My mistress’s jewelry are fine things to behold: filigreed gold and sliver encrusted with diamonds and gems of every color. I gave a nervous glance around the room. My mistress’s private room wasn’t the most frequented place. As long I moved quickly there shouldn’t be any problem.
My hands floated over the jewelry, rifling through them, almost caressing. I hadn’t seen this much gold for a long time. My eyes lingered on the more expensive piece. With an effort of will I tore them away. Greedy thieves got caught. Instead, I snatched a ring from the corner and crumpled the red velvet to hide where it had been.
A sound came from the door, the creak of a hinge. I acted without thinking. There wasn’t time to put the ring back in place, so I snapped the lid of the jewelry closed as quietly as I could and popped the ring into my mouth.
The door opened and my mistress stepped into the room. My mistress is beautiful; voluminous red hair pinned up above a slender neck and pale shoulders, her face aristocratic cheekbones and sharp features. Her dress complemented the fullness of her breasts and curve of her hips. Her sharp features were directed at me right then, an imperious gaze that snapped between the jewelry case and me and back again. I grabbed the rag from the mantelpiece and turned back to the china hurriedly.
My mistress stalked into the room, steps measured. I kept polishing in a circular motion and didn’t turn around. Her footsteps reached the jewelry case and the lid creaked open. A moment went by before she spoke. “Where is it?”
My hand stopped and I turned towards her, bobbing my head, and spoke around the ring in my cheek. “I don’t know what you mean mistress.”
Her eyes narrowed at my words. She took a step towards me. “What is that in your mouth?”
I cast my eyes down and tried to minimize the slurring of my voice. “Nothing mistress. Nothing.”
Her hand cupped my chin, slender fingers surprisingly strong, and forced my eyes to meet hers. “Don’t lie.”
I started to answer, but her hand slid into my mouth and cut off my voice. I jerked my head back and tried to swat her hand away. She pressed forward. I stumbled, and my back hit the wall. We struggled briefly, but she was taller, and it ended with my hands caught above my head, her knee pinning my waist, and two fingers shoved into my mouth. I gagged and tried to jerk away, but to no avail.
In her efforts to keep me still her knee rubbed in the fork between my legs, and I gasped. It gave her the opening she needed. Her fingers pulled out, moist with my spit, the ring dangling between them. Her eyes turned towards me. I glanced away.
“And so the little thief is caught.” She said, voice elegant superiority and disgust. “I had wondered which of the servants it was.”
“Mistress, I…” My voice trailed away as my mind failed to supply it with a suitable excuse. “I…”
“Was stealing.” She finished for me.
“Never,” I said, desperate, “I would never, mistress-“
“The little cunt was stealing.” She sing-songed, the thumb of her hand stroking my cheek. “And now she’s caught. I wonder what her punishment will be.”
I blanched at her harsh language, but tried to go on. The hand cupping my chin tightened in an iron grasp. She leaned forward, the weight of the knee pressing against the fork in my legs intensifying. A gasp at the foreign sensation escaped me.
“No little cunt, you have forfeited the right to speak.” She leaned so close that her lips almost brushed mine, her voice a faint purr. “Those pretty lips shall be put to better use.”
She let go of my chin and whirled away, her voice taking on an almost formal tone, emphasizing the distance between us. “For stealing from me I could have you put on the street and made sure that you never worked again.”
I let my eyes fall to the floor and didn’t bother to rearrange my dress. It wouldn’t serve any purpose. She was well within her rights to punish me, and without employment I would become destitute, forced to live in poverty…
She half turned her head to give me an appraising look, as izmir escort if I were cattle or one of her pieces of jewelry, her eyes lingering. I squirmed under her gaze. “Fortunately for you, that would be a waste.”
She crossed the room and retrieved a scarlet scarf from the side board. With a flick of her hand she pointed to the center of the room and snapped her fingers, as she would with a dog. “Come.”
With little other choice, I obeyed, kept my eyes downcast and hands clasped behind me, careful not to give her a reason to think better of her decision to spare me. “Thank you mistress.” I mumbled. “I swear it will never…”
“Happen again, yes, I know.” She said, voice bored, as she walked behind me. “I’m afraid I cannot simply take the word of a little cunt like you though.”
A sudden pressure circled my wrists. I tried to jerk away, but it was too late. With a quick motion my mistress tied a knot on the scarf she’d slipped around my hands. I gasped and tried to tear my hands free, but the scarf only bit deeper into my wrists. “What is this?” I gasped, as my mistress crossed in front of me. “What is the meaning of this?”
Her hand shot out, and a moment later my head jerked back, my mistress’s delicate fingers fisted in my hair. My mouth opened and closed like a grounded fish, but I was too stunned for coherent thought.
