Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Marcus’ strong hands grasped my upper arms, lifting me to my feet. My legs trembled, weak from kneeling and the ordeal of my punishment. As I swayed precariously, Marcus’ firm grip steadied me. When he had made sure I could balance on my feet, his hands left my arms, and I felt them behind me, unclipping the leash from my cuffs and then the cuffs themselves from one another.
“Hands in front,” he commanded brusquely.
I complied, bringing my wrists before me. Another tiny sob rose from my throat at how even that small movement awakened the pain in my bottom. The metal clinked as Marcus reattached the cuffs in front of my tummy. His fingers brushed my skin, sending an electric tingle through me despite—or because of—the agony his cane had meted out.
“Monsieur,” Marcus addressed Delacroix, his voice measured and professional. “Shall I position the bolster on the bed to raise the ass for fucking?”
My breath caught in my throat at his words. I kept my gaze lowered, not daring to look at either man.
“Yes, of course,” Delacroix replied, his tone thick with anticipation.
As Marcus moved to arrange the bed, I sensed Delacroix’s approach behind me. My owner’s hand came to rest on my bottom, cupping both of my cheeks. I whimpered, flinching at the contact. Delacroix’s touch felt paradoxically gentle as he caressed my welted flesh.
“Such a pretty shade of red, these marks,” he murmured, fingers trailing over the raised marks left by the cane. “You didn’t take your punishment well, but then I didn’t want you to.”
I cried out as he changed his manner suddenly, grasping my cheeks much more firmly, kneading them roughly. The pain flared, and I tried reflexively to jump away from my owner’s hand, only to come up against the edge of the huge bed.
Delacroix trapped me there, bending with my cuffed hands before me on the coverlet, and continued to fondle me. His touch changed again, back to a softness that to my distress instantly brought a helpless clench between my legs, in my lacy panties, behind the shameful sealing of my pussy. I felt my need, confined by my closed outer lips, begin to trickle from the little aperture Marcus had left me, and that mortifying feeling drew a new sob from deep in my chest.
All the while, on the other side of the bed, Marcus had seen to the bolster: a big, oblong cushion covered in ancient-looking dark leather. Marcus had fetched it from a splendid lacquered cabinet, and the very sight of it, as Delacroix occupied himself with his dismayingly skillful treatment of my whipped backside, made my heart race. It looked like the sort of thing that had seen use in this nearly royal bed over a span of decades—centuries, even. I wondered, swallowing hard, how many punished bottoms of naughty concubines the baronial masters of this castle had raised with this bolster’s help.
Marcus laid it in the middle of the bed. Delacroix’s hand on my bottom changed its pressure again, urging me forward, and upward.
My face burning with shame, I clambered awkwardly onto the bed. The softness of the luxurious coverlet soothed my knees almost mockingly—especially when I looked at the dark leather of the bolster. My heart pounded so forcefully, I feared it might burst from my chest. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through my punished flesh, eliciting tiny gasps and whimpers I couldn’t suppress.
“Lie over the bolster, whore,” Marcus instructed, his voice firm, the casual slur brutal. “Stretch your arms out in front of you and spread your knees.”
I hesitated for a moment, my breath coming in quick, shallow pants. The posture rose in my mind’s eye, the picture of myself that way, so exposed, so degraded.
I have no choice. Innocent… Briseis…
Swallowing hard, I lowered myself onto the bolster, feeling it press against my belly and hips. I felt my welted bottom, clad in the lacy thong that only rendered it more alluring for my owner, rise high. I felt my most intimate places presented at once shamelessly and shamefully for whatever use my owner desired. The cool air of the room whispered across my heated skin, and I shivered at its touch.
As I extended my arms, I felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over me. Fear coiled in my stomach, a cold, heavy weight. What new torments awaited me? The shame of my position—bottom raised, thighs spread, my most intimate parts on display—was nearly overwhelming. Yet beneath it all, to my horror and alarm, I felt an insistent throbbing between my legs. My treacherous body responded to my helplessness, my submission, with a new surge of arousal behind the seal of my smooth labia.
I felt Delacroix’s eyes on me, as if he had trailed his fingers down my spine. Even the imaginary touch sent a shudder through my body. I saw him, in my mind’s eye, his gaze pausing at the small of my back, just above where the lacy waistband of the thong nestled against my skin.