Cocky Virgin Prince, page 1
Cocky Virgin Prince
(of Android City)
Star
Night
by
Wendy Rathbone
Cocky Virgin Prince (of Android City) Copyright © 2018
by Wendy Rathbone and Eye Scry Publications
Cover design: Della Van Hise
A publication by:
Eye Scry Publications
http://www.eyescrypublications.com
TITLE: Cocky Virgin Prince (of Android City)
Author: Wendy Rathbone
© All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced wholly or in part without prior written permission from the publisher and author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages. Neither may any section of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or other, without prior written permission from the author, except as exempted by legitimate purchase through the author's website, Amazon.com or other authorized retailer.
Address all inquiries to the author at:
wrathbone@juno.com
Dedication:
To Della Van Hise
for all her love and support
and that beautiful, sweet cover!
Also:
To all authors, readers, and people in
all walks of life pursuing a dream.
Never let anyone tell you
you can’t.
Chapter One
“No one touches this ass,” said Prince Night in a rough and stormy voice. “No one!”
Night’s father’s tone came soft. I could barely hear what the ruler of Android City, King Dusk, said. But I knew what he should be saying.
“You will honor the body-temple. Never forget, your body is the temple. You will honor every need, every touch you feel, every sound, scent, and taste. You are twenty-one now. It is time you became a man.”
This was the mantra we all learned from the time we could talk. We must revere our human bodies in all ways. The most sacred reverence we could give ourselves beyond the necessities of eating, sleeping and exercise was sex. No one worked. The city’s automated existence was overseen by android servants. Thus we had entered a Golden Age of decadence and pleasure. A rite of passage into the realm of sexual ecstasy was planned and celebrated for everyone, usually at the age of seventeen. Rarely past the age of twenty.
The prince was twenty-one.
In our city’s culture, it was unheard of, and an insult to the body-temple, to be a virgin still at twenty-one unless you had tested asexual/aromantic.
The prince was neither.
I was hiding in an alcove used for android stop-offs and power-ups. I was no android, though, still young and fully human. Not like King Dusk who was ninety percent cyborg and nearing the apex of his second century of life. There was little of his body left that functioned naturally. Life persisted, but steel limbs and organs had no feeling. We all would become that one day, old and made of metal until even steel could not sustain or contain the life force. Which was why we were encouraged, and even sometimes forced, to embrace all bodily functions while youth and vitality lasted.
But the prince abused his body. For one thing, he had nine tattoos, so the rumors said, done in the Grim Lands beyond the safe walls of Android City. He’d run with a gang of thieves at the age of fifteen when he had them done. And he had piercings! I’m not sure how many, but to abuse the body-temple that way for reasons other than health, especially if one was a royal, brought disgrace and shame to the family. He spoke roughly to his father. And he swore off sex probably just to madden him.
The reason I had ducked into the open closet was because I’d seen the king and his son come around the corner at the end of the corridor, heads bent in heavy discussion.
I hid because I feared my presence might upset the prince.
But let me back up a bit in this story.
The king of Android City had nine sons, all named for various times of the day. For example, the eldest was named Evening. The next Dawn. The next Sunset. And so forth. Night, Dusk’s youngest, had been grown from the frozen seed and embryo of the king and his first wife, Dewdrop, long dead. People said because Night was a vat-baby that was why he was a problem. But I grew up with him. The problem with him was not that he was a vat-baby. Simply, he defied and questioned everything he encountered. He was not satisfied with the new Golden Age that Android City had brought for all humans in the last millennium. He accused his father of a loss of heart. And me? The son of a palace guard, I’d played Steam and Smoke, Mask and Trigger, and Skart with him, as all young kids did together, until the age of twelve when I was judged by the royal council to possess a body-temple of Anomalous Splendor. It was then, on my birthday, that I was accepted to the Academy of Exalted Pleasure where I would learn all the glorious ways a body-temple such as mine could excel at helping others in the quest to ecstasy. I would become a Guide in the Rite of Ecstasy for those my instructors chose to pair me with.
That day, Night accused me of having no heart, and declared me his archenemy until the day he died.
I cried. I’d just been told by the royal council I was beautiful, and by the youngest prince of Android City that I was horrible, all on my birthday. I’d loved that boy. By all the gods that never existed, to be told I had no heart when it was breaking, to be spat upon by my best friend, well, I did not want to live.
But I was consoled by my training, and put my mind into being the best. But since that day, my heart stayed hidden.
Much like I was now, hiding in a space where androids plugged their sockets into the wall for lunch.
For the past nine years I had only seen the prince, off and on, at a distance at various functions. He had never come to visit me at the Academy. Not once.
And now, here I was. Hiding. Wearing my sheerest red and pink silks and my dark hair sprayed with glints of gold. I’d been doused in lavender baths, scented with green-sea spice. I worried the odor lingered on the air and gave away my presence.
