Demon's Promise: a high fantasy femdom novella (7 page)

His cheeks flushed. His breathing grew more and more
uneven.

And the patting was gradually turning into
rubbing.

And now into squeezing, kneading…

“If only the others saw you like this. What would
they say, I wonder?”

“What? The servants? Ungh!”

She had reached down to grab his cock, was rubbing
her thumb along the sensitive spot by the crown.

“What a nasty,
wicked child you
are,” she murmured. “So hard already.”

He fought the urge to shiver, knowing that she would
not lose her balance even if he shifted, but nonetheless determined
not to cause her any discomfort.

“How cute.”

She cupped his balls all too briefly. Then the heat
of her hand departed, and he realized he was already leaking. The
thought of having to clean up after himself only seemed to make him
harder, forced a groan from his throat.

“Miss Ash…” he began, and was shocked back into
silence by the neediness in his own voice.

Her hand had returned to fondling his ass.

“We shall have to go on a walk one of these days, my
faithful steed.”

“I thought I was a chair, Miss Ash.”

“Did I say you were a chair, insolent boy?”

“Forgive me for making unwarranted assumptions.”

“Hm,” she replied, but did not clarify whether or not
he was forgiven.

“Please –”

“Hm?”

Something in her voice changed his mind again. His
knees dug into the cold hard floor, and he was glad, suddenly, that
he was no sickly, bookish lordling, but young and hale and strong.
Such things had never seemed to matter before, never seemed to make
any difference whatsoever. But now he was grateful, in ways he
could not possibly hope to express in words.

Astarte, too, seemed content to remain in silence. He
sensed, or perhaps only hoped, that her mood had lifted. Wondered
what had happened to upset her so, or if he had only imagined the
troubled undercurrents in her expression as she stared out the
window.

“I am hungry.”

“Oh!” Ruen, forgetting himself, jerked around in
attempt to face her. He managed to hold himself back in time not to
throw her; or perhaps it was more accurate to say that her grace
and sense of balance was such that he was unable to unseat her.

And his damnable cock, reacting faster than his mind,
swelled beneath him, stubbornly misinterpreting her comment.

Even though she could not see, he had no doubt she
was nonetheless aware of his reaction.

He had never blushed so hard in his life.

With one final squeeze of his ass, Astarte rose to
her feet in a swirl of skirts.

She did not look back at him. Nor did she say another
word.

“I – I’ll go fetch something from the kitchens.”

He at least had enough sense remaining to grab his
clothes before he scurried out the door.

By the time he reached the kitchens, Ruen was in a
downright cranky mood.

He’d ruined it. He’d done something wrong. He wasn’t
quite sure what, but he knew. He’d probably done everything wrong,
for that matter. He wasn’t even sure anymore just what he had been
trying to accomplish, if anything.

What he did realize, vaguely, was that his
frustration was no longer rooted entirely in the physical.

But what more did he want? What more could he ask
for, when already he had been granted more than he had ever allowed
himself to hope for?

In his mood, even the kitchens seemed somehow
different from that old familiar space he had grown used to over
the years: the constant bustle, the cozy and sometimes suffocating
warmth – something had changed.

It took another moment before it occurred to him.

“By the way,” he said, while waiting for the servants
to finish packing the light snacks he had requested, “I haven’t
seen Cook around in a while. Is she unwell?”

“Eh, Cook quit ages ago. Not long after your
awakening, milord.”

“She did? But why –”

The servants exchanged a nervous look.

“What happened?” Ruen demanded, overcome with a
sudden sense of foreboding. “Where’s Nairee?”

“She was taken away, Nairee was,” said one of
them.

Another added, “We thought you knew, milord.”

“No,” he said numbly. “I did not. I was unaware
–”

Rage blinded him momentarily, but he choked it down.
Too late, perhaps, judging by the flash of terror that crossed the
servants’ faces.

It did not take much more pressure before they
spilled all there was to be told. Which was not much, in the
end.

