“Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t make me.”
“You know I don’t have a choice, Pet. Now turn around and bend over the fucking block before we get the second penalty, and I have to cane you too.”
She turned to face the horrible block, not really a block but rather a sort of bench, with the cuffs at the far end for her wrists. She was already naked except for the leather collar around her neck, because all pieces were naked from the start of the game until they got eliminated or received a clothing upgrade. When her husband, the one who actually played the game, had led her to the block by the leash whose looped end he held in his hand, and secured her in place, he would be able to plunge his hardness into her just as he wished.
Just as the game demanded. From behind, as Pet cried out atop the wooden block.
Every punishment fucking in the game was administered from behind, as an expression of the piece’s submission to the authority both of the players and of the gamemasters.
Pet knew what it was to have her husband inside her that way, for at home on Prosperia a discipline horse stood next to her bed. Over it she received a whipping most nights at bedtime, and then a hard fucking, for as a good Prosperian husband Robert had to train his bride properly for her good and his pleasure. But that was private: what happened here in the stone circle in the penalty hex on Ludia would be seen across the galaxy by millions of devotees of the game.
Pet just simply couldn’t, could she? Not of her own free will.
Petronilla looked around the lovely landscape marred by the fucking block and the stone circle in which it stood. They had put the circle next to a pretty little pond that she supposed they must have based on some water feature in the park of a manor house in England, back on Earth three thousand years before, in the century or so before the collapse of Terran civilization. This year’s game zone, which comprised a continent the size, Pet supposed, of Victorian London, had Western Terran culture as its theme.
Gamemasters and players called the zone the board, harking back to the days when games of strategy had been played on actual, material flat surfaces. Pieces like Petronilla generally called it the board, too, but as she had learned entirely too well in the last few weeks, what a piece called anything, or said at all, didn’t matter.
Little hills just high enough to obscure what lay four hundred meters away, dotted with stands of trees, lay all about Robert and Petronilla here, and she could only barely discern that they formed a hexagonal shape: the designers of planet Ludia had mastered the art of making a board look entirely natural to the players and their pieces, from ground level at least. Seen from above, by the seven gamemasters, watching via nano-drones from their orbital station, it looked more like a sheet—or, Pet guessed, a board—of almost three hundred adjoining hexagons, all of them divided from one another in some way visible from the air, like hills or bands of trees or stone walls.
Robert’s handheld could display that kind of view, too, modified from what the gamemasters saw to obscure the parts of the board he hadn’t seen yet. At the moment, that meant that if he looked right now at the state of play he would see this hex, with the pond and the stone circle, and the one they had just left, which held their ‘home’: a tent of what Pet thought must be an ancient style, since it looked a little like pictures of houses from thousands of years ago, and seemed to be made of a heavy fabric that seemed unlikely despite its weight to keep off heavy rain for very long. Certainly it wouldn’t have lasted a day on Robert and Pet’s home planet, Prosperia, during the rainy season.
Their home hex, divided from its six neighbors by low hills just like this one was, had contained only the tent, in the middle of a grassy field. Elsewhere on the little, water-bounded continent five other players, each of them with his own naked, female piece, had also started their day in some simple structure. For all Robert and Pet knew, each player had a tent identical to theirs, though the gamemasters might just as well have varied the home structure so that three players had tents and three had… Pet searched her brain for an equivalent, her mind desperately trying to avoid contemplating the block in the middle of the stone circle.
Igloos, she thought. Igloos, maybe. The thought might have made her giggle under other circumstances, but the designers could easily have shaped the board to be half frozen wasteland, putting refrigeration equipment in the engineering cavern that lay a hundred meters below the surface of the artificial planet. The gamemasters of Prosperia and Magisteria, the two founding worlds of Ludia, had designed their planet—technically an orbital station though everyone just called it a planet, and no one in the galaxy had ever liked anyone else’s definition of planet anyway—for easy variation of climate.
Pet might have giggled, and she might have told Robert that she wouldn’t mind seeing what it felt like to sleep in an igloo, to eat fish and watch out for polar bears (if she remembered her ancient history right). To make love in an igloo, and yield herself to the kind, though strict man to whom her body belonged, according to the laws of their home planet, fully in force also here on Ludia.
