Page 57 of The Duke's Pet

She did as he’d asked, but it was hard when the tug grew more insistent and she felt her hole opening, stretching, as the widest part of the plug was withdrawn.

And then it was gone. Her asshole clamped shut and she blew out a breath. It was strange how used to it she’d gotten. And now, with it no longer there... she missed it a little bit.

He stepped away.

She heard a soft thud as he placed it in a bowl on the floor, beside the stand holding the large ceramic dish containing water.

“Despite getting stuck up a tree and disobeying me, you did very well today, little kitten.” He stood close behind her again.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He rubbed the raised lines on her ass. “And you tolerated the cane well, for a first time.”

“And hopefully the last time.”

“Yes, hopefully.” He paused and nibbled the lobe of her ear. “No more climbing trees.”

“No. And Sir...”

“Yes?” he murmured.

“Please, may I... go upstairs. Freshen up.”

He stepped back. “Of course, forgive me. Nature calls for us all.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled open the door. “And find something in the wardrobe to wear for dinner.”

“Shall I put it on now?”

He hesitated, then answered, “Yes, you may.”

Jemima dashed up the stairs, holding her jiggling breasts. Once in the bedroom she used the chamber pot then heated some water on the fire as she picked out a dress.

She chose a chemise, a stay, and a soft blue floor-length gown that was pretty but simple and set it to one side.

After a strip wash, she cleaned her teeth with toothpowder and rough rag then looked in the mirror on the inside of the cupboard door. The remnants of the kitten nose and whiskers were still on her face. She took the washcloth and scrubbed the last of the black paint away.

Then feeling refreshed and happy not to look like a cat anymore, she pulled on the undergarments and dress. It was a little big for her so she tightened the laces at her chest. Her breasts over-spilled slightly and she had a small cleavage, which was a novelty.

She wondered if the dress had belonged to the duke’s wife or if he’d bought it new for the woman he’d also bought.

Running her hands over her slim waist and hips, she sighed. If circumstances had been different and she’d been a lady of his class, perhaps she’d have been his wife. Maybe their families would have seen it fit that they wed and have children. A good match, people would say. Then when the bedroom door was closed their marital fun would begin. And the duke was good with his mouth, his hands... she was sure he’d be good with his cock.

And would he still discipline me? If I were a lady of standing? Threaten me with his cock in my ass?

She smoothed her hands to her still smarting buttocks. Something told her he would. That was his way and likely the way of all dukes. Her father had tipped her mother over his knee once or twice over the years, so maybe it was the manner in which all men kept their wives in check.

But the cane.

That had hurt, a lot.

She’d been glad of the distraction of his mouth, down there, to take her mind off the pain.

A tremble attacked her pussy as she remembered the wonderful climax she’d had on his tongue. She’d let all thoughts of what was decent and right go out of the window. She’d needed that sensation, that tumble into ecstasy, that moment where nothing else existed.

Did all men do that to women? Or was it just the duke? Another one of his strange, quirky ways.

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