Path of the King - Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Been a little bit, but this is the 1 chapter for November. Should be 2-3 in December. 

There’s nothing quite like dinner and a show to help a man relax after a long day. The dinner was good––Sarah wasn’t an amazing chef, but I’d impressed upon her the need to know how to make at least a few dishes properly and a roast wasn’t exactly a soufflé. The show on the other hand was excellent. Sarah had a flare for dramatics that I’d taught her channel into more productive directions. 

As much as she’d looked unprepared when she’d opened the door, she was clearly anything but. She’d known I was coming several days in advance and, though I was two hours later than I’d told her to expect, I had no doubts she’d checked the weather, guessed which flights and roads I’d be taking, and had estimated my actual arrival time down to a fifteen minute window. As willfully blind as she could sometimes be, she was a very smart and capable woman the rest of the time. 

Knowing her, she’d gotten almost everything ready, then gotten sidetracked at the last moment and lost track of time. Her hair and the back of her shirt were just slightly more damp than could be explained by the humidity alone, I could smell that the nail polish was still quite freshly applied, and she was wearing the lipstick I’d brought her the last time I’d seen her. 

I leisurely stepped inside, put my bag down, took off my shoes, and followed her deeper into the cottage. Looking around, I decided that probably was what happened. The living room was immaculate, except for a hastily discarded book as thick as my forearm lying open with its spine up on one of the couches and the bulky vacuum cleaner standing by the fireplace, its long cord messily tangled around its base. 

Tilting my head, I squinted down at the cover. I didn’t recognize the author or title, but the shirtless man, swooning redhead, and swooping dragon on the cover told me everything I needed to know. In my first life, I’d have perhaps picked it up and flipped through a few pages, but fantasy had lost a lot of its luster since I’d been reborn. I still indulged from time to time, but not nearly as much as I once had. These days, when I read books about magic and witches, gods and monsters, they tended to be the real kind and not the imaginary. 

By the time I made it to the kitchen, there was a large, empty roasting pan on the stove, a probe thermometer lying discarded on the counter beside it, and Sarah was fussing over the roast itself with a pair of kitchen scissors, carefully removing the twine from around the roast without damaging the crust.

The small table in the corner of the room was piled high with dishes, with barely enough space left clear on one side to hold the fancy blue and white serving plate Sarah had transferred the roast onto. There was a large bowl of roasted vegetables––carrots, parsnips, beats, and small, multi-colored heirloom potatoes. Beside it was another salad, this one bright purple and orange from the cabbage and bits of mandarin oranges. The rest was more typical; fresh dinner rolls, butter, asparagus, and a bottle of wine which I was pretty sure I’d also given her. 

My lips curled up into a smile. Ah, Sarah. I’d bet a fortune that if I peeked into the fridge, I’d find a chocolate ganache cake decorated with strawberries and a small mountain of takeout containers. She knew how to cook about six total dishes, and made all of them every time I came to visit. It was honestly rather charming, and I was looking forward to waffles in the morning. Sarah made excellent waffles. 

I waited in the doorway of the combined kitchen and dining room as Sarah finished up her preparations. Once all the twine was removed, she rolled the roast over and carried it to the table, then glanced over at me. 

She bit the corner of her lip and fidgeted with the edges of her shirt, then looked up, her eyes stopping just below my face. “The roast needs to rest for a few minutes. I’ll be right back. You can wait here or in the living room and I needtochangeokaybye!” She spoke faster with every word until the last few blended into a barely comprehensible blur. 

Her cheeks blazed just as brightly as it had after I’d kissed her and she rushed out of the kitchen. As she swept past me, I considered catching her by the back of the shirt––she made the most adorable noises when startled––but decided against it. I was rather curious what exactly her plan was that she was blushing so brightly already and didn’t want to delay dinner either. 

She vanished around the corner and then up the stairs, her bare feet slapping loudly against the hardwood floor. I pushed off the wall and walked over to the table. It was obvious which side of the table was set for whom. Mine had a full-sized dinner plate, an elaborate goblet, a streak knife, and a heavy, vintage wooden chair that looked rather out of place in the modern kitchen. Her setting on the other hand consisted of just a salad plate, a tall glass, and a folding stool to sit on. 

