The princess flips through the pages idly, bemusement written on her upturned lips. "Did you mean to communicate something when you picked this book out for me, o servant mine?" She turns her head to look at you, the knight standing at attention beside her bed. One leg folds over the other as she adjusts her position on the four-poster.
"Not at all, mistress. It was upon the recommendation of a friend." Your eyes are steady, not even quick glance at the tome. You know what she's reading, it was from your private collection. The stained pages and worn binding bespeak many restless evenings spent with it in your chambers.
"A forbidden romance between a lady and her knight," the princess enunciates, reading the tagline out loud. Her delicate fingertips brush against the yellow stain of one page, and for a moment, you fear a reaction showing on your face. But the disciplined silence you keep is enough to assuage her, and she turns back to the weathered book.
Evenings are a special time for the princess. A time away from the tutors and the physicians, from the performance of court. Sure, her blonde hair is still in the curls which her handmaidens had set, and you feel sure that the lacy chemise she wears is worth more than a year of your salary. But it is altogether a more private affair, with the door locked and strangers sent away. Your presence is a mere technicality—the leash you wear leads directly into her waiting hand, the collar on your neck emblazoned with her insignia. No one could mistake yourself as anything other than an extension of the princess. She is, in a real sense, alone.
The small hitch of her breath alerts you to her present condition. "Are you well, mistress?" you ask politely. She's about a third through the book, you note. When the pair first kiss... "Perfectly fine, dear... just something caught in my throat." The princess is cool, and well-trained in diplomacy. But several small clues tip you off as to her present condition: the flush of her cheeks, unmistakeable as simply makeup. Her eyes, so focused on the page, keep breaking their attention to glance at your uniform. The reading, which started slow, has been going faster and faster—you get the feeling she's skipping paragraphs to get to the good bits.
The princess clears her throat. "Wet my lips, will you dear?" You start to make your way over to the pitcher of water on her desk, before you notice that she hadn't given your leash nearly enough slack. "You misunderstand," she says condescendingly, and pulls you in closer with a tug on the leash, setting the book to one side as she rests her other hand on your neck.
The pressure on your collar draws you in closer, and closer. Glancing down at the princess, you can't help but notice that her ruby lips are immaculately moisturized. And then her soft mouth reaches yours, and you close your eyes. The chasteness of it startles you—her lips barely part, the only feeling is that of her being close to you. You can't help but notice that it is, in fact, identical to the embrace described in the book. The kiss that lasts a moment and an eternity, and then it's over, and the princess lets you go, a smirk appearing on her face when she notices how out of breath you are. "Good work," she compliments, and when she lays back down on the bed you can't help but notice that underneath the sheer nightgown she's wearing is an unmistakeable dark spot on her panties. After the kiss, you recall, is where the book picks up pace. Encounters between the fictional princess and her bodyguard grow more frequent, shadowed, furtive assignations underneath the stairs. Passionate meetings in candlelit rooms... occasions spent on the castle's towers, gauntlet in glove as they watched the setting sun.
The reading continues, and you stare, a little entranced, as the small dark spot on her underwear spreads, her bulge getting larger and larger until at last you think you spy the very tip of her hardness through the translucent material. Yet the princesses' hands stay firm, refusing to move down as your own hands had done in similar positions. The discipline of statecraft, you suppose. Finally, the princess speaks up, breathing heavily.
"Awful of you to recommend such material, really," she says. Indignancy, usually such a fierce note in her voice, is undercut with desperation. "Just awful."
"I'm not sure what you mean, mistress," you respond, playing ignorant. "It's perfectly fine literature."
Now you've done it, you think to yourself. The princesses' eyes flash, not so much angry as incensed by the challenge. "You don't, do you?" she teases, something sharp in her tone. "Aren't you aware that a proper knight is always empathetic towards her master? Perhaps a lesson is in order..." Her voice turns dangerous, like a wolf that's caught the scent of its prey.
Your training, you feel, is all that keeps you from running out the room.
"Perhaps," the princess continues, "I ought to demonstrate what the problem is, in a didactic manner." Her soft words belied the cunning and dark intent in her expression. She once again sets the book to one side—two thirds of the way through—and reaches her soft, manicured hands out to your hips. With the dexterity of many a needlepoint class, she quickly undoes the buckle of your belt, and unceremoniously pulls your trousers to the ground, underwear and all.