I could not allow the prince to see me yet. For he was on his way to the Sacred Chamber of Exalted Pleasure, his father literally pushing him forward, forcing him into this rite of passage. The rules were he could not see me until he was locked safely within that room.
In the alcove just around the bend from the chamber I stood very still, holding my breath as they passed.
I could not understand why anyone would have to be pushed into their rite of pleasure. Nor should they be forced. But the king’s orders took precedence over all.
At the Academy where I lived, my first instructor called ceremonies where the virgin was not eager to take the sacred journey and had to be coerced into ecstasy, the Enforced Rite. When I questioned the use of the word “force”, he chastised me it was a petty concern. It did not seem petty to me.
Then yesterday, that same instructor chose me for the role of Guide to Prince Night.
I wanted to decline but he would not hear of it.
“You were chosen,” he said, “because you knew him as a child. You are familiars. This is a matter of delicacy because he is the prince. And you have been well-trained. I expect you to handle it with all the grace and expertise I have taught you.”
Another thing he’d taught me--I was not allowed to refuse his assignments.
Today’s assignment: Prince Night of Android City.
Chapter Two
“You ass,” said Night.
“Watch your language,” said the king.
From my hiding spot, I heard an alarming scuffle. I peered around the corner of the hall.
Night was actually struggling against his father’s cyborg grip. He had no chance of escaping, but he tried. He had always been a stubborn one, that boy.
The king held him tightly by the upper arm. His other silver hand lay firm against Night’s nape. His black cloak billowed about them both as they struggled.
The door to the sacred chamber automatically opened. King Dusk shoved his son across the threshold.
Night gave a yell of protest, then hissed, “What do you think you locking me in here will accomplish?”
“Reverence for the temple.”
Night scoffed, and then laughed. “I’ll sit in here all day and I won’t do a thing. You can’t make me.”
“Then you’ll stay in there forever, your only companion the Guide the Academy has chosen for you.”
“Fuck you!”
“The language of babies,” the king said. “But soon you will be a man.”
From inside the doorway, framed in pink light, Night looked the king up and down, the old ruler’s metal arms, his chest plates, his shining silver scalp, his carapace that shone blue in the corridor’s misty lightning.
“I am a man,” said Night. “What are you?”
Without answering, King Dusk backed away. The door closed. He pressed his metal hand on the lock and I heard it clicking into place—tick-tick-tick.
But there was a second way in. I had been on my way there before I stopped to hide. The back way led to a secret entrance to the Sacred Chamber of Exalted Pleasure where I was to make my appearance and awe the room’s occupant. That’s how it always went.
But this time I knew my presence was not going to awe this room’s occupant. It was going to take all my training to seduce this stubborn, cocky, wild prince.
For the first time in my life of participating in the Rite of Ecstasy—or in this case, the Enforced Rite—for of-age virgins in our s
I punched in the code for the secret entrance and moved across the shining marble floor of the inner foyer.
Now the only physical barrier between me and the prince was a red velvet curtain.
My heart hammered. Not a normal response for me. I loved my place in society initiating virgins in their ecstasy rites. My body-temple loved sex, pleasure and ecstasy, whether giving or receiving. This was not difficult for me, for this was my talent, my calling.
But today Night stood beyond that curtain. My best friend since we were babes. My childhood buddy.
And I knew he wanted nothing to do with me.
The digital cams would be on us, for this was not a private ritual. Citizens, fathers, brothers, mothers, and sisters could tune it in and out at will. Night’s initiation would be broadcast.
As if the pressure wasn’t already enough.
I took deep breaths. Squared my shoulders. Pushed aside my long and scintillating gold-sprayed dark hair. Licked my lips. Bounced up and down on the balls of my feet.
I could not make myself move forward.
Night did not want me. I knew that. My training covered such aberrations, but had never been put to the test.
First I was to always speak softly, so as not to startle. Never take insults personally. Never expect a return of pleasure for pleasure given. With all my assigned virgins, it had never come to any of that. Their first forays into ecstasy with another person, with me, were friendly, warm, and inviting. With shared mutually content afterglows.
I knew it would not be so this time.
My stomach flipped. I dreaded this assignment.
My fingers curled into determined fists. I would do this. I could do this.
My muscles released. I could move again. I took a step forward. Parted the curtain.
I saw Night, dressed in form-fitting worn blue denim, sporting knee-high boots, and a willowy white shirt, standing at the far end of the room. His back was to me, his brown hair gleaming where it brushed the edges of his neck. He was long-limbed, tall. Lean as wind. Through the tight denim slacks I could see the wiry frame of him, how taut he was; I could see the stiffness in him, and the wildness of a man who acted as if he’d been born in a cage instead of Android City and the freedom of privilege.