Apparently the servants all assumed he had gotten her
pregnant. Pregnant! When she had brewed the tea herself, and they
had not even progressed beyond…

No. He had no right to be angry.

He had not seen her since that night. Had given
no thought to her absence at all. Simply accepted it as a new
given, a new inevitability. Just another
shift
to grow used to now that he was no longer
powerless.

That was wrong of him. What meaning did this newfound
power hold, if he did nothing with it but accept and endure as he
always had?

And yet he did not hold any responsibility over her
either. Even now the servants were not on his pay, nor were they
under his protection. They fed him, clothed him, cleaned for him.
But that was the extent of their relationship.

Even Nairee had been no friend of his. She had simply
been – there. Pretty. Willing. Kind.

Ah, yes. She had been kind. Kinder than he
deserved.

For that alone he should have acted.

It was not yet too late to act.

Whatever had happened to her and her mother, Ruen had
to make sure they were all right.

* * *

Easier said than done, however. He was still so busy
throughout the day with his studies, and often into the evenings as
well. And where to even start? The servants clearly knew nothing,
or if they did, they seemed reluctant to admit it. He had no money
to bribe them with – did not even know if bribery would be at all
effective. And of the hirelings he knew even less.

He thought of asking Astarte for her help, but he did
not think she would understand. What did a demon care, for two
trifling human servants? Though she taught him well, and seemed
fond of him in her own way, there were lines that could not be
crossed. Things they could never share, could never comprehend
about the other. It was one matter when they were locked inside the
library, he stripped utterly bare, she utterly unheeding of
whatever social protocols might exist between demon and human in
the world at large.

But this was a matter of the household. Of his
domain.

In the end Ruen chose to write to his aunt. His
cousin was out of the question; even if the servants and hirelings
were not truly on his payroll, Ruen had come to find that he cared
little for the man’s long-winded pomposity. Aunt Sava, in contrast,
never said much in her letters. They were brisk, concise, laced
with only the slightest hint of dry wit. But because of that, Ruen
felt more at ease consulting her.

He did not wait long for a reply. According to his
aunt’s contacts, she wrote, the two women had been paid off and
offered good references, and were now comfortably ensconced in a
new household.

Ruen received this news with relief, but also with
lingering apprehension. Was it really so easy to transplant an
entire life to an unfamiliar environment on such short notice? He
did not know much of the household workings, but he was aware
enough of the minor chaos that transpired whenever new hirelings
were sent in from the capital.

And surely the awakening of his powers had not been
so scandalous as to warrant such measures. Unless the servants’
gossip had not been so far off target, and the true concern had
been over his improper relations…

No matter which way his thoughts turned, they seemed
to twist and contort into anger. And underneath it all ran a deep
and nameless fear.

That day he drifted through all his lessons, and if
Astarte noticed, she said not a word.

Later that night, clothed again and in the solitude
of his own room, he lay awake in bed, mired in useless pondering.
He had done enough, he thought. None of this was his responsibility
in any way whatsoever.

But that did not seem to satisfy him.

He found his hand wandering to his cock, as always.
How easy it would be to bring himself relief. But he knew, had
proven to himself that such temporary measures were not enough.
Would never be enough.

Besides, Astarte controlled his pleasure now. There
would be no release for him even if he tried.

Just as he was dozing off, he sensed more than heard
his door swinging open, light footsteps padding closer and closer.
Blearily, he turned his head, wondering vaguely at his lack of
urgency, at the hypnotic tranquility that suffused his entire
being.

It was Astarte.

And not a single strip of cloth covered her
nakedness.

Before he knew it, he was on his feet, trapped in
place, afraid to move forward lest he should stumble and fall,
afraid to lie back down lest she should vanish before his very
eyes.

She was the most incredible sight he had ever
witnessed. The white slope of her high breasts, tipped in dusky
rose. The dangerous curve of her waist, her hips. The firm
roundness of her buttocks. Smooth long legs, almost unreal in their
perfection. And between her thighs, the soft hairless mound of her
womanhood.

