by E G Manetti
Milord’s hands grasp her wrists and pull her hands from his hair as he rises above her. Releasing her hands, milord grasps her hips, lifting, tilting her until her opening is angled towards the rod standing straight, dark and swollen. Her back arched, Lilian gazes up the length of her prone body to the strong torso above her and erection about to enter her. The head strokes across her opening, taunting. As the teasing contact convulses Lilian’s core, she emits a small, involuntary sound.
The dark length enters her slowly. She is wet and ready, her sex swollen with need. Her abdomen contracts, her channel tightens as the full length of milord slides into her. It is wondrous.
Milord’s dark olive skin contrasts starkly with her paleness as he pulls back and slides forward again. Fascinated, Lilian watches the slow, rhythmic movement of milord’s sex in and out of her body. Heavy, blissful heat unfurls within Lilian with each thrust.
A shift in position, a change in rhythm and Lilian’s hips are back on the bed. Milord is stretched out over her, his sex stroking over a spot inside her she had not known was there. Her legs rise, tightening around milord’s waist seeking to bring him closer. Faster now, milord is driving into her with the force of storm. Please, harder, faster, more, her mind cries as her eyes flutter shut.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.”
Milord’s face is flushed dark and rigid with passion. His eyes lock with hers as milord responds to her mental cries, driving them both to the peak and over it.
Lilian’s limbs are liquid. Milord’s weight rests half on her and half on the bed. The long, silken length of him, still mostly hard, is inside her. Lilian tentatively contracts the walls of her chamber, rocking her hips ever so slightly, feeling him, exploring him, adjusting to the strangeness of him.
“Lilian, what do you?” Milord’s voice rumbles through his chest and against her breasts.
The words bring about abrupt and absolute stillness in Lilian. Five Warriors take me, what was I thinking? “I beg pardon, milord, I was not thinking.”
“I did not inquire what you were not doing. I wish to know what you were doing. In the future, do not force me to repeat myself.” Milord is impatient, harsh.
Caught. Caught. Caught. Milord’s ceiling is far above and shadowed. Into that dim space Lilian yields her mortified admission, “Feeling milord.”
Milord’s muscles relax, and Lilian has the odd sense he may be smiling. “What you feel, does it please you?”
“Yes milord,” Lilian admits, closing her eyes against her embarrassment.
Moments pass as the stars turn over head and their skin cools. Eventually milord loses his stiffness and moves completely off Lilian. Rising, he passes through a discretely recessed door.
The freshening closet. I will require it soon.
The vast, coldly sparkling darkness presses heavily against the clear chamber walls. Suddenly vulnerable, Lilian disentangles the sheet that was once so smoothly laid and pulls it over her. The sheet offers the comforting illusion that it can shield her from the overwhelming vista and, by association, the overwhelming events of the evening and the day.
“Are you chilled, Lilian?” The voice comes from the now open door as milord returns. He is garbed in a soft knit robe of the Cartouche’s trademark scarlet.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian replies as she shifts to a sitting position. Is it sufficient? Milord has entered the chamber. Stricture dictates she come to attention.
“I will increase the chamber temperature. In the future, do not cover yourself without permission.” Milord collects his slate as he speaks.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian acknowledges as she releases the fragile shield of soft linen. “I beg pardon, milord. May I retire for a few moments?”
“Yes, Lilian. Take a hot shower to warm yourself.” Milord dismisses her, his attention on his slate.
“My thanks, milord,” Lilian offers as she scrambles from the bed and into the refuge of the freshening closet.
Sumptuous, no other word suffices for lavishly appointed chamber of glass, tile, stone and chrome. Hot water from a dozen jets comforts, eases and warms Lilian as she sits on the black marble bench mindlessly tracing the scarlet and gold veins that wander through the stone.
You cannot remain here. Milord is waiting. Get Up.