An igloo had walls, even if they were curved and made of ice. The rules of the game strictly forbid the gamemasters, and thus also the millions of spectators throughout the galaxy, from looking inside a player’s home structures, whether it comprised the simple starting hut or tent or igloo, or it had grown, as surviving players’ homes did, into something grander. The very, very ancient proverb, A man’s home is his castle, which both Prosperians and Magisterians held as the basis of property rights, applied in a very literal way here on the game world of Ludia, where a man’s tent, if he succeeded, might well become his castle.
A castle into which the gamemasters and the viewing masses could not pry, to see what a husband like Robert Lourcy did when he decided to enjoy his wife. Not like a stone circle by a little pond, with a fucking block in the middle of it.
Robert had had six choices, for his first move. No more than one of them could have had a penalty circle, where a piece had to receive her first fucking.
Pet looked at the block and felt her brow crease. She bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at Robert, solemn in his purple player’s robe, beneath which he had on only the special pants that left his hard cock uncovered.
So that he can enjoy his piece when the game demands it. And… if we eliminate another player. Pet swallowed hard. Or if another player eliminates him…
“No more delaying, darling,” Robert said sternly. He glanced down at his handheld. “We have two minutes before the second penalty.”
Pet only just managed to keep from crying out at these words. Second penalty would be the cane that lay on a stand at the other side of the stone circle. Robert would have to whip her, and then take her with his hard penis over the fucking block.
She turned back to the wooden block standing on the stone. It had risen out of the ground as Robert and Pet had approached it, apprehensive at the terrible luck of having moved into a penalty hex on Robert’s very first turn. Different sorts of erotic discipline could appear in a penalty circle, but Pet had instantly recognized the fucking block, and had known what it meant: the player must fuck his piece over the block with the greatest possible force.
Mrs. Robert Lourcy—or, more familiarly, Petronilla Lourcy—learned for the first time about the game when her husband gave her a book from his library—a real book, with paper pages and, more surprisingly for Pet, the red cover that on Prosperia meant the book was meant only for the eyes of men. In black letters, the cover said The Game of Discipline.
The title made Pet think of her courtship with Robert, less than a year before when she had still been Petronilla Wendell, and of how her future husband had introduced her to the ways of a husband’s loving discipline even before their marriage. He had, like most accepted suitors among the Prosperian upper class, come to Pet’s home to correct his intended bride’s wayward conduct while he also introduced her to his intentions as to the more pleasurable intimacies of the marriage chamber.
Like every Prosperian girl, Pet had been taken by her mother to the doctor’s office the same day her accepted suitor was to visit her bedchamber for the first time. At the clinic Pet had received her governor, the tiny sentinel over her feminine pleasure implanted on her clitoris. The day after she had accepted Robert’s proposal, he had sent the governor, bearing his initials and configured to his specifications, to Pet’s parents. Made to disrobe entirely and to sit in the embarrassing examination chair that allowed the doctor to inspect her thoroughly between her legs and her bottom-cheeks, Pet had watched him place the frightening tiny thing where her mother had told her never to touch herself, but to wait for her husband’s care and teaching: he would explain a girl’s duty as to her private parts, just as he would discipline her when she misbehaved.
With the governor, his firm hand, and the family punishment strap, her bridegroom had taught her the ways of Prosperian marriage. Looking back at the varied marriage customs of the human species over the millennia, Pet could not imagine wanting it any other way: she submitted to her husband’s discipline, and he took care of her and decided for both of them how best to live. He consulted her opinion, like every good husband, but his masculine wisdom made their life together run as smoothly as domestic existence should.
“Read this book, please, Pet,” he said one morning, three weeks after their wedding, having summoned her to his study to hand her the slim red volume. “I’ve been nominated to represent my corporation on the game world Ludia next month. It’s a great honor, and most men would perhaps not ask their wives’ help in deciding whether to accept it. I would like to know what you think, though.”
“But, sir,” Pet replied, “that’s a gentlemen’s book! What would Mother say if she knew I had read it?”
Robert smiled gently, and Pet thought she could see in his eyes his indulgent opinion of her admittedly excitable mother.
“I promise not to tell your mother I have given it to you,” he said. “And I forbid you to tell her.”
That made Pet giggle, though even to touch a book with a red cover seemed to make her fingers tingle. It certainly made her cheeks hot. She had never even read the title of a gentleman’s book before: Prosperian girls were taught to avert their eyes from anything in that color, by which the planetary government identified those documents and even those entire buildings that men alone were permitted to use, except for those women of lower caste who were employed in some capacity having to do with them.
