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)
“Wait…” I pleaded, sure that he meant to start up again immediately. “Wait… sir, please…”
But he had taken a step back, and as I watched he sat in the chair.
“First I’m going to inspect you properly, though,” he said. “I already know you’re a little whore—your cunt told me that all on its own. I need to evaluate your body, though. So we’ll go back to the beginning. Get up and turn around. Put your hands on your head and keep your eyes lowered, where they belong. It’s up to you how severe your second paddling is going to be, so choose wisely.”
CHAPTER 8
Chalondra
Choose wisely.
Agent Delvik’s words drew a sob from deep in my chest. I lowered my eyes to his black leather boots, trying to push back the insane feeling of gratitude that filled my chest. I frowned and ground my teeth hard to stop a sob of relief from rising, that he didn’t seem inclined to punish me for having forgotten his instructions and seeking to look him in the face.
I let it happen. The soreness in my bottom and thighs, the fear of the searing pain of the punisher between my legs, which it seemed the agent could visit on me any time he wanted, and the terrible shame of what he had made my body do, the impossible pleasure he had forced on my pussy… it all just became too much. I closed my eyes, and I swallowed hard because the sob threatened to emerge after all, at the idea of the comfort I might find simply by giving in.
Then I opened my eyes again, and I focused them downward, wanting not to see anything at all but the bare minimum of visual feedback required to keep my balance. I did everything in my power to think only about Agent Delvik’s shiny boots, about the dirt of the floor on which they stood, about the metal legs of the chair in which he had seated himself as if it were the imperial throne.
Those boots, though: did a concubine have to polish them every day? Did Agent Delvik have a young woman of his own, a Kamnian or a Breslian, or a girl from another of the worlds from which the Vionian trading companies extracted human property? I knew that most Kamnian concubines were purchased by the nobility, but bonded servants from other worlds labored everywhere in the empire, owned by wealthy Vionians or by the companies themselves.
Would I have to polish my master’s boots? Would I have to kneel, naked, not on dirt but on a floor of metal—or marble, the stone I had never seen but only read about, as the most luxurious of building materials—to do the demeaning duty?
“Good girl,” I heard him say, and only then did I realize I had done it—or my body had: I stood before him where he sat, with my hands on my head, my head bowed, and my eyes downcast as far as they could go. “Spread your feet for me now. Just a little more than shoulder width. No, Chalondra. Much further than that.”
I watched his hand reach out, below my waist. The impression that whatever terrible thing he did now would happen to a different person became much stronger even than it had been. When he gave an impatient slap to the inside of my right thigh, the sensation seemed to affect my body and not my mind. I heard myself yelp, but it seemed a different Kamnian girl made the noise.
So when the hand that had slapped me took hold of that spot, high up on the inside of my leg, and then went upward to take hold of my pussy from below, the shudder of renewed need traveling through my entire body didn’t belong to me. It couldn’t: a spirited girl would never allow a man to do that, would she? I could see it there: I had to see it there, because I couldn’t look up, because if I looked up he would whip me… but the fingers that held, that possessed, that fondled… they had been laid on a different woman.
“Begin narrative record. Kamnian concubine Five-Seventeen, given name Chalondra, service name… hmm…”
The hand between my legs squeezed. I whimpered. I could feel his eyes on my face. The fingers that worked themselves farther back seemed almost thoughtful in their movements. One of them touched me where it felt terribly shameful even to touch myself, the tiny bud hidden deep between my bottom cheeks. My hips jerked forward at the sensation, pushing my pussy further into his palm. The girl between whose thighs Agent Delvik was causing such terrible confusion—she, not I—let out the wrenching sob she had tried so hard to keep down.
“Service name Wetquim. The girl’s cunt has certainly shown the truth of that—why not advertise it?”