now, but it still makes her skin crawl. The maids daub rosewater on her skin and rouge on her cheeks and lips, though Ingrid would rather scrub it all off until her skin was raw. It would all be a foolhardy task - no amount of scrubbing could ever wash the taint of Miklan off her skin.
The maids transformed her. The woman looking back at Ingrid in the mirror looked like the common sort of broad that she'd find Sylvain flirting with at the taverns. The black silk gown was of a far finer quality than she could have afforded when she was still a Galatea, but the cut was quite low for a noblewoman and the maids hadn't given her anything to wear underneath. To the trained eye, it was quite obvious with the lack of bulk in her dress and the way they had tied her bodice what sort of woman she might be.
Perhaps that was what Miklan had planned for their dinner party - he hadn't specified the guest list, and she had long stopped asking.
"Ma'am," the elder of the two maids, still a young lass, said without a hint of embarrassment, "Master Miklan has requested that you wear these tonight."
She opened a box, and the younger of the two maids gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. She was a new hired girl, and had not yet seen the depths of Miklan's depravity like the rest of his carefully selected staff. Ingrid's mouth quirked grimly. It could have been - and had been - a lot worse than this. The box revealed a curious pair of undergarments with a large phallic protrusion at the seat of the cloth. She did not recognise the size or shape to be Miklan's, though it was not unusual for her husband to have such...unusual...requests.
At first, Ingrid would resist such an indignity. Now, she simply sighed and snatched the box from her maids. It would be faster to just get it over with, herself.
Miklan had tried - oh, he had tried - to break her spirit entirely over the past six years of marriage, but even still, Ingrid kept her head held high. He regularly fucked her in front of the house staff, and she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes and did not make a sound no matter how much he savaged her. He paraded a long line of men and women in their bedroom and was careless with his indiscretions. He fancied himself a generous man, and once threw a dinner party where his gang of bandits each took their turn with her. That night, Ingrid had wept privately in the washtub, but in the morning she sat with a face like stone at the breakfast table as Miklan leered at her.
Ingrid spat in her hand to smear it around the head of the phallus before sliding it slowly into her cunt. It was cold and wide and unyielding, and Ingrid hissed when it at last filled her, her eyes fluttering shut at the discomfort.
She took several bracing breaths to recentre herself. She would be dignified regardless of the humiliation he undoubtedly would put her through tonight.
Miklan could not break her pride, and he would not do it tonight.
Ingrid pasted on a thin smile. "Thank you."
The elder of the two maids inclined her head, and the younger looked up at her mistress with terrified eyes. The butler had come to fetch her, and if he knew of what Miklan had planned for her tonight, he did not show it. Ingrid followed him slowly, carefully arranging her face into a neutral expression and trying to make sure there was nothing unusual about her gait, though the inorganic phallus made this a difficult task indeed. Ingrid was so preoccupied with this that in no time at all, they had arrived outside the heavy walnut doors of the dining room.
"Ma'am," the butler coughed quietly before she could fling open the doors. He held a silk black blindfold in one hand, and tilted his head apologetically before slipping it over her eyes.
The heavy doors swung open, and Ingrid heard Miklan's harsh laugh and an audible, familiar gasp. Where had she heard this voice before? As she approached the table, led by the butler, she strained her ears to listen if she could identify the voice.
"What's the matter?" jeered Miklan, but the dinner guest or guests did not make a sound. "Not like you to be so quiet in the presence of a beautiful woman!"
Ingrid heard the scrape of a chair being pulled out, and then a hand guiding her to sit. She hesitated for a moment, knowing that it was impossible to sit naturally with such a contraption embedded within her, but when Miklan cleared his throat impatiently, she slowly lowered herself into the seat at an odd angle. She felt her thighs press flat against the seat, and knowing that she had no petticoats on, she tried to keep her thighs clenched together in the hopes of a little modesty. The phallus pressed deeper into her, however, and she sucked in a deep breath and tried not to wince.
