I'm a seasoned Rper. I have come up with thousands of pages worth of Rp, and had most fall away due to my own life commitments or my various partners. I've always found capable Male rpers to follow through to completion, or at least to a satisfying scene.
The total amount of rps I'd say came short were three. One in particular, I believe to be salvage worthy. Not that I cannot come up with a new story, mind you. But the amount of passion that went into this surmised in three hundred pages of character dynamics was some of the best I've ever come across. The male lead in particular didn't bed my female character...yet. The amount of self control, dedication to his nocturnal goals, this method of "keeping his eyes on the prize" was pure machiavellian.
Here's a short synoposis:
Alia Leonora Surmin is the youngest child of the late Sultan. At fourteen three of her brothers leave for war, lead by the Black Bastard, her cousin Joshua. Five years come to pass before the same cavalry return triumphant. She is no longer a child but a pampered venus, opinionated, obscene, and indulged. This, doesn't go well with Joshua, for he sees women as human tools to either be bedded or sold. His cousin clashed into every logic of his with her costumes; clothing fit for a strumpet and her ridiculous deductions of her own worth.
But Alia isn't his goal. It was his father's throne, his cousins kept from him, through the idiocy of legitimacy. Why? Because his mother wasn't of noble birth like the rest of them? That his own sire did not see fit to bind her in matrimony? He'd kill them off and be done with them.
Okay, so we are dealing with a deeply flawed pratagonist. Here are some examples:
Joshua departed the room. He tried not to be annoyed at Alia—difficult though it was. She was barely a woman and was doing him a favour, both of which should have excluded him being too annoyed with her on their own. Yet she managed it anyway. She even managed to be smug about what was, ultimately, completely benign advice. He struggled to force it away, in spite of the fact that he still didn't think he cared what she thought. She was a naive child, yet for some reason, he found it hard to simply write her off as a child and ignore her.
With the afternoon heat, there was a lull in the celebrations. People retreated to the gardens, to their baths, to the relative cool of their chambers, regardless of how pleasant the day was for the time of year. It would be a few hours before the feast began, sometime in the late afternoon. Not just for the nobility; from his conquest loot, barely taking so much as a fraction of it, he had made arrangments for one that would feed every man, woman and child in the entire city, with the entertainment and the drink to match. On top of that, of course, would be the palace feast, which he suspected would be the single most expensive event in the kingdom in at least a century, lasting very likely in some form for almost a week, with constant food, drink and entertainment in celebration of the victory. And all of it paid for by his generosity.
Hours to kill and no desire to leave his chambers, he instead stopped by the door just next to the one that led into his main bedroom. As he stepped inside, six figures, ranging from nude to clothed but revealing, shifted from lounging on their couches or laying in the sunlight through their window as they gossiped, to kneeling before him. He didn't even bother to make a selection, instead simply gesturing for them all to follow him as he made his way into his bedroom. He had hours to entertain himself, hours to get his annoyance at his cousin out of his mind and focus on his victory. Tonight, Noah would be preening at the attention. But it wouldn't be his attention, not this time. This event would be celebrating Joshua's victory, displaying Joshua's wealth and Joshua's power. "I hope you like it in the capital," he told them as he grabbed the first, tall and slender with a naturally pouty expression, by the throat, dragging her towards the bed while the other followed "Because I have a lot of work here that is yet to be done."
Joshua looked around in surprise when Alia spoke. She had a woman's voice now, but it was her. He couldn't help but hear an undertone of an incredibly spoiled child in every word of it. Not that he blamed her—uncle, father, brothers, all of them had given her far more than she ever needed. Even he had always felt and shown a special affection for her.
There had been cracks in their family for a decade and a half now, some spoken, some unacknowledged. Back amongst his family, he could feel it all the more strongly. Noah, once his inseparable companion, was now an insufferable one. Becoming heir had changed him. Succession had never been on their minds once. His own father had started his rule at 16 and the two of them had been born only two years after that. Their great-grandfather had lived so long that their grandfather had died of ill health before ever taking the throne; their childhood had been lived under the belief that neither of them would rule, not for decades. All that had changed with his father's murder. Suddenly, the fact that he was, on paper, a bastard, had superseded the fact that not a single person in the kingdom didn't know that his father had groomed him as heir. Suddenly his uncle was a ruler, not a regent and suddenly his cousin went from a youth very much like himself, to one self-obsessed, arrogant and lazy. They had been cordial, they had even been close—but once, they had been brothers.