Well-born girls like Pet never had contact with such things at all. Some of her schoolmates—naughty girls, her mother had called them—would sometimes whisper that the red books were about (the girls’ voices had dropped even lower) fucking and the red buildings were places where men went to fuck lower-caste women. Soon after turning eighteen, Pet had received a painful spanking from her guardian, a man unrelated to her, for asking about these whispers, and she had tried to put the idea from her mind, though the terrible monosyllable had never seemed to leave her thoughts completely. She hadn’t even known what it meant, and when at last Robert had told her, shown her, and had fucked her for the first time, her face had gone as red as the cover of this book she had now held.
Pet took the book to her sitting room, and sent her ladies’ maid away. Even before opening the cover, she felt the tingle down between her legs that meant her governor had begun to control her wayward pleasure. Robert kept her cunny set to the lowest setting, level one, most days, just as the Prosperian marital authority recommended. Like many wives in the first years of their marriage, Pet also had to wear the tight bride-training pants that kept her cunny and her bottom thickly covered, so that straying hands could not overstimulate a girl’s desire.
Nevertheless, Pet usually didn’t even remember that her body’s most intimate places belonged completely to her husband, except when she had to ask his permission to pull her training pants down to use the toilet. A Prosperian woman’s clothing fastened with electronic adhesions, most of which she could open with her own fingerprints—her guardian and then her husband being the only men given that privilege as well. Pet’s training pants, however, did not unfasten at her touch, but only at Robert’s and that of the faithful housekeeper Mrs. Graves, who had responsibility for disciplining Pet when necessary, if Robert was unavailable.
It seemed to her as she opened the red cover of The Game of Discipline, though, that perhaps Robert had turned the governor up a little, because when she had felt the tingle of the implant’s action on her nerve endings she had also felt warm down there—the way she did when her husband kissed her lips and fondled her between her legs at night, to get her ready for intimacy.
For… Pet’s mind hesitated, as if Robert could read her thoughts, and would turn the governor down again if he knew what they held. But her naughtiness, her secret need, pushed onward. For fucking. For my husband’s hardness, for his… Another hesitation, another pressing need. For his prick.
She whimpered, because she had felt her training pants begin to get wet, and she knew Robert would see, thanks to the humidistat in the shameful garment. He must have turned it up. To three? Four?
Pet whimpered again, and she squirmed in her reading chair. She hadn’t even started to read yet.
When she read, and she began to learn about the game of Discipline, her difficulty became much worse.
The book told her that the game called Discipline had found its essential shape back on old Earth, in the days of the Roman Empire. Roman officers had played its tactical component on the same kind of grid that would one day become known around the galaxy as a ‘chessboard’: eight by eight, each square representing an equal area of imagined terrain.
The other part of the game the Romans had called fututoria et verberatoria—that is, ‘the matters of the fucker and of the flogger’ or, more elegantly, ‘sex and punishment.’ It had gone by several other names over the millennia-long history of the game, including the plainly literal sex and punishment. In what the mixed Prosperian and Magisterian game design team considered the game’s ultimate form, played on the specially designed game planet Ludia, they called it simply mastering.
What set Discipline apart from every other known game in the galaxy lay of course in this element of sexual dominance and submission. Pet bit her lip as she thought of Robert, perhaps looking at his handheld at that moment and seeing how wayward his bride had become, just from reading the book with the red cover.
From the beginning, Discipline was a game of the officers—the military tribunes above all—rather than of the legionaries. The accounts I have found in the Magisterian archives, taken from the annals of the Pretorian Guard (that is, of the secret refounding of the guard in the twentieth century of the common era, describing their research into lost accounts of the earliest days of the game) support this notion. Occasionally a centurion might be allowed to play Ludus Disciplinae as they called it, but only in order to judge his worthiness for greater responsibility.
The importance of this restriction cannot be overemphasized, because along with it came the essentially consensual nature of the game for the participants whom the Romans with their customary bluntness called simply cunnos: cunts.
That brought a gasp to Pet’s chest, a sharp indrawn breath as a fire seemed to blaze up down there, in the place Robert had taught her to call not by that shameful man’s word, but by a softer feminine version that sounded to the ear of Pet’s imagination even more like the Roman word. “This is your cunny, Pet,” Robert had said softly, as he looked down at it and touched it gently. “A man calls it a cunt, but a girl must not use that word, or she will be punished. When we are alone together, though, you may speak to me of your cunny.”
Pet took her upper lip between her teeth and worried it. She tried desperately to keep from squirming in the chair, knowing that if she moved her bottom Robert would see on the marital surveillance camera—now or later, when he checked his handheld to see how his wife had spent her morning. Worse, the tightness of the training pants would make any motion send the need shooting through her body, she knew, with her governor set as it was.
