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)
“L-like me,” I stammered. “W-what… Mistress, what does that… mean?”
I knew, though: and I could of course see in my mistress’ eyes that she knew I knew. She merely smiled.
“I’d like you to try to answer that question, Wetquim,” she said. “For yourself, at least. You needn’t bother me with the answer, though I imagine your master will compel you to give voice to it before the sun rises. When he does, take it as a mercy. He is a good man, as peers of the empire go—he certainly wishes you to understand your condition as his bonded sexual servant as thoroughly as you can, at any rate.”
My breath came raggedly in and out between my parted lips, and my heart had sped up to such a rate that I felt it might pound its way out of my chest. I realized with a little whine through my nose that my hands, down below, had made their way fully to the center of my lap. To my dismay, I had begun helplessly if inexpertly to push my fingers against the lace of the lovely panties, as if to demonstrate to my mistress that I could no longer do without the wanton, immodest pleasure she, and the company’s agents, and above all my master, had taught me to feel there.
“Give me those hands,” Mistress Franla said sharply, her eyes narrowing. “This instant.”
I swallowed hard. For a moment, the need between my thighs simply seemed too great for me to obey her, no matter what the penalty for continuing to rub my tingling clit might prove to be. I looked into my mistress’ icy blue eyes, and I saw the wisdom there. I had the sudden, almost entirely instinctual thought that she and the baron, as strange as it seemed to me even then, really did seek to take care of me—and, more, that they really did know more about bed girls like me than I did.
With a wrenching sob and a humiliating squirming of my backside, I pulled my hands away from my pussy and held them out towards my mistress. I took the two little steps that covered the distance between us, and I held my arms out in front of me, my hands clasped and my wrists turned inward against each other, to show that I knew that they must be bound, for my own good.
The smile returned to Mistress Franla’s face as she produced from a pocket two rings of leather and began to fasten them around my wrists.
“You do understand, my dear,” she murmured. “You understand very well indeed. What you just did is called masturbation. The pleasure between your legs belongs to your master, and he reserves it for his own use. To masturbate—that is, to touch yourself as you just did, is to steal that pleasure from him. If I catch you doing that again, you will pay for your furtive, fleeting delights with a lesson you will not soon forget.”
I felt my face crumple. My mistress’ tone sounded so terribly ominous that anxious tears pricked the corners of my eyes. My shoulders heaved with a keening sob.
“There, there, Chalondra,” she murmured as she finished buckling the cuffs on my wrists and linking them with a metal clip that fastened to rings set securely in the stout, layered leather. “You did very well to obey me, and I’m going to make sure you won’t be able to play with your little cunny while you wait for your master, so you needn’t fear, for the moment at least.”
I blinked wide eyes at her, uncertain what she meant. Mistress Franla made her words clear immediately, though: she used the hold my bound wrists gave her to draw me towards the bed. It had seemed so distant when the double doors had swung open, but a moment later, I stood at its foot, next to one of the massive bedposts, and my mistress was raising my hands to the height of my head. I still didn’t understand, though, until she drew the cuffs forward, and fastened their clip to a metal fixture on the post which lay almost concealed by the ornate carving and the dark finish of the ancient wood.
Mistress Franla withdrew her own hands, leaving mine raised and secured to my master’s bed.
“See?” she said with a little smile. “No need to fear that you’ll lose control and touch yourself.”
I swallowed hard, looking at her with what I knew didn’t represent the expression of a girl who had found any reassurance in her words. My mistress’ smile changed, becoming wry, and I understood that she hadn’t actually expected me to feel any comfort.
“Many young women have lost their maidenhoods in this bed, my dear,” she told me, “or standing next to it, as you are now. You will not be an exception. But it is in your power to win your master’s affection, if you choose to do so, and an affectionate man—though he may still correct a bed girl’s faults with great severity—will nevertheless value her pleasure, in the next place after his own.”