The twins were better and yet not. On one hand, both had remained quite like him in elements of their temperament. He could look at either of them and see something of himself—a bold, ruthless warrior or a cunning master of manipulation; on the other, there had always been a certain divide. He was only two years their senior, but they had looked up to him and Noah for most of their lived. Darius was loyal almost to a fault, not questioning his cousin even when his cousin wanted to be questioned. Even Daryoon, who had reverence for nothing and no one beyond what was absolutely necessary, showed him deference. It had gotten even worse, now that they had spent half a decade under his direct command. Isaac, he had never liked. A weak, snivelling boy indulged by his father until childhood illness became a lifelong weakness of character. Had Joshua had his way, the man would have spent the last five years marching with soldiers, rather than studying like some wannabe acolyte at the temples. Then there had been Ram. Was it possible to love someone and still think they were an idiot who had deserved their fate? Ram had always been the hothead of the family, but it had always seemed more good-natured to Joshua than even the boy himself had seemed to believe.
Alia though, was still Alia. The baby of the family, the only girl, the one who had been taken care of. He had indulged her the least of any of the family; more than once her quick mind and sharp tongue had caught her the back of his hand when aimed in his direction, as well as more than a few suggestions that belting her like a peasant girl might do wonders for her manners. Not that he had ever done the latter—a fact that had always been his personal evidence of possessing superhuman patience. Usually, the only lashing she had recieved had been from a tongue. She certainly hadn't learned quick wit from her brothers. When he responded, his smile and tone seemed almost amused.
"Do you mock me, little cousin?" He asked sweetly. His tone as it continued was condescending. He had heard the order, but waited, letting the tension build and the condemned squirm, which allowed him a moment to lean in. Noah had stepped forward to proclaim, allowing Joshua to say "You are not a child anymore. It is past time that you started learning life's harsh truths. Consider this the first. I am not a butcher. A butcher kills animals cleanly and quickly; the animals have done him no wrong, he simply must put an end to them, as the farmer must sow his wheat. I am not a butcher. I am a son who lost his father, a nephew who lost his uncle, a general who lost his soldiers, a soldier who lost his comrades." He turned towards the pyres and raised his black gauntleted hand, palm out. "The simple truth? You can be cruel now—or dead later."
The wave of sorcery rippled out from his hand, the air seeming to shudder, purple flames formed as a shimmering wave rushed out in front of him, until they struck the oil basins, which ignited instantly and surged down the trench around both sides of the square. He looked calm, in spite of what he had just done. Most blood magic was released with the blood itself. The power seeped into the land, making the crops grow stronger or into the sky, calming the heat or the storms. Or it could be used to bless or curse an item, heal a person—near anything short of raising the dead, which, while rumoured to be occasionally tried, simply sucked the life from everyone attempting it. Power could be held, in vessels of silver or by almost anyone, with little training. The caveat was, of course, that it was incredibly unstable in use. It took only a flicker of distraction, a moment of overwhelming intent or poor judgement and one could find themselves losing control, either killing themselves by accident or attempting something that required so much strength they themselves were drained. He watched nonchalantly as the flames, flickering up through the platforms, began to take. Some prisoners already screamed, others begged for mercy, other's cursed, others lay limply in their bindings, already dead in every sense except for bodies that hadn't realized it yet.
He looked down at Alia "Oh—and I am also a cousin who stood before the walls of Larsa, listening to their false Sultan's emissary explain, in great detail, the ways in which he and his men would rape you when they had the chance. And their horses, as I recall. You expect me to take no joy in their deaths? To be ashamed of what I have done? You live your life in privilege, dear cousin. I do not begrudge it. But not all of us can pass our days lounging on silk cushions, eating the finest foods, waited on hand and foot by servants and praised by men who by odd coincidence, seem to have discovered that she was an articulate, intelligent young woman around the same time she discovered low necklines." He didn't withhold his sarcasm there. He didn't begrudge her male attention—but that didn't mean he would miss the chance to sink in a barb about her attire. "You were always good-hearted. And Noah, at his core, is a good man." A bald-faced lie, but he was going for rhetoric, not honesty. "I am not. Because those people killed my father; they killed your father. They shot arrows into your brother's back when they failed to kill him with honour. They tried to kill each of the others on more than one occasion. And if they stood where we now stand, they would be burning us and making you wish that that was what your fate would be. Judge me if you will, sweet Alia. But do watch this—watch them burn. Think of all they have done to you."
