Buying His Mate by Emily Tilton

unhappiness.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    The door opened at Mr. Lourcy’s touch. To Gretchen’s surprise, he stepped aside, and gestured for her to enter first.
    “Sir?” she asked. “I am to go in before you?” It wasn’t the way Ms. Trainor had said in orientation. Elites went through doors first; relicts second.
    “You are,” Mr. Lourcy said softly.
    But Gretchen stood there uncertainly, knowing he would see the fear in her eyes. Truly, to have her pussy touched by the pleasant-looking neighbor, Mr. Chang, seemed much easier than to have her master do something so unexpected as to order her to go through a door first.
    He gave her a smile that seemed a little sad, though, and said, “Alright, my dear. Let’s do it the way we’re supposed to, and then I’ll explain, inside.” He stepped through the door.
    Gretchen breathed a little sigh of relief and followed him. Ms. Trainor had said in one of the orientation sessions that they would be nervous all the time, in the beginning, but that the training they received in orientation would serve as a reassuring guide. To have her master, kind as he seemed, take that away made her feel not just nervous but positively frightened. To have him acknowledge that there was a way they were supposed to do things made her feel better, at least a little.
    But as she took in the main living space of her master’s quarters, with its grand, turning view of the brilliant sun through glass darkened to allow the eye to look upon it, and its elegant, very old-fashioned–looking furnishings, she turned over in her mind the way he had phrased the reassuring thing: Let’s do it the way we’re supposed to . If he had said Do it the way you’re supposed to or even I’ll do it the way I’m supposed to, it would have seemed more natural to Gretchen.
    To say we seemed to her to say that Mr. Lourcy saw them as a… a unit? a team?… somehow. Everything she had seen and heard in orientation seemed to contradict that: her master was elite, and she was relict. Her master had sex with her, punished her, and told her what to do during the day. Mr. Lourcy was supposed to master Gretchen, and Gretchen was supposed to serve him and to please him. There shouldn’t be a we, should there?
    “Your room is to the right,” he said. “You’ll find some clothes on your bed. Please put them on, and then come back in here.”
    “Clothes, sir?” She had heard that some girls would be given clothes to wear at home, depending on their duties. She hadn’t expected she would be one of them, because Mr. Lourcy hadn’t said anything about those sorts of duties: cooking and crafting were the two Ms. Trainor had mentioned.
    Mr. Lourcy’s face seemed to grow a little stern. “Gretchen,” he said, “do as you’re told, please. When I want you in clothing, you will wear what you are given, or you will be punished until you learn to obey me. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sir,” she whispered, and turned to see the door to which he pointed, open and leading to a room so lovely she actually gasped when she entered it and saw the furniture that looked like it had come from the olden days: a four-poster bed with a pink coverlet, a little writing desk with a wooden chair in front of it, and a chest of drawers.
    On the bed she did find clothing. Even the sight of it made her blush. She had seen things like it in an old, old magazine once, and the picture had fascinated her. She remembered thinking as she looked at it, Nothing could ever make me put those things on . Well, now something had: Gretchen had a master, and he would spank her, or even do one of those other things in the vid from orientation—use the paddle, the cane, the strap, or even the bottom plug—if she did not put them on.
    Did Mr. Lourcy have a bottom plug like the one in the vid? Gretchen felt a little faint, remembering the way the vid had shown the big black thing had gone into the girl’s anus, making her cry out in discomfort, the way