“Ash?” he whispered, throat dry, heart racing.

A dream, surely. But even in his dreams she had been
little more but a vague, fleeting impression of scarlet heat and
luminous eyes.

This was wrong. So wrong. Everything was upside down,
topsy-turvy. Like he was cheating, somehow. As if a thousand rules
had been broken and could never be set right again.

And yet how could he deny the joy he felt? This
vision of her, the solidity of her presence – he did not care if it
were only a dream, an illusion.

He could think of it only as a gift. One that he was
utterly unworthy of.

She stepped forward with sinuous grace, closing the
distance between them, pressing her body against him, twining lean
arms about his neck, pressing him into a kiss. Her tongue slipped
between his lips, teasing him apart, and after a moment, he
responded, pushing her out, away. She pulled back with the hint of
a smile, then leaned in again, this time grazing her teeth
warningly across his lower lip.

He disregarded her warning. Caught her tongue with
his own, tasting her, countering her invasion with his own.

Before he knew it, his robes were hanging loose from
his frame and his fingers were tangled in her sleek dark hair, and
he was devouring her as greedily as she devoured him. He surfaced
for air, then sank back into the mire of heat and need, then
surfaced again, only to find that his pants had dropped and she had
pushed him back to the edge of his bed.

He fell back, dragging her down with him. Lost his
breath again as she sprawled against him, breasts pressing into his
chest, her hungry wet mouth nibbling relentlessly at his jaw, her
hands reaching for his stiffening cock.

But he grabbed her wrist. Tried to roll her over, to
pin her, but succeeded only in shifting her to her side while she
tangled her legs with his.

He gave up, if only for the moment. Amused himself by
watching her as she attempted to free him from the remnants of his
clothing with a frustrated growl.

“I can do that myself, you know.”

She glared at him before renewing her efforts. Her
nails scraped over his skin as he shifted his weight, and he took
the opportunity to grab her breasts, to feel the supple weight of
them in his hands. Her nipples were startlingly soft, even when
they hardened to peaks under his touch, and likewise, his cock
prodded eagerly at her thighs.

As one of his sleeves ripped or finally fell away –
he wasn’t particularly paying attention anymore – Ruen scooted down
and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

Her resulting gasp gratified him. He licked her
gently, tracing his tongue around her tightened flesh, then tugged
at her with his teeth to see how she would respond.

She dug her nails into his arms. A low, breathy moan
escaped her. Encouraged, he continued his ministrations, this time
moving to her other nipple.

But this time she pulled away entirely. He’d done
something wrong, he thought, until he felt her hand close around
his cock.

“Such a good, lovely boy you’ve been,” she
crooned.

“A-Ash?” he breathed.

Slowly, lightly, her grip slid upward.

“When was the last time you came, nasty child?”

“Not since the picnic, Miss Ash.”

“Oh?” Her grip slid back down. “Fascinating. But do
remember that lies shall be punished.”

“I’m not lying. I – I haven’t even touched myself.
Just as you asked.”

“Ah. I seem to recall…”

“That was an accident! I mean. It was only that once.
And you stopped me in time. Besides, even if I’d continued,
you…”

Her hand danced away, and his cock sprang eagerly in
her wake. He shifted in attempt to regain her heat, but she flipped
him onto his back again and caught his gaze with her own.

“I removed the spell ages ago. Did you not realize?”
She poked at his stiffness, chuckling. “What impressive
willpower.”

“Miss Ash,” he groaned. “Please…”

“As polite as ever. Please what?”

His face flushed. He squeezed his eyes shut. She
leaned in and licked his ear, and he shuddered.

“A good student answers when he is asked a
question.”

But how could he say it? He wanted to. Oh, how he
wanted to. So what if it were shameful? He would admit to his
shame, surrender to it. In this game there was no victor or loser,
after all. But he was suddenly afraid that voicing his desire,
rendering it tangible, would break the spell she had woven around
him, bring the dream to a swift and bitter end.