The bedchamber is dimmer than the freshening closet. Lilian stands briefly backlit, allowing her eyes to adjust. Milord reclines on the bed, slate in hand, fingers moving rapidly, engrossed. Lilian goes to the console table, sifting her garments, searching. Damp added to the dishevelment of her hair is going to make it impossible to manage in the morning.
“What do you, Lilian?” The quiet tones are curious. Milord does not sound displeased by the distraction of her movements.
“Searching for my slate bag, milord,” Lilian explains. “There is a brush within. I believe I left it in the salon. May I retrieve it?”
“There are a dozen brushes in the freshening closet. Discover one that suits,” milord instructs.
At his words, Lilian abandons her search and turns toward the closet. As the door recesses, Milord speaks again, “Lilian.”
“Yes, milord?” Lilian responds, her mind on a brush.
“Do not tarry. Choose a brush and return,” milord has yielded all the grace he intends to this night.
Brush in hand, Lilian returns quickly. After a moment’s hesitation, she settles on the side of the bed to the left of milord. Her feet on the floor, back to milord, Lilian leans forward and collects her hair into a fall she can gather in her hands and work.
“You have a lovely ass, Lilian,” milord speaks softly. “Nonetheless, I prefer you to sit at the foot of the bed, facing me.”
He did not voice that! Do not. Do not. Obey milord’s will. I am the sum of my ancestors.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian murmurs obediently as she settles in the bottom corner of the bed. Keeping her eyes lowered, Lilian gathers her legs beneath her and begins to work her hair.
I am the foundation of my family. Ignore it. It matters naught. You have been naked with a man before. Not like this. Honor is my blade and shield. Lilian forces her inner dialog to silence, submerging the riot of emotion with the control of her discipline.
The chamber is quiet except for the soft tapping of milord’s slate. The working of her hair is soothing and familiar. After a half period of diligent effort the tangles and snarls are subdued into glossy waves. Shaking her hair back behind her shoulders Lilian returns to the freshening closet to check her work and replace the brush. Milord remains engrossed in the workings of his slate.
Returning to the bedchamber Lilian discovers that both milord’s slate and robe are gone.
“Face the headboard and grip the carving,” milord moves to the foot of the bed as he issues his instruction.
The elaborately carved headboard with its fantastic beasts and foliage offers a number of possible grips. The pillows have been pushed to one side. After a moment’s reflection Lilian kneels in the space vacated by the pillows and reaches for a hand hold below shoulder height.
The bed shifts as milord moves behind her. His hands glide down her back, through the recently groomed tresses, across her ribs, and down to her hips. The caress causes Lilian’s breath to catch and her hips to sway. An ache forms between her legs.
Milord’s knees spread hers, his hands tilt her hips, and suddenly her torso and arms are stretched uncomfortably. Milord’s hands cover hers, the length of his torso against her back. Milord’s sex stirs against her buttocks. Warm breath whispers along her neck, against her cheek. Her hands are lifted and redirected to different grips. Now her weight is easily distributed between her legs and arms.
Milord’s hands release hers and move to caress her breasts. The clever fingers tease and arouse her nipples, bringing them to aching peaks while his warm mouth nibbles delightfully along her neck. Milord’s hands voyage lower to her abdomen where one lingers to pull her tightly against him.
Milord’s rapidly hardening sh
aft rubs urgently between her buttocks. The other hand moves lower. Those clever fingers are rubbing, probing, taunting the nubbin of flesh at the core of her sex and then stroking downwards, inwards. Her sex swells and moistens as Lilian moves against the tormenting hand and fingers. Milord’s fingers play ruthlessly along her sex, driving her to arch her back and press, writhing, against milord’s erection.
Another shift, Lilian’s arms stretch as her hips are moved to accommodate the coming penetration. There is no slow rhythmic glide this time. It is a hard drive up and into her well slicked opening. No build of momentum. Instead an immediate strong, thrusting rhythm that causes Lilian to tighten and buck.