From across the table, she heard the voice again, a high-pitched quaver in the back of the throat. The silence otherwise was dizzying, and her nerves buzzed with anxiety of who could possibly be witnessing this humiliation. Miklan had largely isolated her from her family, and she had isolated herself from her friends. So who could this be?
The butler's footsteps retreated and she heard the door shut.
"Has my wife's beauty rendered you speechless?" asked Miklan, clearly pleased with himself. "Ingrid, sweetheart, if you could be so kind as to remove your blindfold? I have a surprise for you."
Ingrid's mouth tightened at her husband's unusual decorum and his possessiveness, but she obediently reached up to remove her blindfold. The light was almost too bright, and she realised with a painful start who Miklan's solo dinner guest was. He sat like he was carved from stone across from her, his face white as a sheet, his eyes wide and angry and shamed all at once. She realised with horror that he was gagged and restrained to the chair.
"Sylvain," Miklan taunted. "What's the matter? No introductions after all this time? You're being rude to my wife."
"Sylvain!" Ingrid cried, making to push back from the chair and free him herself, her own physical discomfort be damned, but at her abrupt movement several of the servants rushed forward to seize her. She struggled mightily with them while Miklan laughed, and soon she, too, had her wrists tied behind her and her ankles to the chair. The phallus was painful now, an unpleasant intrusion that was also a reminder of her powerlessness.
"You'll have to excuse her table manners," Miklan said idly, swilling his goblet of wine. "Some things never change."
"Sylvain," wheezed Ingrid, sagging in her seat. No doubt she wore his same broken expression. She wanted the ground to open up beneath her and swallow her whole, so shamed she was for him to see her this way and infuriated with Miklan for this. When she was free from her restraints, she would kill him in his sleep. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threaten to spill down her cheeks.
Ingrid had deliberately recused herself from her social circle when Father announced that she would wed Miklan. She could not stomach the indignation of her friends or worse, their pity. The wedding was a quick, cheap, and private affair - Galatea could not afford anything better, and Gautier did not see fit to spend much on the likes of their Crestless son. A mercy, in Ingrid's opinion, to be spared the shame of a public spectacle. Her sacrifice meant that Galatea would live to see another generation, and the Margrave had hoped she could redirect her energies chastising Sylvain to tame their failures with Miklan. In that endeavour, she had failed miserably.
The servants began to serve dinner. Miklan did not seem to mind eating alone, and was content to monologue through the entirety of dinner. His voice was triumphant.
"So good of you to join us for dinner tonight, Sylvain. You have no idea how much I've dreamt of this little family reunion. Ingrid, did you know Sylvain is a war hero these days? That's what my men tell me. A hero, this little brat, can you believe it? For a hero, it wasn't so hard for my men to...shall we say, convince...you to come to see your dear older brother. So good of you to make it, I was beginning to think you hated me after I married your beautiful flower.
"As you can see, Ingrid makes for a fine wife, doesn't she? You know, of course. Of course you know. All that schooling, and what did it get her? Thank the Goddess her father saw the sense to pull her from that prissy school early. Should've sent her to a proper finishing school, if you know what I mean. Took a great deal of effort to teach her how to please a man."
Sylvain struggled against his restraints at that, his eyes flashing with hatred. Miklan only laughed meanly, and signaled to the staff to collect the plates and make themselves scarce. Ingrid watched as they cleared away the untouched plates, and lamented that they took the knives and the glassware. Miklan had learned his lesson after enough of her botched attempts.
"Speaking of pleasing a man...Ingrid, darling, you are wearing the present, aren't you?" Miklan stood up from the table and pushed up her dress to examine her. Her legs were already forced apart from the restraints, though she fruitlessly tried to close her knees to him. His pried them apart easily and his smile widened. "Ah, good. You know, it was kind of Sylvain, to provide the model."
