It was a huge palace where a solitaire Prince and a young woman lived. This Prince was so mysterious that I have nothing to say about him.
As for the woman, she was just a maid, going through her day answering to the Prince's infinite requests, such as carrying towels here, tidying up flowers there, shuffling her small feet across the glossy floor, and longing for the time she'd rest up, which was practically never. Everything in her semblance was light and smooth, except for her eyes. They were aroused, glowing, hungry for passion. Which is why she'd look down as the Prince spoke; and she'd look away as he moved. She was terribly attracted to this man to a point that she had to sit on the toilet seat for five minutes straight if he ever addressed her or called her. His voice and his scent and his silhouette and his existence was too much to bear, and the maid had no idea if she'd love to run off to the desert or be forced to be tied up and spanked. Both options were to die for, because she had done it so and failed, and was kindly revived by her master. This woman had lost her sanity after the first night at the palace. The Prince had chosen her not because of her looks, which were quite agreeable, but because of her trembling submission. If he ever ordered her to jump off a cliff and spread wings before crashing, she'd surely obey. But the Prince would lose his maid, so he aborted the experience. Instead, he'd spend his day chilling in his hot bathtub, looking up with vacant eyes, and tracing smooth strategies to catch her off guard and take her to wherever he wanted. And he'd recall, with vivid details, the first night he locked her up in that very bathtub and made her system go haywire.
This may sound inappropriate to the reader, but to the Prince it was as natural as breathing: he'd spank the woman until her skin was aroused and quivering, he'd stretch her and push her until her body lost its stiffness, he'd kiss her until she had to beg for air, and he'd rock his deft member inside her wet tightness until the water in the bathtub reached twice its volume. And he'd leave the maid behind, have another bath elsewhere, and spend the rest of the night reading a long book about how pure and kind Princes like him were. Very helpful. He couldn't wait to meet his naked victim again and check if her body was still able to receive his. There were a few improvements to be made, such as giving her more food; the girl was particularly skinny, and the Prince would like her with additional flesh; also, she was a woman of few words, just like him; her moans were so far and between that the Prince had often questioned his own sexual skills. It was time to change that. So he ordered the maid to have five large meals a day, to exercise to keep the comely shape, and to take a few books with her. On the remarkable night, the Prince ordered the maid to prepare the bathtub. As she did so, he checked her physique. It was perfect. Just the way he'd imagined.
"Did you bring the books?" he asked her.
She nodded. Her wrists were trembling. The Prince chuckled. "Are you cold?"
"Yes, sir."
"Come here, then." He took her inside the bathtub, slid behind her, and wrapped arms around her, clutching her to his chest. "You know what we're doing tonight, right?" he whispered on her ear.
She gulped. "Yes."
"So tell me."
"We-we'll take a bath."
"No. You'll read a story out loud and I'll listen to it. That's all. Get the book."
She picked up a book and placed it at the edge of the bathtub. "Start reading and don't stop until I say so."
So she started. In the meantime, the Prince positioned her to his likes and began the ritual. With a whip made of small chains and leather, he lashed her butt, let her wince and catch her breath, and then whipped again, on the back of her thighs, the spine, her sides, her neck, and many many times on her butt again, one cheek at a time. She was reading the story and stuttering as he hit her, but she still didn't moan. The Prince parted her legs more and played his fingers in her entrance, jostling his thumbs, forcing the walls to yield and squirm. Her thick back trembled dearly, raining on his hands. He leaned closer and licked her, sucked her, bit her, and whipped it five times until her pussy was gushing out so much that it splashed onto his chest. But still no orgasmic sound. Annoyed, he inserted his cock slowly and rocked smoothly, leading its head to different spots, grazing his hands along her side, squeezing her breasts, nibbling her shoulders. No moan. He rocked deeper, sending waves across the bathtub. Nothing. He pulled back and slapped her butt. Time to go aggressive. He banged her with all his might, giving her huge torrents of violence, eating her ass up, going for her pussy again, leaning over her body and mouthing her neck as he stopped and thrusted, stop and thrusted. She was so delicious that he could eat her to infinity, but it'd still be an incomplete job. She wasn't moaning. She was strictly reading the book and putting up with his attacks. It was ridiculous to ask her, much less to show frustration or annoyance.
