“Yes, at once, my Lady.” The guard bowed and motioned to two more guards behind him. “Move the bench and bring in a chair—now,” he ordered.
They saluted hastily and while one of them moved the strange wooden bench out of the way, another brought what appeared to be the frame of a large rocking chair. But only the frame, Lizabeth noticed, frowning. There was no back and no seat—how the hell was she supposed to sit in that?
“Here you are Mistress,” the first guard said to her respectfully. “If your Novice will just come forward, we can get him fitted so you can have your meal.”
“What does my Novice have to do with it?” Lizabeth protested but another guard was already leading Lone to the rocking chair frame.
“Have you ever been in a service chair before?” he asked Lone, who shook his head. “Well, it’s not too difficult and it’ll help you please your lady all night—provided you can hold out that long,” the guard told him. “You just get settled right in here…”
He sat Lone down in the frame—which was padded at least—and positioned a small, molded seat under him which attached to both sides of the chair frame and had a strange wheel and cog kind of mechanism attached to the bottom of it. Before Lizabeth could protest, he had strapped Lone in place.
The big Kindred was a little large for the chair, but he fit well enough that she could see the point—Lone himself was the seat and back of the chair. He was placed at such an angle that she would be sitting directly on his lap when she sat on the chair.
The guard stood back to admire his handiwork.
“Looks good,” he said, nodding. “Try rocking some,” he told Lone.
Lone shifted and the mechanism beneath the small molded seat he was sitting on made a whirring sound. When the chair rocked, his pelvis also moved, his mesh-covered shaft thrusting up erotically and then back down again when the chair moved back to its starting position.
Oh my God, Lizabeth thought blankly. That’s not a rocking chair—it’s a fucking chair! What the hell?
“There you go, Mistress,” the first guard said, nodding. “You can have a seat and get started with dinner.”
“Um…thank you,” Lizabeth muttered. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she really sit on Lone’s lap in such a suggestive position? Both of them only had thin mesh covering their private areas. Even if she tried to be careful, there was bound to be some intimate rubbing going on.
As she stood there, indecisive, the Mistress Superior’s voice rang out.
“Well, Mistress Paige? Is there a problem?”
Lizabeth’s head jerked up and she saw that Mistress Verlandah was watching her narrowly from across the circle, where she sat on a very throne-like queening bench. Karx was beneath her, his bushy beard thrust up as he lapped her pussy vigorously. She was holding a long-handled instrument with short leather fronds attached to the end and every once in a while she leaned back and swatted Karx’s mesh-covered manhood with it. Whether this was meant as a punishment or a reward, Lizabeth couldn't tell.
“I…no, nothing, Mistress Superior,” she said quickly. “I just…have not used this kind of, uh, seat before.”
“Well if you prefer to try the rocker rather than the queening bench, that’s your affair.” Mistress Verlandah sniffed. “Personally, I prefer being licked during dinner. I find getting fucked a bit too distracting when one is eating Yandaloo hotpot. But maybe you’re better at multitasking than the rest of us.” She laughed and some of the other Mistresses tittered as well.
“I…um…” Lizabeth told her brain to think of a proper reply and came up blank. She had been in many courtroom situations where the case was won or lost on the quickness of her wits and the sharpness of her arguments and she rarely lost. But now, in this bizarre situation, she found she had nothing to say for herself. It was maddening.
“I can only assume that your choice of the rocker over the queening bench means that your Novice isn’t much good with his tongue,” Mistress Verlandah remarked disapprovingly.
“That’s not true,” Lizabeth said, finding her voice at last. “Lone is…is excellent with his tongue.” Abruptly she remembered the soft, reverent way he had kissed her during the oath-taking ceremony—kissing her pussy as he would have kissed her mouth. The way he had pressed forward to taste her…the gentle brush of his tongue against her throbbing clit…
God, she had to stop thinking like this! The memory made her pussy ache, the needing inside her growing exponentially.
