The World of Erasthay

The Rogue's Harem Book One: Rogue's Sultry Women

Chapter Six: Princess's Taboo Passion

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2015

Visit my blog for maps and glossarys on the World of Erasthay
Story Codes:MF Fsolo fantasy magic inc oral

Click here for Chapter 5

Chapter Six: Princess's Taboo Passion Princess Ava – Echur, Kivoneth Princedom, Strifelands of Zeutch

I lay panting on the bed, the memory of Zanyia's giant tongue licking across my pussy and then up my entire body still burning through me. I rubbed my small tits, thinking they should be bathed in saliva. My nipples still tingling from my orgasm.

I shook my head, banishing fully the connection with the statue. I could still feel the proxy in the back of my mind, like I could feel all of them. They were waiting there, little knots for me to untie and open up like a box. Then I could slide my mind into them and control them. Few had the gift of Imbuing. Only those of with the blood of the God Krab, descended from several different demigods he'd bred with human women.

Until my father, we could only control a single proxy at a time. But he had an army of them. Statues of stone that crushed all in their path. In the decade since my mother's death, he'd conquered half of the warring provinces, seeking to reform the Kingdom of Zeutch.

Two hundred years since High King Peter's death, and no one had emerged to claim the old kingdom's crown. But now he controlled half the country. The western princedoms would fall to him. He'd be a tyrant.

I couldn't believe he'd let his own peasants be taken by Shizhuthian slavers. He had done horrible things before, but this on still shocked me. I thought he cared about his people. He may be a terrible man—he killed my betrothed's family, save for Kora, just to annul our union, and now wanted me for himself; he wanted to marry his own daughter, to violate all the rules of society—but I still thought he cared about being a good ruler.

It was a horrible thing to hate my own father, to plot against him, but the man who carried me on his shoulders when I was a child, who built me little toys he controlled to bring me such joy, was gone. Now instead of giving me delight, he took them from me.

“Princess.” The dulcet tones of my bedmaid, Greta, came from the doorway to my bedchamber. She stood there, trembling. The buxom girl, younger than me, wore a low-cut dress of black frilled with white lace at the bodice and hem. Blonde pigtails fell about the sides of her face. “Your Lord Father wishes to speak with you.”

I shivered still in my nightgown, the blue satin clinging to my small breasts, the fabric so thin. Would today be the morning he finally gave into his lusts and took me fully.

“Send him in,” I said, trembling as I reached for a robe.

He swept in past my bedmaid, thrusting her to the side. She gasped as she fell onto her backside. My father gave not one whit as he marched towards me, back straight. Ice eyes fell on me, sending a shiver through my body. Everything about him, his blond hair, his fair skin, his eyes were pale, like all the blood had leached out of his body. The satin doublet and hose he wore, both blue and gray, did little to add in color to his appearance. Even the red griffin, standing rampant over his heart, looked leached of vibrancy. The symbol of House Kivoneth should be bright and bold.

“Father,” I said.

“I heard you were sick, daughter,” he said, standing before me as I sat on the edge of my bed. “That you didn't rise for breakfast.”

“I couldn't sleep,” I said, looking away.

He took my hands, his fingers corpse-cold. “You look flush.” He breathed in. “Your skin so pink.”

I swallowed, the scent of my fresh pussy wreathing the air. “I...”

“Longed for your father?” he said, his cock swelling the front of his hose, the tight clothing clinging to his legs and crotch. He brought my hands to his dick. I shuddered at the feel of my father's shaft through his clothing. “Aching for me to visit you.”

I looked down. “Of course not, father.”

“You don't have to lie to me, Ava.” He held my hands against his dick.

I took a deep breath. My hands clenched his dick. Maybe I'd get away with a handjob. “I try not to Father. But you're just so....handsome.” I looked up at him. “Strong.” I licked my lips. “And bold. I never see you. You're always in council meetings.”

“Missing me,” he asked, his dick throbbing beneath my touch. “I miss you, too.” He let go of my hands to stroke through my strawberry-blonde curls. “Such a beautiful daughter. You've blossomed into a rose in her full bloom.”

“Thank you, Father.” My hands pulled down his hose. His cock came out, short and thin, the tip beading with precum already. I grasped it, feeling the warmth here that his hands lacked. He wasn't entirely bloodless.

Which was a pity.

His hand moved down to my cheek as I stroked his cock. His cold thumb slid across my flesh. I tried so hard not to cringe. If he believed me devoted, he would confide in me. I needed more information. Why did he need the slaves? What was his secret behind his army?

His thumb ran over my lips. He pushed it into my mouth, groaning. His dick twitched in my stroking mouth. “Such a beautiful mouth,” he groaned. “Your lush.”

I sucked on his thumb, my tongue swirling around it. Precum flowed from his dick. I stared up at his pale-blue eyes, his face twisting with pleasure. I stroked his dick faster and faster. Maybe he'd cum fast. It's been over a week since he'd stolen into my bedchamber.

