Punishing The Slave Girl
(First Time Historical Group Menage)
Chera Zade
© 2015 Chera Zade
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
If you would like to be the first to find out about new releases, and other exclusive information, please sign up to my newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bfTlVz
About This Book:
Sometimes I walk at night time. I leave Henry snoring in the chamber, and I take to the hallways and hidden rooms of my palace. I like the silence that night brings. I like the other things it sometimes brings too. The things I'm not meant to see.
There are a hundred or so staff members here under orders from their king. Half of them I haven't properly been introduced to. I walk past their rooms, my hand stretched out to the wall, my ear to the door as I pass. I hear conversation, noises of sleep, grunts of sex more times than I can count. There is a world beyond these four walls, and a culture existing within it that I'm not even part of.
I go to the gardens and sit for a while on the patio looking out towards the sea. I imagine a long boat coming ashore, tall men with thick blonde beards holding hammers into the sky, coming for me. Savages, barbarians, Vikings.
The moon leaves triangles of carved light on the rippling surface. Tree tops sway in the ethereal mist above me. I hear a crow call. A distant wisp of shadowed sound, falling away into the calm of night. I see a shooting star light up the sky above me and I make a wish. I speak it into my hand, hold it close to my heart and then throw it towards the darkness in front of me, releasing it to the sea. When the wind picks up, I head back inside.
I hear the noise echoing down the corridor long before I see who is making it. Warm and earthy, guttural, like a pair of caged animals, reunited after a long time apart. I'm on the way to the kitchens, not because I'm hungry, but because of the warmth I know I'll find from the open fire there, because of the memories it brings of my childhood. The kitchen isn't usually the place for a Queen, which is why it's somewhere I go to often. I know I'll never be found.
I creep, partly not to disturb them, partly so I'm not heard coming. At the very edge of the doorway, I peer in and see them. She is bent over the preparation table, arms flat, face down. He is behind her, red faced, his hands gripping her hips tightly, working himself quickly, thrusting hard. There is something deeply private about what is happening, something deeply animalistic too. I know I shouldn't look, but I can't take my eyes away. These are the secrets of the night that I always hope to find. These are the moments that make my life measurable.
I adjust my position slightly so I can see him entering her. It involves crossing the open doorway, like a shadow passing. I do so on the very tips of my toes, my night dress gathered together in my hands. If they notice me, they don't break rhythm.
She has the folds of her skirt rucked up across her back, which she has arched like a cat. Her right leg is bent at the knee, lifted slightly so, like a dancer, she takes what little weight she has on the ball of her foot. Her head is turned to the side too, rested on the back of her outstretched hand, her eyes closed, as though swimming through a dream. Her panties have been lowered and left to cling to the skin below her knee, resting there like forgotten laundry.
The tips of his fingers turn white where they grip tightly onto her skin. He moves
(First Time Historical Group Menage)
Chera Zade
© 2015 Chera Zade
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
If you would like to be the first to find out about new releases, and other exclusive information, please sign up to my newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bfTlVz
About This Book:
Sometimes I walk at night time. I leave Henry snoring in the chamber, and I take to the hallways and hidden rooms of my palace. I like the silence that night brings. I like the other things it sometimes brings too. The things I'm not meant to see.
There are a hundred or so staff members here under orders from their king. Half of them I haven't properly been introduced to. I walk past their rooms, my hand stretched out to the wall, my ear to the door as I pass. I hear conversation, noises of sleep, grunts of sex more times than I can count. There is a world beyond these four walls, and a culture existing within it that I'm not even part of.
I go to the gardens and sit for a while on the patio looking out towards the sea. I imagine a long boat coming ashore, tall men with thick blonde beards holding hammers into the sky, coming for me. Savages, barbarians, Vikings.
The moon leaves triangles of carved light on the rippling surface. Tree tops sway in the ethereal mist above me. I hear a crow call. A distant wisp of shadowed sound, falling away into the calm of night. I see a shooting star light up the sky above me and I make a wish. I speak it into my hand, hold it close to my heart and then throw it towards the darkness in front of me, releasing it to the sea. When the wind picks up, I head back inside.
I hear the noise echoing down the corridor long before I see who is making it. Warm and earthy, guttural, like a pair of caged animals, reunited after a long time apart. I'm on the way to the kitchens, not because I'm hungry, but because of the warmth I know I'll find from the open fire there, because of the memories it brings of my childhood. The kitchen isn't usually the place for a Queen, which is why it's somewhere I go to often. I know I'll never be found.
I creep, partly not to disturb them, partly so I'm not heard coming. At the very edge of the doorway, I peer in and see them. She is bent over the preparation table, arms flat, face down. He is behind her, red faced, his hands gripping her hips tightly, working himself quickly, thrusting hard. There is something deeply private about what is happening, something deeply animalistic too. I know I shouldn't look, but I can't take my eyes away. These are the secrets of the night that I always hope to find. These are the moments that make my life measurable.
I adjust my position slightly so I can see him entering her. It involves crossing the open doorway, like a shadow passing. I do so on the very tips of my toes, my night dress gathered together in my hands. If they notice me, they don't break rhythm.
She has the folds of her skirt rucked up across her back, which she has arched like a cat. Her right leg is bent at the knee, lifted slightly so, like a dancer, she takes what little weight she has on the ball of her foot. Her head is turned to the side too, rested on the back of her outstretched hand, her eyes closed, as though swimming through a dream. Her panties have been lowered and left to cling to the skin below her knee, resting there like forgotten laundry.
The tips of his fingers turn white where they grip tightly onto her skin. He moves
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