by Fox, Georgia
"My master values his privacy to guard his great wealth. He rarely leaves his manor. Not many folk have heard of him." The story progressed rapidly, falling easily from her tongue. Cat always loved a good story and back in the pre-curse days, when she was a merry milkmaid, she'd often entertained the village children with her tales.
"Is that so?" Slowly he walked around her, running a hand over her long, sleek black hair, lightly patting her bottom, even inspecting her fingernails.
"Do I pass muster?" she exclaimed irritably.
His eyes narrowed and his hand tripped downward, sliding between her thighs. "Feet apart," he commanded, briskly changing his tone. She obeyed, giving him access to her pussy, and immediately his fingertips parted her labia, holding her open.
Well, he wasted no time, she thought wryly.
His other hand went to her mouth and parted those lips likewise by exerting pressure on the lower. Held open now at both ends, she waited, a little streak of trepidation pulsing through her with the beat of butterfly wings.
"Do I get to keep you, or is this a temporary gift?" He released her lips so she could reply.
"Temporary. I am loaned to you, sir, to do with as you choose."
"Hmmm. Interesting."
His other hand was still holding her nether lips apart.
"Your master is generous," he added. "But I might desire to keep you."
Uh oh. She'd only made the lie up to buy time and she had every intention of escaping the moment his back was turned. "No, you can't! He said—" His index finger returned to her mouth, pressing the bottom lip down so she was silenced.
"You speak from now on only when I give permission," he snapped coldly.
She glared. He just better not think he could keep her his prisoner. More fear travelled quickly through her, quickening the beat of her heart. He ran his thumb over her bottom teeth.
"Nod if you understand, slave."
After a moment she bent her head.
"Good slave." He released her pussy lips and spanked her smartly up between the legs with a flat hand. It shook her breasts and a tightening sensation stole through her core. "Now get in the water and cleanse yourself. I don't play with pussy owned by another man until it's well scrubbed of his scent."
When she hesitated, he lifted her around the waist and stood her in the tub. "Open your legs wide." She felt his pulse through his fingers as they gripped her waist so hard. The water was only luke warm. It sloshed around her knees as she stood with her feet apart. "Wider," he commanded. "And now bend you legs. Crouch in the water and let it wash your cunt." He pushed her down steadily in the undignified pose as he instructed. Cooling waves lapped over her sex. His cock was now level with her gaze, reared up fiercely, its crest swollen. She tried not to think about Peter.
"Work your hips back and forth."
Water splashed up the side of the tub and over, probably wetting his feet.
"Stand up, slave."
Again she obeyed. A frisson of sexual excitement lurked hot and naughty in her loins and made her want to rub her thighs together, or touch herself.
"Don't close your legs," he barked, apparently anticipating her thoughts. "When in my presence you will stand as I tell you. Understand, slave?" He paused. "Nod if you understand."
She nodded, blinking, feeling the heat multiply in her cunt. It puzzled her that his harshness should be so arousing. Cat was always a very stubborn, defiant, mouthy person—that, after all, is what got her cursed in the first place. But something about the Comte's demeanor was like a hard, skilled hand on the reins, calming her wild horses. It wouldn't last; she was sure of it. This must just be a temporary lull. Soon she would feel an insult building, burning her tongue, ready to let him have it.
Abruptly he turned away and strode to the door. He opened it. "Gideon, come here."
Lady Serena's guard appeared in the doorway. Cat closed her legs and covered her pubic hair with both hands. She shook her hair forward to hide her breasts.
"I have a new slave, Gideon. A gift, it seems, from another of my niece's suitors. Do you know anything about this?"
The guard came in, looking over at the bath. She knew she was blushing. "I do not, my lord."
"You do not know how she came to here in my chamber?"
"No, my lord."
Frowning, the Comte turned to look at her again and saw how she disobeyed his orders. Marching back to where she stood, he yanked her hair back with one hand, twisting it until she yelped.
"Let me out of the water," she shouted.