I massaged his balls with my other hand, teasing his tongue. My hand flew up and down my father's dick. I sucked so hard on his tongue. I hated the way my body responded to his body like it would for Sven, the heat growing in my pussy.

Traitorous pussy.

“Yes, such a sweet mouth,” he groaned, pulling his thumb from it. “So loving.”

“Yes, Father,” I moaned, putting all the wanton lust I could into it. “I love you so much.”

I leaned forward, opening my lips wider. I engulfed his cock with ease. He slid past my lips. I could suck Sven's dick to the root, sliding him down my throat. My father proved no challenge. My cheeks hollowed, my tongue swirled.

His balls tensed in my hand.

“Yes,” he growled, hand grabbing my strawberry-blonde hair in a tight fist.

His precum flavored my tongue with exciting salt. As much as I hated it, the incestuous thrill of sucking my father off, of enjoying the cock that fucked my mother and impregnated her, shivered through me. My pussy grew so hot. I squirmed, rubbing my snatch against the sleek satin of my nightgown.

My clit throbbed. I closed my eyes, not fighting the urge. Let Father think I enjoyed it more than I did. I shoved my hand between my thighs, pressing the smooth, cool satin against my mound, rubbing on my clit through it.

It lacked the rough delight of Zanyia's giant tongue, but it sent a wicked thrill through me.

I let my wanton moans out, humming about the tip of father's dick. He groaned, his hips thrusting, working his cock in and out of my mouth. Such rapture kindled in his pale eyes. Passion spread color across his face.

“My sweetling,” he groaned. “My beautiful princess. What a queen you shall make.”

I dug my fingers harder into my nightgown. My juices bled through. My pussy clenched, the incestuous pleasure building in my depths. My clit drank in the slick feel of the wet satin, sparks flaring in my depths.

I sucked harder on his cock. I never looked away from his eyes. He groaned, both hands now gripping my hair, holding me in place as he used my mouth. His cock slammed into the back of my throat with every thrust.

“My darling princess,” he gasped. “Gods, what a queen. My radiant rose, yes!”

His cum spurted salty into my mouth. I shivered, swallowing my father's seed. It ran thick down my throat, warming my belly. The incestuous heat reached my pussy as I gulped down a second and third blast.

I rubbed my clit hard.

My pleasure burst through me.

I quivered, moaning about his cock. I sucked out the last of his cum as the shameful orgasm rippled through me. Such humiliation drowned my mind as the rapture washed through me. I squeezed my thighs tight over my hand, hating how greedily my orgasm made me suck at his dick.

“What a queen,” he panted again, pulling his cock from my mouth. “Thank you, my radiant rose.”

“Of course, Father,” I moaned and braced myself as he leaned down.

I hated the feel of his cold lips on my burning forehead. My breasts rose and fell beneath my nightgown, my cheeks burning. I hated how much my body enjoyed surrendering to his lusts, the way a part of me anticipated the day he spread my thighs.

“I will miss you.”

“Miss me, Father?” I asked.

“I have to travel. Building the kingdom presses on me.”

“Of course, Father.” I shivered. “I shall pray for your return and wait so eager for it.”

He gave me a fond smile, like he had when I was a child and sitting on Mother's lap. “Try not to rub your naughty pussy sore as you eagerly wait.”

“I'll try, Father.”

Then he put his cock away and strode out of the room. Greta curtsied as he past. He closed my door with a thudding slam behind him. I shivered, listening to his footfalls crossing my sitting room and leaving my apartments in his castle.

I let out a groan.

“I'm so sorry, my princess,” Greta said, rushing to the cabinet to fetch a cleansing drought of rose water. “It's not right what he does.”

“No, it's not,” I said, hating how my body still buzzed from my orgasm.

“But your performance was masterful. I truly believed you came. That you loved his seed.”

I didn't contradict her.

She scurried over with the crystal goblet filled with the pale-lavender drink. I took it, downing the sweet delight, parched from both my orgasms. When I emptied it, Greta took it back from me and hurried back to put it away.

“Greta, be a dear and fetch my newest proxy.”

“Of course, my princess,” she said, opening a cabinet and pulling out a cedar box stained dark brown. She brought it to the bed, sitting it on my lap.

I touched the box, running my thumb across the lock. It wasn't a proxy, but I had imbued it to lock and unlock at my touch. It clicked. I opened the lid revealing a small beetle expertly carved of jade, right down to the segmented legs. Gerhard had proven his skills worth every gold dupondius I paid him.

My thumb ran across the carapace of the beetle, a hint of its wings peeking out the back, hidden by its shell. I felt the bit of my soul in it, imbuing the construct. Most proxies I owned were in my own likeness, or at least were human.

But they didn't have to be.

“Let's find out what my father is hiding in his study, Greta.”

To be continued...

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