A Maid's Training
Richard kissed Cecil once more. She offered no resistance. It must have been the first time in her life she had ever felt such an overwhelming difference in power. In her rigid form, he saw a reflection of his former self—rejecting the pleasure her own body sought to produce. He smiled inwardly.
Until he had become a woman, he had never gone three days without embracing one. Even on campaign he had kept prostitutes close, practicing abstinence only when battle grew fierce enough to demand it for the sake of survival. Once the fighting ended, the army camp would drown in yet another night of debauchery. Richel had been far more restrained than Richard. Yet even she would feel her desires blaze like a warhorse struck in the hindquarters by a flaming arrow the moment the sun slipped behind the western mountains. After vigorous exertion, she too would pleasure herself without fail, again and again.
Richard, however, had been unable to do so since his coronation. He had touched himself a few times in the bath after meeting David, but ever since the peasant rebellion—when he had nearly been raped by Jihan—he could scarcely bring himself to lay a hand on his own body. For that, he was truly grateful to Cecil. Her body existed to bring him pleasure.
He slid his hand between her firm thighs. She clamped them shut at once, trapping his fingers with a strength that surprised him. Instinctively he understood that no ordinary force would break that defense.
“P-please stop, Your Majesty…”
“Stop what?”
“Th-this sort of lewd conduct is wrong. I am already betrothed to His Majesty Philip…”
Cecil had meant the words to deter him, but they had the opposite effect. Richard took exquisite delight in stealing from others—whether the prize was distant or close, whether it was wealth or a woman made no difference. The closer the victim, the greater the thrill; stealing a woman from someone near him brought him the keenest pleasure of all. Cecil was a magnificent prize.
“And?”
“What do you mean, and…?”
“It is of no concern to Us.”
He swept aside the meaningless outer garments draped across her body. The thin underclothes clinging precariously to her skin were revealed. Her figure was mature, yet still carried the last traces of growth. As he caressed her breasts he murmured, “What beautiful breasts you have.”
“Haa… Y-Your Majesty…”
“What is it?”
“You mustn’t do this…”
He laughed silently. Perhaps he should be grateful for the events just before the duel. In particular, he now deeply appreciated the maxim that the shape of one’s undergarments could always be discerned through outer clothing. Cecil’s taste in lingerie was even worse than his own had been before his education. He felt a flicker of disappointment. At this rate the mood might cool entirely.
But it did not matter. Cecil was destined to become his most intimate plaything, and such things could be taught in time. He tore away the hideous red corset. Pushing her backward, he laid her fully upon the wide windowsill. She flinched at the cold touch of the glass and cried out in panic.
“Your Majesty! I-I fear someone outside might see…”
Richard explained in a low voice, “Be quiet. No one can see in. It is bright outside and dark in here, is it not?”
“But…”
“We dislike repeating Ourselves.”
She hesitated, but at last lowered her arms. The House of Malong was renowned for its strict family discipline. No matter how much of a tomboy she might be, when commanded in a firm tone she ultimately yielded. Richard smiled and brushed her nipple lightly with a fingertip.
“Kyaa!”
Cecil’s reaction was less one of sensuality than of shock at her own sensitivity. It was clearly true that she had never pleasured herself. Even so, her response was excellent. No matter how drunk on the atmosphere she might be, screaming and writhing at the mere touch of a virgin nipple was hardly ordinary. He took the bud into his mouth while his hand stroked her sex through her clothes.
A wet, languid moan slipped from Cecil’s lips. “Hngh…”
Her folds were already soaked. He tormented the nipple with the tip of his tongue and felt her inner walls twitch against his fingers. Gently he caressed the outer lips. Cecil was already crying out sharply. He lifted his mouth from her breast.
“If you scream like that, someone outside may hear.”
“Hup!”
She clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm. Of course Richard did not slow his movements in the slightest. On the contrary, as if mocking her fright, he stroked her even faster and more intensely than before. Cecil’s eyes flew wide, then squeezed shut. Though her hand hid her face, the hunched shoulders and corded neck told him she was clenching her teeth. Her hips rocked in time with his hand.
In a voice clearly laced with ridicule, Richard whispered into her ear, “You are an excellent student. Already shaking your hips so eagerly?”
“Mmmh… hnng… haaang…”
Richard decided to be a little crueler. He stopped moving his hand. Cecil’s hips twitched a few more times before she looked up at him in confusion. He gave her a wicked grin, then drew her into a gentle embrace. She seemed to think the torment was over and returned the hug—exactly as he had known she would.
