carriage ride

The next morning brought no regret, only a new hunger. The crown, now part of me, would not accept the simplicity of a luxury car. I needed a spectacle. I needed the world to see the magnitude of my ascent.

My departure from the Bancroft Mansion was choreographed like a funeral for everyone else's dignity. I wore a black silk robe; the crown gleamed in the pale dawn light. Behind me, Jonathan and four of the strongest police officers—now reduced to mere servants—held the leather reins of a period carriage I had ordered brought from a local museum overnight.

But the carriage was not pulled by horses.

In place of animals, there were six young men—former athletes from the city's football team—handpicked by the officers for their imposing physiques. They were dressed in women's lingerie; they were bullies, and you had ordered them to dress that way to humiliate them. Their faces were streaked with sweat and humiliation; yet, their eyes, as they gazed at me, reflected the same blind devotion I had seen in the Bancroft family.

"Faster, you worms!" I commanded, my voice echoing through the residential street.

Behind them, Katrina and Miranda—wearing nothing but tiny white shirts and towering heels—walked with leather whips in hand. Their task was simple: keep the "human horses" on pace.

With every slow step of the carriage, the crack of a whip cut through the morning silence. *Snap!*

Katrina’s whip came down hard on the firm buttocks of one of the young men. He let out a stifled groan; his body lurched forward and his leg muscles tensed as the skin of his glutes instantly reddened, throbbing from the impact.

"Maintain your posture, slaves!" Katrina shouted, her voice heavy with the sadistic pleasure that only someone who has discovered absolute power can express. She leaned forward, kissing the nape of the young man pulling on the left before delivering another sharp strike. "Thank the Master for allowing your bodies to serve as transport for His Majesty!"

People began to emerge from their homes, coffee cups frozen halfway to their mouths. Initial shock soon gave way to reverence. They did not view the scene as absurd; they saw the natural order of things. The King was passing by, and flesh—male or female—was nothing more than fuel for his glory.

I leaned back against the velvet upholstery of the carriage, watching the rhythmic sway of the young people's hips ahead, the sweat trickling down their backs, and the vivid red of the whip marks Katrina and Miranda were leaving in their wake.

"Stop!" I ordered.

The carriage came to a halt. The young people collapsed to their knees, gasping for breath, their buttocks burning. Katrina approached, her whip resting on her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with lust as she looked at me.

"Is there a problem, Master?" she asked, kneeling down and completely ignoring the men who served as the carriage's motive force.

"The pace is slow," I said, sliding my hand beneath my tunic and feeling my member pulse, demanding tribute. "I think we need a little extra incentive to reach the school on time."

I glanced at Miranda, who was smiling with the anticipation of someone who knew exactly what was coming next. She dropped her whip and leaned over one of the young men, forcing him onto all fours, while Katrina spread the young woman's legs so she could feel the heat of my desire.

"The carriage waits," I whispered, pulling Miranda up. "But not the Master." As the sun rose on the horizon, the scene in the middle of the street transformed into an altar of flesh and submission. The sound of whips gave way to the rhythmic moans of Miranda and Katrina—whose mouths and bodies now catered to my pleasure—while the young ones, still bound in their harnesses, were forced to watch, motionless, their master’s ecstasy.

School could wait. The world, however, was already at my feet.