‘I am going to fuck you, Summer. I am going to enjoy every part of you, and I’m going to make you feel it. And tomorrow, when your father hands you into the carriage to take you to King David’s kingdom, still sore from fucking, it’ll be my seed you feel on your skin, my seed you feel swimming inside you.’
Summer’s Engagement: 6
[Summer’s Engagement contains non-consent fantasy erotica, female submission to male characters and object insertion. All characters are over 18. Chapter 1 of Summer’s Engagement is here]
‘I am going to fuck you, Summer. I am going to enjoy every part of you, and I’m going to make you feel it. And tomorrow, when your father hands you into the carriage to take you to King David’s kingdom, still sore from fucking, it’ll be my seed you feel on your skin, my seed you feel swimming inside you.’
Summer heard the vice-chancellor’s voice from far above her, barking orders to the other two men in the room.
His words echoed around inside her shocked brain.
I am going to fuck you and I am going to make you feel it.
How could he?
How could they?
She felt faint and overwhelmed. She told herself that she didn’t want these crude men to touch her. She didn’t want them to see her, to penetrate her. To make her their toy and plaything and — she realised with a gulp — their whipping girl, the thing they could vent all their frustration and unspent rage on.
She knew Lord Marlowe hated her mother and father, and she guessed that Lord Arendt shared his views, given their close companionship tonight. Forcing her to have sex with them would please these men greatly. They would see it as a kind of punishment for her parents and the reform policies they had chosen ever since they had taken the throne.
‘Put the bitch on the bed,’ Lord Arendt snapped at the men.
Summer shivered as the other two men lifted her bodily, moving her easily despite her protestations and vain attempts to struggle. They dragged her across the tiny room and lifted her onto the circular bed on the corner. It was a type of love-couch she thought despairingly with a hysterical part of her brain.
The bed was old but serviceable. The silken bedspread felt oddly comforting against Summer’s skin as the men forced her down onto the bed, still holding her by her long hair and her upper arms.
Her bound arms felt uncomfortable beneath her back but she knew better than to ask Lord Arendt to untie her. He — she could see it from his face — he was going to enjoy hurting her, he was enjoying the distress of the kingdom’s princess.
Enjoying watching the other men treat her roughly and unkindly, because he thought this was what she deserved.
While the two men held her down on the bed, Summer watched in shock as Lord Arendt ran thick leather straps out from under the bed.
He’s done this before, she realised. He’s used this room before.
He brings women here, where no-one can hear and he fucks them and tortures them.
She tried to fight Lord Arendt as he fastened a tight leather shackle around first one, then the other one of her slender ankles. But he dodged with skilled ease her attempts to kick him, and soon she sobbed in rage as he fastened the strong straps to the shackles.
Bending her knees, he pulled her legs inexorably apart. She felt the rich folds of her silken supper gown fall back, exposing her stockinged calves and thighs, and fear sparked through her again.
He had no right to expose her, to look at her, to treat her like this. She told herself that this was so different to everything she had done with the young men – but then again, it kind of wasn’t. As her legs were pulled apart, she could feel her cunt growing hot and needy, she could feel her inner thighs desperate to be touched as a man fucked her.
Some of the young men had hated her too, she had known that. They had enjoyed the power it gave them to touch and penetrate the princess. And – stupidly, she suddenly thought – she had let them have her anyway, she had enjoyed degrading herself for them.
‘Please,’ she tried again, tears starting in her eyes, hearing embarrassing humility in her voice. ‘Please stop, please no.’
Lord Arendt ignored her, he didn’t even reply as he continued to ratchet the strap taut, forcing Summer’s ankles and knees wide apart against her will. Above her on the bed, Lord Marlowe tightened his grip in her hair viciously.
‘Silence, whore,’ he growled at her, breathing hot lustful breath across her face and bosom. ‘I’ve wanted to shaft King Ranulf’s stupid daughter for years. Ever since you turned eighteen and came of age. I even asked your parents for your hand, I was going to take you away to the marches and lock you in a cage there as revenge for the humility your parents have heaped on me.’
‘You couldn’t,’ Summer gasped, suddenly horrified at the thought of being forced to marry this unappealing man even as she gasped in need at the thought of being locked in a cage for sex. ‘You can’t!’
‘We can,’ Lord Marlowe said with finality. ‘We’re going to have fun with you, darling, just like we’ve been told you like it.’
Summer was breathing fast and shallowly, unable to stop herself making little whimpering sounds in shock. Lord Arendt had attached more shackles to her thighs above her knees — she hated the thought of how much he could see between her legs as her skirt fell back — and fastened more straps to her thighs as well as to her arms tied tightly beneath her back.
‘You can let go now,’ he called to the men holding her down and Summer shook in fear as the two men loosened their grip and stepped away from her.
She… Oh gods, she couldn’t move at all. Her knees were bent, her legs pulled uncomfortably, almost painfully wide, stretching the ligaments in her hips. With her arms restrained behind her back and the network of straps Lord Arendt had used to fasten her to the bed, she was completely unable to move below her shoulders.
The men stood over her and Summer felt herself panicking.
They could do anything to her like this.
They were going to do anything to her.
Lord Arendt bent over her, his keen eyes meeting her panicky eyes, a gleeful smirk in them that she didn’t like.
‘Look at you,’ he murmured. ‘This is what you let the young men do, isn’t it Summer? Tie you down, and open you up, so they can fuck you? Why shouldn’t I do the same?’
Summer whimpered in fear. Not like this, she wanted to beg. They don’t treat me like this.
‘This is how you like it, isn’t it Summer?’
No, she wanted to wail, even as tears smarted in her eyes again. She couldn’t beg, not again. It was too demeaning.
And there was something worse. A horrified part of her brain realised that she was so very hot and wet between her legs. Some part of her was enjoying this, the part of her that had liked it when the bossier of the young men had treated her domineeringly, as if she was genuinely their pet or their doll.
Right now, her breasts were burning with an urge to be exposed and touched, and her pussy was tingling with heat and unmet need.
All the brutality and masterfulness that she would never have received from Conrad… She knew she would get it in this room, and even though she told herself that she didn’t want it, it was already turning her on.
‘You’re going to enjoy it when we fuck you, aren’t you Summer?’ smirked Lord Arendt, and while she gasped up at him in shock and wanted to whimper ‘no’, a part of her was terrifyingly aroused by the large erection clearly visible through his clothes. He was big and hard and she already knew he would be rough, just like her body needed.
‘Get the slut’s breasts out, Makepeace’ Lord Arendt commanded the third man, the man whose name she hadn’t known until now. ‘I want to see my new toys.’
Please follow me for more stories! In the real world, remember to always play safely and practise positive, informed and enthusiastic consent that is respectful of all genders
Want more erotic torture?
If you love erotic torture and object insertion stories, you might like my published novels Pleasure Doll: The Enslavement of Isobel and Pleasure Toy: Isobel’s Collar.
‘I want easy access to your breasts. Wear that big butt plug that you posted online about. And a toy in your other hole. I want you full and uncomfortable.’
Read as Isobel succumbs to her nemesis Eddie over two published novels! Eddie knows she doesn’t like him but nevertheless he is determined that she will call him Master. And once she is in his power, she will fuck who she is told to fuck, and submit to whatever cruel games he designs for her. She will learn to enjoy being nothing more than a hole and a pair of tits – his hole, and his pair of tits.
© Pixie Isobella
Pixie Isobella 