The Queen's Knights Read online

  The Queen’s Knights

  A Rebel Lust Taboo Novel

  Ophelia Bell

  Animus Press

  Contents

  Free Book!

  Content Warning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Read On

  Sample from Mad Dog

  About Ophelia Bell

  Also by Ophelia Bell

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  Content Warning

  This book includes themes of sexual assault and is about a heroine who prevails over both her attacker and her feelings of helplessness after her assault. Discretion is advised.

  - Ophelia Bell

  Chapter One

  Gwen

  When I offer an invitation to dine, half a dozen men and a couple women raise their hands from the crowd beyond the window. Each one sports a matching light blue ribbon on their left upper arm. Left means they’re givers, and they know I’m here to take. Nearly all wear the same ribbon on their opposite arm too. I ignore the other “takers,” seeking one whose right arm is unadorned.

  A well-built man catches my eye, an inviting smile spreading beneath his jeweled black mask. Without a word, I tilt my chin and Percy nods, stepping toward the door to my playroom, opening it, and pointing.

  “You,” he says to the man with one blue ribbon.

  The man looks flummoxed at first, then his eyes brighten. He glances again at where I rest on my throne and licks his lips before following Percy through the door. The rest of the crowd remains outside the viewing window, some disappointed stares looking back. A couple men leave, not content to merely watch. There are more interactive pursuits to be found in other areas of the club. Most choose to stay for the show.

  My chosen subject steps into the center of the room opposite my dais and clears his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow and he smiles awkwardly. “Ah, I didn’t expect to be called on. I’m not sure I know how this works.”

  He makes it sound as if I called on him to come to the front of class for a presentation. I frown, but don’t answer. His voice is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. His words bring to mind my other life, the one I retreat to Whitewood Club in order to escape. Here I can be queen for a night, fully in control of my own body, my own pleasure, and the partners I choose. No one can touch me without my consent.

  Percy steps in, my loyal knight, his muscular bulk blocking my view of my subject for a moment.

  “Undress completely,” he instructs, “except for your mask. If she still deems you worthy, you’ll take your position beneath the throne. What’s expected of you should be self-explanatory after that.”

  The man nods and combs his fingers through his hair. He’s handsome, from what I can see. His hair is thick and wavy and inky-black. His eyes are dark behind his mask, but I can’t tell whether they’re blue or brown. He’s as tall as Percy, but leaner, just shy of wiry—though when he strips off his shirt, I reassess, taking in his light brown skin and tattooed biceps, the faint dusting of dark hair that accents a moderate six-pack, and a swimmer’s frame, still slightly soft with youth. When he bends over to untie his shoes, the muscles of his tattooed shoulders ripple. The ink appears to go farther than I can see and piques my interest. He’s young, but adventurous. Not faint of heart, but willing to submit.

  Percy catches my eye, and I give a slight nod to his unspoken question. He’s the perfect assistant, his instincts on point when it comes to anticipating my needs, and when my subject sheds his jeans and stands upright again, Percy makes a circular motion in the air.

  “Turn slowly so the queen may inspect you.”

  The man smirks and lifts one shoulder, but obeys. He rotates almost comically slowly, pausing when his back faces me as if he knows I want a good look at his tattoos. The artwork is a striking scene of a knight on horseback slaying a dragon. The man shoots me a glance over one shoulder, then looks at Percy.

  “Does she ever give her own commands? Not that I mind a proxy, this is just my first time here, so is this how it always goes, or…?”

  “Save your tongue for the real task,” Percy says, his tone tinged with humor. “You’re going to need it. But every dominatrix makes her own rules—within the bounds of the club’s rules, of course.”

  The man lets out a low laugh, the sound relaxed and confident despite the taut anticipation strung through all his limbs. He swallows again as he turns to face me, his gaze traveling over me in an easy manner, more curious and appreciative than lascivious. His cock thickens slightly when his focus returns to my face.

  My face, of all things, half-covered with a mask similar to his own, is what makes him rouse fully—and not even my mouth, the part exposed, but my eyes. We stare at each other, and I force myself to hold his gaze, to avoid dropping it to his crotch to witness his arousal grow. I’m the one in charge here, even though Percy relays the orders. I’m queen on Masquerade Night at Whitewood Club. I sit atop the throne and men line up, hoping to be chosen for a chance to taste my nectar.

  This one’s smile is hopeful, seeking approval. I maintain my perfect composure and grant it with a nod.

  I haven’t been this disarmed by a man in so long, it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. But most of all, it gets my blood flowing more than it ever has on Masquerade Night.