Ingrid's cunt pulsed at this revelation, but her eyes widened as she cast a frightened look at him. Sylvain only looked shamefully back at her. How had Miklan obtained this? Had he hurt Sylvain? Miklan buried his face between her thighs and took a deep breath. Then, he adjusted her hips and began to pull down her panties, breathing hard. Ingrid sucked in a breath as the attached phallus slowly and uncomfortably slid out of her. Sylvain watched her face the whole time, and she found that she could not look away from him either.
Miklan held the phallus aloft, gleaming in the candlelight with her slick. Smiling darkly, he roughly removed Sylvain's gag, and brought it to his lips. "Have a taste, little brother."
She wasn't sure if she was aroused or disgusted, watching Sylvain suck her wetness from his own model phallus. She had always thought Sylvain was handsome, and she missed him dearly in the years apart. More than once when she bedded Miklan she imagined that perhaps it was Sylvain instead (could she have moaned Sylvain's name on accident, she wondered, to have given her husband such an idea?), but Miklan had taken that fantasy away and twisted it to this sick, evil scheme.
"Do you like how she tastes?" asked Miklan, and Sylvain gasped when he removed the cock from his mouth and nodded. "Is my wife not exquisite?"
"Ingrid," Sylvain uttered like a man being tortured. His voice was rough, and it made her tremble.
"Miklan, stop this," Ingrid begged as Miklan thrust the phallus in Sylvain's mouth again, hating how her voice cracked. Sylvain's eyes flickered up to her, hazy, and she could see the bulge in his trousers. Her throat constricted like she was about to cry. If Miklan wanted to hurt her, he had succeeded, but she could not bear for him to hurt Sylvain, too. "Let him go, Miklan! I swear I'll do anything you want to me! Please!"
"Sweetheart, I already do anything I want to you." Miklan pulled the phallus from Sylvain's mouth and turned to her. "Oh, darling, if looks could kill! I was just letting Sylvain have a taste of you. He always did have a sweet spot for you, you know. I've seen the way he used to look at you when your precious Glenn wasn't watching. But if you're feeling lonely..."
Ingrid's stomach turned as Miklan swooped in on her, pushing her chair back so that Sylvain could see exactly what he was happening. She squirmed helplessly against her restraints as Miklan pushed her dress higher above her hips and her knees further apart to reveal the darkness between her legs. Ingrid cried out and tried to close her knees, but she was too slow as Miklan pressed the phallus back up into her, lazily pumping her with it. She protested, but it came out as a strangled gasp as it filled her to her core.
"Well how about that. It looks like you might actually be enjoying yourself for once," Miklan said, his voice venomously sweet.
She fixed her attention to a corner of the ceiling and blinked rapidly, chasing the tears away. Miklan's pleasured her with a practised hand, and she could hear Sylvain grunting as he struggled against his own bindings, and she hated that his noises only made her more wet. She grit her teeth, but despite herself Ingrid's breath hitched and her back arched. The rope restraints chafed her wrists.
"Stop! Miklan, please!" rasped Sylvain, begging like he was a boy again. It also occurred to Ingrid that she hadn't heard his voice in years, and her chest ached to hear him sound this way. They spent every day together at the Academy, only to be reunited like this. She hated Miklan with every fibre of her being - if she had known he would stoop to this depravity, she would have driven a knife through his heart long ago!
"Ah, yes, I'm being a bad host, aren't I?" said Miklan, leaving the phallus inserted in her cunt, which wrapped itself greedily around it. Ingrid whimpered as he began roughly to unlace her bodice and tore it open. Her breasts tumbled free, small and pert and pink, and she could hear Sylvain's quiet intake of breath. It did not go unnoticed by Miklan, who smiled cruelly at that.
"I shouldn't hog the dessert all to myself. Though, it needs a little...something, don't you think?" he said to no one in particular before picking up a candle from the dinner table. Ingrid squealed as Miklan dripped piping-hot red wax across the tops of her breasts and thighs.