It was nice to see such a visible sign that the lessons I’d taught her had stuck. 

Pulling back the chair, I saw another sign of those lessons. Sarah had most certainly not misplaced or forgotten about her collar, because it was neatly lying on my seat, along with the matching leash and a doggy bowl I hadn’t seen before. I picked up the bowl and spun it around to find her name emblazoned in big, blocky letters on the metal. 

I rolled my eyes and set it on the floor beside my chair. Perhaps if I ended up staying for longer than a single night it would see some use, but I doubted it. 

Sarah returned at a much more demure pace, though her outfit was anything but. She walked into the kitchen wearing a frilly white apron tied at her waist and nothing else. Though she was already a rather short woman, this apron was either sized for someone even smaller or possibly deliberately made to fit like that. It went down barely a few inches past her hips and strained to contain her bust, her nipples poking through the thin fabric like little pegs.

She paused by the door for a long moment, ducking her head as I looked her up and down, then took a step towards me and sank to her knees on the tiles beside my chair. “Welcome home, sir. I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to greet you properly when you arrived.” She couldn’t quite hide her excitement as she finished, “Maybe I should be punished for forgetting.”

“Perhaps. But that’s not for you to decide.”

She bounced up and down on her knees slightly, her breasts nearly escaping from her apron. “Of course, sir. Sorry sir.”

I smiled, not that she could see it. I’d done such a good job training her. “You can make it up to me by serving me some of this delightful looking lamb. But first…” I raised her collar. It was a simple thing, two bands of soft brown leather connected in the middle by a large gold ring. It could almost pass for a choker, but anyone with eyes could see that it was more than that. Especially with the little bell that was currently hanging off the ring. 

Sarah obediently crawled a little bit closer to me and I leaned down to fasten the collar around her neck. It fit her perfectly, just snug enough that she’d never forget it was there but neither did it interfere with her breathing. Sitting back, I admired my handiwork. She looked so much better like this. Obedience suited her. 

I was rather proud of the work I’d done with Sarah. She was one of the first mundane girls I’d decided were worth the effort of a personal touch, and she’d turned out quite nicely. When I’d met her during my first year at the University of Oslo, she’d been like a raw gemstone. Brilliant, but foolish. Smart, but unmotivated. She’d been floundering, a fourth-year student nearly finished with her masters but completely lost in life. 

She’d lacked purpose and direction and needed a firm hand and a master’s touch to bring out the brilliance trapped within. A little bit of mundane training, with just a touch of formalcraft and some mystic codes to smooth over the rough patches, and she was a whole new person ready to face the world.

When she’d graduated last year, I’d decided to send her off to investigate a few potential leads I’d come across. Her history degree and familiarity with the UK made her the perfect fit for the task. I hadn’t really expected much from her, and for a while nothing had come of it, but if the pictures she’d sent me earlier in the week were to be believed, she had stumbled onto a true treasure trove. It might even be the edge I needed to make absolutely certain that everything worked out the way I knew it had to. 

I snapped my fingers twice, drawing her gaze up to me. “Hop to it, pet. The food is getting cold.”

Sarah, who had been basking in my attention, jumped to her feet and got to work. As she turned her back to me, I got a good look at the bright red jewel sparkling between her cheeks, the large flared base of the plug pushing them slightly apart. 

We ate quickly at first. Then Sarah migrated fully from her side of the table to my lap and things slowed down considerably. I held her arms together behind her back, both her slim wrists fitting easily into the palm of one hand, and fed her occasional bites from my plate. 

She seemed to be enjoying the food, but her wriggling told me she enjoyed licking and sucking my fingers clean after every morsel considerably more. It was also rather distracting, but I’d already sated my initial hunger so I welcomed it. I had no doubts that she could feel my errection digging into her butt through my pants and it only spurned her onward, the little minx.

Between bites, I questioned her about her time here in Scotland and the work she’d been doing for me. I knew most of the details already––Sarah sent me a detailed update every week complete with pictures and videos of how she was spending what little time wasn’t consumed by her work––but I liked to hear it straight from her lips and she lived for the rare words of praise I whispered into her ears. 