Her long fingers adroitly take your penis into her grasp, squeezing it once or twice. "Still soft," she comments, more intrigued than disappointed. "Perhaps you really aren't aware of the pain I feel."
I most certainly do, you want to say, it's just the medication—not everyone has access to the same virility-maintaining herbs that your highness does. But that would most certainly give the game away, and so you keep quiet, maintaining a steady gaze above your mistress. "I'm not sure what your highness could mean," you say, calmly.
The princess harrumphs. "Then perhaps I should show you, hm?" She leans down and plants a single kiss on your tip, her gloss leaving a faint mark on the skin. Despite your best efforts, your cock twitches and jumps up, following her face as she leans back again. "Ohh, it seems we have a reaction~ do you enjoy being kissed like that, dear?" The smile is back on her face as she turns her body towards you. You can't help but notice that in the motion, her panties slipped down to expose her hardness, and her nightgown now rests hanging on her length.
"I..." You consider your options, and pick the least risky response. "I enjoy anything my mistress chooses to give me."
Wrong answer. A wicked grin draws the princess's expression, and she wraps her hand around your cock, thumb working the underside of your sensitive glans. "Then perhaps you'd like more kisses, hm? And just to show your gratitude, I'd like for you to thank me after every one." She leans down and brushes her glossy lips against your dick.
"Thank you mistress," you respond stoically.
She giggles. "Oh but dear, I haven't even started." The princess plants one kiss on your head, a proper wet one, and then another at the base of your length. Against your wishes, your penis starts hardening.
"Thank you mistress. Thank you mistress."
The softness of her lips against your increasingly rigid member feels like a blessing each time it happens. The gratitude you're forced to express quickly becomes genuine as each kiss planted feels like it sends an electric shock through your body. Soon, her hand is no longer required to support your weight, your cock more than capable of holding itself up. A dollop of precum oozes out unbidden, and the princess takes it in a chaste smooch, the shininess merely adding to her gloss.
"Th-thank you, mistress." Your voice feels heavy, burdened with desperation. Your mistress merely smiles. Through the haze of your arousal, you snatch a glance at her own member. The nightgown itself is stained, a trail of wetness making its way across the fabric.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, dear?" The princess responds calmly.
Please let me cum, you want to say. But that would be a request, and you were not to make those. "I... I understand how you feel, your highness," you pant. Your gloved hand at your sides are bunched into fists, trying desperately to keep them from touching yourself.
"How wonderful." She smiles up at you, radiant like the sun. And when she rolls back over onto her back, it is as though the sun has turned away from you. One moment passes, then another, until you realize with dawning horror that she fully intends to leave you like this. But then another drop of pre makes its way down to underneath your glans, and the princess dutifully takes it with her lips. Your cock strains against itself, trying desperately to reach for more, but nothing else is there for it to touch, the princess already back to her book.
"You know," she comments smoothly, "I'd wondered as to a way to keep my lips moisturized throughout the evenings. Perhaps we should do this more often." It's all you can muster, not to cry.
The night continues in much the same way, the princess flipping through the pages and occasionally attending to your dick, to keep it standing at attention. You see the book's end approaching, as surely as the candle's wick burns down. You know what's there already, but you can't help but recount the events in your head, substituting yourself and your mistress in place of the fictional characters... The heady scent of arousal, both yours and the princess's, fill the room. She's breathing heavy now, you can see, her full length a tent in her gown.
"Remind me where you got this... literature," the princess commands.
"The... used book store. In the foreign district," you get out, in between pants.
The princess nods. "Then why is the last page signed with your name?"
Crap. Crappity... crap. You so rarely got to the end of the book on rereads, that you'd entirely neglected to mind the signature, which unmistakably declared the book as your own. Taking a glance at your mistress, she appears the face of innocence, closed book in her lap tucked underneath her folded hands.
"It's a common name," you respond, grasping at straws.
"No it isn't," the princess counters. She's right, it's not. "I think you have something to answer for, my loyal guard dog. Isn't that right?"