He looked down at her before he finished "And when their screams fall silent, their bodies turn to ash and the ancestors are pleased by our offering of them—then you can look me in the eye, lie and tell me you didn't enjoy every second of justice wrought upon them."
His eyes turned forward, watching the flames climb. The cries of the punished were now so loud that she would have no chance to reply until it was over. Most burnings, in his experience, ended too easily. The victim would die of the smoke long before they burned. The oil was the remedy, causing flames to lick up and ignite the flesh directly, while the wood was hardened, requiring far more time to burn. The women were the first to start blazing, all 25 of them on the left, in front of the temple dedicated to the Blood of life, the excess fat that remained in their buttocks, thighs and chests providing the best source of fuel for the flames. The old men followed, though much of their fat had been shed through the deprivations of the journey. One by one, the flames were overtaking them, crawling up the body like devouring insects. So smokeless was the fire that even as their faces blazed, eyes bursting like overripe grapes, hair an inferno whipped by the winds the blaze itself conjured, skin licked by flames, they still screamed. No words, not anymore. They were beyond words, beyond agony, beyond even thought. Pain burned away their souls even as the flames burned away their bodies. The wood was catching now, creating a hotter fire that would cremate their remains. The ashes would be gathered, set in urns inside the temples as offerings. As they were consumed, he glanced occasionally around, particularly at Alia. He doubted she had ever seen a protracted execution before, as women were rarely included in them and never those who had not reached marrying age. Whatever else she had endured—he was curious how she would take this.
There was near total silence in the crowd, even long after the last of the offerings was dead. It was an almost awkward moment, everyone knowing that their reason for their silence was gone, yet none wanting to be the one to shatter the illusion and return them all to the world. Joshua was the first, speaking in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. A single word, one that seemed to echo far beyond the natural reach of what was a very measured, low voice.
He stepped forward, resting a gauntleted hand on her shoulder from behind "I remember, once—it might have been in these very gardens—that I found you, weeping. You had made some remark or other and I had slapped you for it. For the life of me, I couldn't say what it was. Probably clever—you were always too clever for your own good Ali. And I mean that quite literally. You have always been clever with your brothers—making them worried for you, care for you. They have given you everything you have ever asked for and you always liked it that way. You never liked me though. Because I have never indulged you. So let me tell you now what I should have told you then. You can make someone protect you or you can make them respect you. You made your brothers protect you—and they always will. But here is the second hard truth little one. They don't protect you because they think you are special. They protect you because they think you are too weak to take anything else."
He turned her torso to face him, snapping with the same voice he would use to reprimand a soldier "Look at me, girl." As soon as she did, even if it was only in shock at the sound, he grabbed her chin with his other hand, the black steel cold against her flesh. "I did not make you a subject of ridicule back there. You do that to yourself. I came offering gifts, showed you all the affection I ever have. It was you who chose to throw barbs in response, chose to try and bring me embarrassment. And unlike Noah, I will not stand for that. Your brothers were not my accessories. Unlike you, they have actually proven to me that they are more than spoiled children. Even Ram managed that, before the end. He might not have been as wise as Daryoon or as good a soldier as Darius, but at least he demanded respect of others, rather than mocking those who have accomplished more. Twenty thousand men? Try twenty-five thousand boys. They didn't have a single man among them until I whipped them into shape. Those boys didn't win every battle they ever fought against armies far larger—my tactics did that. My plans, my execution of them—the men were nothing more than pawns on the board. I am no god. But I am not a man who will indulge the mockery of a child, either."
