the shadows. Not to notice her. The steps drew closer, and she breathed anxiously in the tight constriction of the wrappings.
At last, the figures came into view: two beautifully dressed desert Lords in shimmering white headdresses, their foreheads bound with plaited gold, the linen forming neat folds around their faces and over their shoulders. They were talking to each other. They did not even glance at her. And after them a servant came on silent feet, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down. He seemed frightened, timid.
The hall was once again quiet, and her heart slowed its pace, her breathing returning to normal. Little sounds came to her but they were from far away—laughter, music, too faint to annoy her or soothe her.
She was almost dozing when a sharp clicking sound awoke her. She stared forward and saw that the double doors had moved. Someone had opened them just a little. Someone was watching her from behind the doors. Why didn’t the person show himself?
She tried to remain calm. After all, she was helpless, was she not? But the tears sprang to her eyes, and her body grew feverish in the wrappings. Whoever it was, he might come out, torment her. Her naked sex was simple enough to touch, to tease in any way he might choose. Her naked breasts shivered. Why did he remain there? She could almost hear his breathing. And it crossed her mind that it might be one of the servants, who might spend an hour unobserved as he toyed with her.
When nothing happened, when the door merely remained ajar, she cried softly, the light dazzling her, the prospect of the long night ahead far worse than any whipping she had ever received, her tears dripping down her cheeks silently.
LAURENT: A LESSON IN SUBMISSION
W E WERE back in the palace, in the cool darkness of the corridors, with the smell of burning oil and burning resin from the torches and no sound but Lexius’s pounding feet and my hands and knees on the marble.
I knew when he slammed the door and bolted it that we were back in his chamber. I could feel his anger. I took a deep breath, staring at the pattern of stars in the marble. I hadn’t remembered them. Lovely red and green stars with circles inside them. And the sunlight made the marble warm. The whole room was warm and quiet. I saw the bed in the corner of my eye—I hadn’t remembered that either. Red silk, piled with cushions, lamps on chains hanging on either side of it.
He had crossed the room, taken down a long leather strap from the wall. Good. Now we had something. Not those stupid thongs. I knelt back on my heels again, my cock pumping under the tight circle of the cock strap.
He turned and held the strap in his hands. It was heavy. It would hurt nicely. I might even be sorry before it was done, very sorry. I looked at him levelly. “You’re going to cover me or I’m going to cover you before we leave here,” I thought. “I make you that wager, young and elegant and silver-tongued Master.”
But I just smiled at him. And he stopped, staring at me, his face suddenly blank, as if he didn’t believe I was smiling at him.
“You cannot speak in this palace!” he said between his clenched teeth. “You will never dare to do that again!
“Are you a gelding or not?” I asked. I raised my eyebrows. “Come, Master.” I smiled again slowly. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
He appeared to be trying to regain his composure. He took a deep breath. Maybe he was thinking of something worse than whipping, and I wasn’t being clever enough. I wanted the whipping!
Around him the little room seemed to glow in the slanting sun—the patterned floor, the red silk bed, the heap of cushions. The windows were covered with enameled and filigreed screens making them into thousands of little windows. And he seemed very much a part of it in his narrow velvet robe, his black hair swept back behind his ears, the little earrings glittering.
“You think you can provoke me into taking
At last, the figures came into view: two beautifully dressed desert Lords in shimmering white headdresses, their foreheads bound with plaited gold, the linen forming neat folds around their faces and over their shoulders. They were talking to each other. They did not even glance at her. And after them a servant came on silent feet, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down. He seemed frightened, timid.
The hall was once again quiet, and her heart slowed its pace, her breathing returning to normal. Little sounds came to her but they were from far away—laughter, music, too faint to annoy her or soothe her.
She was almost dozing when a sharp clicking sound awoke her. She stared forward and saw that the double doors had moved. Someone had opened them just a little. Someone was watching her from behind the doors. Why didn’t the person show himself?
She tried to remain calm. After all, she was helpless, was she not? But the tears sprang to her eyes, and her body grew feverish in the wrappings. Whoever it was, he might come out, torment her. Her naked sex was simple enough to touch, to tease in any way he might choose. Her naked breasts shivered. Why did he remain there? She could almost hear his breathing. And it crossed her mind that it might be one of the servants, who might spend an hour unobserved as he toyed with her.
When nothing happened, when the door merely remained ajar, she cried softly, the light dazzling her, the prospect of the long night ahead far worse than any whipping she had ever received, her tears dripping down her cheeks silently.
LAURENT: A LESSON IN SUBMISSION
W E WERE back in the palace, in the cool darkness of the corridors, with the smell of burning oil and burning resin from the torches and no sound but Lexius’s pounding feet and my hands and knees on the marble.
I knew when he slammed the door and bolted it that we were back in his chamber. I could feel his anger. I took a deep breath, staring at the pattern of stars in the marble. I hadn’t remembered them. Lovely red and green stars with circles inside them. And the sunlight made the marble warm. The whole room was warm and quiet. I saw the bed in the corner of my eye—I hadn’t remembered that either. Red silk, piled with cushions, lamps on chains hanging on either side of it.
He had crossed the room, taken down a long leather strap from the wall. Good. Now we had something. Not those stupid thongs. I knelt back on my heels again, my cock pumping under the tight circle of the cock strap.
He turned and held the strap in his hands. It was heavy. It would hurt nicely. I might even be sorry before it was done, very sorry. I looked at him levelly. “You’re going to cover me or I’m going to cover you before we leave here,” I thought. “I make you that wager, young and elegant and silver-tongued Master.”
But I just smiled at him. And he stopped, staring at me, his face suddenly blank, as if he didn’t believe I was smiling at him.
“You cannot speak in this palace!” he said between his clenched teeth. “You will never dare to do that again!
“Are you a gelding or not?” I asked. I raised my eyebrows. “Come, Master.” I smiled again slowly. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
He appeared to be trying to regain his composure. He took a deep breath. Maybe he was thinking of something worse than whipping, and I wasn’t being clever enough. I wanted the whipping!
Around him the little room seemed to glow in the slanting sun—the patterned floor, the red silk bed, the heap of cushions. The windows were covered with enameled and filigreed screens making them into thousands of little windows. And he seemed very much a part of it in his narrow velvet robe, his black hair swept back behind his ears, the little earrings glittering.
“You think you can provoke me into taking
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