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)
Both things can be true, I understood, the blood rushing to my face as the thought flashed into my mind. She can break me over and over, and yet, if I choose the hardest path, I will never be broken.
The caressing, knowing fingers, the ones higher up, moistened with my own liquid need, did not move with anything like the insistence of the lone finger further down. That one pushed further inside the more secret opening, much further. It invaded my most private place more deeply. It impaled me so completely that the cry I let out—at the expression on Mistress Franla’s face, at the gentle fondling of my pussy, and above all at the terrible motion of the finger in my anus—had much more of shame and fear than it did of pleasure.
“You need to come, Wetquim, don’t you?” she asked, her voice as tender as the two fingertips rubbing soft circles around my clit. “You need it very, very much, don’t you?”
For a moment I hardly noticed that she had shifted to my horrid service name once again, and then the awareness dawned.
She will break you again and again, to make you the kind of bed girl your master likes to fuck.
My body tried to come, and my mind tried to stop the climax. The idea of feeling that terrible, much-too-welcome release with my mistress’ finger there, training me in the most humiliating possible way, seemed like a kind of breaking from which my spirit could never recover. I had foolishly thought they would train me with pain alone, and I had thought their torments, if I stayed true to myself, would only strengthen my resolve.
But the overwhelming need, the dark pleasure, overcame the feeble barrier of my will as if it were a wall made of sand. I threw my head back and screamed out my irresistible climax, my limbs writhing against the leather straps and the sensation of binding and restraint bringing new, more intense waves of pleasure with each twist of my knees, my arms, my hips.
Screams became sobs, of pleasure and of shame. My mistress’ fingers grew more gentle, and then they left me, and I heard her washing her hands in the little basin I had noticed, right next to the cabinet. I opened my eyes to see her there, intent on her task, that very concentration bringing a new wave of warmth to my cheeks.
“You did well, Chalondra,” she said, without turning around. “Your master will, I fear, be quite demanding tonight, but if you obey him you will find that most of your fears are idle. You’ll be quite sore tomorrow, I’m certain, but a healthy, spirited girl like you will recover quickly. And I believe I can persuade his lordship not to use you again until you’re ready to please him without any chance of lasting harm. You represent a significant investment, after all, and his lordship has placed his confidence in my judgment as to the course of your training.”
CHAPTER 19
Baron Gravamir
Franla’s time did not come cheap. Tonight, especially, since the Duke of Gadev, her principal employer, expected her regular presence on Sixthday evenings, for his weekly revel. I had had to offer my mistress of concubines double wages to induce her to find a substitute mistress for His Grace for the festivities at Gadev House.
Gratifyingly enough, however, I had felt certain from the ease of the negotiation that Franla found her situation at Gravamir House much more to her liking: the idea of training a single, special young woman for an exacting master’s bed seemed to have a certain charm, when considered against the prospect of another night supervising the conduct of a dozen docile concubines brought together for the occasion from His Grace’s guests’ collections.
The expression on Chalondra’s face, though, when her mistress led her to my library to present her to me, formally, in the traditional way, was worth every one of the five thousand credits supplement I had paid, on top of the girl’s purchase price—and, I couldn’t help thinking, much more.
Even better, the two thousand I had spent on the panties, plus two hundred for expedited delivery, seemed an absolutely paltry sum in comparison to how they looked on my beautiful Kamnian concubine—how gorgeous the delicate, narrow strip of lace that covered the cleft of her cunt in so scanty a fashion looked on its own, and much more enticingly, how self-conscious the garment obviously made Chalondra.
I surveyed her in silence from my imposing leather-covered armchair by the fire. Chalondra shifted her weight furtively from foot to foot, as if attempting to get used to the feeling of the tight underwear over her newly bare quim.
“Turn around, Wetquim,” Franla said, her voice stern, every syllable as clear and authoritative as a mistress of concubines should sound when commanding a reluctant virgin whose cunny she has recently had to whip.