The needy tremble in her voice as she described in glorious detail how many times she’d edged herself each day as she waited for my response to her report, praying that this was the week I’d finally give her permission to bring herself to completion was just as viscerally satisfying as the videos of her doing it had been. I could feel her arousal just as clearly as she could feel mine, and there was a small but growing wet patch on the leg of my pants. 

We didn’t end up making it to dessert. She moaned throatily as I fed her the last bit of lamb from my plate and I decided that enough was enough. Sarah made a damn good chocolate cake, but it would still taste just as good in an hour. Or three. 

I wiped my hands clean on a napkin and this time, instead of bringing more food to her lips, I took a firm grip of her messy ponytail and pulled sharply, tugging her head back and forcing her to arch her spine. Sarah’s sharp gasp was music to my ears, and I kissed her fiercely, tasting the meal she’d prepared for me again on her tongue and lips. 

Without giving her any warning and keeping her wrists clasped behind her back, I broke our kiss, transferred the hand holding her hair to under her knees, and stood up. The chair I’d been sitting in skidded back across the tiles and I cradled Sarah against me, my raised elbow and shoulder supporting her back

Sarah yelped in surprise, then stilled. I caught a trace of her broad, satisfied and slightly dopy smile before she nestled her face into my shoulder and went limp.

I carried her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and then up the stairs towards where I knew her bedroom was located. She’d never been too heavy for me to carry around, but today she felt particularly light in my arms. Even now my pace remained even and my breathing steady. I doubted it would remain that way for long, but my one-time teacher had told me that a true master—or a natural—could maintain the proper state and frame of mind at all times, even while distracted or asleep. If Luo Hao could do it, then I would too. Eventually.

I opened the door to her bedroom with my foot and paused in the doorway to look around. It was much as I remembered, though the books on her shelves and the piles of notebooks and loose papers had multiplied again. Her desk was all but buried under the clutter, with only a clear spot near the middle that looks just about the right side for her laptop. The laptop in question stood open on its side by the bed, soft music drifting from its little speakers and a long cord connecting it to the webcam attached to her bed’s backboard. 

My eyes paused on the small shrine on her bedside table. There were three pictures of me––one with her at a restaurant, one of just me from a hike we’d gone on together, and one of me in her old apartment’s bathroom, shirtless with a towel slung around my neck and beads of water slowly dripping down my arms and chest. Beside them lay a silver choker with a small flower-shaped charm, a pair of earrings, a makeup kit, and a bright red ball gag. There was also an empty space in the middle just big enough for her collar. 

Unlike the rest of her room, the bedside table was completely free of clutter. There were papers on her chair, on the windowsill, on the floor, and even on her dresser, but the only things by her bed were memories of me or ones I’d given her. 

I deposited her gently on her bed, noting that she’d put out fresh sheets, then kissed her forehead and rolled her over onto her stomach. “Stay,” I ordered. She wiggled her butt, the jeweled base of her butt plug catching the light, but didn’t move otherwise, keeping her hands clasped together behind her back where I’d been holding them previously. I smacked both cheeks simultaneously just hard enough to make them ripple, then turned away. 

It took barely any time at all to find what I was looking for. The familiar red cardboard box was on the bottom shelf of her closet, the flaps of the lid starting to show just how often the box got opened. I had to bend down to grab it and, instead of digging through it there, grabbed the entire rather-hefty box and carried it out into the room. 

Opening the box, I began to dig through the meticulously organized collection of toys and tools. She’d expanded her collection somewhat since the last time I’d visited. There was a new vibrator––a small silver bullet I recognized from numerous pictures––a handful of weighted clamps, two increasingly large plugs, and a few other odds and ends. 

I left most of it alone for now, though I did make a note of the clamps for later. I picked out a length of purple woven rope, a ring gag, and a black leather crop, then turned to where Sarah lay waiting. She was already breathing heavily, her apron rustling softly against the sheets with every rise and fall of her chest. Her legs were slightly parted, giving me a clear view of her puffy lower lips glistening with moisture and the translucent wet patch she’d managed to leave on her apron in the time it had taken me to gather my equipment. 

