He was watching.
I knew he was, even though he had not entered the room yet. Instead, he stood at the door, tray in hand, frozen like one of the marbled carvings lining the entry way of the castle.
He looked like them too.
I often admired his sculpted chest, wondering if, like the statues, he would be cool to the touch, or warm as the fire that raced through my blood. When he stood too close, I wanted to reach out, to confirm which was the case. But I always stopped myself. Something about the careful, restrained way he stood, told me that he would not appreciate any manhandling.
Although now that I could his shadow against the door frame, I wasn’t so sure.
Why was he still standing there? Why did he not back away as he had so many times before, when I had started to disrobe?
Perhaps he didn’t know I could sense him.
Or maybe, his restraint was always for my benefit after all, so that in my eyes I could remain his empress and he was nothing but a dedicated slave.
Maybe, he was not unaffected by me as I thought.
He couldn’t be, not with the intensity I could feel at my back as he stood there unmoving.
Maybe that was what possessed me to do what I did next.
After I dropped my robes rendering me completely nude, I trailed a finger down my neck to cup one full breast, thumb circling my nipples.
A choked sound from the shadows came. I smiled and pretended not to hear. He still had not left.
He should have. Had I been a different sort of empress, I could have had him flogged for his invasion of privacy. My reputation suggested that I would be the type to have the skin flayed from his back for his sin of looking at my unclothed body.
What an unchaste act, an utterly depraved one.
But, as my hands continued to circle my nipple, sending bolts of lightning straight to my pussy, I realized I didn’t even know what sort of empress I was.
Cold. I could see my husband, Maximillian’s sneer as he said it, throwing himself from my unmoving body after his failure to complete the tedious act I had been cursed to for many years.
Maximillian always turned mean when he became flaccid, throwing out insults to assuage his own impotence at being unable to become erect at the sight of any figure that wasn’t practically prepubescent.
Cold and fat, he’d cursed at me that night.
For the longest time I thought he was right.
While I still felt desire, it had been long since I felt tempted to act on it. Since my husband started to make it clear that my maturing body was no longer the type he preferred.
He rubbed it in too, taking lover after lover with slender, gamine frames, like those painted in the nursery of children we never had. Our lack was apparently my fault too. No, it was certainly my fault that he could not bear the son he so desperately wanted, regardless of the fact none of his lovers had borne a son either. Or any children for that matter.
But no, it was my fault. It was also my fault that he could not become aroused at the sight of my body.
Although, at 32, I was hardly decrepit.
I spread my palm over the nipple that had been teased to a point and considered my body in the glass windows. It was not an unpleasant one. Perhaps a little rounder in places than some would like, and not as firm as it had been some 10 years ago. But it was by no means revolting to look at. Back in the old times, ancient poets had composed about bodies like mine, worshiped them. I suppose that fashion had changed in time.
Still, it was a body like any other.
And it had not been touched in what felt like eons.
Experimentally, I pinched my tight bud and could not halt the moan that escaped from my own throat. Was that me? That utterly guttural sound, like an animal that had been slapped in the most delicious way. It was like a fire had been lit at that point of contact, a fire that had begun spreading through my body, concentrated between my legs. I pressed my thighs together and sighed at the sensation, bubbling up even more. The fever would not be eased on its own.
I would have to find relief.
I could still see the shadow on the floor. He was still there.
I trailed my hand down my body to find the curls between my thighs. I thought I heard another choked sound as I made contact but I could not be sure. The curls were damp, and I had the insane thought to bring that wetness to my own lips and taste myself. But I didn’t, instead dipping my fingers inside myself.
Gods, it was hot. And slippery. Like molten lava was poured inside. I’d barely touched myself. But I knew it was not simply my fingers that had brought me to this point. No. It was the stare I could still feel at my back.
The fact that I was being watched by this man made everything all the more sweeter.
As I slowly rubbed my fingers over my engorged nub, I moaned again. My hips gyrated forward on instinct, rubbing against my own restless fingers, unconsciously trying to direct it towards the emptiness inside me. My other hand went out to pinch my abandoned nipple once more, and the sensation sent another jolt through my spine. I arched my back.