He stood against a panoramic window that took up half the wall. It overlooked the glints and glimmers and magic violet flicker of the city. We were on the highest floor so the view included the bleakness of the desert of the Grim Lands beyond the city walls.
I took another step forward, my silks rustling.
Night startled. Turned. And the beauty of his perfect oval face was caught in the lamplight and city-light, gold and violet mixing upon his features. His sleek eyebrows arched. It took him less than a second to recognize me. He gasped.
“You!”
I blinked hard. Took a slow breath. The heart knows when it’s been shattered and does not easily forget.
“Star?”
I nodded once. If I had not been so well-trained, I might have been embarrassed. This was hard on both of us. Archenemies and all.
The room seemed like a dream, all made up for the occasion in swirls of silver streamers and shivering candlelight by a large bed covered in deep blue comforters and pillows. On a nearby table sat a bucket of ice, a bottle of wine propped within. The goblets shone. Everything was like diamonds in a warm rain of light. Even the floor, which was polished so heavily it gleamed like a mirror beneath our feet.
Above us, on the ceiling and embedded into the walls, camera lights winked blue, like android eyes.
I don’t know how long we stared at each other. It felt like minutes but was probably only seconds. Then suddenly, as if a balloon had burst, Night began to laugh. It was neither a happy laugh, nor one of dismay or, even, despair. It was sharp and raucous. Drunken, almost. Cruel.
Night laughed and laughed, then pointed at me as if something were very wrong.
I stood quite still and let the commotion wash over me, trying to feel nothing. And failing.
Night continued to laugh, grabbing his stomach, doubling over.
“Star,” he said between guffaws. “I can’t believe it’s you. After all this time. Of all the gods that never were…” His voice trailed off.
I swallowed hard, pretending nothing was amiss, and took another step toward the table. “May I have some wine?”
“Wine?” His laughter slowly subsided, but he still chuckled. “You want wine?”
I nodded, going to the table and gracefully taking the bottle, fastening the opener, removing the cork.
The cameras were on us. Of that I could never forget. This was a performance. A rite of passage. That was all.
“Wine before we strip and get to it, eh?” asked Night.
“If that is your wish,” I replied.
“My wish is to get out of here. Now.” His tone took on an edge.
I looked up. He was no longer smiling.
“You father has locked us in.”
“Yeah, but you know the code to the back.”
I shook my head. “It’s double enforced to secure us for the time it takes for the ritual. The combination changed the moment I closed the door behind me.”
Night smirked. “Figures. Ass. You could have left it propped open.”
“Why?” I asked, without turning away from the table.
I poured the wine. One for me. None for him. He could pour his own.
I turned toward him, put the goblet to my lips and sipped. It cooled and heated my mouth and throat at the same time.
After a moment of silence, Night said, “Why, you ask? Why? Tell me the truth. You want this. You relish this assignment. You got me in the raffle. And you’re loving it.”
“There was no raffle. I was chosen.” I took another sip.
“To what? Fuck the virgin prince? What a crock!”
“On the contrary. It is the highest of honors,” I said. “Plus, we were once friends.” I felt a moment of vulnerability and blurted before I could stop myself. “It is nice to see you again. Night.” My lips trembled on an unsure smile.
“Nice? Nice you say? They took you away from me. Made you a whore. And you say this is nice? This meeting here and now? This atrocity of a ritual?”
It hurt. His words. His disapproval of my honorable accolades. All of it. He was such a rebel, even as a kid. Once, I’d admired him for it. Now he was just being mean.
“You should have some wine,” I said. “Maybe it will make all this easier.” My voice came out clear, level, but inside I was shaking.
“Fuck you.”
I blinked. Pieces of me felt like they were floating away. Other pieces, the parts of me called ego and self-worth and self-respect, hardened. “Suit yourself,” I said, and went to lounge on the bed. It did, after all, look amazingly comfortable. As I lay back, wine in hand, the bed cupped me in billows of cushioning softness. It smelled crisp and clean, like a summer breeze.
I stared upward at the sparkling crystal chandelier in the middle of the room.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Night walk to the table, heard the splash of wine hitting glass. Good. It was a first step to civility I hoped.
I had a million questions I wanted to ask him. But I couldn’t. Not because of the cameras. They were visual only, no audio. But because of him. His behaviors, his untamed beliefs and disrespect, being a malcontent. And because of us.
I heard him mumbling under his breath. Words like, “ridiculous”, and “madness” and “fucking unbelievable”.
Night walked back to the panoramic window and stood for a long time. His figure made a nice silhouette. He sipped his wine casually.
Someone had to break the ice.
“When you were little, you used to sit in the tower room and gaze out over the Grim Lands,” I said.
His reply came low and firm. “I’m not going to fall for it.”
“What?”
“You, playing your game to reel me in.”
“I’m just trying to have a conversation.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk at all.”