His hand slid down and caught her by the throat. His expression was calm. The jaguar cubs growled in unison, but with an almost dismissive wave of his other hand towards them, they fell silent, the telltale warp of sorcery passing through the air. "I might not be a god. But I could make you grovel. I could lift you with one hand and squeeze—watch your face turn red, watch the tears form in your eyes—until, when I let go of you, you would fall to your knees and grovel like a mongrel dog kicked one too many times. And right now your mind is seeking a threat. You'll scream? Everyone is outside, it would go unheard. You'll tell Noah? He wouldn't do anything—you have taught him that you are a drama queen. See what not being respected gets you?"
The sexy bits:
"And in honor of his triumph, in honor of his desire to continue to serve his Sultan and his Sultunate, I decree, on this day, that he shall hold the position of Royal Grand Vizier from this day until the day he lays down the rod. He shall be the voice that shouts the will of the Sultan, the hands that guide the works of the Sultan, the foot that shall press on the necks of the Sultan's enemies and the fist that strikes them down."
Joshua stood, then bowed low at the waist, kissing Noah's signet ring. He then stood tall and faced the crowd.
The silence was deafening.
The Grand Vizier was a title not used in centuries. The position dated from days when the Sultan was primarily tasked with impregnating as large a harem as possible while his council ruled. The Vizier was three roles in one. The Head of Council, which itself was an anachronistic institution, the Giver of Laws, in charge of all manner of legislation, and the Hammer of Justice, in charge of enforcement of those laws and acting as the high judge. All of that was still under the purview of the Sultan of course and the Vizier could be overruled.
If, of course, there was a Sultan competent enough to do it.
"You all know me." Joshua's voice boomed through the chamber, needing no enhancement from sorcery. "You know that I have lived for and bled for this nation. I am honored beyond words to be permitted to serve my Sultan in so high a Station. It is my intention to resurrect the old Royal Council, to advise myself and allow me to provide the wisest council to our Sultan. There are many positions to be filled, and it would be unwise to fill all positions in haste. However, there are some whose worthiness is so evident that they must tonight be honored. So as my first act as your Grand Vizier, I appoint my cousin's Darius and Daryoon to the council. Darius will serve as the Master of Horse, lead military advisor. Daryoon will serve as Lord of the Guilds, in charge of all financial matters." And traditional head of the Royal spy network, but that would be impolite to mention.
"I further extend the invitation for my learned cousin, Issac, to serve as High Scholar." And now to plant the seed that might let him put Alia's talents to actual use. "Finally... though no woman can ever serve on the council, I would be remiss to not honour the courage of cousin Alia, who has remained steadfast for so many years. In honor of her capabilities, I hearby name her Mistress of Ceremonies." A better known title, typically one given to the favored wife of the Sultan, though sisters and daughters held it too, it was a purely symbolic position for a job they did anyways. Arranging of feasts, parties and social events. He had no doubt that Alia was already quite happy to arrange social events. Yet in a stroke, he had turned her pastime into a duty, with little chance she could refuse.
A second hard lesson for her about how the world worked. Anyone could reject an insult. The real punishment was giving them a great honor they had never wanted.
He raised a fist into the air "With our victory complete, a new era dawns under our glorious Sultan. Prosperity shall come to our friends. Death shall come to our enemies. War will come to traitors, Peace shall come to our people. And the dark days will Never. Come. Again."
Noah beside him, nodding his approval, Joshua basked as cheers erupted. His cousin, in his delusion, thought that it was their Sultan they cheered.
Joshua knew better. They cheered for their champion, not the man who ruled them.
Every face in assembly had a mirrored reaction to the next; it was only Noah who stood by in compliance. Alia’s goblet shattered to the floor with the shock of such news, her expression ranged from shock to visible distaste- as if she had eaten something bad that would stay on her tongue for days. Darius looked upon the pair with narrowed eyes, as if he too thought something was not quite right about that uncharted piece of information. Joshua, had indirectly brushed past them- after all their heroism during the war, he had turned his into a mock salute. Well played, well played.
Isaac who had been absent for most of the day, gave an unreadable smile not to Joshua but to his eldest brother, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t planned a sermon for nothing he would say could beat that particular speech.