“We’ll see about that later,” the Mistress Superior, said frowning. “But since you’ve chosen his cock over his tongue, you’d better get seated. It’s very distracting for the rest of us to have someone standing around in the middle of the dining circle while we’re trying to enjoy our meal.” She frowned at Lizabeth. “Unless there’s some reason why you don’t want to enjoy intimate contact with your Novice while you eat?”
“Um, no. No, of course not,” Lizabeth said quickly. “I just…I’m about to get seated.”
Feeling trapped, she looked back at Lone who shrugged his shoulders. He was strapped into the chair with broad leather bands around his calves and thighs and she couldn’t immediately see how to get them unfastened. If she could have, she would have released him and made some kind of excuse about being too tired and needing to rest.
But Mistress Verlandah was still watching her with narrowed eyes, clearly wondering what was going on and why Lizabeth was hesitating. She remembered what a big deal both the Mistress Superior and Mistress Anarrah had made about she and Lone being a “love match” and how they had intimated that Mistresses and Novices who weren’t so well matched were summarily dismissed from the Tower.
An unhappy realization came to her—God, I don’t think there’s any way out of this. Not if we don’t want to get kicked out.
She took a step closer to Lone, looking down at him uncertainly. There was no denying that the shaft that was barely contained in the black mesh pouch in his trousers was extremely large, and he was more than half hard already. Was she really going to sit on that? Her pussy tightened hungrily at the thought as the needing twisted inside her but Lizabeth pushed the intense desire away from her. She wasn’t going to go there—she couldn’t.
Lone seemed to sense her uncertainty and indecision.
“It’s all right, Mistress,” he murmured, pitching his voice low so that only she could hear him. “Remember my promise to you.”
Lizabeth knew he was talking about the oath he had sworn that his shaft wouldn’t enter her unless she asked for it.
And really, there’s no actual danger of that happening—not even by accident, she told herself. The mesh might be thin but it was still in the way. So it might be embarrassingly intimate but there was no chance of any actual penetration.
Feeling somewhat reassured, Lizabeth lowered herself cautiously onto the big Kindred’s lap. At first she tried to balance on his knees but that nearly tipped the chair over. With a little gasp, she was forced to throw herself backward to stabilize the weird rocking chair.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Lone asked in her ear. He wrapped his arms around her, bracing her comfortingly against him.
“Fine, I think.” Lizabeth’s heart was still pounding from the near upset. She leaned back against Lone, one hand pressed to her chest. “Are you all right, though?"” she asked him in a low voice. “I feel like I’m, er, crushing you.”
His laughter was a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate her entire body.
“I’m not quite as delicate as the human males you may be used to, Lizabeth,” he murmured in her ear. “I’m much bigger than you—how do you think you could crush me with your sweet, curvy body?”
“I’m just not…as thin as I used to be,” Lizabeth muttered.
“I’m glad. Didn’t I tell you, you’re an Elite?” Lone returned. “I honestly don’t understand the human obsession with females being stick-thin, but it must be deeply ingrained by your society to bother you so much.”
/> “I suppose it is.” Lizabeth sighed. “Well, thank you for being so nice about this. I know it’s kind of weird, you being my chair for the night.”
“I don’t mind in the least. Although I wouldn’t have minded the other seating arrangements either.” His voice was a deep, hungry growl and she could feel his thick shaft throbbing against her behind as he spoke.
Lizabeth glanced back at him wonderingly.
“You’re serious? You really like, uh, orally pleasuring a woman that much?”
“All Kindred do,” Lone said seriously. “And it’s not just a preference—it’s a biological need. It helps a Kindred warrior to bond his female to him for life.”
Talking about life-long bonds with her much-too-young assistant made Lizabeth feel distinctly nervous.
“Um, I guess I’d better see what’s for supper,” she said, shifting on his lap. “I…oh!”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lone asked, obviously concerned at her tone.
“I…I think…it feels like…like the mesh between us isn’t, uh, isn’t between us anymore,” Lizabeth said, frowning. But that couldn’t be right, could it?
