To The Princess Bound by Sara King

dreading this.  The lavatory was immense, the toilet located a good ten feet inside the doorway, trapping her inside with him.  She said nothing, hoping that his urge would go away.
    “This is a very nice rug,” the man commented.
    Victory winced.  Slowly, carefully, she sat up and peered over the mattress at him.  She swallowed at the thought of crossing it, once more leaving nothing but chain between them. 
    “Are you really a Psi?” she whispered, searching his cerulean eyes.  Somehow, with their bodies hidden from each other by the bed, it was easier to cope with his presence.
    His face twisted in a strained smile.  “A Psi that’s about to pee himself.”
    A third of her wanted to tell him to pee—that she wasn’t going to get anywhere near him.  Another third of her didn’t want to deal with the smell of urine until one of her maids came to clean it up.  The last third was caught between the horror of seeing his body again, and the horrible bad form of not even giving him a proper place to relieve himself.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said softly.  “I can’t.”  He jingled the shackles holding his arms behind his back.
    Of course he could.  A Psi could destroy one’s thoughts, change one’s memories, speak inside the mind…
    Then a more disturbing thought occurred to her.  A man doesn’t need his arms to hold a woman down and use her .
    “Is there a chamberpot on your side?” the man asked, desperation in his voice.  “You can just slide it over to my side of the bed and I’ll make do.”
    Victory frowned, struck from that thought by the barbarian’s provinciality.  “This is a civilized household.  We have a composting toilet.”
    The Psi whimpered and dropped his head to the bed, face down.  “I’m gonna have to pee the rug, aren’t I?”
    Victory gnashed her lip between her teeth, considering.  Finally, she said, “I’m going to come over there.”  Then, as his head darted up in gratitude, she growled, “But don’t move until I’m on the other side.”
    He nodded, his blue eyes pleading.
    Victory swallowed and started to crawl over the bed, but stopped when more of his body was revealed.  She shrank back, fear and dread wrenching her gut.
    The Psi said nothing, just remained absolutely still, like a woodsman trying to tame a wild animal.  “Would it help if I looked away?” he asked softly.
    He knows I’m afraid of him, Victory thought, fighting humiliation.  She was a princess and he was a slave and she couldn’t come within six feet from him without bawling like a terrified child.
    She yanked a sheet off of the bed and threw it over him, so that it covered his face, head, and body.  He remained motionless, a black mound of embroidered cloth.
    “Stay there,” Victory said, hating the trembling in her voice. 
    He nodded against the sheet.
    She bit her lip, watching the fabric move with his breathing.  It didn’t hide what it concealed, but at least it made it easier to stomach.  Reluctantly, Victory began crawling across the bed.  The last two feet before the other side, with the man’s big body only a couple feet away, her nerves finally failed her and she made a panicked scramble, lunging to her feet and hitting the end of the chain, hard.
    The man grunted, but otherwise remained silent.
    “Get up,” Victory managed, every nerve humming.  “Leave the sheet where it is.”
    “I don’t know how well it will stay on,” the Psi said, “But I can try.”  He eased backwards over his feet, then stood up.
    Victory gasped.  She had forgotten how big he was.  “Get low,” she babbled, looking away.  “Gods…”  She stared at the floor, feeling like she was going to vomit.
    He hunched under the sheet, so it looked like he was barely taller than she.  “Better?” he asked.
    “Much,” she whispered, trying to keep her utter gratitude from showing.  She looked at the door to the lavatory, her heart-rate already starting that