If she went to Robert and asked for intimacy now, would he be angry? Of course not, for he never treated his young bride with less than the full measure of sweetness and indulgence. But what would her mother think, or her guardian, if either should hear from their servants—for servants always gossip—that the new Mrs. Lourcy went to her husband to ask for… well, Pet thought, the wicked book floating into her mind, for mastering… that way, in the middle of the morning?
Good Prosperian girls didn’t do that. Pet didn’t need to consult the book her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday, The Good Girl’s Guide to Courtship and Marriage, to know what it would say on the subject, for she had read the passage so many times she had it memorized: A good girl, once her accepted suitor has introduced her to the mysteries of courtship, does not seek out more of them, but allows her suitor to decide when those special moments should occur, always making it clear that she understands she must submit despite her modesty and innocence.
She turned her attention again to the book, trying to concentrate on its more abstract meaning and, indeed, fascinated by the idea of the ancient game it described.
We call the girls mastered by Discipline players ‘pieces’ today, but the role is nearly identical, and the structure of consent built into the first stage of play has not changed in the more than five thousand intervening years. Since this book is intended in part for new players of Discipline and even, should a player decide it is suitable, for new pieces, I shall lay the process out in detail, using the simpler ancient practice of the Romans to illustrate the central idea.
An officer chose his cunnus for the game very carefully. Captive girls of course abounded for the taking by a military tribune, but a special medicus (a doctor, more or less) had responsibility for determining whether each girl chosen was indeed suited to the role of cunnus. When a session of Ludus Disciplinae was announced, the four officers (as opposed to the six players of Discipline, just as a square has four sides and a hex six) chosen to play went to the tent where legionaries had bound sixteen young women naked over trestles, their legs opened to show their anuses and vulvas.
In the company of the medicus, each officer made his initial choice, without touching any girl but of course spending a good deal of time upon a visual inspection of every girl’s charms. The medicus, who wore a special glove of hardened leather, then examined the chosen girls between their thighs and their buttocks to ascertain their capacity for submissive arousal.
Pet’s lips had parted, and she had begun to breathe rapidly and shallowly. She couldn’t help it: she squirmed in her reading chair, and she felt first the thrill of her cunny’s pleasure and then the tingle of the governor controlling it. Her brow creased and she gave out a tiny whimper.
What could she do but keep reading?
From his study, Robert watched Pet over the marital surveillance camera in her sitting room. The sight of his still-quite-innocent bride, who had turned twenty only a few weeks before, learning about the shameful Roman military customs around Discipline, and the mortifying, if less barbaric, practices of later ages, moved him deeply.
He had set her governor to three, using the controller on his handheld, before he had given her the book with the red cover. Now, seeing her squirm in her reading chair, he added another level to the pleasure in her sweet young cunny, hidden from his sight by her petticoat and her gown. These two layers of a Prosperian upper-caste woman’s clothing covered not the pantalets of a young girl or the drawers of a matron, but the tight training pants into which Robert himself had put his bride to learn the ways of marital submission.
He couldn’t see the disciplinary garment meant to remind Pet that her husband’s rights were paramount, where her cunt and anus were concerned. Robert knew, though, that his bride could not move her hips or legs or bottom without remembering the fucking he had given her that morning and the one he would give her that afternoon, and then again before bed. He had no difficulty in following the marital authority’s advice and enjoying his wife at least once a day: it hardly seemed he could be in the presence of his auburn-haired bride without his cock swelling in his trousers and the urge to undress her and turn up her governor for a good hard fuck coming too strong upon him to be denied.
Mrs. Robert Lourcy was bent over her husband’s desk almost every afternoon, and her training pants lowered to her knees, to receive his prick in her tight little cunny, He turned her governor to seven on these occasions: the marital authority recommended that a girl be allowed the full pleasure of her clitoris no more than once a day, if that.
Robert meant those afternoons as a supplement to the gentler lovemaking she had in the morning, when he usually got over her as she lay upon her back, and fucked her in the age-old matrimonial way. Some mornings he made her ride his cock, his hands tight upon her delicious young bottom to control the rhythm of her desperate movement up and down. In those positions, after all, he could see Pet’s beautiful face in the needy throes of passion, knowing that because he had kept her governor at its nighttime level of two, she could not come near a climax but must begin her day thinking of her need for more of her husband’s hard penis. More than once, though, Pet had begged him to turn the governor up in the morning, and soft-hearted Robert had granted her plea, so that she could climax over and over under his pounding cock.
