Number Four-Fifteen

Part II

The drive to the Palace lasts about fifteen minutes. Ed's not done touching me, though, and keeps squeezing one of my tits, or telling me to turn around so he can rub my ass. By the time we reach the Palace, I'm feeling rather horny.

The guard at the gate has a quick conversation with the driver, who jerks his thumb to the back. The guard peers in through the window, sees me, and nods appreciatively. "Round the back," he says.

We drive round the back, to a small door. There's an old woman who meets us.

"Is this the new girl?" she asks the Purchaser.

"Yes," he says. She must have a position of some importance, because he's not giving her any lip.

"No young frightened thing, thank goodness. Well, come on, come inside."

Inside is a small entry room, where I wash my feet and put on some thin sandals, as directed by the woman. "I'm the Matron," she says, smiling a small, rather fierce, smile. "You're number 415, from now on. You might get a handful of names, but for all day-to-day things, you're four-fifteen."

I nod.

"You're eighteen, right? I assume you're not virgin," she says, and then continues, barely waiting for my confirmation, "the Emperor usually wants to see new arrivals as soon as they get here, but he's in a meeting, actually doing work, I imagine, so you've got about half an hour. I'll show you to your cubby."

My cubby is just that - a little closet off one of the many long hallways. It has a raised platform in the far end, with a neatly folded coverlet and half a dozen cushions, a small sink, a stool, and a mirror. And a wastebasket. I mention the wastebasket because that's really all there is. No wardrobe, no desk, not even a bookshelf. Oh, and there's a window above the bed. It's about a foot wide by three feet high, opens with a crank, and has a view of a well-tended garden. Across the garden is, apparently, another wing of the Palace.

Inside the garden are a dozen or so girls, ranging from about fourteen to thirty, walking about in nothing at all, or, for a few of the girls, white cloths like my red one. As I kneel on the bed platform, watching, a man saunters into the garden, calls something, and one of the naked women turns. I open the window and can catch some of what he's saying.

"... here, now."

She walks towards him.

"... may I please ...?" she says.

If he says something, I can't hear it. He pushes her onto the grass and begins screwing her.

Well, I think, no lack of sex around here.

"Would you like to wash up?" asks the Matron.

"Um. No, thanks, I think I'm fine. I'll be sweaty enough soon, I imagine."

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really, thanks." I've already drunk my lunch.

"Well, the Emperor will be out in about twenty minutes. Would you like to be left alone until then? Someone will fetch you when it's time."

"Aren't there any rules, any guidelines I need to know?" I ask, curiously. "Some special sort of bow, a phrase?"

"Well, you call him Master, of course," she says thoughtfully. "But no, I expect you'll recieve instruction the way everyone else does."

And with that, she leaves.

I clamber over to the window and peer out. The moaning of the screwing couple outside isn't particularly enticing - I think the girl is faking it. I close the window.

I decide to wash up anyways, and find a small stack of towels on one corner of the bed platform. The water from the sink is pleasantly warm; the soap is creamy, and the towels are fluffy. Luxurious, this.

I've just readjusted my wrap when a knock comes at the door.

The guard barely glances at me as we walk down the hallway. He's about fifteen, I think, and a slim young thing is more to his taste. Indeed, we pass a few white-robed girls, who giggle behind their mouths as he eyes them up and down. One of them forms the numbers three, two, and four with her fingers, before giggling even harder and hurrying past. One glance at his torso reveals a bulge. Well, someone's going to claim that girl as soon as she loses her virginity.

We come to a massive doorway and he ushers me in and closes the doors behind me.

I'm alone in a long room, essentially a throne room. It's got pillars lining the sides, and steps at one end with a chair at the top, and a man sitting in the chair.

I walk forward, hoping I have the right mix of apprehension and sensuality - it's a difficult thing to combine.

"Four-fiteen, I presume?" says the Emperor. His voice is strong, and as I get closer I can see that he's a fairly young man, mid-thirties.

"Yes, Master," I say>

"Come to me."

I finish walking the length of the room and start up the steps.

"Strip."

I fumble for the tuck on the back, find it, and let the fabric fall away in a slither of folds. It's built to do that elegantly.

