Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Miri had been especially glad of the extra security measures her Aunt had built into the stronghold/panic room after the Cast-offs had found her. They had tried every way they could to get in—to get at her—but they hadn’t been able to disable her security systems or get inside. Thank the Goddess for that because all of them hated women, due to what their cruel Mistresses had done to them. If any of them had gotten to her…well, the killer who was stalking her would have had his work done for him.
She shivered at the thought as she slid between the sheets—which were silky but cold to the touch. If only there was some way to warm them up! But it always took some time with her wrapped in a ball and shivering before her body heat could make it comfortable enough to stretch out in the huge, four-poster bed.
Miri curled in a ball now, her long hair spread over a silken pouf pillow which contoured itself to her head and neck to give her perfect support. It was nice—just another example of the luxury she lived in now that her Aunt had left her. The problem was, all the wealth and luxury just felt empty to Miri—maybe because she had no one to share them with.
With a tired little sigh, she tugged the cold, heavy sheets and blankets closer to her body and called,
“Lights out!” in a low, authoritative tone.
There was nothing to do but try and get some rest. She was stuck here, in this panic room, until someone caught the killer. So she might as well try to relax as she waited it out.
Rest and relax, she told herself. How often had she dreamed of being able to do exactly that when the House of Healing she worked at was especially busy? She’d dreamed of a day off. But after a whole month of them, she was fed to the teeth with rest and relaxation. It had felt so good to be able to practice her Healing skills again, even if she’d only been gluing together a wound and rubbing some healing salve into a few laser grazes…
But that made her remember rubbing the salve into Lynx’s broad, golden chest and Saxon’s thick, double shaft…
No, don’t think about that, she told herself sternly. Just go to sleep and whatever you do, don’t dream.
ELEVEN
MIRABELLA
Of course, one cannot stop oneself from dreaming. A few hours after Miri finally closed her eyes, the dream began.
It started as it always did. She was dressed in the green and silver Yonnite Mistress dress for the formal meeting of the Sacred Seven. The dress was tight on her but at least it mostly covered her breasts and crotch—which was something most Yonnite fashion didn’t do.
As a female dominated society, Yonnite culture had evolved in some rather peculiar ways. For instance, the fashions were meant to showcase a Mistress’s private areas because showing one’s body was a sign of wealth, power, and prestige. Likewise, having several burly male bodyslaves wearing pain collars who would obey your slightest whim was also a sign that you were at the top of the Yonnite Mistress hierarchy.
Miri didn’t want to show her body and she didn’t own a bodyslave—which made her a laughingstock at most of the Yonnite formal functions she attended.
“Oh, here comes poor little backwards Miri,” she had heard more than once, when the other Mistresses saw her coming. “Poor thing—she doesn’t have a clue how to dress and she doesn’t own a single bodyslave—no, not even one! I know—isn’t it a pity that the great Mistress Razmataz left her entire fortune to such a clueless peon?”
This was the kind of thing the other Mistresses would say to each other—often right to her face. And when Miri got angry and tried to call them on it, they wouldn’t even reply. They would pretend she wasn’t even there, the rude bitches! It was a frustrating situation to say the least.
But in her dream, the talk wasn’t about her lack of fashion sense or of a bodyslave—it was all hushed, frightened whispers. In the past few days, four of the Sacred Seven had been killed—brutally slain in their own domiciles by a mysterious killer. Only three were left—Mistress Seethree, Mistress Mapletaste, and Miri herself.
They were hiding at the very top of Mistress Mapletaste’s tower, in the most secure room in all of Opulex—at least to hear her tell it. Not only that, but the two other Mistresses had several large, imposing-looking bodyslaves to protect them. Miri herself only had Beelie, whom the other Mistresses made fun of, calling him her “robot bodyslave.”
But no one was making fun now. They were talking in hushed whispers, trying to reassure each other that they would be safe here, that no one could get to them in this room.