Unable to play the fool any longer, you merely whimper. She tugs on your leash and you stumble forward, feet catching around your half-off trousers. Another tug lands your face on the bed, knees supporting your weight on the floor. The princess runs her immaculately manicured fingers through your scalp, grabbing your hair at the base and pulling you in close.
"Bad puppy," she whispers, "getting your mistress all worked up like this. Is that what you wanted? To make me think of you while I touched myself?"
You whine, and before you can even respond she interrupts, a heavy, breathy sound in your ear.
"Well it worked. See that cock?" She tugs you by your hair, turning your head to look at her erect member. "That's all your doing. Now you'll have to take responsibility..." One hand reaches down, sliding her nightgown up to her hips. As the material drags along her penis, it leaves a trail of wetness behind. The princess leans in and whispers only a single command. "Fetch, girl."
She shoves your head towards her waiting cock, not that you needed convincing. Two gloved hands move to wrap around her girth, stroking it, feeling every twitch of the organ whenever you chanced upon a sensitive spot. Perhaps the princess is lucky, or perhaps her physicians are expert—whichever the case, even both your hands on top of each other isn't enough to fully cover the whole length. The copious precum that the princess has been leaking all evening acts as lube, letting your fingers glide over her hardness. The princess lets out a moan, and once more lays a hand on your head.
"Not like that, dear..." She pants. You get the feeling that she's already quite close. "Good girls use their mouth," she states, and gently pushes you towards her pungent member.
You lean forward and lick the tip, just to taste it. It's sticky, a little salty, and just a hint of sweetness. The pressure from her insistent hand grows, and you oblige, parting your lips to take her head inside of your mouth. The princess bucks her hips every so slightly, shoving her length slightly deeper in. Looks like even royalty isn't perfect.
You sit up just a little, pushing your lips to form a seal around her crown as your tongue flicks back and forth across her glans, savoring the texture. After so long dreaming of this, you're not eager to let it end so quickly. Letting her dick pop out of your mouth, you move to the base of her cock, running your tongue up the entirety of her shaft, worshipping it as a bodyguard ought her principal.
A frustrated groan from the princess shatters your fixation, and you can sense the frustration in her tone. Seeking to take things into her own hands, she grabs your hair and steadily pushes her cock into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your mouth and then going further. Finally, your lips touch the base of her dick. Eyes watering, you look up at her and whimper.
The sound triggers something primal inside her, and the princess lets go of both your hair and of pretense, pulling herself partly out only to thrust herself back into your mouth. You keep your lips in a tight seal around her girth, and obediently flick your tongue against the bulbous line on the underside of her penis.
"This is what you wanted, right?" She pants, in between thrusts. "Me... using you to get off." You can't nod, so merely bob your head in rhythm with her thrusts, more and more sticky pre coating the inside of your mouth. "Well, congratulations... I think I'll do this more often, in fact. What's a little practice for my wedding night?" Her thrusts grow harder, tip pushing deeper and deeper down your throat.
Finally, with a high-pitched cry, the princess unleashes her load, cum running straight down your throat as her cock pulsates once, twice, again and again. You feel the sticky substance on your tongue, and though you can't quite move your mouth, you appreciate both the smooth taste and the slightly chunky texture. It's only when she starts softening that you dare to lift your mouth from the princess's cock, already shrinking back to its usual size.
The princess smiles, a contented little grin on her face. Adorable, you think. "Good girl," she coos, and the genuine praise flows through you like a warm drink. Glancing back at her softening cock, you can't help but appreciate your own handiwork. "Get up and come over here," she commands, and once again you obey dutifully. Your cock, still half-hard, accidentally slaps against her face as you try to stand up. Instead of being insulted, however, the princess merely giggles. "I suppose it's only fair salary..." She leans in, finally taking your length properly between her lips.
After all the drama of your service to your mistress, her own repayment towards you is merely the denouement to an already-experienced climax. You last mere minutes in her warm, soft mouth, and after she licks your cock clean, she pats the pillow next to her. With barely a word, you get in the bed alongside your mistress, clothes off but collar and leash still around your neck. She pulls you close with a yawn, and snuffs out the bedside candle as you fall asleep together.