At least that announcement had distracted her brothers enough not to comment on her gown, and she not to carry with the fools she had used as her shield for the rest of that horrid evening. Here, underneath the glittering blanket of the sky above, the moon turned her raven curls into an ethereal blue. A realization that would be noted by her slave hand, Sky was desperately trying to keep up with that elegant, yet rushed pace of her new mistress.
“The nerve of that common…disgusting…!”
She had been saying that under her breath for an hour, it would take the girl more to realize exactly where they were headed. The large dark doors of her old master’s chambers loomed in the distance, the princess turned and gave her a pointed look to stay out while she gave him her piece. Her pace did not change, instead the sight of his now reoccupied rooms angered her. How she wished he had never come back!
Alia slammed the doors open, before she walked into his hated rooms. The doors rattled into place behind her, however she did not halt- “A Grand Vizier.” She sighed as if the notion was unfathomable. “You…a Grand Vizier.” She said again.
“Tell me, Joshua…what else could we do to commemorate your victories? Surely, there are things. More things you can think of? As- what was it?” She paused, her forefinger tapped against her lush lips as she feigned forgetfulness. “Oooh, I have it. As Mistress of Ceremeonies I’m sure there is much we still did not give your high wretchedness! Should I order a temple for you? Surely your slaves would do with praising your likeness during your absence…Grand Vizer, is such a busy busy position.”
Every word she threw his way was dipped in venom, while her presentation in her barely there-fiery gown was fitting of her passionate advance. “ Do you know?” She said slowly. Her tone, a scratchy rebellion against his harsh barbs. “ I sometimes think that you are worse than Larsa ever was. It would’ve been best if you you’d died in that war, if you never came back."
Joshua had stripped to the waist, lounging with a book in his lap on one of his couches when the thunderstorm burst in through his door. Oh he had known since she was 5? Perhaps 4? Since she had been old enough to get mad when servants in the kitchen refused to give her sweets upon demand, Joshua had known that Alia was a protege of the temper tantrum. It seemed that in his five years of absence, she had been practising. If he hadn't already grown quite fed up with her attitude that day, he might have been amused. He watched her, expressionless, letting her let it all out. Only when she made that final pronouncement did he carefully mark his place, set the book down on the table and rise. He wore only dark silken trousers, ones meant more for sleeping in than anything else, which also meant that they were not particularly concerned with concealing the shape of what was beneath them. His chest was bare, revealing smooth olive flesh marred in several places by pale scars. His chest muscles bulged as he rolled his shoulders, the left one featuring a stark black tattoo of a hawk in flight, his own personal sigil. The air around them warped in a wave as he created a silent bubble around the room. No one outside would hear what was about to happen.
His voice boomed through the room, each individual word a clap of thunder. "Are. You. Quite. Done?" He demanded, stepping toward her. He stood head and shoulders above her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him more and more the closer he got. He wanted her to feel small. When he was within a single pace, his left hand shot up, a heavy black ring on his middle finger striking her face along with the rest of his hand in the brutal backhanded blow. He had slapped her before, but this time his restraint was limited to no permanent damage, the force knocking her sprawling backwards on the floor. He raised his hand and held it towards her, the air around her tightened like a full body noose. He held the air in her mouth in place, letting her gasp and gasp, with nothing actually reaching her lungs. He stared down at her, watching her struggle, watching her big, dark eyes until he was certain he saw fear in them, only then allowing a desperate gasp to reach her lungs. Sorcery was terrifying enough to most people—the thought of having it used on you had been enough to make more than one captive kill themselves before interrogation.
"On. Your Knees." He boomed. It was not a request—the air moved her, lifting her up from her back, turning her to face forwards in midair, then letting her fall down onto them. The vice pulled her arms, to be splayed wide at her sides, legs and torso leaning backwards at an angle that no human would have been able to balance at unsupported, her mouth was heclosed.d . He walked over and went down on one knee beside her, reaching up and stroking the same cheek. A small cut from his ring was visible, as was a fattening lip and a small trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, where it seemed her lip had cut against those polished ivory canines. His touch was delicate, his voice an almost intimate whisper now "You are family, Alia. Understand this—you might name me bastard, might despise the fact my father seeded me in a concubine and then expected you all to endure. But today, you should be very grateful to your uncle. Because if any other woman—princess or slave, young or old, pretty as a goddess or hideous as a hag, had spoken the words you just spoke to me, I would do things to them that would make your soft heart weep to hear tell of. Right now, dear sweet Alia, the only reason you are not screaming in unbearable agony is the blood we share—bastard blood though it may be. You see. I love my family." His finger lightly wiped the blood from her lip, before his hand reached up and wiped tears leaking from the corners of her eyes—not necessarily from emotion, but because he did not allow her to blink.
