Read Online The Surrender of Lady Charlotte by Lizbeth Dusseau - Free Book Online
Authors: Lizbeth Dusseau
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hands just above her knees.
Without another word, Caius came from behind and ripped the rod against Loria’s ass with ruthless intensity, until even this faultless slave could not help but cry out. Charlotte watched with a compassionate shudder running the length of her body as four deep weals rose out of Loria’s smooth skin.
“The games are played for slaves to lose,” Caius said as he replaced his rod on the wall. “Don’t expect to win. Expect that if you’re lucky, your lord will appreciate your efforts to please him.”
Charlotte had much to think about, but little time to think. Her training began that hour, under the kind hand of Loria who would instruct her in the forms of surrender until she’d mastered them enough to come before Caius.
Chapter Five
Practice was grueling and fitful—hours spent going over the intricacies of an art that was better not considered an art at all, but the essence of a life. Her initial attempts were clumsy, and often met with a good number of cuts to her flesh from a leather thong, which Loria was quite at ease applying to correct Charlotte’s careless efforts. Though Charlotte’s anger would flare, a few sharp snaps of leather against her skin and she would be silenced; in time, turning almost docile.
She was determined, playing out the role of slave even when her heart and head found the treatment cruel and irrational. As often as she failed—realizing the worst of punishment when Caius would step in and thrash her—she found some success, so that her training seemed less arduous with every new day that dawned.
Patterning her movements after the gentle Loria, Charlotte could feel her insides altering to fit the role she’d chosen. Days on days, her outward acts soon worked on her inner thoughts, changing her mind about herself, about lowliness and subservience. In several poses, she realized some tender peace she’d never known before. Some days she rose, relishing the thought of her practice with a longing that seemed so far from the woman she once believed herself to be that she could hardly recognize herself.
She thought little of Mountbane because when she did her poses and attitude would change, sometimes just the tiniest bit. But Loria could sense the odd switch in her demeanor. The wrinkle in her brow, the hardness in her jaw, a painful grimace. Charlotte wondered if it were foolish of her to even attempt such complete surrender when her feelings for Mountbane were so hopelessly jumbled, and the thought of him alone caused her training to suffer. Loathing and desire commingled freely, though it was clear that those times when she dwelt on him, her body was most replete with restless sexual need. So much so, she couldn’t disguise the painful agitation. Her dilemma seemed to have no solution.
These matters aside, however, whether she was doing this for love or hate, it wasn’t important. Mountbane was her path to freedom, her only means of liberty. He held the key to the dreadful chastity belt and controlled her fate with an iron fist. This knowledge drove her, inspired her, required she lose herself and forget everything but the surrender of her body as a lowly Ilusian slave. Strange that it would be the thought of Mountbane—the ultimate goal of her venture—that caused her the most graceless lapses.
“You will never have him if you can’t let go of your rage,” Loria spoke to her one day after seeing a trace of frustration in her face. It was a most uncomely thing when she was trying hard to maintain a gentle air of acquiescence.
It was odd to hear Loria’s voice in a manner so direct. She spoke most often in compliant tones. When she wished to instruct, she used her thong and her voice was silent. “I have tried,” Charlotte told her with a bit of frustration showing.
“Then try harder! You burn inside. Some day you’ll incinerate yourself, scorching your body with these flames.”
“I cannot help what I feel,” she
Without another word, Caius came from behind and ripped the rod against Loria’s ass with ruthless intensity, until even this faultless slave could not help but cry out. Charlotte watched with a compassionate shudder running the length of her body as four deep weals rose out of Loria’s smooth skin.
“The games are played for slaves to lose,” Caius said as he replaced his rod on the wall. “Don’t expect to win. Expect that if you’re lucky, your lord will appreciate your efforts to please him.”
Charlotte had much to think about, but little time to think. Her training began that hour, under the kind hand of Loria who would instruct her in the forms of surrender until she’d mastered them enough to come before Caius.
Chapter Five
Practice was grueling and fitful—hours spent going over the intricacies of an art that was better not considered an art at all, but the essence of a life. Her initial attempts were clumsy, and often met with a good number of cuts to her flesh from a leather thong, which Loria was quite at ease applying to correct Charlotte’s careless efforts. Though Charlotte’s anger would flare, a few sharp snaps of leather against her skin and she would be silenced; in time, turning almost docile.
She was determined, playing out the role of slave even when her heart and head found the treatment cruel and irrational. As often as she failed—realizing the worst of punishment when Caius would step in and thrash her—she found some success, so that her training seemed less arduous with every new day that dawned.
Patterning her movements after the gentle Loria, Charlotte could feel her insides altering to fit the role she’d chosen. Days on days, her outward acts soon worked on her inner thoughts, changing her mind about herself, about lowliness and subservience. In several poses, she realized some tender peace she’d never known before. Some days she rose, relishing the thought of her practice with a longing that seemed so far from the woman she once believed herself to be that she could hardly recognize herself.
She thought little of Mountbane because when she did her poses and attitude would change, sometimes just the tiniest bit. But Loria could sense the odd switch in her demeanor. The wrinkle in her brow, the hardness in her jaw, a painful grimace. Charlotte wondered if it were foolish of her to even attempt such complete surrender when her feelings for Mountbane were so hopelessly jumbled, and the thought of him alone caused her training to suffer. Loathing and desire commingled freely, though it was clear that those times when she dwelt on him, her body was most replete with restless sexual need. So much so, she couldn’t disguise the painful agitation. Her dilemma seemed to have no solution.
These matters aside, however, whether she was doing this for love or hate, it wasn’t important. Mountbane was her path to freedom, her only means of liberty. He held the key to the dreadful chastity belt and controlled her fate with an iron fist. This knowledge drove her, inspired her, required she lose herself and forget everything but the surrender of her body as a lowly Ilusian slave. Strange that it would be the thought of Mountbane—the ultimate goal of her venture—that caused her the most graceless lapses.
“You will never have him if you can’t let go of your rage,” Loria spoke to her one day after seeing a trace of frustration in her face. It was a most uncomely thing when she was trying hard to maintain a gentle air of acquiescence.
It was odd to hear Loria’s voice in a manner so direct. She spoke most often in compliant tones. When she wished to instruct, she used her thong and her voice was silent. “I have tried,” Charlotte told her with a bit of frustration showing.
“Then try harder! You burn inside. Some day you’ll incinerate yourself, scorching your body with these flames.”
“I cannot help what I feel,” she
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