Bride Rights Pt. 03

"I'm not sure I follow," Amice said, running a finger along the rim of her wineglass. "You want me to risk death and personal destruction for a fuck?"

Amice studied Oliver over her glass of wine. She had to admit, her husband had excellent taste in men. Oliver was pretty in a delicate way that made him seem almost ethereal. Amice wasn't sure whether his hair was eternally tousled because of a personal style choice, or just because of the number of times her husband fucked him in a day.

Clarissa wasn't half as pretty as he was. It was a real shame for a husband to be prettier than his wife. Amice supposed it didn't matter much, considering the king had smashed the marriage in its infancy.

They were in the sitting room together while the king was out hearing petitioners. Oliver was sitting on the couch across from her, a bottle of wine between them.

Oliver's eyes were intensely focused on her. It was a strange feeling, considering he normally looked right past her. They had a long held, unspoken agreement that each of them would pretend the other didn't exist.

It had felt easier to get on with life under her husband's thumb that way. Of course, Amice had broken the agreement when she'd forced Oliver to eat her pussy. That was one time, though, and he'd looked so delectable all tied up, like a gift left just for her.

"I want to get back at Alex. You hate Alex. It's a win-win."

"Until we get caught." Amice took a sip of wine. She did hate her husband. Oh, their first year of marriage had been fine. The old king had still been alive, and her husband had kept up a pretense of civility.

He'd never been nice, but he'd been polite enough. Amice had suspected he was fucking someone else, but he'd kept it hidden, and she'd never even considered it might be Oliver.

She'd assumed Oliver had been just one more servant, an especially good looking one at that. She'd thought him a nice bit of room decoration to ogle. It had never occurred to her that her husband might also be enjoying the view.

Her husband had done his duty by fucking her, and Amice had done her duty by getting pregnant and birthing an heir. She'd then dutifully sent the baby off to be raised elsewhere, as was tradition. Then the old king had died, and everything had changed.

Amice had no idea what threats his father had used to keep him in line, but they clearly couldn't keep past the old king's death, and her husband's civility had disappeared like so much smoke.

He started complaining about Amice's every request for sex, then he'd openly brought Oliver to their bed and fucked him in front of Amice's horrified face. In truth, she'd started enjoying seeing the pretty servant getting fucked, but it was still a humiliating inconvenience, especially because Alexander had only gotten bolder as time went on.

First he'd stopped caring if the servants saw him fucking his toy, then he'd started demanding Oliver suck his cock in front of his council, and never mind that Amice was sitting right beside him, burning with humiliation. It was like realizing that no one was going to stop the king from doing whatever he wished had opened the floodgates of her husband's cruelty.

He hadn't wanted to give her a second baby, ignoring Amice's arguments that the succession would never feel secure without a spare. She'd finally talked him into it by agreeing that he could fuck Oliver then cum in her.

When she'd sent off the second child and asked for a third, even that argument hadn't worked on him.

It had been so long since she'd had a steady source of sex, which was what made Oliver's scheme so tempting, even if it was foolish to the point of being suicidal.

Amice finished off the last of her wine and Oliver immediately refilled her glass. Amice smiled in amusement. Did he really think he could get her drunk enough to agree to this? What would he do when she sobered up?

Amice set her wineglass down on the table. "You want to get back at my husband right now. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? All the evidence I have points to you changing your mind and crawling right back to him."

Oliver's eyes flashed. "Never. He put my wife in a whorehouse."

Amice snorted. "What do you care about your wife? She hates you. You never even liked her. You just married her in some petty fit of rebellion. I'm not stupid enough to meet the same fate as Clarissa."

"It wasn't a petty fit. I was trying to leave." Oliver snatched her full wine glass and gulped down half of it.

Amice watched him with derision. "Please. If you wanted to leave, you would leave. What's stopping you from walking out that door right now? Nothing, except for how you can't stand the thought of going without seeing my husband kick up a fit first. That's why you went through with that idiotic wedding. You knew he would act out. You counted on it."

"That's not true! I have to stay for Clarissa." He finished off the glass of wine. Hell, he was getting drunker then she was.

She'd listened to him moaning enough to know he liked getting fucked. Whatever bullshit he made up to justify his decision to himself, the truth was clearly that he wanted to continue getting fucked in the ass by her husband's cock.