“The meaning of this little slut, is that I own you.” My mistress said in her throaty voice. “I own your body. I own your mouth, your tits, your asshole, your sweet little cunt.” Her refined voice pronounced each syllable of the vulgar words with relish. “You are a fucking whore.”
Her hand pulled on the back of my hair, and I squeezed my eyes shut and rose to the tips of my toes to try and stop the pain. Her voice grew close as she leaned forward, breath tickling my ear. “Do as I say or will make sure that the entire world knows it.”
I nodded, desperate. Why was this happening? What was she doing?
Her hand lowered, fingers still fisted in my hair, and I stumbled to my knees. I blinked up at her through tear glazed eyes. She smiled back, a cold, beautiful, and ruthless smile. Her free hand grabbed the hem of her skirt and hiked it up, baring an expanse of curved and shapely flesh. I averted my eyes.
“No little cunt.” Her hand pulled, guiding my head until my face was inches from her thigh. “Look at your mistress.”
I did then, with trembling eyes I looked up at my mistress’s womanhood. Like all of my mistress it was beautiful. It was shaved, leaving only the sensuousness of curved flesh where legs met and then the pair of lower lips between those, delicate pink and glistening with moisture. I stared. I had never seen one except my own, and it left me breathless and with a heat between my legs.
I was too stunned to resist the upward pull of her hand on the back of my head. She guided me until I was only an inch away. I swallowed and blinked. This couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t. I glanced helplessly up at her. Her eyes were cold, and a slight sneer of contempt turned the side of her nose. Her voice was soft, without any hint of remorse. “Worship me, little whore.”
Her hand tightened on the back of my hair, and she shoved my face toward her womanhood. Her scent filled my nose, musky and sweet like cinnamon. The mound of her womanhood throbbed with each exhalation of my breath, the lips shuddering. I squeezed my eyes shut, an involuntary whimper rising from the back of my throat, and closed the few inches left. My lips closed on folds of soft flesh as I kissed her lower lips. Her hand tightened on the back of my hair, and she gasped, a shudder coursing through her body and into my mouth.
“Just so.” Her voice whispered. “Lick me, kiss me, stick your little whore tongue into me, or I will cast you onto the street where you will beg to be fucked by any stranger with a penny.”
Her hand tightened, and I kissed her again, tears filling my eyes, my body shaking like a leaf. This was wrong. It was a sin. But I had no choice. My hands throbbed behind me, the alsancak escort scarf cutting deep into my wrists. I must please my mistress. I had once been a lady. I could not become a beggar, to be fucked like a common whore. I must do as she said. I must.
Her hips thrust into my mouth. I gagged, but she was not a man, and there was nothing to be rejected from my mouth. With trembling lips I began to kiss down the length of her mound, my lips closing on the sweet folds of her flesh, suckling.
I reached the base of her womanhood and paused, panic fluttering in my throat. I did not know what to do next. I had only ever been bedded once, and never by, oh God forgive me, a woman. My mistress’s womanhood seemed a foreign thing, utterly unconnected to the rest of my life. But if I failed to please her she’d punish me, make me a beggar and a common whore. I could never become that. Tears began to spill from my eyes.
Desperate, I poked my tongue into the base of her womanhood and trailed it upwards, along the length of her hole. She shuddered and a moan escaped her. I let that be my guide, let her small gasps guide my tongue to her most sensitive areas: the little bud at the crest of her mound, the crevice between her lips, the base of the hole where I would eventually have to venture. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks as I suckled and kissed with wanton need, ran the tip of my tongue along, massaged with my lips, even lapped at like I had seen dogs do when drinking from a dish.
My mistress’s hand shifted to the crown of my head, the fingers twining through my hair, a relaxed grip. Her hips rocked with each stroke of my tongue, quiet moans spaced along with them, unconscious sounds of lust. The occasional whimper shook her body, made her legs weak.
I drew my head back, and looked up. The straps of my mistress’s dress had fallen from her shoulders, and her free hand had snaked up to caress her collarbone. Her full breasts pressed against the constraints of her corset, threatening to break free. Her eyes were closed, brow knitted halfway between a grimace and a whimper.
“Please, I have done as you wanted,” I said in a quavering voice, shamefully aware of her moisture coating my mouth. “No more, mistress.”
Her eyes snapped open and she glared down at me, imperious and furious. “Do not put on your tears and little pout with me slut.” She spat each word out as if it were venom. “You stole from me.”
Her palm hit me with enough force to jerk my gaze to the side, and while I was still dazed she dragged me by the hair back with her the few pace to the four poster bed in the corner of the room. Her palm hit me again from the other side.
