Endings

The Yuletide was approaching, and of course the Master of the House, was in Gibraltar taking part in some very hush hush negotiations with Eastern potentates who were supposed to be solidly in France's camp, but were open to softening that stance for the right considerations.  The Earl was good at finding levers to separate people from their sworn oaths and moral obligations.  This made my position as his wife right now Ironic.

I was on my knees, hands bound behind my back with a silk scarf, eating the pussy of Fat Preeta, the Hindu undercook.  Fat Preeta had been the cook in charge of our entertainment for the Ladies Reading Club, and it had been an epic success.  The Club had been my own invention.  There were many well educated women who were serving in their own right in management positions in their families and even independent business concerns.  They were few in number, most women still adhered to their traditional role, but educated and driven women were on the rise, and their role in society was one agitating for change.  To have a hand in shaping that change could only be a great advantage to her husband's political aspirations, and business needs.  Even beyond shaping these women's opinion was learning their own desires, needs, struggles, and the fault lines of the various other political and economic powers in London, and thus all the world that mattered.  In discussions about books, to defend a point, or clarify a point, one tended to draw parallels to ones own shared experience to explain.  In this way, a discussion about a conflict in a single story could yield more intelligence about the private doings in the great houses than any hundred spies, and be more reliable.

It was my thought to spur the separation from traditional roles by making each meeting exotic and themed, the wildness and richness of experience to cause each of them to be more willing to step beyond propriety and be bold.  This last meeting was given to Preeta to sculp, from the series of teas, to the meal and the snacks, as well as their presentation.  The ladies had been overjoyed, and my own standing in the Ladies Reading Club was thus greatly enhanced.  Such service requires a reward, and when I offered Preeta whatever was in my power to give, she chose.......me.

I had started with gentle kisses and caresses, worshipping Fat Preeta like some Hindu Goddess as Kira and the gathered staff watched.  I worshipped at her small oddly long breasts, and the intriguing plum like nipples to both of our delight.  She had taken much joy in spanking upward from beneath my breasts, to make them bounce and turn them red.  As I gently suckled at her breast, she would pinch my nipples hard and make me whimper.

Kira, making a great show of concern stepped forward.  "Let us make sure you are not hurting Miss Annabelle."  Kira said, before running her hand over the curve of my rounded bottom, and down to my little red furred cleft.  I closed my eyes in shame as she probed with her fingers.  Pulling them out and examining their wetness, making a show of it for the gathered staff, Kira laughed.

"Oh it seems Slut Anna is quite wet.  Little Anna likes her big white milkers spanked by Fat Preeta.  Carry on Preeta.  The slut yearns to serve you."  Kira laughed, and the staff laughed in answer.  I was the lady of the house, wife to an Earl, and on my knees to the cook's assistant.

I kissed my way down to her dark furred jungle.  She was very hairy, thick curls scented with the sweat of her work and that of her womanly musk. I rubbed my face in it as I caressed her bottom with my hands.  I placed my mouth over her dark flower and began to trace her petals with my tongue, to worship her gently.

Fat Preeta was working up a rage.   She pulled my hair back and shouted. "Open your mouth!"  I did so, and she spat inside it, then slapped my face.  Calling over her shoulders she shouted. "Bring the clamps!"  and the head cook, Ming came and placed two screw clamps on my aroused and engorged nipples, they were connected by a chain.  Preeta tugged on the chain and lifted my breasts by the clamps, the pain shot through me and my hands went to the chain by reflex.

Kira grabbed my hands and pulled them behind me.  She bound them with a silk scarf, and whispered in my ear.  "Slut Anna exists to obey and to please.  Slut Anna does not resist, she submits.  If you cannot do that, you won't be allowed to be Slut Anna anymore.  Can you do it alone, or do you require my instruction?"  Miss Kira asked as she knotted my silk scarf around my wrists in the small of my back.

"Please instruct and correct this slut!"  I begged.  I could not lose Slut Anna.  If I did, there was only the cold lonely prison of Lady Annabelle as a social tool for my husbands political machine.

Kira bit my earlobe, and thrust my face back into Fat Preeta's thick lipped pussy.

I looked up into Fat Preeta's snarling face as she rode my own pale face like I used to ride my pillow when I was too scared of Jesus to touch myself with my fingers.  That is what I was, a tool for getting Fat Preeta off.  I was a sex toy.  A thing.  I would have touched myself if my hands were not bound, and everyone watching knew it.  I sucked and lapped, squealed like a piglet when my chain was pulled by Preeta to break my rhythm when I had her close to orgasm before she was ready.  Finally, she could endure it no more and came so hard her legs flew up into the air, and she lost her balance, falling on top of me in a great untidy heap.

Laughing hands pulled her off, and Kira, in a ritual peculiar to us, drew my face to hers to let me offer the gift of the cum I had won from the woman she had me please.  It was my offering to her.  No matter who I pleased in this house, it was always and only as an offering to her.  Although many of them did things to me that Miss Kira would not do, each of these acts, to me, was an offering to Miss Kira.  So important had she become to my life, and to my heart.

She took me up to bed, to put me to sleep.  As always, she examined my little wounds, and clucked or kissed alternately at them.  Her rules were strict, no permanent marks were ever allowed.  Her mother had been permanently marked, as had her father, from plantation discipline.  She herself had been the first generation not branded, as the governor at the time had been of Abolitionist leanings.  She stroked my flanks like a rider inspecting her horse after a pleasing afternoon ride, and kissed above my belly button in a gesture that was loving, rather than sexual.