I lightly tapped her slit with the edge of the crop and she exhaled sharply into her bedsheets, then spread her legs a little wider to give me better access. I turned the crop ninety degrees and slowly drew it up between her legs until I reached her jeweled plug, then sharply rapped the middle of each of her ass cheeks in rapid succession. 

I set the crop aside and sat down on the bed beside her, my weight making the mattress creak. With deft fingers, I removed the hair tie from her crooked ponytail, then got to work on the knot holding her apron in place. “Have you missed me, pet?” I asked softly.

“Yes sir. Every day.”

“Oh? So you think of me every day, do you?”

“Yes sir. Every morning and every afternoon and every night.”

I finished untying the knot and moved her hair out of the way so I could remove the ribbon holding her apron in place from around her neck. “And what do you do when you think of me, pet?”

“I edge, sir. Three times in the morning, three times before bed, and once at lunch when I can. Just like you said a good pet should.”

I hummed softly, my voice dropping down to a croon and my fingers brushing slowly through her hair. “And what else did I say a good pet should do?”

“A good pet goes above and beyond, sir.”

“And have you been a good pet?”

“Yes sir! Some mornings I edged four or five times, especially if I knew I would be too busy at lunch. And then again in the evenings before dinner when I wrote my reports.”

I continued to stroke her hair, but my other hand slipped down between her thighs and I pinched her outer lips between my thumb and forefinger. They were already red and puffy from recent stimulation and left my fingers slick from just a touch. 

“It does sound like you’ve been a good pet. Does my cute little pet want to cum?” On the last word, I pinched harder, drawing another sharp breath from Sarah’s lips. 

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir what?”

“Yes sir, sir’s pet wants to cum!” she quickly amended. 

“Hmm, I can see that. But has my little pet earned it?” 

“Sir’s pet hopes sir thinks it has.”

I said nothing for nearly a minute, one hand scratching lightly at Sarah’s neck and ears while the other toyed with her slit. Sarah held her breath as she waited for my response, only to moan loudly when my thumb brushed lightly over her clit. It was delightful just how very sensitive she was.

I leaned down until my mouth was right next to her ear, my breath tickling her skin. “Does my pet remember the last time I gave it permission to cum?” 

“Yes sir. The twenty-third of November last year.”

I nipped her earlobe lightly, making her fingers twitch where they remained clasped behind her back. “Greedy, greedy. Not even an entire year, and my pet is already asking for more. No, I don’t think tonight is the night.”

Sarah’s choked sob was music to my ears. What came next however made my hands freeze in place. “Please sir, I––” she cut herself off before she could say anything more, but the damage was already done.

“What have I told you about begging, pet?” I asked, my voice hard. 

She cringed slightly. “Sir’s pet can beg only until sir has made up sir’s mind, sir,” she said quickly. “Sir’s pet is sorry! It just slipped out!” 

“So it was an accident?” 

“Yes sir.”

“And has my pet had any other unfortunate accidents it would like to tell me about?”

“No sir! Absolutely not, sir!”

“Good, good.” My hands began to move again and I lightly kissed the side of her neck right above the collar. “Then maybe if you’re a good pet for me tonight, and then tomorrow what you have to show me is as impressive as you’ve led me to believe, then we can revisit the idea. How does that sound, pet?”

The relief and hope in her voice was palpable. “Amazing, sir. Sir is very generous. Thank you for giving your pet a chance, sir.”

I smiled as I stood up, my momentary anger set aside for the time being. If the pictures she’d sent me were at all accurate, she’d more than earned her reward, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. It was much more fun to leave her in suspense.

I grabbed the rope I’d selected earlier and clinically looked down at Sarah, judging how best to do this. Something restricting, but not too tight for her to sleep in and with plenty of access for me. She wasn’t quite flexible enough to make a proper reverse prayer pose viable, but just keeping her arms behind her back seemed a little boring. Perhaps a frogtie for her legs, and I could fasten her arms to the bedposts? Yes, that sounded good. 

“On your back,” I ordered sharply, and Sarah rushed to obey, leaving her rumpled apron behind as she rolled over. I guided her legs into position and got to work.