Page 49 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

This wouldn’t be nearly enough to get Sabre out of his head or satiate the masochism that blazed like a hungry wildfire through his veins, but it was a good start, and if this opening act was any indication, Laurent was going to enjoy the rest of the show immensely. Then, he would close it out himself, since they could hurt Sabre, but Laurent would be the one that made him come.

* * *

Sabre needed this.

He could feel the knot of desire tightening in his core as Simone left him trying not to writhe in the stocks, moaning at just the anticipation of who might touch him next. He couldn’t tell where they’d come from, what they’d do, or how long they would use him, and that was better than a long bath and scented oils for soothing months of wrangling the Starian court. He dragged his lower lip between his teeth and heard Laurent chuckle softly.

The door opened. Footsteps approached—light, maybe boots, with a slight heel that clicked as they moved. It was the cologne that gave the man away, in the end. Lord Alder, one of Sabre’s allies at court and a man known for passing amusing notes during council sessions, liked the scent of pine. It drifted in the air as Lord Alder slapped Sabre’s cock just enough for it to sting, and Sabre’s thighs tensed as he tried to suppress the sudden spike of pleasure.

“I can always do it again if you convince King Adrien to build that bridge,” Lord Alder said. He was an older man with a warm voice, with just the slightest hint of a rasp at the edges.

“Don’t make him use his safeword so soon, my Lord,” Laurent said, and Lord Alder laughed.

“I must be the only noble who prefers to talk politics in bed,” he said. “Does that have bells on?”

“Give it a try and find out,” Laurent said. Sabre tried to remember what toy had bells attached, but he didn’t have to wonder for long, as Lord Alder tugged and tweaked his nipples before attaching a pair of heavy clamps. He smacked Sabre’s ass once, and bells attached to the clamps jingled as Sabre moved.

Lord Alder kept up a pleasant conversation with Laurent as he paddled Sabre’s ass and thighs until Sabre was clenching his fists and grinding his teeth, trying desperately not to come. The bells jingled sharply as Lord Alder asked after Laurent’s business affairs, the state of the roads, where they planned to holiday—and then it all began to fade, the world narrowing down to the pain in his thighs and the agonizing swing of the bells. Lord Alder came over Sabre’s back with a faint groan, and Sabre let out a sharp gasp as he removed the clamps.

“That’s a good boy,” Lord Alder said, and ruffled Sabre’s hair. He’d done the same once at council and had apologized profusely for it, face beet red—Sabre suspected Lord Alder secretly liked to spoil his submissives with praise.

Sabre didn’t recognize the next guest. They came in, grabbed Sabre’s hair in a clenched fist, and fucked him so hard and rough that the stocks started to clatter. They were silent the entire time, like Sabre was just a convenient hole to fuck into and nothing more, and Sabre moaned and tried to rock back into their thrusts, his cock hard and aching, desperate for friction.

“Oh, he’s a mess,” Yves said, when Sabre was still gasping in the aftermath. He felt empty, raw, like he’d been broken open, and the relief of not having to hold himself together was almost too delicious. “Charon! You look so good in that—Oh, okay.” There was the thump of Yves falling to his knees, and the subsequent sound of him scrambling to get up again. “That was a lot of dominance in one look, Charon. What did you need me for?”

What Charon needed Yves for, apparently, was to fuck Sabre’s mouth. Charon guided Yves through it, murmuring over Sabre’s head as Yves gripped the top of the stocks and thrust his cock over Sabre’s tongue, and Sabre could feel the tension in Yves’ body as Charon started to move him. Yves was taking sharp, short breaths, and when he came down Sabre’s throat, it was with a muttered curse. Yves’ hands were shaking enough to make the stocks tremble slightly, and he stayed there for a few breaths before he withdrew—and moaned outright. The stocks jerked, and Sabre realized with a start that Charon was fucking Yves over him, using the stocks to keep Yves upright. It only made Sabre fall under even further, squirming in his bonds, praying that Laurent would give in and fuck him at last. But he had to stay there, trapped like a piece of furniture while Charon fucked Yves mindless.

“Sorry,” Yves whispered, as the stocks moved a little too sharply with one of Charon’s thrusts. “Not sorry, actually, oh, fuck, fuck me.”

Charon made it last, the minutes stretching like hours, and Sabre was dry-mouthed and panting for it when Charon had dragged a boneless Yves out of the room. He strained against the stocks for a minute, unsure if he should beg but too wound up to care.

“Laurent?” It came out too much like a whine. “Laurent, please. Please, I’m dying.”

“You’re dying?” Laurent said, his voice dry.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m whatever you want, Laurent. Sir. Please, you don’t even need to let me come, just fuck me.”

“Giving me orders, are we?” Laurent sounded far too amused. “I might just stay here a while. There’s still plenty of wine, and the night is young.”

Sabre shook with the desire to get to his knees, but the damn stocks were too high. “My lord, please have mercy.”

“Mm.” There was the sound of a wine glass being refilled. “You can wait.”

“My lord,” he begged, but Laurent said nothing, and Sabre was left to writhe in the stocks.

* * *

Well, wasn’t this a good idea?

It always was, because of how much Sabre needed it, and Laurent had promised when he’d married and collared Sabre to always give him what he needed, even if that meant going outside the boundaries of their own relationship. He liked to see this, Sabre falling apart and sobbing, that little smile that curved his pretty, swollen mouth even when he was begging and thrashing about in his bonds.

“Hmm,” Laurent said again, and took a long drink of his wine, which did nothing to ease his suddenly dry mouth. That was all Sabre, and nothing would now satisfy him but fucking him until they were both exhausted and sated—eventually. But for that, Laurent wanted the mask gone, wanted to see Sabre’s face. He finished his wine, put the glass down and crossed over to take the mask off, pleasure and dominance humming through him when Sabre could barely meet his eyes for more than a second before looking down.

“I don’t know,” Laurent said softly, lifting Sabre’s chin with his fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Why don’t I summon the king’s council, see if they’re busy?”

Sabre, face messy and wet with sweat and tears, blinked at him. “You hate most of them, though.” His words were slurred, and far too serious, like he was concerned Laurent might actually do that. Or he was probably aroused by the thought of it—in this state, worked over and under as he was, Sabre might want to imagine being given to people like that. In the normal world they lived in, where he was the king’s left hand and best friend, never.

But the kingdom, the council, the king were all very far away right now, and Sabre shivered a little, hands opening and closing in the bonds. Laurent laughed softly and leaned forward, voice wicked. “No, no. They wouldn’t get to touch you, but what would they say to see you like this? Covered in sweat and come, begging me after I allowed others to use you so cruelly–”

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