She took a seat on the bed and spread her legs wide, skirt rustling as she pulled it up to her waist with her free hand, leaving me staring, tears still trickling down my cheeks, at the shapely curve of her long, tapered legs. Her eyes regarded me with cool contempt, the fury they had a moment ago locked away. “Stop your crying and stick out your tongue. You do too much kissing. This is not your wedding night.”
I nodded, shakily, and tried to blink the tears from my eyes. I had never been struck before in my life and I desperately did not want her to get angry again. I stuck out my tongue and ran it along the cleft between her lips, searching. Her hand jerked impatiently, twisting my hair. I hurried and reached the point where the cleft deepened. I paused, shuddered, and thrust my tongue in.
Her hips didn’t rock or grind, but they trembled and she sighed as if all the air had left her lungs. My tongue fully extended, I pushed my face forwards until my nose touched her crest and my eyes were inches from the inside of her thighs. The inside of her was slick. Juices slid onto my tongue, and I tasted her. My body trembled, but I managed not to gag.
After the first few strokes her hips began to rock again, and her moans resumed themselves. Her finely sculpted legs on either side of me shivered and twitched languidly. Though my position was much the same as before, now I could buca escort just see her face above her ruffled skirts. Her face was calm and imperious, but that only made every slight quiver and tremble that crossed it more distinct. Her eyes were green, and every time my tongue touched her just so, they would roll upwards a little behind fluttering eyelashes.
It may seem odd that I focused on the face of my tormentor, but the taste of her on my tongue and relentless jerking of her hand made me do anything to try and divert my attention from the fact that I was lapping at her womanhood like a dog. It was a small grace, but one that soon was threatened as her neck loosened, and her head began to fall back. I jabbed my tongue deeper into her, not wanting to let her fall from my sight, and though she gasped, her head continued downwards.
Frantic now, I latched my lips around the entirety of her mound, sucking in my cheeks and creating a vacuum. She gasped, a desperate sound, and arched forward, her legs involuntarily squeezing around my face, the stray locks of her red her hair tickling my cheeks our heads were so close. Her breath panted hot and ragged in my ear. “Fuck, little whore,” she breathed, “Fuck me.”
Her hand grinded my face into her and her hips rocked without respite, thrusting, lunging, anything to have me fill them. I could barely breathe, but I swirled my tongue in her hole and scraped the juices from it, tasted them as they filled my mouth. Her legs locked behind my head, and her thighs squeezed against either side of my face, gasps and sighs trembling through them.
Her breathe grew faster, shorter, and her hips pulsed with a new urgency, stamping my mouth with their ownership. She mumbled words under her breathe in a feverish tone, curses and encouragements. Her hand on the crown of my head held me like a mop, jerking, pushing, pulling. She let out a small shriek and her head arched back. I gazed up at her through the prison of flesh around my head, my face unable to move more than the inch it needed to worship her womanhood. Her hand released the top of my head and fell to the bed, supporting her as her hips thrust forward, into my mouth one final time, as far they could go, and then stopped, quivering. Her womanhood trembled and juices squirted into my mouth, vile and sweet. I gazed up at her through all this, watched her eyes screw shut in rapture and her mouth open soundlessly.
Her hips eventually sank back to the bed, and her fingers loosened from their death grip on the sheet. Her eyes stayed shut, but her mouth closed with a final tremor. Her legs did not unlock from around me, and her juices swirled in my mouth. I swallowed, gagged, but my mouth and nose pressed against her had no space for air. I panicked, whipping my head in either direction. Her legs only tightened. Her eyes never opened, and it did nothing to disturb the languid smile on her lips.
I quivered and trembled, but forced myself to hold still. Seconds ticked by and spots began to dance in front of my vision. Her legs slowly slid out from behind my head and shoulders and I fell back. I stayed sprawled on the floor, my bound hands pinching uncomfortably, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the faint trickle of her juices from the side of my mouth.
Her legs drew together and she stood up, skirts falling back into place. She smoothed them over with a sure hand and spoke, voice absented minded. “Stand up.”
I obeyed, my bound hands making me clumsy.
“You are a thief and a cunt.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. “And judging by your performance a whore.” She moved behind me and blood rushed back into my hands as she unwound the scarf from my hands. One of her hands slid the ring that I had stolen what seemed like so long ago onto my finger and her voice whispered behind my ear. “Speak of this, disobey or displease me once, and that ring will damn you to a life as a beggar.”
I didn’t look up. My mouth ached. Her moisture speckled my chin and nose, smeared my cheeks.
She crossed to the side of room and opened a cabinet. From it she took a perfume bottle and gave herself a few gentle puffs, on her wrists and neck, as was her routine after light exercise. She half turned her head towards me, her voice cool. “You may go.”
I curtsied, eyes downcast, and left her room, hands still throbbing. The ring on my finger gleamed up at me, and I stifled a sob.