Owned By the Prince by Tristan Rivers

Chapter 8

Prince Maximillion

After putting the phone down, I pace the room while I wait for her to arrive. I spent the afternoon walking Fariba around the grounds, letting her get used to the unfamiliar smells of the Anglian countryside, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Blair. I’m going to take it slow, I’ve decided. Over a few days. Punish her, let her feel my hand on her bare arse, until she begs me to take her. And then I’ll have nothing to feel guilty about.

She’s late. I hear her heels clicking fast along the corridor, and I yank the door open. It has the desired effect. She looks nervous, realizing she’s made a mistake. Good. But, Jesus Christ. What a sight for sore eyes. Those soft curves of hers look even better in the dress than I’d imagined. Her legs are incredible, long and curvaceous, and her tits press so sweetly against the flimsy fabric. Wait, I tell myself, as if I’ve got an animal inside me that’s bursting to get out. I keep my eyes on her as she enters the room, not caring if it intimidates her. I imagine her tied hand and foot to my bench and fucking that lovely ass until she can’t take any more.

She stops in the middle of the room and stares at me expectantly.

I force myself out of my reveries. “You’re late.”

“Only by one minute. I took a wrong turn in the corridor.”

There’s anger and defiance in those eyes, turning them midnight blue. It’s delicious. I’m going to enjoy converting it into an expression of submission.

“That’s one black mark already,” I say. I go over to my wardrobe and retrieve an item that I procured from one of the maids earlier. I present it to her.

“What’s this?”

“A duster, apparently. I want you to use it to remove the dust from my room.”

She blinks. “You want me to dust for you? Really?”

“Really.”

She holds the duster in both hands, as if she’s no more used to operating it than I am. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.” I turn away from her, sit down at my desk, and start to go through my private email account, although there’s a mirror on the wall in front of me that affords me a perfect view of wherever she is in the room.

She stares at the duster for a moment longer, then gets to work. She works methodically, starting by the door and moving around in a clockwise direction. I pretend to be occupied, but steal glances at her every few seconds. To her credit, she reaches up to all the high places, dusting all around the picture frames. And as she does, her skirt rides right up, revealing the lower part of her ass cheeks. It’s an incredible sight. And those nipples aren’t getting any softer, the friction of the dress making them harder, if anything.

I wish I could order her to work naked. How far could I push her? I could offer her more money. How much would it take? She lives in a poor part of Londis, as I’ve been informed, and she had scholarships back in the US. Her parents are evidently not dripping in money. Maybe another half-million would do it. Maybe a full million. But I wouldn’t put her in that position. I want her to come to me of her own free will.

“Finished,” she calls, some time later.

I ignore her for a minute or two, think about something unappetizing until my erection has subsided, then I get to my feet. “Let me check.” Leaving her standing awkwardly with the duster, I examine her work. She’s tried, but she’s not much of a cleaner. Why would she be? She’s studying to be an economist, for god’s sake. I’m sure keeping a place neat is way down on her list. “Come here,” I order her. “There’s dust on top of the cornice rail.” I run my finger along it, showing her the evidence.

“I had a hard time reaching it,” she replies.

“You should’ve stood on a chair.” My voice catches in my throat as I imagine the view that would’ve afforded me. Thank god, she didn’t. I would’ve ended up ravishing her right there and then. I throw the duster down, but it makes a disappointingly muted clunk. “This isn’t good enough.”

“No?” There’s a mixture of insolence and discomfort in her eyes. And something else. It’s gone too fast to be sure, but I could swear it was anticipation.

Heat courses through me. I grab hold of her arm. “When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it well. Perfectly, in fact. And if it’s not an easy task, I expect you to search for a better solution.” I’m aware that I sound like the army captain I used to be, but I don’t care. I haul her through my rooms, open the door behind the bookcase, and we’re in the playroom again. I release her and give her a hard look. There’s no longer any insolence, only discomfort and yes—anticipation. I see it now clearly. She wants to be punished.

And I’m not going to give her what she wants. “This equipment was last cleaned just before I was called on duty, and it’s starting to lose its luster. I want you to clean it all, restore the shine to the leather and chrome. Clean every single whip and paddle and cuff.”

She swallows. Evidently disappointed.

“I expect it to be perfect. No shirking. If there’s a problem with anything, you come and ask me. Do I make myself understood?”

She nods, sullenly.

Fortunately, the cleaning equipment stays in the room. I show her the cabinet where the leather cleaner and cloths live, and I leave her to it. I can’t see her from my desk any longer, but it’s enough to know she’s tending to things that’ll soon be used on her soft flesh.

Every five minutes or so, I poke my head through the door, check she’s still working. This time, she’s making an effort, the muscles in her slender arms flexing as she scrubs the leather of some of my most treasured implements.

After an hour, she should be done. I know how long it takes to clean the equipment since I’ve had my subs do it many a time. Now she’s working on the cross, rubbing at the wrist restraints.

“Almost finished?” I say and she jumps.

She looks at me over her shoulder. “Yup.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?”

“Whatever you were daydreaming about.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were wondering what it would be like to be attached to the cross. Totally at my mercy.” I catch her left wrist, hold it against one restraint, then take her right and stretch it out to the other restraint. She’s now facing the wall, arms spread wide. “One ankle would be restrained here.” I use my foot to ease her left ankle in the direction of the corresponding restraint. She yields to me, allowing me to nudge her right foot in the opposite direction, too. “How does that feel?”

She makes an unintelligible sound. “Different,” she says at last.

“Would you like me to restrain you and whip that arse of yours?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, as if she can’t bring herself to say yes.

My mouth is close to her ear, and I pick up the clean, warm smell of her hair and the sweet scent of her skin. I long to nibble her neck, to make her cry out. “It would be more fun if you were naked,” I murmur.

She gasps, tears her wrists out of my grasp, and spins around.

I’ve stepped over the mark, pushed her too far, too fast. “Let’s check your work,” I say, stepping away from her.

She’s done a good job here, nothing I can use as an excuse for punishing her. “Good work,” I tell her.

She cuts her eyes away from me.

Fine. I have things to do anyway. “You’re finished for the day. I have to go out to a dinner in an hour or so, so I won’t need you again tonight. I trust James will assist if you need anything.”

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She nods. “I can go?”

“Yes.”

She walks past me, out of the playroom, that lovely arse moving below the skimpy dress, and I hear the distant sound of my outer door closing. I smile to myself. Everything is working perfectly.