Read Online The Surrender of Lady Charlotte by Lizbeth Dusseau - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lizbeth Dusseau
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she’s become most practiced. Loria’s pet.”
The others in the room chuckled at the thought of Loria leading anyone. “Perhaps our hefty brute, Caius, should worry!” Tibold snickered as he raised his glass for another toast.
“ I would be more likely bested than Caius,” Mountbane jibed back. “Though I assure you, Loria knows her place. Bring my shrew to me, Tristan. We’ll see what service she might render me now.”
Charlotte rested in her cell, well-worked, tired and ready for sleep, when her jailer lodged his key in the lock and bade her exit.
“Does it serve you to call for me at this hour?” she wondered, somewhat meekly.
“Not I, but Sir Tristan, on behalf of Mountbane,” Caius informed her.
She blanched in fear, “But I’m not ready.”
“Ready, like all things, is not a decision for you to make. Get on with you.”
“Milady, come,” Sir Tristan called to her with his palm held open for her to take.
She saw the serenity in his face and was gladdened by the sight of him. Unlike the other times she surfaced from the dungeon, she performed this trip in the normal manner—walking toward her fate—even though her nervous body felt as though she were crawling to the gallows.
Those inside the dining chamber froze as Tristan and the slave approached; a hushed and weary silence filling it as a fog would fill the air on a damp morning. Naked, resplendent breasts peaked with fat pink nipples, and the redolence of her feminine perfume leading, Charlotte moved into the doorway of the hall, hiding well her nervous fears. Her chastity belt gleamed but not derisively as it once had. She wore it proudly for one who’d become so humble. Pushed toward Mountbane, Charlotte gazed on him but a second before Sir Tristan nudged her one step more and she fell at her master’s feet in the pose of the slave, first kissing the ground, then resting her cheek to the cold stone, ass high, her hands clamped behind her in perfect form. Her body breathed with new fire, new life. Expectancy circled the air with an energy that opened the eyes of the nearly asleep, awakening Mountbane from his fog as well.
“Tell me, slave. How have you fared?” His voice was hushed but heard clearly from one end of the room to the other.
“Well, sir,” Charlotte spoke. She didn’t rise as she might have months before, but kept her position as though she were now made of stone like the floor beneath her.
“Lift your head and rest back on your feet,” Mountbane ordered as he sat back in a chair appraising her with interest.
Charlotte obeyed, yieldingly letting her eyes gaze down at the toe of Mountbane’s boot. She opened her palms as Loria had shown her to do, and kept her mind focused on the picture of a willow tree in order to remain yielding, even as her ears stayed alert to the master’s voice.
“What is it now that your heart desires?” he asked.
“I desire to be your slave, and should I prove worthy enough, become your wife.” Still she didn’t flinch. There was not one ripple of anxiety in her voice, no anger, no falseness. Her words rang true.
“You can hold your pose five minutes—can you surrender for an hour? A day? A week? The remainder of your life?”
“Sir, I beg you test me today and everyday hereafter,” she replied.
Without directly looking in his eyes, she could see from the corner of hers a hint of wonder in his. “Words are nothing. The act is everything.”
She thought so, too. There was something easy in this, a strange sort of peace. She knew then she would survive.
“Well, then, let’s be on with it!” the Lord announced, jumping to his feet.
For the next several hours of the night, Charlotte bore her trial. Relinquishing, surrendering, sustaining the postures she’d been primed for, as well as others demanded of her that were more difficult and fatiguing than the practiced ones. Her attitude graced her, and there were none who were not in awe of this slave’s
The others in the room chuckled at the thought of Loria leading anyone. “Perhaps our hefty brute, Caius, should worry!” Tibold snickered as he raised his glass for another toast.
“ I would be more likely bested than Caius,” Mountbane jibed back. “Though I assure you, Loria knows her place. Bring my shrew to me, Tristan. We’ll see what service she might render me now.”
Charlotte rested in her cell, well-worked, tired and ready for sleep, when her jailer lodged his key in the lock and bade her exit.
“Does it serve you to call for me at this hour?” she wondered, somewhat meekly.
“Not I, but Sir Tristan, on behalf of Mountbane,” Caius informed her.
She blanched in fear, “But I’m not ready.”
“Ready, like all things, is not a decision for you to make. Get on with you.”
“Milady, come,” Sir Tristan called to her with his palm held open for her to take.
She saw the serenity in his face and was gladdened by the sight of him. Unlike the other times she surfaced from the dungeon, she performed this trip in the normal manner—walking toward her fate—even though her nervous body felt as though she were crawling to the gallows.
Those inside the dining chamber froze as Tristan and the slave approached; a hushed and weary silence filling it as a fog would fill the air on a damp morning. Naked, resplendent breasts peaked with fat pink nipples, and the redolence of her feminine perfume leading, Charlotte moved into the doorway of the hall, hiding well her nervous fears. Her chastity belt gleamed but not derisively as it once had. She wore it proudly for one who’d become so humble. Pushed toward Mountbane, Charlotte gazed on him but a second before Sir Tristan nudged her one step more and she fell at her master’s feet in the pose of the slave, first kissing the ground, then resting her cheek to the cold stone, ass high, her hands clamped behind her in perfect form. Her body breathed with new fire, new life. Expectancy circled the air with an energy that opened the eyes of the nearly asleep, awakening Mountbane from his fog as well.
“Tell me, slave. How have you fared?” His voice was hushed but heard clearly from one end of the room to the other.
“Well, sir,” Charlotte spoke. She didn’t rise as she might have months before, but kept her position as though she were now made of stone like the floor beneath her.
“Lift your head and rest back on your feet,” Mountbane ordered as he sat back in a chair appraising her with interest.
Charlotte obeyed, yieldingly letting her eyes gaze down at the toe of Mountbane’s boot. She opened her palms as Loria had shown her to do, and kept her mind focused on the picture of a willow tree in order to remain yielding, even as her ears stayed alert to the master’s voice.
“What is it now that your heart desires?” he asked.
“I desire to be your slave, and should I prove worthy enough, become your wife.” Still she didn’t flinch. There was not one ripple of anxiety in her voice, no anger, no falseness. Her words rang true.
“You can hold your pose five minutes—can you surrender for an hour? A day? A week? The remainder of your life?”
“Sir, I beg you test me today and everyday hereafter,” she replied.
Without directly looking in his eyes, she could see from the corner of hers a hint of wonder in his. “Words are nothing. The act is everything.”
She thought so, too. There was something easy in this, a strange sort of peace. She knew then she would survive.
“Well, then, let’s be on with it!” the Lord announced, jumping to his feet.
For the next several hours of the night, Charlotte bore her trial. Relinquishing, surrendering, sustaining the postures she’d been primed for, as well as others demanded of her that were more difficult and fatiguing than the practiced ones. Her attitude graced her, and there were none who were not in awe of this slave’s
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