There was a sudden bark of rage "I have bled for this family. I have sacrificed, for this family. And you think my demands extravagant? Would you rather see your fool brother rule unrestricted? You are not a stupid girl. You know he is not capable. Were it not for the war loot I have been sending, he would already have bankrupted us. So I will do what I must, for the family. I have treated you as a child. That was a mistake." He hung his head as though in shame. The sorcery released her, only for her to find herself dragged upwards and slammed hard against a wall, held by the throat, his body pressing hers against the cold stone like a vice, his forehead touching hers lightly, leaving her nowhere to go. He had used sorcery to terrify her and to ensure she would not hurt herself struggling against a man who could break her like a toothpick. But she needed to be reminded of his power. "From now on—I will treat you like an adult. And adults do not get warnings. Adults do not get to throw temper tantrums. You didn't come here because of my appointment—you haven't given a sack of wet dog shit about politics for five years, you haven't started now. No... you came because I won. You mocked me, I outwitted you, now you are stuck in an honour you don't want. That is politics, little one. The art of getting whatever the fuck I want. You have a talent—you could have used it for power, used it to get your way. You didn't, I did, end of story. You don't get to start caring about the rules after you've lost a round."
"Here are the new rules. I am Grand Vizier. I don't give a fuck for titles, for bowing or scraping. Speak to me as you always have and don't curtsy around me unless you want to, I don't care. I will oversee this kingdom, make certain that your selfish ingrate of a brother doesn't burn it all down. You will not interfere. You will throw your parties, enjoy your celebrations and dress as much like a harlot as you desire. You will not interfere with my work, you will not comment on my work, you will forget I exist. If you break these rules, if you cross the line again or if your brothers even give a hint of knowing what transpired here, I will come to your chambers, strip you stark naked, tie you to your bed and belt you for every time your bloody father should have done it. And then I will talk Noah into forcing you to marry the ugliest, fattest, oldest old prick in the smallest, poorest, dullest corner of the Sultanate and let you rot there. Maybe if you were lucky I will choose someone with a prick too small for you to notice and who won't beat you for that fact." His voice was cold steel, utterly devoid of mercy. The only sound in the pause was Sky, trembling against a wall, not wanting any attention at all.
"Just one last thing before you are dismissed cousin. A simple reminder—you are leaving at my mercy. Because I am done with you. So when you leave, you are going to thank me. You are going to kneel, kiss the floor at my feet and say 'thank you for your mercy, Grand Vizier'. Because if you don't—you will be running to your chambers without that pretty dress. Of course... you are certainly modest underneath it, right cousin?. " He smiled mockingly at her.
Then he kissed her.
Not a light peck of familial familiarity. Nor the slow intimate kiss of a lover. This kiss was an assault, an oral rape he normally used before an actual one. His body pressed hers against the wall, his hands forced her wrists to either side of her head and his mouth was unleashed in an assault on hers. Large, consuming gasps at her, sucking on upper and lower lips, forcing his tongue between them while carefully avoiding teeth. It genuinely didn't matter what she did—kissing back, keeping still or fighting tooth and nail all delivered the same result, the feeling of being utterly overpowered. His hands lifted her wrists higher, over her head, allowing one hand to trap both, while the other fell, tracing her body from underarm to hip, constantly hinting at more intimate touches that never quite arrived, until it was sliding up to her shoulder, to the little clasp that held her dress on, until it teased against the metal.
And he pulled away. One minute overwhelming, the next completely absent. He wouldn't have been shocked to see knees buckle. "Remember the rules cousin. And remember why you will follow them. Sky... come clean her face. That cut should heal in a day or two without scarring. Fortunate that that door did not strike you more directly, isn't it cousin?" He smiled knowingly and waited for her departure. Truth be told he didn't care if she actually prostrated herself.
