At Your Service

I freeze in place as the prince closes the distance between us, his steps slow and heavy. If I had any sense, I would run, but where would I run to? I was ages away from the closest city, if I even made it out the library doors. Like a predator circling its prey, he examines me from all angles before swooping in. He grabs my wrist and I instinctively try to pull out of his grasp, but it only makes him hold tighter. I cry out and stop trying to escape his vice. It hurt too much.

He pulls me closer by my wrist, and again all I can smell is sandalwood. It assaults my senses, so strong that I can taste it.

"What did I tell you to call me?" His voice is low, raspier than before. I whimper, my legs trembling as I try to find my words. I don't answer fast enough for his liking and he grabs my face. His hands are calloused, but not rough, the frictioned skin worn smoothed, not cracked.

"D-..." I'm shaking so hard that my teeth chatter when I try to speak. It only seems to fuel that look in his eye. A single tear falls from my eye and he watches it trail down my cheek. Any attempt to speak his name is forgotten as he turns me around by his grasp on my wrist, bending me over the wooden desk beside the shelves. I don't scream. I'm not sure who would hear me anyway. Instead, I cry. Silent tears stream down my face as I come to terms with whatever lashing I would get for disrespecting the prince.

"What did I tell you to call me!" He's pressed against me, leaning over my back as he speaks in a low, rumbling growl.

"Dameon!" I'm louder than I expected, and it surprises the both of us. The prince presses harder against me and I yelp.

"Again." He commands.

"Dameon!"

The prince releases my wrist and I whip it away, still pressed to the desk. I close my eyes as I feel his hand move up my thigh and push my skirt up over my hips. There is the sound of metal jingling as he unbuckles his belt and pulls it from its loops, and I start crying harder. Leather makes a good switch, and I was not looking forward to its sting.

I wait for the flash of pain that never comes. Instead, the metal of the belt rings as it hits the hardwood floor. Confused, I wait where I am until I feel the warm, calloused hands moving up my thigh. He hooks his finger in the waistband of my underwear and tugs them so roughly that I hear them rip. My thighs turn red as he tears them the rest of the way off; it takes a moment for me to realize that I am naked from the waist down. My face turns bright red and my fight to escape his hold is renewed, increasing tenfold when I feel him pull back to unfasten his pants. He was going to take me. That was my punishment. I'd prefer a switch.

It's hard to fight when I'm pinned to a desk, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I writhe desperately, kicking and sobbing as my fate sinks in. I had never been intimate before; I hadn't wanted to destroy my marriage prospects. Marriage prospects that would never come now. My sobbing and fighting only seems to excite him further; I felt something hot and firm against my backside. Without having to look back, I knew what it was. I knew what was going to happen.

He trailed two fingers through my folds as tears streamed down my face, pulling back his hand and seeming pleased with what he found. I could feel slickness coating my thighs and I felt resignation settle over me. I still fight half-heartedly as I feel him start to stretch my opening with his tip, burning slightly as I struggle to accommodate his girth. My legs go weak and my sobs turn to soft whimpers as he slowly sinks himself into me.

Just before he bottoms out, he draws his hips back and tosses them back into me, his hips hitting me from behind. I yelp as he pokes my cervix, and I hear him laugh. It's a dark sound; it sends a chill up my spine. He mistakes it for pleasure.

"I knew I chose right." His voice husky, his breath hot against my shoulder. He draws back only to repeat the toss and I grunt through the rough motions. It rocks the desk below us; it squeaks with each violating movement. I can feel each inch as he pulls back almost to his tip with each thrust. Digging my nails into the dark wood, my cheeks start to feel sticky from the drying tears. I don't know when I stopped. I guess I just ran out.

My thighs get slicker by the second, my body protecting me from any pain that dryness would have brought. He just keeps throwing himself against me, the sound of our hips meeting echoing through my ears for what felt like eons. I stare holes into that desk with my palms flat against the wood as he rapes me, my mind free to mourn my lost future with his seemingly never ending stamina. After ages, his pace picks up and he grabs my arm, holding it behind my back. He pounds his hips against mine so rough it hurts the back of my thighs. His thrusts become erratic and I tense in anticipation of what's coming next, which coaxes a rough moan from the demon behind me.

"No, please, please don't-" Three more stuttered tosses of the hips and I feel the first pulse as he empties himself as far inside of me as he can reach. He holds me in place as he fills me and I don't fight it, just wanting this to be over as soon as possible. Without a word, the prince slips out of the library and I sink to the floor.

I still smell sandalwood.