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)
I watched in horror as she reached her left hand to work something underneath the chair’s seat. With a soft whir, I felt the surface against my back begin to recede, tilting me, lowering my upper body as the stirrups moved the same way. I could feel much too well how completely it exposed my most private place.
My hands seemed to have developed a mind of their own, somehow. They had begun to open and close, as if responding alternately to two urgent yet utterly conflicting impulses.
Mistress Franla raised her eyes again, to fix them on mine.
“It’s difficult, I know, my dear,” she said, the sympathetic smile returning. “But remember what I said earlier. Everything your master wishes will happen to you, now, whether you like it or not. That’s what I can tell you about your wet vagina making tonight easier, too: if you let me prepare you, and you obey your master when the time comes, you will soon wonder why you made such a fuss. Indeed, you may even begin to enjoy your life as his concubine.”
I stared at her, blinking, trying desperately to understand. Her final words, though, brought back my defiance, despite the obvious truth of what she had said, the plain fact that I could not escape. The impulse that tightened my hands against her humiliating instruction to spread my bruised bottom cheeks rebelled forcefully against the very notion that I could enjoy the life of a bed girl.
“Never,” I said with all the bravado I could find in my heart. “You… maybe you can… can make my body do… or… or feel… things.” I felt the heat surge and recede from my face, my whole body seeming to alternate between hot and cold as I tried to piece together what to say, to find a way to talk about the terrible, shameful ordeal of my servitude. I refused to use their words—even the clinical terms and the vague allusions Mistress Franla seemed to employ—to talk about my body and its wayward, dismaying reactions to the way the Vionians treated it.
“But you’ll never make me enjoy it,” I spat out, suddenly filled with the wild joy of resistance. “You’ll never… you’ll never…” I knew the word I wanted to say, but the thought of it made the dread in my belly heavier, counteracting the joy. I felt I might lose my reason entirely if I remained in the split, the conflict, between my defiant will and my cowering fear, and I gritted my teeth and chose rebellion. “You’ll never break me.”
My mistress sighed. The compassionate smile on her lips grew lopsided and wry.
“That may be true, Chalondra,” she said, her gentle tone surprising me. “But that won’t change a single thing about what’s going to happen to you. Your wet vagina can make one part of your service easier, but this resistance is going to make the rest of it very difficult, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to have to correct you so soon after you’ve arrived in your master’s house, but it seems there’s no way around it.”
She turned and walked back to the cabinet. My lips parted, and my breath panted through them as I saw what she took from it this time. My mistress had put the depilator back on its shelf, and had in her right hand a paddle with a leather face and a wooden handle. It looked about the same size as Agent Delvik’s, but it had a different shape: a narrow triangle, opening out from the handle to the width of a man’s hand.
“This is a Trestrimarian cunt paddle, Chalondra,” Mistress Franla said. “I apologize for my coarse language, but that is its proper name. The Trestrimar barbarians tend to use plain words, and indeed it’s difficult to imagine a better way to inform a naughty girl how she’ll be corrected in this case than to tell her the implement’s name. I’m going to whip your vulva, now, my dear, to make clear the importance of obedience in your master’s house.”
CHAPTER 18
Chalondra
My head started to shake before I even realized it. I had to bite my lip to keep from instantly giving in, and my hands opened and closed over and over as the struggle inside me, between mind and body, grew more and more desperate. Tears sprang from the corners of my eyes at the distressing truth I couldn’t escape—that reason and logic lay on the side of submission, of giving in simply to spare myself the pain that would represent only a token of futility.
I thought my mistress would give me a moment to reconsider. I thought she would ask me a final time to do as she had instructed and commit the terribly shameful act she required. My fingertips itched, even within the tight balls of my fists, and I didn’t know, really, whether when Mistress Franla demanded my obedience a final time I would find the will to continue defying her. How dreadful a thing was it, after all, simply to spread the globes of my backside for the warm tingle of her device?