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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.
CHAPTER 20
Chalondra
“Look at me, Wetquim,” my master commanded. I tried to disobey. I wanted to disobey, because I wanted to be a spirited young woman, a girl who might have fallen into the clutches of the Vionian nobility but who nevertheless could still show defiance to her cruel, demanding master.
I looked into his eyes, though. I obeyed. I even tried to tell myself I had complied with the baron’s command because I feared the lash, but I knew that idea for a lie almost as soon as I thought of it. I couldn’t hold it in my mind, either, for longer than it took for my master’s hand to move downward from the small of my back to my nearly naked bottom and hold me there as if he owned my bruised hind cheeks and the dark valley between them.
As if… Hedoesown you, and your bottom.
I looked into his eyes, and I saw the baron smile as he took in the expression his hand had put on my face: the crease in my forehead, the red in my cheeks. My hips gave a shameful jerk, desperately pressing my pussy against his other hand, the one infront that had begun to explore the contrast between the narrow strip of lace that constituted my panties’ front and the bare, unbearably sensitive flesh on either side of it.
Nearly naked: nude in front of my fully, richly clothed master except for the pretty underwear in which he had dressed me. Why did it feel like he and my mistress had somehow rendered me more naked even than I would be without the humiliating panties?
Two of his fingers, in front, ran their tips underneath the edge of the lace, just above the cleft of my pussy lips. I bit my lip, the furrow in my brow deepening. The fingertips began to move downward. I let out a little sob as they rubbed the complicated folds for a moment, making me shudder violently. Mistress Franla, behind me, tightened her grip and bent my arms further, as if to remind me that bed girls mustn’t move when their masters were probing… evaluating…claimingtheir private parts.
“Oh, no,” I whispered, because I felt the fingers traveling even further down, and I knew my master would discover again how terribly apt a service name the company had given me. His eyes remained tightly locked on mine. They narrowed very slightly.
“Shh, Wetquim,” he murmured. The impossibly delicious friction moved again, further towards the place where my need seemed like a pool of lava, trickling out of me, soaking the tiny panties.
I told myself I wanted to look away. I tried again to persuade myself.I’m looking into the baron’s eyes because if I don’t, he’ll paddle me, whip me, give me the punisher, and I couldn’t bear it.
But my master’s dark eyes told me that I was still lying. I didn’t look away, I couldn’t look away, because I wanted to see what he thought of me. The evident pleasure he took in forcing an answering pleasure on my body brought a warmth to my chest that I wanted both to deny completely and to sob out—I wanted to fall on my knees and beg him to do everything, teach me everything, use me exactly as he liked.
Fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me even though I didn’t know what fucking meant.
The fingertips moved further down. Somehow having theminsidemy panties made it feel much more shameful than it had felt when my master had fondled me in his car, before he had put me in his chosen underwear, purely ornamental though the lovely garment was.
“Oh,” his lordship said, his eyes suddenly crinkling at the corners as he uttered the monosyllable of surprise. His fingers had found my wet quim. “Youarea naughty girl, aren’t you, Chalondra?”
My master spread my liquid need higher up, over my thrillingly sensitive inner lips, all the way to the little nub where I yearned for his touch despite everything my free spirit tried to scream at me. I let out a sob, feeling my face crumple into an expression of passionate woe.
Mistress Franla bent my arms up, just enough that the sob turned to a tiny cry.
“Answer your master, Wetquim,” she said, her voice very firm.
“Oh Great… oh Great Vion…” I sobbed, gasping at the way he rubbed, firmly and then gently. “Yes… yes… oh, please…”
The hand behind me moved. Those fingers slid beneath the ribbon that ran down from my waist, between the little apples of my bottom. They went into the valley, parting the cheeks enough that my master could place a fingertip on the tiny, puckered aperture there.
He spoke to my mistress without taking his eyes from mine. “Did you clean her back here?”
“Of course, my lord,” Mistress Franla replied.
I bit my lip hard. A soft, mewling whine came from my nose as I remembered the little bulb with the narrow tip, the nozzle my mistress had used, in the shower, to squirt the warm, soapy water into my bottom. The heat rushed into my cheeks once again as the shameful sensation came back—the intrusion that felt much too good—much tooright, even… the pleasant warmth… the urge to let go… finally, at Mistress Franla’s command, the mortifying delight of expelling the cleansing fluid, as a sob of humiliation burst from my chest.
She had done it three times before she had pronounced me ready. She hadn’t told me why, or whatreadymight mean, with respect to that most private part of my anatomy.
The fingertip pushed.Ready for this?I wondered urgently.Ready for my master’s finger?
I cried out. My hips jerked again, this time in another direction. I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I needed the darkness behind their lids to accompany the terrible darkness of my sudden need to impale myself on my master’s finger, as if I wanted to show him how clean Mistress Franla had gotten me.
“No, Chalondra,” he said, his voice suddenly strict. “Open those lovely eyes this instant.”
