Warning: Explicit sexual scenes, nudity, and sexual content
LYRA had no other choice.
She lay on the bed as his tongue moved between her thighs, licking her wet couchie while she winced in pain and displeasure. Deep down, she hated being a woman—forced to sacrifice her self-respect and dignity for the satisfaction and approval of a man.
He moved to her chest, licking her nipple while his hand dug into her vagina. The displeasure still lingered, but she forced a moan from her lips, pretending to enjoy it so her master would be encouraged to do more.
Then he pushed his cork into her couchie. It was painful at first, then slowly turned into something that felt like pleasure. He moved in and out, drawing loud moans from her mouth despite herself.
The master smiled, pleased by the effect he was having on her. As he continued, he bent down and kissed her. The kiss was slow at first, then grew desperate, as though he had waited a long time for this—though he took her every week. Their tongues met, the kisses deepened, and to her surprise, she began to feel herself giving in. He enjoyed it even more.
When he pulled away, she had no choice but to hold his cork with her hand, pretending enthusiasm. If she didn't, punishment would follow. She then took it into her mouth, and he released his cream as his hand moved to her butt. She stiffened but allowed it—obedience was her only option.
His hand moved lower, exploring another place,the available hole, making LYRA pause.
"Enjoy the pleasure," the master said.
She leaned toward his neck, kissing and licking it while he held her hips, slowly squeezing her butt, admiring how smooth her skin felt. He wondered how sex could feel this good—he had never enjoyed it so completely before.
Suddenly, LYRA stopped to catch her breath. The master paused too, respecting the moment.
After a minute, they continued. LYRA turned, presenting herself to him as he pushed into her again, holding her waist as he moved repeatedly. Only heaven knew how many moans escaped her lips—sounds that felt like music to his ears.
Then he stopped and stood up, leaving LYRA confused as she lay there on the bed breathless.
*********
LYRA's POV
He stood up suddenly, leaving me confused.
He turned to face me, his hanging cock red from the impact he had inflicted on me earlier. His grey eyes met mine briefly before shifting back into their usual cold, stern gaze.
"Go and serve me," he said. It meant only one thing—he was hungry.
To avoid trouble, I stood up and searched for clothes to put on, but he caught my hand.
"What did I tell you last time?" he asked coldly. "No sex slave wears clothes in my castle unless told to."
I nodded. I had no choice.
That meant I had to walk naked through the castle and go downstairs to get his food, fully aware of the guards' lustful stares. I couldn't blame them—it wasn't every day one saw a naked girl roaming the halls.
I did this all the time, wandering the castle without clothes. The guards were already used to it; it was tradition I was forced to obey. Other sex slaves went through the same thing. This was my assigned week, and I had to comply.
Without thinking twice, I left the room and headed downstairs. Maids and guards glanced at me, but I ignored them and entered the kitchen.
I was a sex slave in the castle, powerless and bound to obey my master. I had once been a young girl with loving parents, until a fire took them away from me. I was sent to the kingdom's orphanage, and when I turned sixteen, I was bought by the king—my master.
I thought I would become a maid. What followed shattered that hope.
I was ordered to strip in front of him. When I hesitated, confused, he slapped me hard across the face. I still remembered the pain of that day. I had no choice—refusal would have cost me my life, or something far worse.
Now I was nineteen. Three years of endless torture and pain. I wished my parents hadn't died in that fire. I wished I had never entered that orphanage. I wished I hadn't been born a woman. I wished men like my master had never existed.
They found pleasure in women's pain and tears.
A tear slipped down my face, but I wiped it away quickly. This was the world we lived in—a world where men enjoyed seeing us naked, stripped, harassed, raped, and beaten.
When I entered the large kitchen, the castle chef looked at me briefly before turning away. I knew it was uncomfortable for him to see me naked every day, but it didn't matter. The rule was clear: no sex slave was allowed to wear clothes unless there was a function.
I didn't mind much. My long, thick hair covered most of my body—my breasts and my butt—leaving me to shield myself with my hand.
I was grateful for my hair. It was my only comfort.
After placing his food on a tray, I carried it quickly back to his room and set it on the table.
He looked angry but said nothing. Once the food was placed before him, I did what I always had to do.
I sat on his lap, facing him, spreading my legs as I fed him. He said he enjoyed watching me do this while naked.
For the first time, he smiled, his lips moving to my succulent breasts. My body—large breasts, a thin waist, and wide hips—made me one of his favorites.
Afterward, I fed him in silence, certain he enjoyed his meal. When I moved to clear the table, he finally spoke.
"Leave it. The maids will handle it. Go and rest."