Loving My Master Pt. 03

Phoebe Gordon traced the initials 'R.C' in heavy copperplate with her finger. She was in the mistress' bedroom, awaiting her before the lady was dressed for dinner. She had taken advantage of the empty room to use the large cheval-glass as she had done several times over the weeks that had followed since that night in the barn.

The letters burned always, even when they weren't in contact with anything. The first week had been torture, where even the slightest touch had made her cry out and the constant catch and scrape of her dress had left her red eyed and weepy.

She gripped the hem of her dress before it slipped back over the wound and continued to gaze over her shoulder into the mirror and observe her buttocks. The left cheek was still inflamed and the initials themselves were a vivid red, but it looked a lot better than the angry sight that it had been at first.

The last weeks had been an odd time. When she wasn't moping about the incident and bewailing the horrors of slavery to herself, she was casting nervous glances around in case the younger Richard was about. Meetings with him had been uncomfortable, although they hadn't spoken. Instead his pale eyes would light with amusement and the constant burning lust she had come to understand, was the fire in them. On all occasions she had cast he eyes down, her cheeks burning with humiliation for both his treatment of her and her arousal at it.

That was the worst shame, for a woman, no, a slave to grow aroused at her own subjection was the worst self-betrayal, and each meeting was met with more betrayals.

She still had her dresses hitched up when the door opened and she dropped them hastily before her mistress saw her in such a state of undress in her own rooms.

When the words 'Mother, I'm just letting you know that I'm back...' were spoken in honeyed tones her stomach fluttered and she spun, her cheeks reddening once more.

'My apologies.' he spluttered, attempting to speak around the grin that stretched his mouth and the grumbling in his throat that could quickly turn into his deep throaty laugh. She could see his eyes were alight again with amusement at what he had caught her doing and she turned from him, unable to catch his gaze, but unable to focus on any task that would allow her to keep her eyes elsewhere.

'Your mother has not come up yet Sir, . . . I . . . Uh.' she stuttered helplessly. When she turned back to him he was almost behind her and he herded her to the bed easily as she retreated. She remembered him holding her from behind in the barn, the feel of him pressing through his pants and it was all she could do not to flee.

This time when he held her, he was firm but gentle, and his mouth at her ear was not hissing but whispering as his lips grazed the lobe.

'I want to see.' he said, his palms insistently nudging her forward. She expected his weight on her again, bending he over once more but instead he simple nudged and prompted.

Before she knew it, she had already submitted, laying herself across the smooth sheets on the bed. She couldn't say that it was a slave's natural obedience that made her do so, nor that it was another treasonous act that she had been tricked into by her own mind. He had simply spoken and she had obeyed. It made her close her eyes, as if willing herself not to witness what would happen next in any way, but all it succeeded in doing was to make her focus more on other senses so that she could feel her skin tingle and her throat grow tight. Sweat began to build across Phoebe's brow and her ears were filled with the pounding of her heart. When he spoke suddenly she jerked uncontrollably, no matter what she did she couldn't rein in her body, it had already run away with itself.

'Lift your dress, show me. ' he said in what would have been a casual way were it not for the tense energy that fizzled in the air.

She almost whimpered when reaching back to slowly begin sliding the cloth up her dark thighs. Not because she was scared but because her body was experiencing a meltdown and the kettle would certainly reach boiling point when he saw the small patch of dark curls between her legs, glittering heavily with her arousal.

His ragged breath was coming fast by the time she was finished and she heard him fumbling with his trousers. Once more she expected him to take her but a rasping rhythm suggested he was rubbing himself through them.

'Open them.' he said and she had no doubt about what he meant. Her hesitation lasted only seconds before she was taking a firm grasp of each bum cheek and parting them, regardless of the protest from the raw wound on the left. She could hear his nails raking the length of his . . . well, cock, she blushed to imagine.

She hissed when his hand gripped hers over the branding, squeezing it until she keened lowly. The noise was cut off by footsteps and the frightening arousal became simple fear at the mistress walking in on such a scene. She tried to rise quickly but he held her down long enough to crouch, forcing her further into the coverlets and parting her cheeks wide and wider still. Like lighting his mouth shot forward and grasped the glistening pink jewel that such a position revealed. It was the most intimate kiss and she shuddered from a multitude of emotions. Just as quick as it started it had stopped and Master Richard Cunning was once more in his customary cock legged stance, as if he was ready to be painted. She was hastily trying to straighten her dress and adopt her own pose, acutely aware that her skin was dewed with sweat.

The Mistress was clearly suspicious, despite the finishing words of a question he spoke casually to a maid as to the whereabouts of his mother. Phoebe was more than aware that she was the one that looked guilty, like she's been caught in the act of stealing.

The game would have been up however if the Mistress would have seen his obvious erection and the smear of her come on his lips.