Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 61287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
But I don’t need a whipping! I thought desperately.
“You need to apologize to your owner, Renee, not me,” Master G said, his voice so severe that a thrill of panic traveled up my spine.
As he placed me on the horse, still struggling out of sheer fight-or-flight instinct, I twisted my head wildly around to try to get a look at the man in the tuxedo who had just stepped onto the stage.
Mr. Vanderbruggen… Master… Master Hendryk.
His face wore the same stern expression it had the last time I had managed to look at him, but I saw something more in his eyes that made my heart jump—the same dark light as I had seen in the eyes of the man who had bought Deirdre. My new owner liked to punish young women. He liked it very much.
“Master,” I cried, feeling the tears of fear trickle down my cheeks. “I’m sorry… please…”
Master G held me down atop the horse, while Miss Charlotte began to fasten the straps. Like a consummate show-woman she kept up a kind of patter with the audience to cover over the awkward silence I had created with my unexpected misbehavior.
“Mr. Vanderbruggen already has one of Selecta’s newest cutting-edge products at home, ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she tightened the belt around my waist, pinioning me to the padded surface. The words seemed so unexpected that I found myself relaxing my tense, resistant muscles a little as I tried to figure out what they meant.
“I know he won’t mind my telling you about it, because it’s good corporate marketing—right, Mr. Vanderbruggen?”
Despite myself I tried to get a look at my owner over my left shoulder, but Master G’s solid form blocked my view of him entirely. I heard a chuckle and then a clear, deep masculine voice say, in unaccented English, “Of course not, Miss Charlotte.”
“Thanks,” said the dean, finishing buckling the strap around my right ankle. “If you’d like to whip Renee, by the way, please feel free to choose any implement from the rack next to the podium.”
No other girl had gotten punished on stage before her fucking. A wave of heat traveled up from my chest and into my face, so strong I thought I might actually have started to glow.
Miss Charlotte continued her flow seamlessly as she started to buckle the wrist strap on her side of the bench. Master G, on my other side, had just fastened the one around my left ankle. I heard a low whimper come from my throat at the sensation. My limbs moved of their own accord, squirming as if to make certain they had bound me entirely fast, and had actually secured me beyond the possibility of escape.
Master G had never had to strap me down before, even for punishment. At the Institute, I had learned, as one of my very first lessons, about what Miss Charlotte and the trainers called ‘the chain of the heart.’ A bed girl must understand, they had taught me, that if she resists her master’s correction of her faults she will only earn further correction.
She must learn to submit her body—her backside above all, but also her mouth, her breasts, her pussy, and whatever other part of her that her master decides to discipline. She must furnish them without hesitation or question, and she must receive what her master bestows in gratitude for the lesson he has meted out for the purpose of improving her in sexual service.
I had imagined the feeling over and over, of course, but I had never actually felt it: the leather tight around my waist, my wrists, and my ankles. My chest filled with panic as I squirmed and felt myself entirely restrained. To my dismay, though, the sensation of bondage sent need surging through the places down below my fluttering tummy. I swallowed hard as I felt the heat between my thighs, the arousal Master G had brought there so many times as he taught me about my shameful new life as the indentured bed girl of a wealthy man—the wealthy man who now stood behind me, surely holding something terrible that I couldn’t see.
That too—the idea of the tall, elegant blond man in the tuxedo holding a paddle… or a strap… or even a cane… it made me clench as hard as I had ever clenched under Master G’s gentle, knowing hand. Miss Charlotte had buckled the belt over my white nightgown, and its skirt still covered me, back there. The anticipation of Master Hendryk’s hand lifting the hem to uncover the most intimate, embarrassing parts of me… the places that from now on he would use exactly as he chose… made me bite my lip and make little kittenish whining noises with each breath I exhaled through my nostrils.
Breathe. I tried to do it the way Master G had taught me, in through my nose and out through my mouth.