Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“How awful!” Phoebe remarked.
“Yes, it is, so be sure you stay on Thruck’s good side,” Lady Scornfoot lectured. “The other thing you’re lacking, of course, is breast jewelry.” She raised an eyebrow at Phoebe. “Do you have your nipples pierced?”
“Uh, no. Do I have to?” Phoebe didn’t like the idea of piercing such a sensitive place at all.
“There are non-piercing harnesses you can buy—that stand over there sells some.” Lady Scornfoot nodded at a large booth in the corner of the spaceport where a display of gold and silver jewelry was set up in the front. “But they might not pass Thruck’s inspection,” she added, just as Phoebe was feeling relieved. “However, you can try.” She shrugged.
“I’m not interested in piercing any part of my female’s anatomy,” Sirex said firmly.
“Well then, you’d better take charge of her and see that everyone knows she’s yours if you refuse to hang your charm from rings in her nipples,” Lady Scornfoot told him.
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they know she’s mine?” Sirex asked.
“Look at her—the way she walks and carries herself. She’s standing in your presence. A proper submissive female should always kneel at your feet when you’re speaking to someone else,” Lady Scornfoot remarked. “And she speaks for herself much too much. When you’re in the palace, she must speak only when spoken to and only to you. She must not speak to other males at all—no matter what they say to her.”
Phoebe couldn’t help the stab of irritation she felt. Yes, she wanted to submit to Sirex, but on her own terms. She didn’t like someone else telling her to submit—especially not someone like Lady Scornfoot, who she was really beginning to dislike.
But Sirex seemed to take the consultant’s words quite literally.
“Phoebe,” he growled, giving her a stern look. “Why are you standing? Kneel at once!”
Immediately, her irritation faded and Phoebe felt a flush of desire wash through her instead, at his commanding tone.
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured and knelt at his feet. The stone floor was hard and cold under her knees but she barely noticed. This was what she wanted from her mentor—a true D/s relationship. The question was, was he simply playing a part or did he feel the same way she did?
“Well…that’s better at least,” Lady Scornfoot sniffed. “If she acts properly and you get her a breast harness and lead her like a true Master should, she should pass inspection and be allowed to enter the palace.”
“But I don’t see why it’s necessary for Phoebe to pass inspection at all,” Sirex growled. “I’m selling wormhole technology—I just want to speak to the Emperor and see if he wants to buy it. Why does he or the Trollox you talked about need to see Phoebe for that to happen?”
“Having your own female on a leash is a mark of status—you won’t be seriously considered as a male of worth unless you have her with you,” Lady Scornfoot said. “Also, having a leashed female is a useful kind of currency.”
“Currency? What does that mean?” Phoebe asked, forgetting she was supposed to be seen and not heard.
“Why, just what I said. For instance, watch those two males over there.”
Lady Scornfoot motioned to a booth to one side of them which appeared to be selling some kind of savory pastry with a bright blue crust. Two tall men with mottled yellow-gray skin appeared to be arguing over the price. To one side a woman with pale pinkish-gray skin was kneeling quietly. She had on an outfit much like Phoebe’s but it was made of blue fabric and silver beads and feathers.
“The buyer wants one of the pizzdoodles but he probably doesn’t want to spend any credits,” Lady Scornfoot went on. “So what does he do? He offers his female as a kind of payment.”
“But she’s wearing a white collar!” Phoebe protested.
“Yes, that makes no difference as long as her owner gives permission. Watch,” Lady Scornfoot instructed brusquely.
They watched. After arguing a bit more, the two men seemed to come to some kind of understanding because the seller pulled one of the pizzdoodle pastries out of the case that was keeping them warm and handed it to the buyer.
The buyer took a bite of the pastry and nodded, then he motioned to the woman kneeling at his feet.
“Service him,” he growled around the mouthful of food.
Without a word of protest, the woman rose and went around the side of the stall where the owner was standing. He twitched the long apron he was wearing to one side, revealing the horrifying fact that he wasn’t wearing pants of any kind!
Phoebe’s eyes grew wide—wasn’t that some kind of health code violation? But things were about to get worse. The woman knelt in front of the owner of the pastry stall and pulled out his long, oily looking member—which was a dark blue-gray with yellow patches on it. To Phoebe it looked like a rotten banana.