Looking down at her lap she parted her legs and tried to see what was going on. But since Lone’s long, thick shaft had settled itself against her ass, it was difficult to see anything.
“Lone,” she muttered. “What’s going on—can you see?”
“Lean forward just a little,” he murmured back.
Lizabeth did and heard him make a noise of surprise.
“What is it?” she whispered, leaning back again.
“It’s very strange. I thought that the mesh over my crotch seemed less constricting as soon as you sat down on me,” he said in a low voice. “And it is—because somehow it has disappeared.”
“And my dress?” Lizabeth asked, feeling slightly panicky.
“There’s a hole in it,” Lone admitted. “It almost looks as though part of it simply…melted away. The part where you’re in contact with me.”
“Oh my God!” Lizabeth wanted to get off his lap at once but how would that look? If she suddenly abandoned her “chair” both she and Lone would be exposed.
“Is there some other problem, my dear?” Mistress Gettsum asked helpfully.
“I just…” Lizabeth shook her head. “The mesh of my dress…it’s…it’s…gone.”
“Oh, is it your first time wearing charged clothing?” The blonde mistress smiled.
“Charged clothing?” Lizabeth said blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Oglethorpe can explain,” Mistress Gettsum said. “He sometimes takes lessons with the Physics Mistress. Ogie—stop licking for a minute and explain charged clothing to Mistress Lizabeth,” she said to her Novice. She sat back helpfully on the queening bench so that he could speak and Lizabeth was able to see his face—brown eyes, a large nose, and a mouth that was shiny with his mistress’s honey. To her surprise, he looked a good twenty years younger that Mistress Gettsum.
“Charged clothing is made of fabric which is positively or negatively charged with electrons,” he began, speaking as though he were a professor lecturing from a podium rather than lying under the queening bench beneath his mistress. “Both the dress of the mistress and the trousers of the Novice have the same charges. When the two of them come into contact, the like charges repel each other and the mesh panels are forced apart, exposing bare skin. Once contact is broken, the natural charges of the garments stabilize and the mesh panels will close.”
“Isn’t he smart?” Mistress Gettsum cooed. “Thank you, Ogie—you can go back to licking me now.”
“Yes, Mistress—with pleasure.” The Novice’s voice, which had sounded dry and scholarly only a moment before, was now charged with lust. When Mistress Gettsum scooted forward again and pressed her pussy down against his face, he went back to lapping with evident enjoyment—if the grunts of pleasure Lizabeth heard coming from the other mistress’s bench were any indication, anyway.
“Thank you for…for explaining,” she said faintly. “I, um, understand now.”
“Charged clothing can take a bit of time to get used to but it’s really mutually beneficial to both mistress and Novice,” the other mistress remarked. “Mmm, oh Ogie!”
Since this last was clearly not intended for her, Lizabeth felt free to ignore it. She had more important things to worry about anyway. Such as the way Lone’s long, thick shaft was currently branding her ass and lower back. God, he must be truly huge. Her pussy throbbed hungrily at the idea of being filled with his thickness and she shifted uneasily, wishing for the hundredth time that the needing would just go away and leave her alone.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Lone murmured in her ear. “I am sorry about the, uh, situation. I swear that Joren didn’t tell me these were charged garments when he gave them to me.”
“I believe you.” Lizabeth cleared her throat. “It’s kind of…awkward. With you being…being hard, I mean.”
“I apologize for that,” he said sincerely. “But I can’t stop my body from reacting to yours, Lizabeth. You’re so beautiful and having you pressed against me makes my shaft hard. I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“I believe you,” she said again. “Um…maybe we’d better just get on with dinner.
“Of course, Mistress,” Lone murmured. He released her and moved his arms back to the arms of the rocking chair so that she could get to the small table to her left which she was sharing with Mistress Gettsum.
Trying to ignore the feeling of his long, thick shaft pressing against her ass, Lizabeth turned her attention to dinner. There was a pot of boiling liquid in the center of the table and a silver plate filled with writhing orange and purple…things. They weren’t quite worms, Lizabeth thought—more like little blobs. Like large, living, brightly-colored boogers. Ugh!