"Stop! You're hurting her!" Sylvain struggled violently against his restraints, and it looked like he was in physical pain.
"There. A little frosting on the proverbial cake," Miklan continued, ignoring his younger brother's distress. He untied Ingrid's ankle restraints but kept her wrists bound behind her. Then, he wound her hair in around his fist and yanked her to her feet, and walked her like a dog on a leash around the table. Miklan undressed her completely like one might unwrap a sweet treat, ready to be greedily devoured, before depositing her face-down in Sylvain's lap so that her ass stuck out in the air.
"Ingrid-" whispered Sylvain. He had gone utterly still beneath her, but she could feel the throb of his manhood pressing against her cheek and smell his arousal.
"Sylvain." She lifted her head ever so slightly to meet his eyes, and when their gazes met it was like an electric shock passed through her. Her cunt squeezed his model phallus impulsively, and her heart quickened. What would it be like, to experience the real thing?
Miklan's grip tightened on her hair, and he pressed her face back into Sylvain's crotch. "Ingrid's learned some tricks in the past couple of years. Why don't you show him, darling?"
Ingrid hesitated for a moment, and Sylvain's voice sounded small and strained. "It's okay, Ingrid."
Sylvain's breath hitched in the back of his throat as she tongued the button at the waistband open, and then took the laces of his trousers between her teeth to reveal his hard, drooling cock. It was bigger and thicker than Miklan's, and the tangle of red curls was well-groomed.
"You're drooling, Ingrid," Miklan observed, running a finger along her dripping seam. He was breathing hard, and there was a manic glint in his eye as he slowly pumped the phallus in and out of her cunt. She felt her body jerk with every press, the sudden emptiness and the fullness - oh, the fullness of Sylvain's cock! The real one was right in front of her face, turgid and veiny, glistening with pre-cum. "Never seen you want someone as badly as you want my baby brother."
Sylvain whimpered at that, and tentatively, Ingrid took him into her mouth. His lips parted and his eyes fluttered back.
"Ingrid," he hissed, and she could see his abs contract and his shallow breaths, trying to be gentle, to resist the urge to jerk his hips up into her mouth. When he looked down at her, his eyes were dark with lust and shame. She ran her tongue along the length of him and then took him all the way down to the base, eliciting a groan from both men. She felt Sylvain twitch against the back of her throat, and began to bob her head with great vigour along the full length of him. Miklan pumped her faster, harder, the wet, squelching noises sounding even more offensive in the cavernous dining room, and Goddess, she was going to cum -
She gagged on Sylvain's cock as the first orgasm rippled out from her core like a wave crashing on a beach, so hard it brought tears to her eyes. Sylvain involuntarily thrust his hips up into her throat, breathing hard. His jaw was slack, and his eyes were becoming unfocused, watching her spasm on him, filled at both ends by him. Ingrid hungrily devoured him again, her nostrils filled with his curled hair, and his cock stiffened in her mouth and pulsed once, pulsed twice...
Suddenly, before Sylvain could cum, Miklan seized a fistful of her hair at the base of her scalp and yanked her back. Ingrid squealed with pain at this, and then there was a wet noise and a sudden emptiness as Miklan removed the phallus from her wet cunt with one swift movement.
Miklan released her roughly, staggering back into a chair and fumbling with his trousers. "Get on top of him."
Ingrid did as she was bid. Sylvain watched her with an unplaceable look in his eyes as she straddled him. His lips grazed between her breasts and Ingrid could feel him breathe in the scent of her, his warm breath creating gooseflesh on her skin, the candle-wax tightening with her hitched breath. He nuzzled the bit of skin between her neck and pressed a kiss onto her collar, and Ingrid felt like she could melt if she it wasn't for Miklan in the room, watching the whole spectacle.
At Miklan's orders, Ingrid had fucked dozens of men and women but she had not willingly kissed any of them. Now, it felt wrong not to kiss Sylvain. He had turned his face up to her, his lips parted slightly, waiting. Slowly, like something out of a fever dream, she lowered her head to his. It was like he set her blood on fire, and if they broke apart, she would die.