He slipped his hand between her legs once more and caressed her swollen pearl.
“Kyaaaaah!”
It was a lovely scream, but he had no wish to be interrupted. He kissed her again. Cecil tried to resist, yet neither her voice nor her arms still held any strength. He was thoroughly aroused. With his free hand he unbuttoned his doublet to bare his heated female flesh to the cool air. Breast met breast. Sensitive nipples brushed, sending sparks of ecstasy through him, and droplets of her nectar fell between his thighs. A thin sound of pleasure escaped his own lips.
“Mmm…”
He smiled in satisfaction and drew back. Cecil stared at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Why… why are you doing this, Your Majesty?”
Her words were barely coherent. Richard answered in a voice still relatively clear, though thick with desire.
“I am teaching you what a maid needs to know.”
Yet even his voice had grown husky and languid. The same heat showed in his body. He moved to tear away the last scrap of cloth, but unlike his expectation, Cecil’s chemise did not rip at the strained point; instead the seam simply parted.
“This is not a maid… it is more like…”
She could not finish. Even now, shame still clung to her. While she faltered, Richard supplied the words she could not speak.
“Like a whore, you mean?”
“Ugh…”
Hearing the word from another’s lips carried a far deeper sting than saying it herself. She turned her face away, on the verge of tears. Richard smiled faintly and moved fully atop her. The sudden weight made her start. Meeting her startled gaze, he laughed.
“It seems you still have strength left to be surprised.”
“Th-that’s…”
He pulled her into his arms. The moment he held her—when he gathered her against his chest—she seemed to calm a little. This time he kissed her softly at the nape of her neck. A high moan escaped her.
“Ah, aah… Your Majesty…!”
“Mmm…”
Listening to her sweet voice, he reached between her legs again. She sank back into pleasure, and with that fierce delight came self-loathing. She felt like a whore, yet she could not pull away from Richard. She ought to shove him aside and flee this place at once. Instead her arms tightened around him.
A familiar voice whispered inside her head: You filthy whore. Now you understand exactly what you are, don’t you?
Through her tears she whispered, “No…”
“What did you say?”
“I’m not a whore…”
Richard smiled beside Cecil’s shoulder. A little more abuse and she would shatter completely. Even as her hips moved obediently in time with his fingers, she wept and murmured that she was not a whore.
He wanted to tell her: What do you mean, you’re not? But he did not. Instead he stroked her hair with surprising gentleness.
“Of course you are not, Cecilia.”
“Your Majesty?”
“You are my sweet little maid. You were so adorable that I played a rather cruel joke on you.”
So saying, Richard withdrew his hand from her folds. A long, sticky strand of nectar stretched between his fingers and her sex. Deliberately, he held it up before her eyes. Cecil stared in disbelief at the evidence of her own arousal. Smiling, Richard retrieved the doublet that had fallen to the floor and draped it over his shoulders to draw her attention.
She flinched violently.
“Now, let us dress properly and return to putting things in order,” he said, offering her his hand.
Of course it was a lie. His own groin throbbed unbearably. If one compared their lust, his was many times hotter than hers. Had he allowed himself, he could have fit three fingers inside himself at once. Yet he summoned every ounce of willpower he possessed and endured. If he faltered even slightly, all the effort he had invested in Cecil would be wasted.
It was agonizing, but he endured. To keep her from noticing, he bit down on his tongue. He felt his face burning. His jaw tightened until he feared he might sever his own tongue. Just then Cecil spoke.
“Um… Your Majesty?”
“What is it?”
Inside, Richard leapt with joy, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. Cecil asked, “I am… your maid, not your slave, correct?”
“Indeed. Why do you ask?”
“A maid must attend you more closely than anyone else, yes?”
“Naturally.”
“Then… does that mean I may also serve as Your Majesty’s personal guard?”
Irritation flickered through him, but this was the crucial moment. He drew a deep breath and kept his face composed. “We require no separate guard, but if you truly wish to take the role, you may.”
“Then… may I remain at Your Majesty’s side both day and night, attending you always?”
Her eyes sparkled like stars as she spoke. Richard knew victory was his. When he nodded, Cecil slid down from the windowsill and took his hand. She said nothing more. Instead she stepped close and embraced him, then whispered into his ear.
“In that case… please teach me how to serve Your Majesty from the closest position of all.”