  The last Saturday of every month is when I get to don this persona, to forget about Gwendolyn Brennan and her weaknesses. I become Queen Justine for a single night, take my place on the throne in room fourteen on the second level of Whitewood Club, and choose who services me.

  Because Gwendolyn Brennan didn’t get to choose when a violent stranger broke into her university office one evening and forced his cock down her throat, and she’s been running from the nightmares ever since.

  The images only flash through the back of my mind for a split-second, but I’m already in the zone, behind the veil of the queen. Not only do I hold the power here, but I also have a knight at my side willing to shield me with his body, if it comes to it. Nothing can hurt me, and this masked morsel of youth and vigor is about to submit for the sake of my pleasure.

  Percy steps toward me and I lift my feet from the cushioned platform beneath them, spreading my knees wide. My sheer skirt parts at a split down the middle, and as expected, the man’s eyes drop to my exposed core. For effect, I shrug the straps of my gown off my shoulders, baring my breasts both to him and our observers beyond the glass. Several members of the audience smile and a few lean closer, ready for the show to begin.

  Percy’s on his knees, adjusting the moving pieces of the throne for my subject to take his place. The padded footrest rotates and aligns perpendicular to the throne, coming to rest at a slight incline to the floor below my dais. Percy snaps the narrow seat at the end into place. Then he reaches beneath me to lift the headrest up into position.

  His face is inches from my pussy, but this part never seems to faze him. He explained at the beginning of my training for this role that he’s only here for my comfort and safety, and has never given the impression that he cares about anything else. Having the friendship of a man I can trust so implicitly has been the greatest boon to my healing, but I admit the last couple Masquerade Nights, I’ve wondered whether he even thinks of me sexually at all.

  Finally he unbuckles the wrist straps that attach to either side of the throne and steps to the side, gesturing to the narrow cushioned backrest where my subject must take his place.

  “She prefers your wrists restrained. If this is an issue, say so now.”

  The man blinks, but nods. “Mouth and tongue only. Got it.”

  Percy leans in to indicate a pair of polished wooden handles above the cuffs on either side of the bench. “These are for leverage, if you need. Do you have any questions? If not, make yourself comfortable.”

  My plaything is fully erect now. He takes a deep breath and licks his lips, drifting his gaze over the entire tableau once before shaking his head and stepping toward me. He turns and straddles his seat, crouching to lower himself and then lying back. His body is still tightly wound, but he controls his movements like an athlete, hyperaware of his surroundings.

  My heartbeat accelerates when he lowers his head between my knees and peers up at me from behind a black velvet mask studded with tiny, glittering onyx gems. His hands brush the backs of my calves when he extends both arms and allows Percy to restrain him.

  We stare at each other through my parted thighs, his gaze briefly flicking up to my exposed pussy barely a foot above his head. His lips quirk into a playful smile and he shakes his head. “Please tell me th
is isn’t as close as I’m allowed to get. My tongue isn’t that long.”

  Percy finishes buckling the left cuff around the man’s wrist and taps the underside of the backrest. “You’re on rails. Just push up with your legs until you’re positioned where you like and it’ll lock in place. You’re good to go. Bon appétit!”

  With that, Percy steps out of the way into the shadows just behind my throne and whispers into my ear, “I’m here for you, my queen. Just say the word if you need me.”

  Chapter Two

  Gwen

  I tilt my head to the side, acknowledging Percy’s promise, then look down at my submissive pet for the evening, giving him a somber nod that he may begin. He licks his lips again, and his thighs flex as he pushes against the floor with his feet. His backrest slides up, the motion causing his stiff erection to bounce slightly when it locks into place, his face squarely beneath my spread cheeks. I suppress a gasp of surprise at the sensation of his warm breath gusting against my pussy.

  This is the feeling I’ve ached for since I began this quest to reclaim my power—the anticipation of pleasure strong enough to get my blood pumping even before any contact. I’ve sought it for six months without success. That isn’t to say I haven’t enjoyed every evening spent on this throne with a submissive’s tongue buried between my thighs, but this is the first time I’ve craved the pleasure without even being touched.

  I force myself into some semblance of composure befitting a queen, force my gaze up from my subject’s impressive cock, and scan the onlookers beyond the window. The audience is enthralled, even more so than usual. It seems my submissive is as fascinating to them as he is to me.

  “Fucking heaven,” he murmurs, and I bite the inside of my mouth to control my reaction to the warmth of his words teasing my sensitive flesh. A deep groan emanates from his chest and his restraints creak. He grips the handholds and his biceps flex as he lifts himself closer to my exposed core, and a moment later, his hot tongue makes one long, languid swipe from my clit all the way to my ass.

