Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Soma,” he corrects me. “You should understand the basic underpinnings of our economy and society. At the bare minimum, it will allow you to participate in conversations when we socialize.”
“Women speak of such matters among themselves here?” I ask the question in surprise.
I have not been educated in the traditional manner. My parents are old-fashioned, and believed that a woman’s role was to bear children and to tend to them. Knowing too much about the world could only lead to being worried about things over which one had no influence whatsoever. I was raised to be somebody’s match, and to put my womb to the service of their seed. I was made to be happy as a wife, a homemaker, and a mother.
“Women speak of many things,” he says. “Some say the women control more than the men do through their social machinations.”
“I thought the Artifice was the ultimate authority,” I say, parroting the old line I have been fed since childhood. It is a safe and proper thing to say.
“Indeed it is,” he says, his expression closing. I wonder if it was not the right thing to say. Back home, we would make polite little comments like that to one another and that would ensure that conversation flowed smoothly. Here, I feel as though my repeating that line put a barrier between us. Whatever he was going to share, he no longer seems inclined to. In fact, he turns the screen of his tablet off entirely.
A moment later, I realize that I have not offended him at all. He didn’t turn the tablet off because I’m too slow. He turned it off because he wants something else from me.
His large hand slides across the side of my face, turning my head toward him. He kisses me deeply, possessively, driving all thought of society and women and Artifices out of my head as I become acutely aware of nothing besides my body.
Arthur manhandles me atop him, the light clinking of discarded plates and sauces on an abandoned tray providing background to the spreading of my legs and the slow impaling of my sex in the morning light.
I like lying on top of him this way. I can feel the length and strength of his body beneath me, the heat of his skin warming my own tender curves.
I let out a slight hiss of discomfort as he slides up inside me, my aching, recently deflowered pussy protesting just a little at this fresh intrusion.
“Good girl,” he praises me as his cock slides into me. “You’re going to be such a good little breeding mate, aren’t you,” he growls. “You’re going to take your husband and master’s cock nice and deep whenever I need you. This is your place in life, Mila. Quivering on my dick, your tight, wet cunt pleasuring me.”
He is less gentlemanly this morning. His words are filthy, and the jolting of his hips drives his cock harder into me than before. His big hands slide down my back, taking hold of my lower ass and upper thighs, spreading me wide so he can pound me.
I whimper and whine, feeling the lines of the cane, the marks he left, the ache he ensured I’d still feel today doing their job.
This man is still a stranger to me, but his bare cock is inside me, fucking me, making me take another load of seed into my unprotected pussy. It excites me more than it should. Sometimes he seems so gentlemanly, but at moments like these he is nothing but a brute, taking what he wants from me and not asking whether I want to give it.
I find myself coming with both of those thoughts, and the physical reality of having my pussy fucked. I feel shamefully excited being used this way, knowing this is what I am here for, and what he is not shy about using me for.
I take another load of his seed inside me, and receive a few more hand slaps to my ass before he is done with me.
“I wish I could spend all day in bed with you, but I have to get up,” he says when he has finished. “I have a meeting in short order, and I’m afraid last night having been my wedding night does not change the fact.”
I look at him, a feeling of disappointment sinking through me. Somehow he seems to see that in me. He is a very perceptive man.
“The Artifice does not pay much mind to matters of romance,” he says. “And I am needed at work.”
He says the word work as if he is a casual laborer somewhere. But we both know that his work is war. He will not be going to an office. He will be going into government-military buildings, I suppose. Or a palace. Or somewhere. I don’t know anything about the city in which I now dwell. Also, we are essentially in a fortress, so perhaps he works here.