“Have you ever had Yandaloo hotpot before?” Mistress Gettsum asked from across the table.
“Um, no—no I haven’t.” Lizabeth tried to laugh but the sound came out squeezed and tight. “I guess tonight is a night of firsts for me.”
“Good firsts, I hope,” Mistress Gettsum said, smiling. “Here—I’ll show you how to do it. Just pick up your prongie…” She demonstrated by picking up the three thin, metal sticks which were attached at one end. “And grab one of the snarfels with it…” Using her thumb, forefinger and ring finger to control the metal tines of the prongie, she grabbed a writhing orange blob about the size of a golf ball and dropped it into the bubbling pot between them. “And then you just wait, you know—until the snarfel drowns,” she said brightly. “It only takes a few seconds. Then you fish it out and finish it off.” She suited actions to words, fishing out the orange snarfel which had turned bright red now, blowing on it for a moment, and then popping it into her mouth. She chewed enthusiastically. “Delicious!”
“I…I see,” Lizabeth said faintly. Suddenly she thought of a way she might get out of eating the hideous meal. “Um…this is a really interesting dinner but I’m afraid I’m vegetarian,” she said, smiling apologetically. I don’t eat meat of any kind,” she added, at Mistress Gettsum’s confused look.
“Oh, I see! Guard!” Mistress Gettsum called, motioning for the same guard who had set up the rocking chair.
“Yes, Mistress?” He came in a hurry, looking concerned.
“Mistress Paige here is unable to eat flesh of any kind,” Mistress Gettsum declared. “Please be so kind as to bring her plant-based meal items to boil in the Yandaloo broth.”
“At once, Mistress! Apologies for my ignorance about your food preferences.” The guard bowed low and whisked the plate with writhing orange and purple blobs away.
“Thank you!” Lizabeth said, giving her table-mate a grateful smile. “You certainly do know how to manage things around here!”
“I should—I’ve been here eight cycles now.” Mistress Gettsum smiled. “I only came to study for a few days, you know but then I found that this place suited Oglethorpe and me so we
ll. Back on Yonnie Six he’s my bodyslave and I have to make him wear a pain collar and pretend like we don’t have sex—which we do—a lot!” she added, giggling. “But here at the Tower he can be my Novice and we can do whatever we want and nobody cares. Isn’t that right, Ogie?”
“Yes, Mistress,” came the muffled reply from beneath her. And then her Novice resumed lapping, making her moan with pleasure for a moment. “But I notice you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself much,” she said to Lizabeth, frowning. “Do you even have your Novice’s shaft inside you? The rocking chair is useless otherwise.”
“Um, I…” Lizabeth wasn’t sure what to say. But she was saved from having to think up an excuse by the return of the guard.
He was carrying a silver plate which he presented to Lizabeth with a flourish.
“Here you are, Mistress! Pyrnig fungus from the deepest crevasses of the Sacred Mountain.”
“Oh…thank you,” Lizabeth said faintly. The things on the silver plate which he set before her were scarcely an improvement on the living boogers. They were dirty for one thing and oddly shaped for another. In fact, they looked like a cross between a mushroom and a ginger root that had been rolled in black dirt.
Still she couldn’t eat nothing at all—the Mistress Superior was still watching her and frowning. Lizabeth picked up one of the dirty, gnarled root-things and began trying to brush some of the dirt off of its crusty surface.
“Oh, no—don’t do that!” Mistress Gettsum exclaimed, seeing what Lizabeth was doing. “You mustn’t brush off the flavor! Just dunk it right in the pot—that’s how you eat Pyrnig fungus.”
“Oh, I…just didn’t want to get the, uh, broth dirty,” Lizabeth said faintly as she dropped the gnarled, dirty root into the bubbling pot.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mistress Gettsum said encouragingly. “It will only add to the delicious flavor of the Yandaloo broth. Now take it out before it gets too done!” she added, frowning. “You mustn’t overcook Pyrnig!”
Instructing the Novice Page 13