Lilian wishes milord deeper, faster. Once again responding to her unspoken urging, or perhaps his own driving desire, milord pounds into her hot and throbbing channel pushing her once again to the brink and then over it. As Lilian begins to shudder in release, milord grips her hips to hold her convulsing core still for one final, wild thrust.
Somehow Lilian is lying on her face, a slow pleasant throb between her legs. Somewhere inside, she is shocked by her abandon. It is remote sensibility. Mostly she is stunned by the pleasure of milord’s attentions. I had no notion. Nothing in Lilian’s experience has prepared her for such overwhelming sensations. Being milord’s plaything may have its advantages.
Milord?
A sound, a movement and her attention is drawn to the table where her garments rest. Milord is standing there, once again robed, her lingerie in his hands. A frown darkens milord’s features.
“These do not please me, Lilian. Do not use them again.” Milord’s harshness matches his expression.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian acknowledges. Her pleasant languor evaporates in the face of milord’s displeasure. Everything else is the same or similar. What will please him?
Something of her thoughts may have shown on her face. Or maybe it is that uncanny prescience that had taken to him preeminence at an early age and kept him there.
“They are all like this are they not?” Milord’s gaze is intent.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian admits, gathering her knees under her. He is not pleased.
“No matter, I will have what pleases me delivered to your worksite tomorrow. Until then, do without,” milord’s countenance eases as he speaks.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian responds as she cringes inwardly. She is familiar with the vulgar styles of lingerie appropriate for a doxy. It is heavy on strings and light on fabric. She has not tested it, but it appears uncomfortable.
“When you have gathered yourself and dressed, you may go.” Milord dons his robe once again as he settles back on the bed.
Lucius watches Lilian’s exit with certain satisfaction. This exceptional situation offers serious challenges, but the benefits are proving to be much greater than he anticipated.
Chapter 3: Correction
The Apprentice Protocol (continued)
13. The bonded will not complain.
14. The bonded will respond to instruction without hesitation.
15. The bonded will learn from observation and not require instruction.
16. The bonded will offer contrition for transgressions.
17. The bonded will accept and learn from correction.
18. The bonded will not by voice or action slander or otherwise question the honor of the higher ranked.
19. The bonded will behave with discretion.
20. The bonded will present a modest demeanor.
21. The bonded will execute its duties diligently and to the full of its abilities.
22. The bonded will maintain a strong, healthy physique.
23. The bonded will not overindulge in drink or other excess.
24. The bonded will not wager or benefit from wagers.
Sevenday 1, Day 2
This day. There is only this day. Do not adjust your skirt again. Seated outside the scarlet door in anticipation of the eighth bell chimes, Lilian represses the urge to rearrange her concealing skirt. She cannot overcome the heightened awareness of her sex engendered by her hidden nudity. It is pointless to instruct herself that that no one has any notion what she is, or is not wearing under her suit. She feels naked.
At the sound of the chimes, Lilian crosses the scarlet threshold, braced for what the day may hold. Milord is seated behind his desk, engrossed in the techno array. Lilian takes her position at attention, standing in front the desk with her slate in hand. After a few moments, milord releases the console and turns to Lilian.
“What have you for me?” It is a harsh, impersonal query. Nothing in milord’s voice or manner reflects the intimacy of the previous night’s passion. Lilian expected naught else.
“Master Nickolas has instructed me to become knowledgeable in the Vistrite production reports and to perform the standard reviews for the mining and refining operations of Desperation in the Sixth System. Associate Master Straus has assigned three training interrogatives.
“I have completed the production reports and submitted them to Master Nickolas. Two of the interrogatives are complete and submitted to the Associate Master. I expect to complete the third interrogative and the first level reviews of the refining operations today and the mining operations review tomorrow. Second level reviews will be complete Sixth Day for both operations.”
“Complete the mine review today and leave the refinery until tomorrow.” Milord corrects without emotion.
More Games. Order is unimportant. These are evaluation exercises. She will not receive any true work for several sevendays. “Yes, milord.”