He handled her delicately, as if she was a fragile thing, and it made her want to weep. Ingrid ached to run her hands through his hair and to cradle his cheek in her palm, but their hands were still bound behind their backs.
"Sylvain," she gasped when they broke apart at last, breathing hard. She ached with need of him, could not get enough of him, wanted to disappear inside of him. Why couldn't she have married him instead? "Sylvain-"
"I wish I hadn't let you marry him," Sylvain whispered. Tears clung to his lashes. "I should've...Ingrid, I should've..."
Ingrid wanted to cry at that, but she kissed him instead, hoping that he'd understand what she felt. She then kissed the tears on his lashes away as he pressed his lips into the hollow of her neck. Her long curtain of hair shielded their faces from Miklan's lecherous gaze.
She slowly lowered herself onto him one centimeter at a time. She parted easily for him, sheathing him completely until his balls were nestled snugly against her ass. Sylvain groaned her name and buried his face in between her breasts, kissing them as she slowly began to ride him, pumping his hips up to meet her.
True to his reputation, Sylvain is far too good, better than anything Ingrid could have possibly imagined. It was as if his body was made for hers, the way he fit against her and how they moved in perfect unison. The pressure built in her core once more as he fucked her expertly, hot and hard like forged steel, and Ingrid could feel a bead of sweat rolling down between her breasts. The fabric of his shirt tickled her nipples, and a delicious heat compressed in her core when she ground her clit against him as she rolled her hips. Sylvain licked a flat stripe against the curve of her breast, alternating between whispering ghosts of encouragements against her skin (so beautiful...you're perfect, Ingrid...I've missed you...) and chanting her name, and it was everything she could do, just to hold on. Soon, the bottom of the world fell out from beneath her once more. Sylvain fucked her through her orgasm, pressing his mouth to hers to smother her sobs.
When Ingrid at last returned to him, they pressed their foreheads together, still shielded from the universe in their private little world. She had never been so greedy for cock before, but she was only mortal and thus vulnerable to the talents and charms of Sylvain Jose Gautier. Ingrid's cunt twitched eagerly with how his lips quirked in a half-smile up at her, the kind she knew he used only with her, as if to ask if she was impressed with how quickly he had made her cum, and his breath was ragged. They laughed shakily, giddily, like two guilty lovers.
"Enough of that," growled Miklan, and they startled. Ingrid broke the private spell she and Sylvain had shared to cast a glance at her husband. His cheeks were mottled with drink and his brow was furrowed. He looked at once menacing and pathetic, splayed on the chair with his angry red cock in his hand. "Treat her like one of your whores."
Ingrid felt Sylvain's muscles stiffen against her.
"What's wrong, Sylvain?" jeered Miklan. "Fucking whores is your specialty."
Sylvain took a slow breath. He could not dispute this fact. Ingrid felt his cock twitch inside her, slowly wilting.
"DO IT!" Miklan's voice rang out in the room, petulant like an angry child, and Ingrid heard his brutes shuffle noisily outside the door. They were undoubtedly armed, and resisting would have far more painful, or perhaps fatal, consequences. They had both suffered Miklan's temper before - they needed no reminder lesson to know the depths of his cruelty.
Years of abuse at Miklan's hands had taught Ingrid how to put on a show. She arched her back the way she knew Miklan liked, and rolled her hips and ground against Sylvain. She rode him until she felt his muscles tense and heard the scuff of his wrists against the wooden chair, the little moan at the back of his throat, and then brought her forehead to Sylvain's once more so that their faces were hidden.
"I can't, Ingrid," he whispered, his breath warm against her nose and his eyes vulnerable and lustful and shamed. "You're not...you're..."
"I know," she kissed him tenderly, and he trembled beneath her.