He just wanted to see if her fear would ever overwhelm her pride.
He was a demon, she had always known that fact. As if he needed to make her feel small, he’d only stand beside her and she’d feel like a fly challenging a lion. Every inch of her was in very aware of his half exposed frame, those crisscross scars, that eagle in flight. She was sure she would see that eagle in her dreams. For now, she was the projection of his power, that slap against her cheek blinded her.
It wasn’t the pain initially, it was the blow to the floor Her long hair cascading over her eyes that made her still, she did not cry then. Alia knew enough of him to expect that he would hit her.
She hadn’t cared, it was his cursed magic that caught her off balance quite literally. He was choking her, and in her innocence she thought that this was it...she would die here.
The unseen noose tightened, and she could not breath, nor could she wince or weep. He froze her soul and body, her form statuesque in an agonizing position. He was forcing her to kneel before him, proving his strength on her malleable form.
I hate you, I hate you.
Joshua touched her cheek, whispered to her words that she would never accept. His soft tone a knife. His cruelty on her small frame did not end there, his voice changed into a gnaw of things she had wished he had left unsaid.
He wanted to rule in her brother’s stead, of that she was more certain than ever. Oh, the reply she would’ve liked to give him- but she could not, not when her body was twisted and terrorized. Her mind stuck on the pain- was she crying? Did he just wipe away a tear?
He let her go but only for a moment before he slammed her to the wall behind her, she panted, a mixture of gasps and sobs and sounds she had never heard of herself. His forehead pressed against hers while she cried out, hating him for forcing his proximity.
“Joshuaaah..” That very word came out in a sigh, his name spoken like a prayer, a plea. Perhaps what would’ve followed was another rebellious response, or something more surprising.
At first she did not register his next move, she thought he would intimidate her further instead his lips hit her like a storm. He bit her own apart, thrusting his tongue between her teeth driving her to gasp in his mouth. The sound an echo he would swallow, as he lifted her struggling wrists over her head.
His burly frame pushed her against the wall, while he took his time to prove another point. He was stronger, he was more powerful, and he knew what he was doing- that was evident with how he traced her curves, his large hand drifted down to the side of her breast, her small waist where he gripped her hip tight just for a moment before he pulled away.
She would know his mouth, the taste of his kiss. A notion that she shouldn’t have thought on before today. Her own blood and the faint flavor of wine lingered on her tongue while he let her breath. She coughed, her hand instantly upon her throat to check his damage there.
The feather in her hair had fallen, forgotten upon his floors. The diamond clips of her hair scattered to the floor like stars, leaving her hair to frame her flushed face. The sounds they made at her feet was a metallic clutter that would remind her of what he had just done.
Bloodied, with her servant to attend her she did not move. Instead she looked towards his scarred back, realizing that it was only due her relation to him, that he did not kill her then.
She was expected to kneel, or what? What was her other ultimatum?
She pressed on her feet, that defeated rustle of silk that had brazenly stepped into his abode retreated to the door. Sky stood further away, afraid of the scene that would follow.
Her highness stopped, then turned towards the giant that had just terrorized her. That rebellious chin lifted in an angle, that let her loose hair fall back. The midnight strands framed her bruised visage, a face that had every artisan in the kingdom beg to pledge an audience to what they considered a heavenly work of art.
Her gaze carried a hint of tears, her lips trembled for a moment. She allowed him the pleasure of viewing the aftermath of his handiwork. Those small hands he had just imprisoned in his lethal grip tugged behind her back at the ruby clasps of her gown.
She angrily slipped the gown down her bosom, exposing her heaving breasts, nipples that latched into view with the same blush coloring as her lips, her small palms then pushed the complicated gown over her waist, down her flat belly, and over her curvaceous hips. Her hands never stopped, she would strip- but she would never kneel.
Her little virgin cunt was bare, trimmed between her long shapely legs. The crimson silk was thrown at his his feet before she gave him a toss of her long hair. The strands fell right above the globes of her shapely ass. She would rather walk naked than succumb to him. The doors once more slammed in his face.
Alia never wanted to see him again, ever!
I could post a great deal more, but I'd keep it at this for now. It's not an easy part, so I'd really appreaciate only capable rpers coming to call.