"Give me one good reason to take a risk this big," Amice said. However she might feel about her husband, she liked being queen. It was one thing to throw the occasional taunt at her husband, but it was another matter entirely to fuck his favorite toy.

Oliver carefully set down the wineglass and moved to the seat next to her. Amice could feel the heat radiating off of him. She wasn't sure whether to lean in closer or flee.

"You want to make him pay," Oliver said, his voice low and husky.

Amice shivered.

"You want to take what's his." Oliver slowly started unbuttoning his shirt. Amice's eyes were drawn to the skin he bared. Fuck, he had a good body. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and dropped it on the floor, revealing well-defined abs and lean muscles.

Amice licked her lips. She'd touched that body once, but not for nearly long enough. "My husband could walk through that door at any time." She said it as much to remind herself as anything. She couldn't risk this. Surely she couldn't let herself be so stupid.

"Alex won't be back for hours," Oliver said.

"Stop calling him Alex," Amice snapped. It had long struck her as ludicrous that a servant fuck toy could call the ruler of the realm by an affectionate nickname when Amice couldn't even have done so.

Oliver blinked. "He asked me to call him Alex."

"Then defy him by calling him something else. That's what this is about, isn't it? Going against what he wants?"

Oliver looked uncertain. "I'm not sure I'd remember to call him something else."

Because he'd been getting fucked by her husband for years before Amice had married him. Amice's ire rose. "If you want me to fuck you, you'll call him 'his majesty, King Alexander' when we're together."

Oliver brushed at an invisible spot on his pants. "That's a bit long."

"Complain again and I'll make it longer."

"All right. I'll agree to your terms, your majesty, Queen Amice." He pressed his body against her leg as he slid to his knees on the floor in front of her.

Amice considered telling him to stop. It was too risky. She'd already decided against this, hadn't she?

Oliver looked up at her from in between her legs and pressed that gorgeous mouth of his to the inside of her knee. Instead of telling him to stop, Amice opened her legs wider and invited him underneath her skirts.

He pressed his tongue to her clit and he was just as good as she remembered. In no time she was rocking her hips and gasping for breath. She pinched her own nipples to increase the sensation as fire seared through her body.

As she crested her orgasm, Amice switched from reluctance to wondering why she hadn't stolen her husband's fuck toy years ago.

Oliver reemerged from under her skirts, licking her juices off of his lips. Amice nearly shoved him back down to go again.

"Fine," she said in a feigned display of boredom. "I'll fuck you whenever my husband is away. Only when we can be absolutely sure that he won't be back the entire time. No close calls."

Oliver smiled as he agreed.

Amice wondered what madness she'd just gotten herself into.

When her husband arrived back at the royal suite, Amice was studiously focused on going over the palace ledgers.

Alexander dropped into his favorite armchair and let out a contented sigh. Hatred simmered just beneath Amice's breastbone. Amice had always considered Alexander to be just short of handsome. Alexander's cheekbones were just a little too sharp, his black hair just a bit too dull, and when it came down to it, there was something in his mouth that always looked downright cruel. She'd been pleased when she'd first married him, because she could have ended up with an uglier man.

Her husband snapped his fingers. "Oliver."

Oliver abandoned the book he'd been reading, grabbed Alexander's bottle of wine and hurried over to him. He poured Alexander a glass before getting to his knees in front of him. Alexander pulled out his cock and grabbed Oliver's hair. Soon enough Amice could hear the wet noises of cock sucking.

Amice fought back a smile. Oliver was right. It was sweet to watch Alexander enjoy having his cock sucked, completely oblivious to the use Amice had made of that mouth earlier. It was a petty victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Amice looked up from her ledgers and watched as the entirety of Alexander's cock disappeared into Oliver's mouth. Fuck, but he was good at that. Amice never could have taken it so deep.

Her husband caught her eye and grinned as if he had read her mind. "You could be this good, too, if you practiced every day for a decade like Oliver has."

"No, thank you," Amice said in amusement. She had never liked having a cock in her mouth. Oliver could keep that part all to himself as far as she was concerned.

Alexander began pounding into Oliver's mouth as Oliver let out muffled moans.

"Stroke yourself," Alexander ordered.

Oliver quickly unbuttoned his pants to get out his own hard cock and began to pull on it.