"I give the orders here, slave."
"La di dah! Aren't you special? Well, where I come from, I am superior to all my master's other bedmates and he treats me like a princess." And thus pride spat out of her, as she'd known it must eventually.
"Does he indeed?" His eyes flared with anger, his fist screwing her hair in a tight bunch behind her head.
"Yes and he would never treat me cruelly."
"Aha! But he sent you to me and now you follow my rules. Unless, of course, you want to displease me. Which will do your master no favors, will it?"
Although she could not move her head, she could still turn her eyes to his straining, angry face. She could still glare with every ounce of her haughty, feline pride. "Usually, in my experience, men who act like you are compensating for an inadequate cock. What's your excuse?"
For a long moment she thought he would explode into a thousand sharp, red hot little pieces. His jaw was stiff, his lips almost vanished completely. Those wild grey eyes scorched her face and she felt as a rabbit must when it found itself in the jaws of a wolf. Finally he spoke and his voice was steadier than she expected.
"I see you have a bad temper that must be quelled. Gideon, tongue!"
Again she tried to get out of the bath, but the Comte held her hair firm. The guard knelt before her, pulled her hands from her sex, leaned in with a smile and thrust his tongue between her clenched thighs. She gasped, shivering.
"Not too much, we don't want her reaching her zenith," the Comte exclaimed with a sneer. "Only climbing toward it. Slowly."
The tension in her legs softened and that eager tongue lapped over her wet labia, slipping between them, flicking gently around the pearl of her oyster. It was deliberately soft, not as hard as she wanted it and not exactly where she needed it either. She moved her hips, circling slightly as her arousal grew, trying to position herself so he couldn't tease her. When she closed her eyes the Comte commanded that she open them. And keep them open. Just when she thought she would climax, he shouted at Gideon to stop. They left her hovering at the brink.
"Now you can get out of the water."
Her legs were trembling, her pussy throbbing. His hand still holding her hair, he led her to the bed and instructed her to kneel on it and bend over, legs spread wide, so she could get no relief from the fluttering teasing want they'd started in her cunt.
"You must help me prepare the slave, Gideon, and then I shall find out where she came from. Whoever sent her is lucky they catch me in a playful mood and with no other current favorite. I'm of a mind to keep her, despite her saucy tongue. Look at that lovely arse, Gideon, and the pretty cunt blushing and blossoming under our regard. What do we have for her?"
She heard the sounds of something dragged across the stone floor and then items being moved around.
"Not that one. The soft leather first. We don't want her marked and her skin is very fine. Yes that will do nicely."
For a moment there was silence. She flinched, waiting.
Chapter Seven
"This is for disobedience. As it’s your first indiscretion, it won't be too severe. But let it be a warning." And then came the first lash across her bottom. It was more of a kiss than a spank. The second followed rapidly, the long strip of leather angled this time so that it lapped between her thighs and spanked her wet pussy. She heard the Comte's breath coming harsher with each lash. Occasionally he paused while Gideon's lips pressed to her bottom, to her cheeks and sometimes betwe
en them. It was always just enough to torment her, quicken the thudding waves inside her pussy, but it left her unsated. Then came another slap of leather. Harder the smacks came down on her until they began to sting. Drops of water from the bath ran down the back of her thighs. Her breasts rubbed on the bed, her nipples hard and scarlet, pressed into his fur coverlet.
Then, abruptly it ended. She'd lost count. Her bottom throbbed, as did her cunt.
Two pairs of hands now caressed her buttocks as the men discussed her reddened posterior. A finger prodded at her anus and she felt something cold and creamy applied to that tight hole. She tensed.
"Bring the anal plug, Gideon."
Anal plug? What the—? She bit her lip as they began prying her bottom open with a hard, slender object, about the same girth as a man's finger. Her breath hitched in her throat. She tried to relax.
"Good slave," the Comte whispered, running a hand along her arched spine.