Evenings, as in most Prosperian households, unfolded in a different manner. In the evening, Robert disciplined his wife for her faults during the day, as observed by him or reported by Mrs. Graves. The marital authority recommended that a bride be corrected every day, for at least the first six months of her marriage, though most nights a young wife only received a few spanks from her husband’s firm right hand to remind her of her duty to submit.
Like most Prosperian wives, Pet had a discipline horse in the marital bedchamber: over this Robert restrained her at waist, wrists, and knees, wearing only her training pants, which he took down after he had spoken sternly to her about the necessity of following Mrs. Graves’ instructions until she was ready to take more responsibility for the running of the household.
Then, if she had forgotten her duty in some way that day, Robert whipped his young bride’s pretty bottom with the family punishment strap, as every good Prosperian husband did when he thought it necessary, unless he felt the severity of his wife’s offenses merited the cane. Robert had never given Pet the cane, but it hung on the bedpost within easy sight of the discipline horse. Sometimes he caught his wife looking at it, while he fucked her on the horse or on her belly over the pillows, and wondered—usually with a leap of his hard prick—what went through her mind when she saw it.
Pet cried out and struggled even if Robert used only his hand upon her pretty bottom, her face bright red simply with the shame of having her pants taken down for discipline. Afterward, standing in front of the horse, Robert lowered his trousers and stroked his lovely Pet’s cheek until she did as she knew she must.
He had taught her to open her mouth to the penis the first night he had come to her bedchamber to discipline her as her accepted suitor, and she had learned very well indeed… The green-eyed girl, excitingly naked and even more excitingly bound to the discipline horse, opened her mouth and put her tongue out, trying—Robert always felt sure—not to show how eager she was to perform the humiliating duty of sucking the prick.
Pet knew, after all, what her loving husband would do as he moved his hips to thrust his hardness in between her soft lips: he turned her governor up a little—only a little, at first—and reached his hand over her back and down between her legs. When he felt that he must spend if he fucked Pet’s face any longer, when his prick absolutely ached for her cunny, he turned the governor up another level. He withdrew his cock from her mouth and went around behind her, to look at the hot, wet cunt of his naughty bride, and to run the head of his prick up and down it, teasing her dreadfully, but turning up her governor with each pressure of the knob against her needy clit.
When the governor reached eight, he said to Pet, almost every night the same words, “What would you like to ask for, darling?”
Pet always said, “Oh, sir. Please don’t make me say.”
“You must ask for it, naughty girl,” Robert always replied, and rubbed his prick up and down her sweet cunny lips again, prettily waxed by Mrs. Graves for him once a week, while Pet’s ladies’ maid looked on to learn how to do the duty for her young mistress.
“Sir…” Pet whispered. “May I please have a fucking in my little cunny?”
Then Robert turned the governor to its highest level, ten, and the jump in the setting, just as he thrust his cock deep inside his beautiful wife, always made her cry out and start to spend almost instantly. Her cunt clenched around his hardness, and he fucked hard, usually putting one hand on her shoulder and one on her hip, but sometimes even twining a hand in her hair to pull her head back firmly and make Pet arch her slender back so that his penis got into her even more deeply and thrillingly.
She would spend, and spend, and spend, and then finally he would spend himself as his sweet young bride screamed with the lewd pleasure he had forced on her lithe body—pleasure for which no good girl could ever ask, but a girl like Petronilla Wendell had needed so very badly before she became Mrs. Robert Lourcy.
As he watched her read the book with the red cover, now, Robert couldn’t help remembering all that wedded bliss, and he couldn’t help feeling a little apprehensive that the prestigious invitation to play on Ludia might somehow lessen it.
Robert had had his own copy of The Game of Discipline on his desk, and he followed along as his young bride read each interesting page, using the zoom on the surveillance camera to look over her shoulder and make certain Pet perused the whole of it. He got even harder when he watched his young bride read the section of the book that made it clear that in the game of Discipline, should her husband decide they would represent his corporation, she would serve as his piece—his cunt, as the Romans had termed the girls they used and punished when playing Ludus Disciplinae.
Robert read along with Pet, his prick hard against his thigh beneath his antique walnut desk.