The thought of him seeing me with my body arched in an utterly filthy, depraved way, buttocks flexing and hips grinding wantonly against my own fingers, sent my fever to unknown heights. I opened my eyes once more and looked at the glass. I wondered if he knew that I could see him clearer now that he had moved closer to me as if unable to help but see more. I could almost see his eyes now and could imagine them if I shut mine. Those eyes that were always sedate, friendly but distant at the same time. Those eyes were forever aware of the difference in our positions, me as the empress and him as a mere slave.
Lucian, his name whispered through my mind, as I moved faster, nearing the peak. I could see him now.
I did not know who he had been before he became my slave, or even if that was his true name. He must have been from one of the fallen kingdoms my husband conquered, his light coloring suggesting that he was Cardian, a race of humans fabled to be descended from demigods.
Cardians lived in their island mountain, separate from the rest of the human race. They were said to have mythical gifts, said to possess more power than any human had. Legend dictated that they could possibly, if they tried, destroy the entire empire of Pangea in little more than a few weeks. But Cardians did not war, as it went against their moral code. They did not take human life. And so, when they had been attacked by Pangea who sought to enslave them and steal their riches, they had simply...disappeared. Along with their island.
Some, though, had been left behind.
Lucian was possibly one of those, although he never talked about it. Seeing him however, it was easy to believe the myths about the Cardians. Lucian was large, several heads above my considerable frame, and wider than some doors in the castle. There was strength etched into every muscle on his chest and arms, but I had never seen him fight.
Even when the soldiers mocked him for his good looks, or when Maximillian told one of his incessant tales about conquering the “cowardly” Cardians, Lucian didn’t stir. He simply stood silent as usual, regarding him with a fathomless expression on his face. Lucian was a mountain that could not be moved.
Except, perhaps, by the sight of me thrusting two of my fingers into my dripping cunt.
I cried out softly.
I saw him move then, out of the side of the mirror. His body jerked forward, compelled by an unknown force and his fingers tightened so hard around the tray that I was shocked that it did not bend at once. It was as if whatever he was feeling was far too overwhelming for him and he needed something to hold onto, to ground him, so he did not reach for me
Oh, how I wished he did.
But somehow, it did something utterly wicked to me that he did not. Made me even more of a sick creature than I had currently become.
I was enraptured by the sight of his large finger, imagining them thrusting in me, filling me, grabbing my breasts and perhaps, squeezing, squeezing as he took me again and again like an animal. Or perhaps he could be restrained while he did it, an animal I controlled, tied and used to get off. My eyes slid shut as I tried to capture the image, to make it real although my small hands were insignificant at the job. I began to thrust harder, my hips really moving with the rhythm now, impaling myself again and again as the I reached closer and closer to the crescendo. I could hear the desperate gasps escaping my lips as I continued to thrust and squeezed and the ball in me became full to bursting.
I heard another choked cry and my eyes flew open. It was the look in his eyes that did it. Never would I have thought I would see that look.
Gentle, calm Lucian looked every inch a caged animal.
His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, lips pulled back over clenched teeth. The tray had been bent at the points he held it giving way to the strength of his fingers. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to grab me, throw me onto the floor or perhaps on the wall and just take me.
The thought of him doing just that, was what did me in.
“Lucian!” the moan escaped my mouth helpless, as there was an explosion in my body, every point of contact gyrating and squirming and moving. My eyes slipped shut once more and my breath caught in my chest for a moment as I rode the high for as long as I could.
Gods, it had been so long since I had had had this. I don’t know if I’d ever it had it like this. No, I thought as the orgasm seemed to go on an on, not like this.
It was Lucian. He was the key.
But when I opened my eyes, he was gone.
***
Hi guys! This is part one of a gentle femdom erotic fantasy web novel I will be launching soon on Royal Road or Scribble Hub. You can sign up on my newsletter here to receive part 2. (PS- Part 2 is in the welcome mail so you would need to sign up). The full first volume (14 parts) of Empress' Slave is up on my Patreon. Hope you enjoyed this!