SAMANTHA
At that moment, I was grateful for Leslie.
Her motives were not transparent. It much was obvious that she was angling for Jayce's favor. She wanted to be the one he noticed, the one he chose and the one he took back to his quarters.
She had been looking for a way to grab their attention ever since. She was just lucky Molly wasn't here....
Anyways, at least she had removed a lot of load and attention from me. I couldn't be more grateful. I let out a sigh of relief.
The other sex slaves eyed Leslie with jealousy and bitterness. I could see it in their faces. The way their lips pressed together. The way their eyes narrowed. The way their hands tightened around their dildoes.
They also wanted Jayce's attention...but they were too timid to approach him, yoo scared of rejection and too afraid of what might happen if he said no. They were scared of the stigma and the aftermath.
Leslie had no such fears. She was fierce and shameless.
I was puzzled by her lack of self-respect. Did she really think something was nice about sucking a man's dick and performing in front of so many people? Did she really think that was the path to happiness? To dignity? To love?
While I wrestled with those thoughts, Leslie made her way to Jayce. She positioned herself right before him like a hungry puppy. Her hips swayed, her smile was bright. Her body was on display for everyone to see.
With a flirtatious glance, she knelt. Her knees touched the cold stone floor. Her hands reached out and touched the hem of his robe. I could see the disgust written on Jayce's face. He wanted nothing to do with this. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his dress and she prepared to lift it.
I held my breath. I would be seeing Jayce's monster penis again.
Jayce's hand shot out immediately and he seized Leslie's wrists. His grip was so tight that his fingers dug into her skin. She winced but did not pull away.
"Did I ask for your service?" His voice was dangerous. "Desperate bitch?"
A chill ran down my spine. Typical of Jayce. I wondered why he waited so long to react.
My heart pounded for the insult Leslie just faced. The other women suddenly began to shift uncomfortably. No one spoke and no one moved.
Leslie refused to believe her ears. She thought he was just being his normal self and if she persuaded him a bit. He would change. Her smile faltered for just a moment, then she recovered. Her voice came out seductive, begging.
"I must please you," she said. "I want to make you happy, Your Highness. Please, do not make me go away."
"Oh really?" Jayce asked.
A mischievous smirk spread across his face. He looked down at her like she was a bug he had not decided whether to crush.
Leslie mistook his smile for encouragement. She kept moving closer to him. Her hands reached for his robe again. Her confidence seemed to grow. She thought she was winning.
I knew better.
Knowing Jayce's ways, I thought Leslie would be punished. He did not like being touched without permission. He did not like being approached by women who thought they were special. He did not like desperation.
Subtly, I moved back and kept my head down. It would be wiser to make myself small.
I was cautious enough not to involve myself.
As soon as I retreated, Jayce raised his foot and kicked Leslie in the chest.
The impact was hard, brutal and gut wrenching. Her body flew backward while she cried out in pain. Her arms flailed and she collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs and fabric.
The room went silent. So funny. Why were the girls quiet? Didn't they want a taste of Jayce Cunningham anymore?
Leslie lay on the stone floor, gasping for breath. Her hand pressed against her chest where his foot had landed. Her face was pale and her eyes suddenly grew wide.
Even in her suffering, she cast a weak glance up at him. Her lips trembled and voice broke into a whisper.
"Your Highness...please...let me serve you..."
What sort of desperation was this? What sort of woman begged a man to hurt her again? What sort of life had Leslie lived that made her think this was acceptable?
The girls began to murmur. Their voices rose and fell like waves.
"Did you see that?"
"He kicked her. Prince Jayce can be so rude. What if something happened to her pulse?"
"She should not have touched him."
"She should not have approached him at all."
"She is so stupid."
"Serves her right."
Trouble sparked up in the room. The women shifted and whispered. Some looked at Leslie with pity, some laughed, while some looked at her with disgust. Jayce's aura was now filled with fear.
Inside my head, Cece was very happy.
"Did you see that?" she said. "Did you see his face? He was not playing. He does not want anyone except us."
"That is not something to celebrate."
"It is everything to celebrate."
"She is hurt, lying on the floor and humiliated.
"She should not have touched what belongs to us."
"She does not belong to anyone. And neither do we."
"We belong to them. You know that. I know that. Even Leslie suspects that. That is why she was begging."
"I told her to stop. She did not listen."
"Look at her," Cece continued. "Look at her begging like a dog. That is what desperation looks like. That is what happens when women forget their worth. We will never be like that."
"Cece, stop."
"We will make them come to us. We will make them beg."
"I said stop!"
Cece finally went quiet. But I could feel her pacing hungrily.
Ms. Daisy stepped forward. Her face was flushed. Her hands were shaking. She tried to say something—probably an apology, probably an excuse—but Jayce ignored her.
He did not even look at her.
His eyes were fixed on Leslie.
A storm brewed in his eyes, tightening his expression and darkened his face.
He barked in anger, his voice echoing off the walls. "You want to serve me? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Leslie flinched. Her body curled inward. She looked smaller than I had ever seen her.
No one answered Jayce's question.
No one dared.
The room was frozen. Everyone was stunned in fear. The women held their breath and Daisy wrung her hands.