Page 10 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

I wonder, as I slide onto the satin coverlet, if a time will come that I do as he says without question because I’m conditioned to, and not because of our deal. Because his tone of voice, the way he moves slowly toward me, enchant me. I could fall under his spell, like the foolish human I am, despite the warnings I heard all of my life.

Of course, my mother fell under such a spell. Thrace’s spell. Luthian is just as dangerous, and I need to keep my wits about me.

But it’s difficult, with the way he looks at me.

Sarta waves her wand and is instantly transformed. Her string and ribbon hair lays in an impossibly long curtain of ringlets against her pearl skin, every inch of which is exposed. Her lace wings are folded against her back, and the two small protrusions from her forehead glimmer with light so pure, it looks like diamonds sparkling in the air.

“I firmly believe that one learns best by doing. And, it helps if one learns from an expert. Wouldn’t you agree, Sartas?”

I frown at the mispronunciation of the name, until the mattress dips and I find myself with my head between Sarta’s thighs, her hands on my breasts, while she also stands beside Luthian.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I’m very busy. I wouldn’t be able to sustain my career as the foremost designer to the most glamorous court in Fablemere if I couldn’t divide up my time,” the Sarta beside Luthian explains. The Sarta at my head adds, “And while Luthian is extremely skilled at this particular activity, it truly takes someone who owns a cunt to teach the deepest possible understanding in this endeavor.”

“Sarta will use her mouth on you,” Luthian explains. “You will be called upon by many different types of faeries at court, and you’ll need to know how to pleasure them all. You’ll imitate what you feel on Sarta as she demonstrates.”

The Sarta at my head carefully moves my hair to avoid kneeling on it as she straddles my face, and I am confronted with a delicate blue shell, complete with a violet pearl. I’ve been curious enough to peak at myself in the looking glass, so I’m familiar with the parts, but hers are different. Smoother, hairless, and without the frilled inner labia. Still, she’s similar enough that I recognize her anatomy.

What I have never been confronted with is the sensation of a wet, pointed tongue swiping across my sex. I gasp and instinctively raise my hips to follow it.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” Luthian reprimands me. “Which is why you won’t reach climax during this exercise, no matter how close she will bring you. Now, Sarta, again. And Cenere? Remember to mirror her.”

Sarta repeats the tongue swipe, and I mimic it, tasting the silky wetness on her double. She tastes the way I imagine the sea might.

But she sounds better, giving a little gasp of excitement. Knowing that I’ve caused it sends a pulse of desire to my singing flesh. I want to make her gasp again.

Sarta between my legs gives me another lick, this time downward, her tongue poking into my entrance. I dutifully repeat the action, and Sarta on my face squirms.

“Good,” Luthian murmurs. I feel his weight as he settles beside us on the bed. His clothed body presses against me, his hands find my breasts. Lost in dizzying arousal, I almost forget that I must mimic the wide, up-and-down sweep of Sarta’s tongue as she bathes my intimate flesh in her saliva.

“She should be getting very wet now,” Luthian says, and I don’t know if he’s talking about me or Sarta. I am very wet; I feel the silken heaviness of it leaking from my opening.

Sarta continues the same lazy motion. I try to wriggle closer to her wicked tongue, my stiff, aching bud desperate for more attention. I know that she feels exactly what she’s doing to me, because I’m copying her every stroke. How has she not gone mad from the anticipation yet?

She parts me with her fingers, and I reach up to do the same. Her pussy makes a slick sound. She runs her tongue up the frilled edge of one of my inner petals. Here, our anatomy diverges; instead of two folds of inner flesh, there are smooth ridges. When I test them with my tongue the way she’s licking me, she moans loudly.

“Where your clitoris is a little, hooded pearl,” Luthian begins, and his fingertip touches the named part, not moving, just applying maddening pressure. “Hers is more like... like the fork in a tree branch. When you touch a faery there, it feels quite like... well, show her, Sarta.”

Sarta’s tongue laves over my clit and I buck my hips.

I forget to repeat the action, and her mouth pulls away. She holds me open wide for Luthian to deliver a sharp slap to my most sensitive area.

Crying out, I rush to lick the Sarta on my face, and she coos and rocks her hips.

“Keep going like that,” she moans, while the version of her between my legs shows me exactly how.

The pleasure is unbearable. Building, building, piling on top of what I felt the night before, but never breaking. I need release, badly. I would beg for it, if my mouth wasn’t full of Sarta’s clit, her juices. I bury my face in her, gasp for air, and go back for more.

Sarta between my legs is struggling to maintain focus; it’s apparent from the erratic, stuttering movements of her tongue. I follow each one exactly, intoxicated by the knowledge that I’m making her come so undone that she can’t concentrate, even though she’s the one directing me. Still, it’s not enough. Every one of her sucking kisses and rapid flicks should be the one that sends me screaming into an abyss of ecstasy, but it never happens. I’m suspended on the painful edge of a powerful climax, with nothing but Luthian’s magic holding me back.

When she cries out with her release, I wail in disappointment.

“Well done,” Luthian says, and gives Sarta on my face a little pat. “Now, another game.”

“Please let me come,” I beg him. “Please. I feel like I’m going to die.”

“Get used to it,” he says flatly. “There will be many times that you’re forced to watch someone else have the pleasure you crave. Right now, for example.”

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