“Is that the longest skirt you own, Lilian?” The silky tone is misleading. From milord’s expression, it pleases milord no more than her lingerie.
“Yes, milord.” Hearing uncertainty in her voice, Lilian calls on her discipline. The skirt falls almost three inches below her knees, five inches longer than current fashion.
“The next time you don it, the skirt is to end at least three inches above your knees.” Milord’s features are set in harsh lines.
Milord is not pleased.
“Yes, milord,” Lilian is relieved to find her tone is once again polite, obedient and certain.
“Raise your skirt.” At the anticipated command, Lilian places her slate on the edge of the desk and gathers the skirt around her waist.
“Did you arrive at Serengeti in this state?” The question suggests milord may have guessed the truth.
The man is uncanny. “No, Milord.”
“No?” Milord’s displeasure is deepening. Even minor defiance is not to be tolerated.
“No milord. I make use of the public transport. I dropped it in a freshening closet trash receptacle as soon as I entered the Cartel.” Lilian is balanced on the edge of the crevasse and she knows it. There were no geographical limits in milord’s instruction. She simply could not bear to enter the public transport without some covering. She had wagered on milord not inquiring.
For a moment, milord regards her without speaking, his expression unchanging. Finally, “Release your skirt and open your blouse.”
Not angry, not pleased either. What? Lilian’s naked breasts quiver gently with her breath. The tips are lightly pebbled from rubbing loosely back and forth against the silk of her blouse.
Lucius swallows hard at Lilian’s display. The light trembling hints at vulnerability completely at odds with closed demeanor and rigidly correct posture. Lucius is intrigued. “Attend me at midday. You may go.”
»◊«
“He is determined to make his point, isn’t he?” Rebecca’s sympathetic inquiry catches Lilian unaware. Standing in the freshening closet, distracted by recall of eighth bell attendance, Lilian is oblivious of the running water she has yet to use.
At Lilian’s mystified look, Rebecca expands. “Monsignor has you naked under all that black, doesn’t he?”
Honor endures. What to respond, how to respond? How did Rebecca guess? With a little prescience of her own, Rebecca responds to the unspoken questions.
>
“Lilian, a lady like you doesn’t go with her breasts unbound of her own choice. Only Monsignor Lucius can give that order. From there it’s no great distance to conclude he won’t permit you lingerie at all. It’s all about control and exerting it early,” Rebecca explains reaching into the running water.
Lilian nods, well aware of the intent behind milord’s control games. She expected it.
“Of course, his purpose is also to taunt the rest of them,” Rebecca continues on.
“The rest of them?” Lilian questions, finally putting the water to use.
“Every seigneur in the Cartel. At least those that favor women, anyway. There isn’t one of them who wouldn’t give a valued family member for your contract,” Rebecca returns, checking her appearance in the mirror.
At the blankness of Lilian’s gaze, Rebecca gapes in surprise, “You truly haven’t a notion, do you? You’re a walking erotic dream. You’re an apprentice who was raised to be a protégé. There isn’t a seigneur anywhere in the Twelve Systems who hasn’t fantasized about bending a protégé over his desk.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. Lilian battles back the appalled realization that her hidden nudity may not be so hidden. Latching on to Rebecca’s initial statement, Lilian forces herself to assess the motives and actions of the man who owns her.
“And, flaunting me in this manner reinforces monsignor’s preeminence,” Lilian concludes. It also serves reinforce the nature of our contract and please milord. Devious man. “Thank you for your insight, Mistress Rebecca.”
“You are welcome, Mistress Lilian,” Rebecca responds formally, halting the water as her face crinkles with mischief. “Although I expect it’ll take a few more ‘insights’ to balance yesterday’s badly needed freshener packet.”
At Rebecca’s mention of the packet Lilian’s curiosity flares. The other woman seems direct enough, “Mistress Rebecca, I intend no offense, I cannot help but wonder…”