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Her Shameful Service by Emily Tilton

Now that she has come of age, nineteen-year-old Chalondra has caught the eye of the company tasked with requisitioning Kamnian girls like her for use as concubines by wealthy Vionians. But it isn’t just her beauty that will ensure she fetches a handsome price when she is sold at auction.

Even with her cheeks blushing, her bottom sore, and her virgin body’s wet, quivering surrender on shameful display, her eyes burn with a defiance her owner will very much enjoy mastering.

Claiming her will be worth every penny, but making her beg for it first will be priceless.

 

 

 

Publisher’s Note: Her Shameful Service is a stand-alone entry in the Galactic Discipline series. The books of the Galactic Discipline series can be read in any order. Her Shameful Service includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Emily Tilton

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$5.99

Length: 64,900 words

Excerpt

I held my bottom cheeks, spreading them obediently for my mistress. I sobbed quietly at the torment between my legs as I watched her return the cunt paddle to the cabinet and get the depilator again.

“Chalondra,” Mistress Franla said, looking into my eyes, “I’m afraid the real lesson has only just started.”

She touched the warm edge to the lowest part of my private lips, and then she moved it lower. I cried out, a single sound that somehow conveyed too many feelings. Shame, and discomfort, and fear, but above all, to my horror, a need so urgent I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging my mistress to touch me where I knew much too well it would give relief.

“This part of you is special, Chalondra,” she said, her voice calm and even as if she wanted me to contrast her impassivity with the surges of desperation traveling through my limbs with every degrading movement of the device between my bottom cheeks.

I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, feeling my forehead crease very deeply with the effort of not crying out—or, worse, begging Mistress Franla to tell me why the most embarrassing part of my body was also somehow special. The worst part lay in the feeling, which my mistress had apparently mastered the art of imparting to the girls she trained, that I already knew the answer. That if I only had the strength of mind to face the wantonness of my nature, I would see exactly why that tiny, wrinkly opening between my hind cheeks had a particular, specific importance in my new life of servitude.

Mistress Franla moved the depilator’s warm edge up and down. I chewed on my lower lip, willing her to be done. I felt her use the towel again, to wipe between my legs, and I let out a little sob at how the moment of friction made me long, despite myself, for more of her attention there.

“Very special,” she murmured, and she put a fingertip there… right there. My eyes flew open, and I saw my mistress gazing down intently at what she had just done—what she was doing, because the finger didn’t remain stationary. No, it moved in a circle, and then it pushed, and I had to close my eyes again so that I wouldn’t see her patient demeanor, the obviousness of her intention. She meant to teach me something, in this dreadful, humiliating way. The finger inside my anus, the one I tightened on but couldn’t expel, carried a lesson with it.

In the darkness behind my eyelids, I came up against the edge of the terrible knowledge—a dawning understanding of the specialness my mistress meant. Her finger, moving gently in and out, making me whimper, making my hips buck against the belt around my waist, making my mistress have to wipe my melting pussy again with the towel… that mysterious lesson met in my mind with the other thing I felt so desperate to understand.

Fucking. It must have something to do with fucking, whatever fucking proved to be. For the first time I confronted the violence of the word itself. Fuck. A single syllable… a harsh, short way to talk about something only adults discussed, and, it seemed, that they discussed in polite society only with other, softer words. The thing husbands and wives did in bed—that, apparently, masters did to their concubines, too.

“I’m going to start training this special place right now, Chalondra,” Mistress Franla said, beginning to accompany the dreadful invading finger with the very gentle, slow-moving pressure of two fingers, just where she had punished me so severely. “You’re going to learn to climax with my finger in your anus.”