Suka, beyond argument or reason now, pulled off her boots and peeled down her tight trousers until she stood naked on the dais in front of Paul, who turned her around to better inspect the state he had made of her arse.
“Gorgeous,” he muttered, cupping the welted flesh. “I’d keep you like that.”
“Ohhh,” sighed Suka.
“I will keep you like that. When you’re mine.”
This cathedral stone was strong stuff, Suka mused. It sounded as if he really wanted her, seriously, long term. But that was the illusion, wasn’t it?
“Now,” he said, wheeling her around roughly so her nude front view faced the vast emptiness and the patterned windows beyond. He planted his hands on her hips, standing behind her, then bestowed a long, hard suck on her neck, marking her in a place that would only just be concealed by the high collar of her uniform top when she dressed again. “Here is my subject, Suka,” he declaimed to his imaginary audience. “All of this is now mine. The expanse of her flesh. The sweetness of her lips. This curving neck and these soft breasts.”
His hands were on the bare mounds, squeezing them together to give the audience the optimal view. He stroked and caressed the nipples, letting the blood swarm into them and harden them into stiff little buttons. Suka threw her head back, nuzzling her crown against Paul’s still-clothed chest.
“No, you have to look out at the audience.” He tutted, twisting the nipples now, making her gasp and squeak at the leaping pleasure-pain. “You must have your subjection witnessed, and you must witness it yourself. That’s in the rules of service.”
“When…did you read that?”
“Oh, years ago. As a student. Stuck in my mind somehow.”
“I’ll…bet…ooh.”
He slid the tormenting hands down her sides, flipping her around by the hips to display her whipped bottom.
“This bottom will be kept tender by my disciplinary attentions,” he promised his invisible witnesses. “It will be used in any way I see fit.” Fingertips travelled slowly, whisper-lightly, down the crack, opening the cheeks to expose the secret within to the audience. “I will train her to accept what I have to give.”
“Train?” Suka swallowed, imagining some kind of anal sex boot camp. Not that that prospect was without its allure.
“Slowly,” soothed Commander Paul. “Gently. But firmly. And relentlessly. I will give your most private place my very special attention. You will undertake to keep it ready and prepared for me at all times. Won’t you? Hmm?”
He encouraged her assent with a thumb on her lower lip and a narrowing of eyes. Suka could only nod.
Then she was facing the front again, her feet nudged wide apart while Paul’s capable hands pulled her sex lips open to reveal the glossy red fruits within to his eager supporters.
“And this. This is mine. These lips, this clit, this opening. This, as well, will always be kept in readiness for me. You will work on maintaining its tightness and wetness, and this will be subject to testing at any time.”
“They would have to stay wet all the time?” queried Suka, though at that moment she could not imagine finding any problem with this requirement. She squirmed against Paul’s confident touch, trying to trick him into rubbing her clit properly.
“The people of Sevarium had ways,” said Paul, probing inside her with one finger, then two. “Lords, but you really are wet, Suka. I could take you here and now.”
“Is that what happens next?” she asked hopefully.
Paul chuckled softly. “Patience,” he chided, causing her to wriggle her hips frustratedly, pushing her bottom into the hard bulge in his trousers.
“First, according to the ritual, the master would invite each and every member of the congregation up, one by one, to inspect and admire his new bond subject. Imagine it, Suka. Here you would stand while I presented you, front and back, to all-comers. They were encouraged to feel you, to take a handful of your breasts, to check your cunt for wetness and your clit for fatness, to perhaps give your bum a good smack before standing down for the next person.”
“Oh my, wouldn’t that take hours?”
“Yes, I imagine so. There would be upwards of a thousand guests at these shindigs. Think of it, Suka. Thousands of hands, feeling you up, fingering you, opening and examining you. It makes you wet, doesn’t it? Well, wetter,” he amended, his fingers rotating easily inside Suka’s soaked passage. “And you weren’t allowed to come. Not unless the master permitted it. If you did, you would be shamed straight away and sent to the punishment suite.”
“The punishment suite?”
“We’ll have to see if we can find it later on.”
Eek! Must we? thought Suka, but the idea excited her beyond belief. She needed just the tiniest flick of Paul’s thumb on her clit to bring her to spectacular orgasm. But he was not about to grant this favour and he took his fingers from her pussy to the accompaniment of her desperate protests.
“Once all that was done,” said Paul into her ear, bending low because she had slumped forward, chin on breastbone, sulking at not being allowed to come yet, “there was the ritual clothing.”
“Clothing? You mean I have to get dressed again?”