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“So needy, this little cunt of yours, Chalondra. Never fear. Your master is going to give you what you need in there, very soon.”
My hips bucked over his thigh. I struggled a little, but I knew I moved my arms only to make sure yet again that the baron had no intention of letting me twist them out of his grasp.
“But,” he murmured, his words soft and soothing, as if to match the movements of his fingers between my thighs, “you needthis, too.”
How could I understand him so terribly well? How did I know thatthisdidn’t mean the gentle motions of his fingertips up and down the cleft of my warm, slick pussy, the pressure on the little button at the top where it made me shudder with mingled gratification and longing for more?
How did I know that my master intended to satisfy my darkest desire, and give me the spanking I had coming—for not opening my eyes, for staining my panties and his trousers, for wanting to be fucked, whatever that meant?
He pulled his hand away. I cried out piteously with unsatisfied arousal, as if having learned that the wanton desire in my pussycouldfind a release, I needed that climax more than I had ever needed anything in the world.
“This…” my master said, and then he brought his firm hand down right in the center of my bottom, with a sharp crack that echoed off the high ceiling of his study. I cried out again, and I renewed my feigned struggle, the fruitless writhing that nevertheless seemed to give me permission to feel like I had tried to stop my master from disciplining me.
“Is…” he continued, and he spanked my right cheek even harder. “A very… spankable… little… bottom.” Left, center, right, left, with a pause for effect between each blow. Then he sped up his cadence and spoke over my sobs and cries, spanking me all the while. “When Wetquim disobeys, she will go over her master’s knee and spend as long there as he sees fit to correct her.”
Something about the way the baron used the third person seemed to take me back to my school days—my childhood, even. I had read in books, with widening eyes, about how children had once, long ago, received spankings when they misbehaved. It felt as if my master wanted me to understand myself as a child, my new life as a sort of fresh start, where I had become utterly dependent on and completely submissive to him.
Children must obey their elders.The lesson had represented an essential part of my life at home, half a galaxy away. Here in his lordship’s house, a bed girl must follow the same ancient maxim—with the threat of the ancient penalty that accompanied it: a disobedient bed girl would find herself upended, her bottom bared, her owner’s strong hand raining down hard swats to teach her proper behavior in his sumptuous home.
I shuddered as I grasped the mortifying idea, and I gave one final show of struggle, exhausting my limbs as I tried to twist myself from my master’s impossibly strong hold on me.
He had stopped speaking, but he hadn’t stopped spanking me. The agony in my backside, the sun-like glow of my bottom cheeks and my upper thighs, made me jerk over his knee with each new swat, let out a piteous sob every time I felt his enormous hand return to crack against my backside. The baron clearly meant to show me how thoroughly he intended to punish me, when he decided I needed correction. My tears flowed freely, and yet to my chagrin, I still had the crazy voice in my mind, as if from another young woman, hovering far above the humiliating scene.
Yes… yes… she needs a sound spanking… she got her master’s trousers wet with her naughty cunny’s juices. She needs a firm hand on that little bottom to teach her the obedience a pleasure girl owes her master.
Abject shame filled me at that helpless thought, at the way it echoed in my mind despite the opposite ideas that still clamored at the back of my head, more faintly but also much more reasonably. That feeling of utter abasement made my sobs more wrenching, as if the terrible burning in my rear end somehow grew more painful in the way it could draw a horrid, involuntary complicity from my mind.
Suddenly, the baron stopped. At the same moment, I became aware that the ceaseless rhythm of the spanking had come to an end. I felt him changing his posture, tipping me over onto the floor and at the same time guiding me with his hands.
“On your knees, now, girl,” he told me, his voice sounding rougher, thicker than it had before, as if something aboutpunishing me had affected him—as if it had made my master feel a sort of need that corresponded to my own, one that he meant to obtain satisfaction of… right now, from me.
