I Love You, My Cursed Prince

"So you haven't imagined a way? All the times you've thought of me, it hasn't crossed your mind?"

A gasp. "What are you trying to do to me?"

Muriel shrugged. "If you don't want to untie my hand, then could you think of another way to have me please you?"

"Ah! Oh ... well ... Muriel?" There was a light wet noise, as if Vidar had suċkėd some air into his mouth and popped his lips. "I'm much taller than you. I don't know if I could ... ah ... reach you."

Reach?

Muriel's fingernails were tapping on the chair's arms. "Reach where? Tell me where you'll reach so I can be prepared for it."

She heard him approach then. He seemed to stop on her left. That's where his scent was. His fingertips tapped her lips a few times.

"Oh," Muriel said with nearly instant understanding. She blushed, but she wasn't offended. "I presume you wash yourself regularly?"

"Sometimes, even the most beautiful people don't understand that they need to rinse themselves, therefore, I take no offense. You ask wise questions for a vɨrġɨn."

Muriel suddenly thought of something. "What of disease?"

"Yes, that can also cause a bad odor, along with much worse symptoms." She thought she heard him clap two hands together once, as if he was about to make an important point. "When I wasn't such a disgusting creature, I did have my pŀėȧsurės, but I was always cautious. I even used ċȯndȯms. I'd never willingly expose you to anything unhealthy."

Muriel smiled and nodded. "I trust you."

That statement alone was meaningful. It was difficult for Muriel to give her trust to anyone.

"Very well, Muriel. You'll need to breathe through your nose, and please keep your teeth off me. That can be very painful."

She truly licked her lips then, tasting her very thin layer of rouge. "I'll do my best for you."

"Yes ... well ... please wait a moment."

Fabric whispering against other fabrics, cords being tugged. Fluttering and flapping.

Again, a hand on her face.

She smelled something heavy, dense, and so musky that she thought of a time when she had her legs spread and her hand between her thɨġhs.

"I'm ready and willing," Muriel said.

And ... there ... smooth and soft, almost rubbery, but obviously flesh, and it was so warm. Right on her lips. She opened, and there was more, nearly filling her mouth.

An intake of breath, it wasn't hers. He sounded ... like he had just got a paper cut, but Muriel knew that she hadn't harmed him.

"By ... by the Creator!!"

Well ... that didn't sound like he had just got a paper cut. That sounded like he was so joyful that he could hardly contain himself! Muriel had to force herself to not smile. She didn't think smiling would be a good thing to do in this situation.

Backwards, chafing against her lips, then back in as the man's voice buzzed out absurdity.

Feminine pride was simmering in Muriel's belly and brain. She was pleasing the man who had always been so benevolent, so loving, so nearly perfect!

Out, in, out in, groaning, fingers tugging on her hair. The chair was beginning to rock ever so slightly.

This was beginning to put a soreness in her jaw.

Muriel whɨnėd against the flesh in her mouth. Saliva was trickling out and running down her chin and neck.

"Ah! Aggghhhh!!" He yanked his pėnɨs out. His hand left her head. More fabric moving. Grunting. Then fleshy, rubbing noises.

"Fuck!! Ah ... haaaaaah ... hnnnn."

She sighed.

And even more fabric, it swiped against flesh. Then Vidar's voice. "I ... well ... thank you."

She grinned.

"You're face is wet," Vidar said. She felt him rub her face dry with something that seemed to be cotton.

"Thank you, Vidar."

"Why ... why must you be so endearing?"

A tired bit of air flowed out of Muriel's nostrils. "Hmmmm ... I believe you've inspired me to be endearing. I want you to think of me that way."

"Ah! So you've been manipulating me all this time?" He chuckled.

"Yes, but so have you. I'm clay in your hands."

"I suppose that's what seduction is, isn't it? A form of manipulation."

It didn't feel like manipulation, though.