  I arch my back with a gasp, so surprised by the immensity of the pleasure I nearly lose track of my surroundings. I reach up to grip the carved finials at the top corners of my throne and spread my legs wider.

  Behind me, Percy lets out a breath of surprise as if he’s just as invested in my pleasure as I am. I tilt my head back to look at him. Our gazes lock past our masks, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I catch a spark of true desire in his eyes. I’ve never offered an invitation for him to join in before, and he’s never expressed an interest. But tonight I throw caution to the wind.

  “You have my permission to touch me, Percival,” I whisper.

  His lips part and he dry-swallows, then blinks as if he’s coming out of a trance.

  “Gwen… er… my queen, it would be my absolute honor to assist in giving you pleasure. May I?”

  A thick lock of blond hair falls over his forehead as he looks down at me, first at my mouth before his gaze drifts to my breasts. I release the top of the throne and drop my hands to the arms, pushing my breasts up in invitation. My attention splits between the expert tongue buried in my pussy, lapping at my clit, and the lightest brush of Percy’s fingertips against my skin as he reaches over my shoulders to cup my breasts.

  My throne has a low, contoured back that swoops up on either side to tall, carved posts. It’s wide enough for Percy to dip his head and brush his mouth down the column of my throat as he begins to tease my nipples. I let my head fall back against his shoulder and give into the urge to moan. My audience stares wide-eyed as I involuntarily rock my hips on my seat, wishing for closer contact with that devious tongue beneath me. I let my eyelids fall shut, picturing the wicked smile the man gave me just before his face disappeared from view, as if he knew exactly how hypnotic his tongue could be.

  For the first time since taking the role of Queen Justine, I’m utterly at my subject’s mercy rather than the other way around. Even though he’s shackled to the chair, I’m powerless to control a thing.

  He must sense my need for deeper contact, because he pulls himself even higher, his entire face pressed into my slit, the edge of his mask grazing my bottom. His tongue plunges deep into me again and he tilts his head, swirling the tip in teasing flicks, then pulling out again and shifting to my clit. I gasp and pivot my hips, giving him as much access as I can, and he takes the invitation, grasping my clit between his lips and sucking hard until I cry out.

  “He’s the best one yet, isn’t he?” Percy murmurs, staring down at the chin between my thighs, which is all either of us can see of the man.

  I can only manage a half-coherent “uh-huh” before the man shifts again, swiping his tongue back through my folds and continuing farther. He darts the quickest, lightest lick against my rear, which is just as exposed to him as the rest of me.

  “Oh god. Oh, fuck!” I cry in a very un-queenly manner.

  A devious chuckle comes from beneath me and his restraints creak again, his thighs flexing as he pushes himself farther below me. His tongue flicks teasingly around my asshole several times before he moves back to my pussy.

  “Wish I could use my hands,” he says in a low voice. “I’d make you come so fucking hard.”

  “N-No touching allowed,” I stutter, too distracted by the image now stuck in my head of doing more with this man. Of feeling that thick shaft inside me, of riding him to completion. But his tongue is doing the job well enough on its own.

  “I get it,” he says, lips brushing in teasing caresses against my folds. “But I’d still be at your mercy. I would do whatever you asked me to do.”

  An idea springs to mind that gives me a vicarious thrill. Something I’m not willing to do myself, but that I know Percy might enjoy.

  “Would you like to come when I do?”

  He pauses his lazy licking and sucking for a moment, no doubt sensing it’s a trick question. “I’d be a fool to turn down an orgasm, but I don’t see you leaving that throne to give me one. What’s the catch?”

  I turn my head to face Percy, who still leans over my chair, gently cupping my breasts and pinching and rolling my nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

  “My knight would do the honors, wouldn’t you, Percival?”

  Percy meets my gaze, studying me for a moment. If I could see his eyebrows, I imagine they’d be raised in surprise. We don’t typically discuss our scenes after the fact, but when he was assigned as my bodyguard and assistant at the start of the year, the owner of Whitewood also provided me with a copy of his file.

  He knows I know every detail about his sexual preferences. That he identifies as demisexual, someone who is only sexually aroused around partners they form an emotional bond with, but that he’s also quite open to sex with any gender if the circumstances are right. And I remember another word in his file: compersive, which I admit I had to look up after reading it. It means he gains joy and arousal from seeing someone he cares about experience the same. We’ve never been intimate until tonight, but we’ve spent every waking hour together since I began this adventure. He moved into my guest room the first night and has been my shadow ever since. I hope it’s worth the risk, but his silence makes me uncertain.

  “If it’s too much to ask…” I begin, and he shakes his head.

  “Anything for you, my queen,” he says, giving me a smile that assures me I haven’t overstepped. “Provided your subject consents.”