Ingrid kissed him softly, hoping that he could taste her reassurance, and when she pulled away, he chased her lips with his. She did not speak the three forbidden words, and neither did he. It would be perverse to say them in a time like this, even if it was the truth. He kissed her roughly this time, his teeth dragging against her bottom lip and his tongue pressing his way into her mouth. He left her breathless in the best way, and when they at last parted, his cock was hard and throbbing again, and there was a carnal look in his eyes that made her cunt ache.
Sylvain was like a new man. He thrust up into Ingrid so hard that she saw stars. With his hips, he pushed her off so that he could drag the head of his cock against her dripping-wet folds once, twice, before plunging himself balls deep into her again. Ingrid's head tipped back at the sensation of being filled to her core so savagely, the angle of her hips against him giving him greater access, and she huffed in agony as he teased her with short, careful strokes, fanning the flames in her core higher.
Two could play at that. She had been an accomplished equestrian before her marriage. Ingrid wrapped her legs around the back of the chair where his hands were bound. He grasped onto her ankles, his eyes darkening as she tightened her grip around him with her thighs, clenching around him like a vice so hard his eyes momentarily rolled back into his head. Sylvain regained himself quickly, nipping at her neck, her breasts, her shoulders until Ingrid cried out, her skin reddening where he had left his mark. Oh, if only they both had use of their hands, what filthy things he could do to her, and she to him...
The sounds of their bodies against each other was obscene in the cavernous dining room, so loud it overpowered Miklan's heavy breathing and occasional grunt of approval. Ingrid was lost in Sylvain's lips, in his solid body pressed against hers, and in his balls slapping against her ass as he fucked up into her. She could feel his heart hammering wildly against hers, and wondered if he could feel her heart racing too. He looked positively debauched and delirious with lust. How must she look, her hair a wild mess, her lips bitten swollen and raw, her skin peppered with his touch and striped with candle wax?
"Sylvain!" Ingrid gasped, feeling a sudden wetness around her thighs and the dam breaking inside her. She keened her third release of the night on Sylvain's cock as the orgasm ripped through her body like wildfire, so hot and fierce it left tears stinging in her eyes as she spasmed helplessly. "Sylvain, please, please-"
He pressed his sweat-slicked forehead against hers. His thrusts were erratic now - he must be close, so close - but he still insisted on teasing her until the end. "Please, what?"
"Cum in me," Ingrid whimpered, nearly begging. "Inside. Please. Sylvain-"
This was enough to send him over the brink, too, and a shiver ran down Ingrid's spine as Sylvain slammed his hips up one final time and spilled inside her with a low, rough cry.
For one long, sweet moment, Ingrid was suspended in a state of complete bliss. She was breathless in the best way, boneless, floating. Slowly, sensation returned to her in fragments. Sylvain's lips sought hers in a gentle kiss, sharing breath. Her heartbeat, fluttering like a butterfly in her chest and the low roar of blood in her ears. The twitch of his cock inside her, softening. The slippery wetness between her thighs.
Then, the nightmare returned. The sound of solo applause reverberated in the room.
"Bravo!" Miklan was standing now, his cock hard and weeping, and the soft warm feeling Ingrid had instantly evaporated. "Bravo! What a performance!"
He crossed the room quickly, lifted Ingrid by the neck and shoved her to the floor. She hit the floor with a painful thud, Sylvain's spend dribbling out of her. Miklan swooped over her and grasped his fingers around her throat. She flailed against him, kicking and spluttering, gasping for breath that she could not draw, but Miklan pinned her easily with his weight. Ingrid could hardly hear Sylvain shouting, the scuffle of wood on the stone, his chair overturning and his crying over the ringing in her ears. Miklan's face loomed over hers, and she felt his cock against her thigh.
"I've never seen you enjoy yourself so much, wife," he said, almost tender, but there was a maliciousness in his eyes and a brutality to his touch. His breath was rancid and sour with wine. "I always knew you had it in you. Now, it's my turn."