Rich Boy

Millian Achero Saventus Milliner

Rich Boy

“My father will hear about this!”

How dared they?! You were the son of the richest merchant house this side of the Koenigsflod! And your mother was the cousin of the Prince of Alhambra, that ruby of the great dunes of Akarrin!

Couldn’t they tell from your perfectly bronzed skin and locks of copper hair that you were of a different stock? Not to mention your piercing grey eyes! One glance should have them quivering with respect! Had they no shame?!

You slumped back down into your chair, sighed and took another deep drink from the bottle.

Who were you trying to fool? Sure, you were good looking, handsome and wonderful, but that didn’t help whatsoever when the “heroes” came to “liberate” the peasant girls you and your companions had plucked from undoubtedly drab, simple lives.

You looked down at the elf girl on her knees before you. She was your favourite. Blonde hair, emerald eyes, luscious lips and an ass that still made your mouth water, even after the countless nights you had spent in it. She wasn’t just a limp toy either. There was fire in her eyes, a gleam of defiance. Sure you could bend her, but you were convinced that she had never been truly broken. She’d dance for you, pour your wine, pleasure you, yet that gleam would never falter. Even with her pretty face all covered in your seed she would still glare at you. Trying to make her submit had become your favourite sport. Sadly, you seemed doomed to never finish the game, since the heroes always to showed up when things were getting good. You’d lost count of the times you’d lain helpless and bleeding on the floor, to watch her being carried off by some punk hero. Bastards. It vexed you to no end.