Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Mistress Franla,” my master said, his voice so deep it seemed to travel through the floor and the carpet into my body. “You’ve done a lovely job with her.” Then, as if he could read my mind, my master said, “Is your quim very wet, Wetquim? Must I take you straight to my bedchamber to keep you from making a mess here in my study?”
My face blazed like the core of a new-made star. It vexed me, and heated my cheeks even further, that I didn’t even understand why. Why should I feel any modesty about how my master and my mistress could make my body respond, by stripping me naked and then dressing me in a garment that had no purpose other than to demonstrate my bondage? I myself had done nothing immodest, nothing even the slightest bit embarrassing, had I?
But the idea that they could read in the involuntary, outward signs of my physiology, the thoughts in my head… that they could divine, from the heat and the wetness between my thighs, how empty my rebellion and defiance truly were… was that it? I shook my head slowly back and forth, tears prickling the corners of my eyes.
So many of those thoughts represented the complete opposite of what a spirited young woman, taken from her home and sold to a Vionian nobleman, should feel. My shame arose not from what my master could make my body do, but what it made me think, when he touched me, and even when he spoke to me about my new life of bondage and service to his pleasure.
The awful realization made not just my face but my whole upper body go searingly hot with mortification. And, much worse, down between my thighs, inside the lovely, lacy, tiny panties, I felt how I had indeed started to make a mess of the present my master had given me. He had dressed me in this expensive underwear, and my pussy’s dark, irresistible need had already begun to seep into it, like a liquid confirmation of my wayward imagination.
“I have a towel in my pocket, my lord,” Mistress Franla said, from behind me. “Wetquim’s panties will need hand washing, of course, but you needn’t fear for the carpet: I will wipe away her lubrication as necessary, if you wish to begin training her mouth here in your study.”
I closed my eyes. I felt as if I had gotten on another spaceship—one where this time I could feel the acceleration of the stardrive, propelling me faster and faster across the galaxy. I heard my mistress’ words, and though I didn’t understand them, I knew somehow they meant I would learn very soon what the terrifying secret was. My master was about to teach me about fucking.
“That’s very kind of you, Franla,” the baron said. I thought I could tell from the sound of his voice that he had a smile on his face, and knowing that he found my humiliating plight pleasant to behold sent a shudder through all my limbs, and a new wave of helpless warmth to my pussy. “As you can imagine, I’m quite hard just at the sight of her in her pretty lingerie, and I’d certainly like to get her used to pleasing me here in front of the hearth. But she hasn’t answered my question, has she? Wetquim, my dear, are you very wet down there?”
I shook my head, waves of hot shame coming and going in my face again and again as I tried to find the will to answer my master with a lie.
“No, master,” I whispered.
“Nonsense,” he replied, his tone not stern but rather amused. “I can see the spot on the panties myself. You’re as wet as a bed girl can be, even though you don’t know what your little cunny is getting you ready for.”
I tried to keep back the sob of humiliation and fear, but it came out anyway. I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter, so that the tears trickled onto my hot cheeks. I started to sway, my balance faltering without the sight of the room around me to help me keep it.
“Come here,” my master said abruptly, his voice turning strict and slightly impatient.
Then I felt his hands on me, and my eyes flew open to see him leaning forward to put one hand on the small of my back and the other between my thighs, so that he could pull me a step closer to his throne-like armchair. I came, awkwardly and nearly stumbling but supported by the baron’s hands.
My own hands flailed outward as I tried to find my balance, and they ended up in front of me, reflexively defending myself from my master.
“Her hands, Franla,” the baron said abruptly, and an instant later I found the wiry strength of my mistress grasping my wrists and firmly bringing them back behind me, her grip as strong, it felt like, as the metal cuffs I had worn on the auction block.