I found myself on the beautiful carpet, my knees sinking down into its soft, slightly scratchy pile. My hands were free for no more than a second or two, for Mistress Franla took control of them again, holding them behind my back. I wondered for a moment if she had knelt down herself, or crouched, or stooped. I turned to look behind me and found on the contrary that my mistress had seated herself on a low chair of her own, which let her secure my wrists in her strong hands once again, holding them behind me.
“This is a mistress’ seat, Chalondra,” she told me, meeting my widening gaze. “Women like me have sat here countless times, to assist in this important part of a bed girl’s training. Now turn around and face your master. He has something to show you.”
I felt my eyes go even wider. All thought of disobedience vanished. I told myself I complied with her command because of the terrible agony that lingered in my backside from my master’s hand, but I knew, to my dismay, that truly I turned to face the baron because I so desperately needed to see what he wished me to see.
I looked up into his handsome, bearded face, at first, and I didn’t understand. My master wasn’t holding anything up in his hands: he seemed to have placed them in his lap, the better to gaze into my eyes, his brow slightly furrowed in apparent concentration.
Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw him lift his right hand and reach it towards me. I felt his fingers curl around the back of my head, his thumb gliding along my cheekbone.His grip tightened a little, and my eyes went even wider at the breathtaking sensation of control.
“Eyes down, Wetquim,” he said, his tone harsh.
I became suddenly conscious that something unusual had begun to take place, in his lap, a few centimeters below my chin. Breathing in through my nose, I caught a fragrance I had never scented before: earthy and musky and somehow very naughty—it reminded me of my own shameful private scent, the fragrance my master had made me breathe in, in his car… the scent of my helplessly aroused pussy, my wet quim.
My heart raced, and I couldn’t help letting out a little whimper, because I knew somehow that what the baron had in his lap, the thing I realized at that moment he held in his left hand, stroking up and down its length… I knew that it would answer my questions. Suddenly I no longer wanted the mystery solved. I felt as if the change it would bring about in me represented too great a transformation, from Kamnian teenager to bonded pleasure girl.
But his lordship used his grip on the back of my head to force me to bend my neck. I wanted to close my eyes. I told myself that I wanted to close my eyes—I demanded of my eyelids that they shut out the sight, though I felt certain my master would punish me again for that defiance.
My eyes refused to close. I saw the thing the baron had decided I should see, the long, hard shaft he pumped gently in his left fist. How it rose from the place out of which the wicked scent, the lewd fragrance of my master’s private places, emanated. How it had a fluted sort of head, a little opening that let out a drop of clear liquid his lordship’s fingers spread up and down the rigidlength of the thing, where I saw veins that seemed to pulse with my master’s heartbeat.
I let out a little whining cry, through my nose because I had shut my lips very tightly. With a rush of hot blood all through my body, I had understood. I felt as if I had understoodeverything—though the distant, rational voice in my head said that of course I couldn’t really… that my knowledge must still have some gaps.
I knew what the bed thing had to be, what husbands and wives did alone. I knew it must be the same thing as fucking. I knew why Kamnian girls never got to see what men looked like naked. My anxiety at the sight of the thing in my master’s hand, together with the look on his face as he told me to lower my eyes, made it clear how enjoyable a Vionian found it to introduce his concubine to the frightening member between his thighs. My innocence had represented an important part of my value, a selling point for which the baron had paid handsomely.
“This is my cock, Wetquim,” he told me. “Tonight you will learn to please me with your body, as my cock enters your pretty mouth, your virgin cunny, and your tight little bottom. I am going to deflower you and fuck you all night long, as your loveliness and your spirit both demand.”
I had indeed understood, when I got my first glimpse of my master’s manhood, in the scant moments before his words had confirmed the realization. But those words seemed nevertheless to have a revelatory power of their own. His lordship confirmed, slowly and clearly, in his own impossibly deep voice, that he intended to do it to me—the thing that the presence of his cock there in front of me so strongly implied a master did to his concubine.