Amice ran her tongue over her bottom lip as her core tightened with arousal. How Oliver could claim to want out in one breath then moan like a slut in heat in the next, Amice didn't understand, but she could appreciate how hot the noises he was making were.

Alexander groaned as he gave a final few thrusts and came in Oliver's mouth. Oliver sat back, eagerly licking cum off his lips as he continued stroking his own cock.

"Come here," Alexander said.

Oliver climbed into his lap and gasped as Alexander grabbed his cock. Alexander stroked Oliver's cock while Oliver threw back his head, fisted his hands in Alexander's shirt, and moaned.

Amice couldn't restrain herself from dragging up her skirts and rubbing frantically at her clit until her legs clenched with the force of her orgasm.

Oliver came in Alexander's hand and Alexander slid his fingers into Oliver's mouth to feed the cum to him.

Alexander tucked Oliver against his side and resumed drinking his glass of wine. Oliver closed his eyes, his head resting on Alexander's shoulder.

"Enjoying the show?" Alexander asked Amice with a smile.

"You know," Amice said. "If he was my pretty, talented cock sucker I'd be worried about someone stealing him away from me."

Alexander wrapped an arm around Oliver and frowned. "Why don't you manage your business and I'll manage mine?"

Amice looked back down at her ledgers. She was going to enjoy stealing her husband's fucktoy right out from under his nose.

She waited until the king was out the next day to take advantage of Oliver again. Her fun would be abruptly cut off if Alexander caught her at it.

Oliver was making the bed, his hair tumbled over his forehead. Amice ran a finger down his back and felt him shiver at the touch.

"Ready for some revenge?"

His eyes were bright. "Yes."

"Get on your back."

Oliver complied.

Alexander had done an excellent job of breaking Oliver into the role of fucktoy. Poor Alexander, putting all that work in only to have someone else take advantage.

Amice ran her hands up his legs, feeling the lean muscles under the soft fabric of his pants. She reached his ass and gave it a hard slap.

Oliver flinched.

Amice laughed. "You're sore? He was fucking you while I was out having breakfast? How considerate of him." She popped open the buttons of his pants. "Is his cum still in you?"

"Yes." Oliver stared at the ceiling, his cheeks flushed.

He shouldn't be capable of blushing anymore. Not after what Alexander had put him through.

Amice shoved down his pants and pulled them over his feet. "Take off the rest of it," she said. "Fuck toys are supposed to be naked."

Oliver stripped off the rest of his clothes and Amice enjoyed her eyeful. "Flip over."

Oliver rolled onto his front, exposing that perky ass that her husband liked so well. Amice squeezed it in her hands then pulled apart his cheeks to see if any of the cum hadn't dried up yet. She pressed a finger against his tight hole.

"No, wait," Oliver said urgently, trying to push himself up. "Not there. Alex won't-"

Amice pulled her hand back and slapped Oliver's ass, hard. "His majesty, King Alexander."

Oliver shook his head. "Don't put your fingers in me."

"Say his name," Amice demanded. She slid her finger into his well lubricated asshole.

Oliver cried out in frustration.

If he'd been a less well trained fuck toy, he might have realized how easily he could push her off. Amice smiled and added a second finger. "I gave you an order."

"His majesty, King Alexander," Oliver sobbed.

"And are you trying to please him or upset him?"

Oliver's jaw clenched. He was why their revenge game was stupidly dangerous for Amice. Oliver would say pretty words about wanting revenge, then run straight back to Alexander when all was said and done.

It was too late for Amice to change her mind now. "Answer me, slut."

"Upset him. I'm trying to upset him."

Amice pulled her fingers out. "Good slut. Now give me an orgasm."

Oliver got on his knees in front of her and complied. His tongue danced across her clit. Amice let out a sigh and buried her hands in his hair. She could get used to daily, effortless orgasms, especially ones that came with one hell of a view.

She relaxed as her climax washed over her, then shoved Oliver away. "Your wife would be a very happy woman if Alexander ever let her have you."

Oliver glowered. "Al- His majesty, King Alexander doesn't get to decide everything."

"Experience suggests otherwise. Last time I checked your wife was in a whore house and Alexander was still using you however he pleased."

Oliver opened his mouth, then shut it. "I have to-"

"Stay for Clarissa. Because she's so very interested in your company. And before Clarissa?"

