Still the words she chooses are not the ones he has commanded; still she grasps for pride, as if it is to be found beneath the bark of defiance. She has made perfectly clear that her nobility, where it exists for her own sake, is very thin indeed. If she cared a whit for the honor of her body, or for the dignity she had until this hour worn like fine jewels, she would have done all she could to ward him away. She would have recited whatever was asked of her in the hopes that she would be spared some of this humiliation. She would have roused some effort to preserve herself, to decry that her body was more than the slab of meat it has been carved to resemble on this table.
Her own life is not what she holds most dear, then. No, it will be the lives of those she serves, those to whom she is bound - it is for them that she has any notion of honor or nobility at all. For her uncle, or for the brother he has not yet met, or any of the dumb and solemn lords in her hall. It is for their sake that she might be reminded that submission is serviceable. Perhaps then she will bear the heavy cloak of honor, when it belongs to someone else. When it is not her own life she wields so recklessly, but any of those fools that her word and deed presumably protect.
She speaks only her callow ifs, and she hardly has breath enough for that. A luxuriating growl unknots in his chest, and he rips himself back out of her, springing forward so that when his seed spills in a hot, careless spurt, it brands her belly and breasts. This visceral excitement is punctuated with his own wad of spit aimed point-blank at her face, exhilarating and exulting. He does not yet uncinch his fingers from her throat, his hand a rough spasm where it holds her; pleasure is a knot that wrings crudely through him, leaving her amply marked. His words come through gritted teeth, humid, and rife with righteousness.
"Your mistakes this night will be repaid tenfold, my lady. Pride is a costly thing. Your kin will be paying your debts for generations to come."
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sforzinda
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Date: 2022-02-03 12:08 am (UTC)Her own life is not what she holds most dear, then. No, it will be the lives of those she serves, those to whom she is bound - it is for them that she has any notion of honor or nobility at all. For her uncle, or for the brother he has not yet met, or any of the dumb and solemn lords in her hall. It is for their sake that she might be reminded that submission is serviceable. Perhaps then she will bear the heavy cloak of honor, when it belongs to someone else. When it is not her own life she wields so recklessly, but any of those fools that her word and deed presumably protect.
She speaks only her callow ifs, and she hardly has breath enough for that. A luxuriating growl unknots in his chest, and he rips himself back out of her, springing forward so that when his seed spills in a hot, careless spurt, it brands her belly and breasts. This visceral excitement is punctuated with his own wad of spit aimed point-blank at her face, exhilarating and exulting. He does not yet uncinch his fingers from her throat, his hand a rough spasm where it holds her; pleasure is a knot that wrings crudely through him, leaving her amply marked. His words come through gritted teeth, humid, and rife with righteousness.
"Your mistakes this night will be repaid tenfold, my lady. Pride is a costly thing. Your kin will be paying your debts for generations to come."