"My dear Miss Annabelle, what a gift you have become.  Now, Yuletide is approaching.  What sort of gift shall I get for you?"  Miss Kira asked.

I looked at my dearest love and blushed.  "It is the position of the Lady of the House to gift her servants and staff, it isn't required to return it."  I said, stating the truth the world outside this house understood.

Miss Kira reached up and sucked one of my abused nipples into her mouth, making me moan, then released it with a "pop" sound, causing me to flinch.

"It is an owners place to offer gifts to a beloved pet, to let it know that it is loved, cherished, even if sometimes it must be disciplined." Miss Kira stated, causing me to moan and throw my arms around her, hugging her to my naked chest.

"Please Miss Kira, please, there is only one thing I want from you.  Only one thing.  I know it is dangerous, and I know it is forbidden, but I really have thought this through.  Please, Miss Kira, if I mean anything to you at all, grant me this one gift this Christmas."  I begged, tears in my eyes.

Miss Kira pulled back, suddenly serious.  She studied me for some time, then quietly, seriously, asked me.  "What is it you are asking for?"

I turned away from her, stalking from the bed that was once my matrimonial bed, but was now the place I served Miss Kira when she chose.  I stood in front of the full length dressing mirror so I could see her face, without facing her.  I began to talk.

"You know the Roman's called this feast Saturnalia, before Christ.  It was the time the Lord and Lady of the House would serve the slaves with their own hands.  A time when the slaves would live as lords and the lords as slaves, with the lords giving gifts to their house slaves for their loyal years service."

Kira absorbed that little historical non sequitur with a slow nod.  "I will assume you are correct, your education was quite a bit different than mine, after all."  She offered wryly.

I looked into the reflection of her eyes in the mirror and got this next bit out in a rush, as if I could not permit any interruption or I would be too terrified ever to speak it again.

"I know you are the first one in your family not to be branded, to bear the mark of my house upon your skin.  Your mother bore our brand, as did your father, and their parents before them.  A mark that said they were property.  They could not run, they would just be brought back.  They could not hide it, could not deny it.  They were forever separated from free humanity by that mark and what it meant."

Kira's voice was hard and flat, her eyes cold and angry.  "What are you asking."

I had to finish before she stopped me.  "I want you to brand me at Saturnalia, I want to have your mark burned into my ass before the staff, that everyone who looks upon me will know me to be always and forever your property!"  I shouted as I trned to face her.

With a look of shock upon her face, Miss Kira responded with widening eyes "NO!"

I pounced like a leopard.  I pushed her back to the bed, our naked bodies slapping as I drove her beneath me with a will.  I grabbed her lean ebony leg so much more graceful than my own, and raised it.  I locked us together like interlocking scissors, my own body on top, our wet sexes pressing together, as I leaned forward I could slide my clit over hers.

"Brand me, Mistress!"  I screamed as I began to hump her like a deranged rabbit.

Miss Kira thrashed beneath me, but while she was by far the more graceful, I had the wide birthing hips, the great udders, but beyond those features I had the body of a family of border gentry, too many Vikings in the mix to be anything but a wide shouldered over muscled powerhouse, capable of dropping a future knight and returning to the milking barn the next day to toss hay bales and milk cows.  I pinned her in place and began to show her all the tricks she had trained into me as she made me into her sexual plaything.

"NO!  Your husband would have you killed."  Miss Kira shouted.

I humped her, scissoring our sexes across each other.  It was different than tongues or fingers.  It was raw, and the motion, like when my husband used to thrust into me.  That feeling of power, of conquest, of taking.  I could see why it made him so excited.  Not that he could last very long, or that his constitution was up to trying such things anymore.  It was so much more when it was two women's sexes sliding over each other.  Like a saw made of lighting.  Not a sharp defined pleasure of tongue or finger, but a rasping cacophony of sensations, a chorus of a hundred voices from whispers to shouts, from moans to whimpers of pleasure all mixed and mingled in a confused knot.

"My husband has never even seen me naked.  He took me through the laces of my drawers, with only my breasts bared.  Even then, he has not called for me in that way since our last son's birth."  I gasped, panted, and grunted as I felt my own control starting to fray.  I had one hand on Miss Kira's calf, pinned in my strong hand, and the other locked to her hip as I felt her start to move against me in rhythm, falling into synch, her back arching, her left hand reached up to cup my breast, her right to grip the bed covers in clawed fingers.

"No, you are Lady of this house, I just keep order in it for you."  Miss Kira moaned, denying even now, as we both raced towards a soul destroying edge.

"I am your slut, I am your whore, I AM YOUR SLAVE!"  I screamed as I began to cum, thrashing against her.

Kira bent like she was trying to buck me off, she didn't even breathe as she bent and thrashed, her jaw clenched and nostrils flared as her upper body shook like she was soundlessly sobbing.

I fell across her, unable to coordinate myself enough even to sit.  She rolled on top of me, pinned my hands above my head with one hand, kissed me fiercely, and bit my lower lip, pulling it as she pulled away.  Her eyes bore into me as her right hand stroked my cheek.

"Very well Anna.  I will brand you.  From the day I brand you, you will never be Lady Annabelle in my eyes again.  There is only Slut Anna.  My slut Anna.  My property.  You will retain your other duties to husband, to children, to estate, but your body, your heart, your soul, will belong to me to use and to share solely as I choose. Do you understand?"

I smiled.  "Yes Miss Kira."

The only time I ever dared test my strength against Miss Kira resulted in my victory.  I would have my brand.  She would have me.