Oliver snatched his clothes off the floor. "Shut up."

She didn't know what she had to gain from prodding him. Even if he had a sudden epiphany about the haze of denial he was living in, he wouldn't leave Alexander. If anything, it would only push him further into Alexander's arms.

"Have it your way, then. But don't come crying to me about how Alexander treats you when you're choosing to be his fucktoy."

Oliver stormed out in a huff. Why Alexander had a soft spot for such a dramatic little fool, Amice would never understand. Maybe his brain was addled from all the sex.

Amice checked the mirror and pulled her clothing straight. She didn't want to look messy in front of the servants.

Amice amused herself for the next couple of hours by reading a novel. By the time Alexander returned with his advisor in tow, she was in a blissful state of contentment and satiation.

Her husband barely spared a glance for her as he walked across the room. His advisor, Lord Dupier, gave her a cordial nod and sat gingerly beside her on the couch.

"We should have the alliance secured by the end of the week as long as no one cocks it up," Dupier said. The remark sounded like a pointed barb at Alexander's expense. Ruling was not his favorite activity. Amice thought it was a bit reckless of Dupier to be so obvious. Alexander was quick to anger and prone to brutality in his dealings.

"They'll do what we want," Alexander said. "They're practically begging for it. Speaking of which, where the fuck is Oliver?"

"Out," Amice said. Wherever he'd gone to sulk, he hadn't returned yet.

"You didn't think to ask him where he was going?"

"I'm not your fucktoy's keeper." Amice flipped to the next page of her book.

Alexander's eyes narrowed, but he let the subject drop.

Dupier shuffled the stack of papers on his lap. "If sending my daughter's body back isn't too much trouble, I'd like it to emphasize an I told you so."

Amice had always known Dupier was a practical man, but up until that moment she hadn't realized just how cold blooded he was.

"What makes you think she's dead?" Alexander asked.

"She married Oliver. I did tell her not to. Luckily, I have enough daughters that I can afford to lose one to sheer stupidity." He shrugged as if the matter of his daughter's life was no more annoying than trousers with a ripped seam. "The body?"

"She's not dead," Alexander snapped. "I don't go around murdering people for fun."

"I didn't say you did, but, well, it's Oliver. Where is Clarissa, then?"

"What's that supposed to mean, that it's Oliver?" Alexander said.

"She's in a whorehouse," Amice said, to end Dupier's suspense.

He cringed in disgust. "In that case I don't want her back even if she's a corpse. Never mind, I'll tell my wife she ran off or something."

"I could get another fucktoy if I needed to," Alexander said. He poured himself a glass of wine and downed it. "I don't care about Oliver."

"I didn't mean to imply anything," Dupier said. "But we all saw what happened to the housekeeper, and that was just for catching him when he tripped, not for marrying him."

"He wasn't just catching him," Alexander said. "I can't let someone grope my things right in front of me."

Amice sighed. The housekeeper in question had been brought in as a temporary replacement when the regular one went on leave. Honestly, he must have been the worst kind of nightmare for the other servants not to have warned him about touching Oliver. Anyone else would have let Oliver fall before laying a finger on him and risking one of Alexander's jealous rages. Hell, Oliver probably would have caught himself anyway, he was hardly clumsy.

The housekeeper had not only grabbed Oliver's arm, he'd started fussing over his hair and clothes out of the mistaken belief that Oliver was a normal servant under his employ that he needed to straighten out.

Alexander had thrown a colossal fit and had the man jailed for theft. Fortunately for the housekeeper, Oliver had talked Alexander down until the housekeeper had been released a few weeks later without having his hand cut off.

It really was a miracle that Clarissa was still alive.

What would happen to Amice, if her husband found her out?

Dupier stood up. "I need to speak with the ambassador again. I suggest-"

Oliver walked through the door without knocking, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He was wearing the loose clothes he used for practicing swordplay and he looked a mess. He must have been taking out his frustration on practice dummies for hours.

Alexander's expression filled with lust as soon as he saw him.

Dupier let out a long suffering sigh. "I suggest you get the petitioners dealt with," he said as he took his leave.

"Yes, yes, I heard you," Alexander said, not taking his eyes off Oliver.

Oliver stepped out of Dupier's way, awkwardly avoiding meeting his father-in-laws eyes.