Cat heard the chink of a chain and then a metal cup lined with velvet was fitted over her mound attached to three slender chains—two around her hips and one that went between her legs, all three clipped to a rounded handle protruding from the anal plug. Lastly there was a long, soft tail of some sort, also attached the device. It softly brushed her bottom, soothed her over-heated flesh.
"Get off the bed," he said sternly. They gave her no help but made her clamber to her feet as best she could, ungainly and undignified. "Walk about and let us see how you look, slave." She glared at him. His eyes were laughing at her humiliation. "Quick now. You don't want another punishment just yet, do you slave? The next one will require a much harder paddle."
With difficulty she walked across the chamber, the cup clamped over her aching, needy pussy. The plug fitted inside her anus, holding the pony tail high as she walked, the long, feathery strands fanning in the draft, ticking her spanked cheeks.
"Turn around," he commanded coolly, "and make your tail sway. Make haste." He clicked his fingers at her.
"How do you expect me to do that?" The plug in her arse caused a discomforting, throbbing pressure. It distracted her so she could barely think of anything but that. Even her speech sounded different, breathy and sensual, when she did not mean for it to be so.
"Move your hips, slave. From side to side. Make that tail dance for us. And for the sake of your master the Marquis."
She bit down hard on her tongue, spun around and flicked her hips to make that pony tail flap back and forth. The pressure in her arse mounted. Her cunt moistened further inside its tight cup, her swollen, teased labia dampening the velvet. "Take this thing off me," she muttered, shooting him a scowl over her shoulder. "My master does not use such as these."
"But I do. You will wear it until I decide to honor those holes with my noble cock. Turn around."
Cursing under her breath, she turned to face the two men.
"Something for those splendid tits, Gideon?"
She stood still, legs parted as the Comte insisted, and watched the guard rummage through a large wooden trunk until he found two metal clamps attached by another chain.
"Yes. Put it on her."
She backed up into the corner, staring warily at Gideon as he approached with this instrument of torture. He smiled and whispered, "Don't fear, the clamps are lined with fleece. They pinch but it won't hurt too much, no more than a nursing babe."
So she straightened up. Her pussy was throbbing with hapless desire, her pulse racing. The Comte treated her like a thing—a toy, but at least Gideon had kindness in his soul. And if she meant to get out of this castle alive, she'd have to submit to their game for now. Cat was a survivor, not a quivering, weepy, naive maiden.
"Prime her nipples with a hard suck, Gideon," the Comte advised loudly.
The guard diligently performed this task, first one breast, then the other, before applying the clamps. The men stood back, assessing her appearance.
"Something is missing," said the Comte finally, a finger tapping his lips.
"I'm barefoot," she snapped. Her heightened state of arousal, deliberately left unsatisfied made her voice sharp, her manner disrespectful. Thus she forgot another of his rules.
"Do not speak until I give permission," he hissed, striding forward, hooking his finger under the chain between her breasts and giving a swift tug that stretched her nipples and started more shock waves through her body. "All slaves are kept barefoot."
She maintained an unblinking gaze, meeting his boldly.
"But perhaps…" He stepped back again, looking down at her legs. She had given him an idea, it seemed. "Send for the cobbler, Gideon. I will have him make something special for my new toy."
****
This "gift" was a very curious thing indeed. He knew his reputation for keeping sex slaves was well known, but no one had ever dared send a woman to him before, not even to sweeten a bribe when they begged him for a boon. It was an ingenious idea; he must admit that much. This mysterious Marquis had gumption and was evidently a gambler, taking a chance on having his slave ever returned.
She was a beauty, elegant and graceful with silky dark tresses and rich, creamy skin. She moves like a huntress, he thought—like a panther. She prowled in a sensual, rhythmic motion that heated his blood, made him want to pet her, stroke her smooth skin, feed her tidbits. But there was also a fearless challenge in her gaze, a haughtiness unsuitable in a slave. Clearly her master had not trained her well.
