Page 4 of The Taking of House Westwood

The girl knelt, gazing at the thick cock that rose up from the dense nest of his pubic hair. The broad head bobbed with his pulse, the slit glistening. He pulled the paddle off of the wall from above the headboard, and set it on the mattress. He watched Ryndra’s nervous eyes follow it.

“I think a nice paddling would suit here, don’t you?”

Ryndra’s azure eyes shifted up to his, and she swallowed. “If it pleases you, Sir.”

He smiled at her, and touched her cheek. “Since we have a long journey ahead of us, we may as well get better acquainted don’t you agree?”

She nodded, the color rising in her cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

“So I’ll give you choice then, girl.” He shifted a bit, his heavy cock swaying. “We can warm that bottom for you now, or we can warm it … after.” He nodded toward his erection.

Her eyes darted down then up to his again. He relished that look of uncertainty. While he didn’t like forcing girls, he took great joy in exerting his control over them. Some might call that a distinction without a difference, but to him it made all the difference in the world. No man was in a position to question his tastes, regardless.

She closed her eyes a moment, and with great pleasure he watched her nipples peak. He was glad he’d chosen to leave her hands bound behind her, for it afforded him an unimpeded view of her lovely breasts.

“Well, what is it to be, sweet girl?”

She licked her lips. “I would like it n-now, Sir.”

He grinned at her, and she dropped her gaze. “Turn around then. Let’s see that bottom of yours.”

He waited while she moved into position, her buttocks turned toward him. She was blessed with a nice round bottom, and his cock ached to be inside her. “Further over, girl. Put those tits on the bed.”

Crouching tightly over, her lovely buttocks yawned open. The plump purse of her pussy, the prominent lips covered in a fine down, pouted below the dainty rose hole exposed to his gaze. He played a fingertip against the delicate flesh of her rosette, and her buttocks twitched. His hand roved over her fine curves, squeezing a buttock, pinching the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

“You have a fine bottom, girl.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was faint, tremulous.

His hand cupped the heat of her sex in his palm, and she exhaled a ragged breath.

“So pretty.” He gently tugged on her pubic hair, rubbing the silky curls between his fingers. “Are you virgin, my dear?”

“N-no, Sir.”

He chuckled. “No? Have you a young man back home? Waiting on you, pining for you?”

She sighed as he slipped a thick finger into her sex, testing the depths.

“I have no one, Sir.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Shh, don’t fret, dove.” His hand roved up her back and he clasped the nape of her neck in his palm, stroking her like a fractious animal. He withdrew his glistening finger, wiping a sheen of moisture across a broad buttock.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just … “

“What is it? Tell me.” His finger slowly traced the bumps of her spine, gooseflesh rising at the sensation.

“I miss it, sometimes. Them. I miss home.”

“I know, it must be difficult,” he said, his tone soft. “You’ll see home again soon enough though. You’ll be much improved from your service at House Westwood.”

Though he tried to comfort her, he did relish the power he had over the women. Though termed ‘servants’, they were in practice little different than the branded and pierced slaves his wife occasionally brought home from the flesh markets of Wyndhaven.

He picked up the paddle, stroking the leather over her flesh.

She peeked a nervous glance back at him.

“You’ve done nothing wrong my girl, so you needn’t worry. I’m very proud of you. You were very good for your demanding Mistress. I simply feel like paddling you.”

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