The Emperor stands up; he's naked, too, and erect. Finally able to make my own judgment, I say eight and a quarter. Nine if you're counting the bit that extends down to his balls.

He reaches forward and places his right hand on my mound. "I so claim you," he says formally.

I kneel before him and place both hands around his penis - so long! - and say, "I am thus claimed, Master." Standard ritual. Normally what follows is some cocksucking, since the position is already there, and a good harck.
"Rise," he says. I blink, but do as he orders.

"What is your name?" he asks.

"Four-fifteen," I reply.

"No, no," he says impatiently. "Your name. A real name, of letters."

"Wilhelmina," I mutter, blushing.

"Speak up," he says.

"Wilhelmina," I repeat.

"You shall call me Master when you speak to me," he says. "You will get no other warnings." His voice has a dangerous tone in it that sends shudders through my body.

"Yes, Master. Please accept my apologies."

He nods.

"Now, what was your name again?"

"Wilhelmina, Master," I say.

"Hm." He frowns. "It's nice. But a little long. Hm. Mina." He rolls his tongue around it. "Mina - will that do?"

"Yes, sir," I say. He looks at me sharply. "Yes, Master," I amend hastily.

"Good."

We stand there. I'm waiting for him to make the next move. Finally he sighs. "Another new one," he says, mostly to himself. "I'm going to have to teach you etiquette, aren't I?"

"Please, Master," I say, "I asked the Matron whae ste standard procedures were, and she said that I would learn the way the rest of the girls do."

He sighs again. "It's simple enough. Your purpose here is to please me."

"Yes, Master."

"So whenever you are brought to my presence, you should say-"

"How may I please you, Master?"

"That's correct," he says. "But don't interrupt," he adds coldly.

"My apologies, Master."

"Apologies are not enough." His voice has grown harsh, and his face is impassive.

I think I'm getting the hang of this. "How might I make amends, Master?" I ask.

He sits down in his throne - a straight-backed chair with no arms - and regards me coolly. "Interrupting the Emperor is a grave offense," he says icily. "My word is law. Interrupting me stops my word, and obstructs the law." His chin is raised slightly, and he exudes an aura of Supreme Authority. I shiver. "I shall have to punish you."

"Yes, Master," I say, feeling a delicious tremor between my legs.

"Come here."

I walk forward, a little nervously. It's only a few steps to the throne, and I'm now standing in front of him.

In a lightning movement, he grabs my arm and my waist and pulls me across his lap. Another twist, and he has both my wrists in one of his hands, pinning them along my back. I have just a second to realize what he's going to do before the first blow lands on my buttocks.

The Emperor has fairly large hands, and, while my buttocks are lush, his hands are sufficient to hit a portion of both cheeks, which is what he does. A sharp pain flashes, and then another sharp sensation in the pit of my stomach.

"You will not interrupt me again, is that clear, Mina?" he says, and gives me another spank.

"Yes, Master," I gasp.

"I'm going to give you fifteen spanks," he says. "I want you to count them, and thank me for each one. This punishment is what you deserve, is it not?"

"Yes," I whimper, struggling to free my arms, but he only grips them tighter.

He spanks me, hard. "Yes, what?" he demands.

"Yes, Master," I say.

"It's now twenty, for insolence, starting with this one." On "this" he brings his hand down and smacks my left buttock.

"One, thank you, Master," I say.

Right buttock.

"Two, thank you, Master."

Left buttock again. Then right, in quick succession.

"Three, thank you, Master; four, thank you, Master." My voice is becoming more and more ragged, a combination of pain and arousal.

There's a pause, and his hand strokes the fiery patches on my skin. Long fingers ease themselves between my thighs, finding heat and wetness.

"Spread," he orders. I spread my legs, and he slaps the inside of my right thigh.

"Five, thank you, Master," I say.

"That wasn't a spank."

"Oh," I say. "Master," I add, for good measure.

He eases his fingers into the wet warmth of my pussy. I whimper. I wriggle, trying to direct his fingers.

"Stay still, Mina," he orders. His fingers are out and he quickly brings his hand down, hard, again on my ass.