The Comte decided he would have the pleasure of completing her education. "Is the Lady Serena abed?"
"Yes, my lord. The women have all retired for the evening."
"Good. Take the slave down to the garrison and show her off," he told Gideon.
The woman's eyes widened.
"Be a good slave." He patted her left breast, making the chain sway. "Let the soldiers examine you, then you may eat. After which you and I shall resume our play."
Gideon held her arm and took her out.
The Comte pulled on his fur-collared robe, poured a goblet of wine and strode to his arched window overlooking the yard, where soldiers milled about around the braziers. He watched as Gideon finally appeared with the slave. Wolf-whistles erupted and the men gathered around to inspect his "gift". The woman suddenly looked up and saw him. It was as if she'd sensed him watching. He lifted his goblet and drank; his gaze fixed upon her face while the soldiers fondled her breasts, patted her bottom and inspected the lush pony tail. Good thing the chastity cup kept them from prying further. He was feeling unusually possessive about this slave.
His cock was still hard and tall as a church spire. Although he liked to tantalize himself, draw the anticipation out so that his body ached with it, he might not be able to wait long before he fucked this one.
Generally he never bothered until his slave was fully submissive. But for the first time in many years he began to ponder what it would be like to have her while that impertinent streak remained.
Suddenly the girl in the courtyard stuck out her tongue at him. His heart thudded to a dead halt and then galloped to life again. If he wasn't careful, he mused darkly, his new slave would be the one mastering him.
Chapter Eight
Peter couldn't sleep. The blissful, lusty dreams he'd enjoyed so greedily for almost four months now suddenly eluded him, left him hollow, staring up at the rafters beneath his thatch. His dream woman was gone, vanished. An odd loneliness set in.
Was it possible he missed that damned cat? She usually curled up beside him and on cold nights the extra warmth was invaluable.
When the stupid cat had not returned to his cottage that evening and it grew dark out, Peter had walked around the village, looking for the creature. He didn't need it back particularly, so he told folk—after all, it ate his food, drank his milk, distracted him from his work and didn't catch a single mouse in his woodshop—but he wanted to make sure it was all right, that nothing bad became of the strange-eyed creature.
No one had seen it. They looked at Peter curiously, probably
surprised that a great hulk of a man like him should be concerned about a little cat. He tried to put it out of his mind, but as he ate his supper that night, every time he saw a feather left to float by unmolested, or a scrap of wood lying still among the chippings and shavings, he missed that useless creature. He decided to keep its basket out and a saucer of milk. Just in case. Why it should desert him now, at the very moment when he most needed a friend, he couldn't imagine. Had he not always treated it well, better than it deserved?
****
The Comte gave her a fine supper with fruit, cheese, bread, wine and fancy little cakes. Once she was replete, Cat fully expected to be returned to his bed chamber. Instead she was taken down to a room in the dungeon and left there with her hands cuffed overhead, her face turned to the cold stone wall, a blindfold around her eyes.
"I'm afraid he has ordered the gag for you," Gideon told her. "You should not have answered him back."
Before she could argue with this, a silken strip, similar to the one tied over her eyes, was strapped over her mouth and knotted tightly. The final indignity was a long pole wedged between her ankles to force her feet in a wide straddle, her pony tail swinging down between her legs. And then she was left alone in the darkness. To wait.
And wait.
Her arms and legs ached. The wanton heat in her pussy had long since dispersed. She was simply cold, tired and grumpy.
It occurred to her that if the Comte did not come soon, she would be turned back to a cat again. She tried to turn her face toward the one, barred window she'd seen before she was blindfolded. It was a small, narrow gap in the wall, high above her head and apparently about ground level. Once dawn light began to seep through those bars, she would resume her cursed cat form. What then?
The Comte was in for a nasty surprise.
At last here came footsteps and the clatter of locks withdrawn. Fresher air swept the chamber, disturbing the dank heaviness, fluttering through the tail that hung between her buttocks.
"How good of you to wait for me," he said.