If the medicus found a girl did not respond sexually to his touch, he declared her nolens—that is, ‘unwilling’—and the officer was required to choose another young woman. If however, a girl lubricated submissively when stimulated by the gloved hand, and began to approach a climax, the medicus would invite the officer who had chosen her to step forward. While the medicus continued to pleasure her in the lewdest and most degrading way imaginable, the officer would ask the girl if she wished to have the chance to earn her freedom.
He would make it clear to her that the method of this manumission would be through her giving herself to him in every way, including the right to share her body with other players if the game demanded it. If she consented, he would fuck her now: the girl must beg the officer to make her his cunnus if she wished to have this chance at liberty.
The microphone attached to the marital surveillance camera picked up what might have been a tiny whimper from Pet. She squirmed just a bit in her reading chair, and the governor’s controller beeped on Robert’s handheld: his bride’s little cunny had just clenched, and the device on her clit had muted her pleasure. Feeling rather wicked, but also having in mind to reward his darling girl before too long, he turned the governor back down to three, just as he supposed the marital authority would have recommended: Prosperian brides needed to learn, the dictum went, that their pleasure came from their husbands.
Pet turned the page, and so did Robert.
Then, if the girl had given her consent, the officer would take her by the cunt, the mouth, and finally the anus, depositing his seed in the third to claim her as his cunnus.
Pet bit her lip, her cheeks crimson. Robert had not yet taken her anal virginity, but she knew that as her husband he might thrust into her young bottom any time he chose. Some Prosperian bridegrooms broke their fiancées’ arses in even before the wedding, and many others began their wives’ anal training on the wedding night, in a sort of keeping with the ancient tradition of defloration on the first legal bedding of the bride.
Robert, when he had first undressed Pet in her bedchamber, had made her lie down on her back and hold her knees wide for him. At last he had inspected her charms and fondled them to his heart’s and his prick’s content, as his sweet girl sighed and whimpered under his hands. He had put his fingertip in her wrinkly bottom-hole, boldly but gently, and his lovely fiancée had gasped and emitted a little cry of shame. He had made it clear to Pet that her anus, though she had been taught to think it a shameful part of her body, nevertheless represented a very important part for her suitor. When she had learned to obey him more fully, as her husband, she would understand more completely, but she must expect that Robert would soon use her bottom for his pleasure just as he used her cunny and her mouth.
Since then, he had often thought of deflowering Pet’s backside. He had wanted to make the experience special and memorable for both of them. As he watched Pet read the passage about the ancient Romans’ version of the consent ritual, he realized that the proper occasion had just arisen.
Pet had started to read further, so Robert returned his own attention to the page before him.
The succeeding centuries in which Discipline has been played have brought changes to this ceremonial examination. Currently, it takes place differently on different worlds. On the barbarian world of Mara, those who play the game indeed do so according to the Roman rules. The sister worlds of Prosperia and Magisteria employ rules for the consent phase developed in the Victorian period on Earth, and thus the Ludian game does as well, though the consortium of gamemasters that governs Ludia comprises men and women from each of the planets where Discipline is still played: Earth, Draco, and Mara, and players are invited from each.
According to the Ludian rules, pieces may be claimed by their players either in person in Ludia orbit or over subspace relay, with one of the gamemasters for the upcoming annual game observing. These girls, in accordance with the feminine modesty essential to Prosperian culture and supported by the rather different and more sexually open masculinist culture of Magisteria, are chosen by their players beforehand. On Prosperia, this method of selection means that in practice players usually choose their wives as their pieces, though occasionally an unmarried gentleman selects a servant.
After arranging an appointment with one of the year’s gamemasters, Prosperian players usually claim their pieces in the comfort of their homes, frequently over a desk in the player’s study or perhaps the discipline horse in the marital chamber. The player summons his wife and tells her to undress for fucking, then secures her in place for the preliminary examination.
Robert had grown so engrossed in the text that he didn’t notice at first that Pet had looked up from her own copy of the book and reached for the bell to call her maid.
“Fanny,” Pet said, “would you please tell Mrs. Graves that…”
Her words trailed off, her cheeks pink, and Fanny understood immediately. Pet needed the housekeeper to unfasten her training pants, so she could go to the toilet. Robert frowned, wondering why she wouldn’t have asked her maid to speak with him, since she knew him to be in the house.
He touched a button on his handheld. “Mrs. Graves?”
“Yes, sir,” came the middle-aged woman’s voice from the other end.
“Mrs. Lourcy is to be accompanied into the toilet today, after you take down her pants. Please don’t hesitate to punish her if you see anything amiss.”