"Five, thank you, Master," I gasp, as fire blossoms again, both on my skin and inside me.

"I think," he says with a chuckle, "that you enjoy this." He spanks me again.

"Six, thank you, Master."

"Do you enjoy this?" Another spank, another prod with a long finger into a wet hole.

"Seven, thank you, Master."

"Answer my question." Another spank. "Do you enjoy this?"

"Eight, thank you, Master." My cheeks - both on my face and on my ass - were burning. "Yes, Master," I mumbled.

"I didn't hear that," he says, sing-song. Smack. Smack.

"Nine, thank you, Master. Ten, thank you, Master," I cry. "Yes," I say. "Yes, Master, I enjoy this." Oh, the humilation!

Smack, smack. I count them off. I'm sure there are going to be handprints soon enough, if there aren't already. He strokes the aching nub of my clitoris, and sparks shoot through me.

He finally releases my wrists, and I let my arms dangle over the edge of the chair. Now he has two hands to work with. One slips two fingers into my pussy and begins stroking; the other continues to spank me, hard.

Thirteen - fourteen... fifteen - sixteen ... seventeen... oh, it hurts! But those fingers, probing, rubbing, fucking - and, oh, God, is that three of them? Eighteen...

"Nineteen, thank you, Master," I gasp. I feel that I'm going to come any second - the muscles are clenched around his fingers, which are unpredictably sliding in and out, stroking my clitoris. His thumb is rubbing the skin just outside the vagina, the skin that, so far, has escaped abuse.

He slaps my thighs a couple times, fairly hard, but I can't count these. He strokes my sore ass with the hand that's not driving me crazy, then says abruptly, "If you come, it will be twenty more."

Well, there's nothing like an order like that to make me come, but as it's my first day, I do my best to tamp down hard on the urge. Think of unsexy things... clouds. Trees... The driver fucking me in the car... No... nononono... tables ... chairs... bending over, my hands on a chair, and being fucked from behind... no. dirty clothes. yes. dirty clothes. With month-old semen stains - eww, that's pretty gross -

He brings his hand down in a final SMACK, reverberating throughout the hall, that makes me yell with pain, but I gasp, nonetheless, "Twenty, thank you, Master," and, thanks to the thought of month-old semen stains, don't come.

He removes his fingers, and I start to spiral down. My body is screaming for release, but it's not going to get it yet.

"Very good," he says to me. I stare at the floor, at my hands, which have gone cold because all of my blood is circulating to my nether region. "Quite good," he says.

"Thank you, Master," I say, just in case that's expected.

It appears to be, for he says nothing.

As he continues to say nothing for a few seconds, I remember what we talked about before the punishment.

"How may I please you, Master?" I ask.

I hear a small chuckle. "Very good, very good indeed. You're quicker than most."

"Thank you, Master."

"You're going to be fun, indeed."

"Thank you, Master."

"And you don't need to thank me after everything I say," he adds.

"Tha- oh. Yes, Master."

He lifts me off his lap. I stand up, a bit shakily. I'm sure that my ass is bright red and I can feel the liquid trickling between the curls of my pubic hair and onto my thighs.

"So," he says, surveying me. He's still got an erection. I lick my lips and look at it. "What do you want to do?" he asks.

I'm so surprised by this question that I just stare at him. Did the Emperor, my Master, just ask me what I wanted to do? How odd.

"Um," I say. Hardly sexy.

"Be honest," he says. It's an order.

"I'd like to come," I say, quite honestly. "Master," I add.

He smiles, almost wickedly. "Brought you to the edge?"

"Yes, Master."

"And then ordered you not to. Tell me, was that difficult?" He's stroking his cock, watching me talk.

"Yes, Master."

"How did you prevent it?"

"I thought of unsexy things, Master."

"Like what?"

"Dirty clothes, actually, Master."

"Hm. That is unsexy." He stops stroking his penis, and is watching me.

"How may I please you?" I ask, a little desperately. This is getting a little unnerving.

"You liked being spanked."

"Yes, Master," I say, blushing.

Abruptly he stands and walks past me, down the stairs. "Come with me," he orders.

I follow.