Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Kaitlyn’s eyes caught on a separate rack near the back. Hanging there were not fabrics, but items of sleek, dark leather—harnesses. Some were simple straps, but others were more complex with dangling metal rings and what looked like attachment points. She saw one with a thick, phallic-shaped protrusion made of polished obsidian. A flush crept up her neck.
What are those for?
She had an idea but didn’t want to think about it.
“Now then,” the Mistress of the Wardrobe said, clapping her hands together briskly. The sound was sharp in the cloth-muffled quiet. “I understand you need proper clothing for yourself and your husband in order to attend the Feast of the New Moon tonight. A most important occasion. We must ensure you are both appropriately attired.”
“Oh, well, I think we just need clothes for my, uh, husband,” Kaitlyn said, gesturing towards Braze. As she did, her gaze flickered downward. The maroon silk was still tented dramatically, the outline of his erection unmistakable. She quickly looked back at the old woman’s face.
The Mistress of the Wardrobe followed her glance. Her spotted eyebrows rose.
“So do you have your own harness?” she asked, her tone practical, as if inquiring about a pair of shoes.
Kaitlyn’s brain stuttered.
“Uh… my own harness? For what?”
“Why, for mastering your husband, of course,” the woman replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She gestured to the rack of leather contraptions. “Every wife of status has one for formal events. It signifies her control, and provides a suitable alternative for her pleasure.
“And naturally,” she added, moving to a cabinet and opening it to reveal rows of polished shafts in various sizes and materials—glass…metal…carved wood—“I have different sized attachments you can fit in it. But first,” she said, closing the cabinet and turning her full attention to Braze, “Let’s have a look at what we’re working with for your husband. We must ensure his attire complements yours.”
Kaitlyn felt a wave of dizzying comprehension. Pegging. The woman was talking about her pegging Braze, in public, as part of their formal wear.
Her mouth went dry. She glanced up at Braze’s face, searching for any reaction—outrage…humiliation…panic. But she saw none of that. His expression was a mask of stoic indifference, carved from stone. But lower down…the silk panel twitched.
His cock was still rigidly hard.
The Mistress of Wardrobe noticed it too.
“My, my,” she murmured, stepping closer. Without ceremony, she hooked a finger in the silky fabric and pulled it aside, fully exposing him.
Braze flinched—a slight, almost imperceptible shift of his hips—as a low growl rumbled in his chest.
“Don’t worry, big fellow, I won’t touch you without your wife’s permission,” the old woman said soothingly, though her black eyes were sharp with assessment. She looked up at Kaitlyn. “He seems rather touch-shy. Would you rather measure him yourself? I don’t wish to offend, but precision is key for the devices I must make for you.”
Kaitlyn’s heart hammered against her ribs. Touch him? Protocol screamed in her head. This was a line she really shouldn’t cross. Braze was her Protector. They were on a mission together—they shouldn’t be touching each other.
But… the alternative was letting this stranger handle him.
The thought sent a possessive, irrational spike of anger through her. She didn’t want anyone else handling his impressive equipment. Also, he had touched her first, hadn’t he? In the throne room—her nipples still tingled from his fingers and tongue.
That had been wrong, but somehow it had felt so right.
The warm, spicy scent of him—his Bonding Scent, she was sure of it now—began to permeate the cloth-scented air. Cinnamon, leather, and some dark, masculine spice she couldn’t name but absolutely loved. It wrapped around her, pulling at something deep in her belly…and clouding her judgment.
“I’ll measure him,” she heard herself say, her voice surprisingly steady. “Just, uh, show me how.”
“Like this.” The Mistress bustled to a table and returned with a device.
It was a slender band of cool, flexible silver metal, meant to be worn across the palm and back of the hand. Tiny, pinprick lights glowed along its surface, and a small, crystalline screen was embedded in the band that would rest against her wrist.
“This is a somato-scanner,” the Mistress of the Wardrobe said. “Slip it on and just hold your husband’s shaft in the hand wearing the device and stroke him up and down to get his measurements. The scanner needs skin contact. Be certain you touch every bit of it—the head, the underside, and that fascinating knot at the base. The more surface area mapped, the more accurate I can be with my complementary devices.”
Kaitlyn took the device and found it was lighter than it looked. She fumbled it onto her right hand and the metal band molded snugly to her skin. The crystal screen flickered to life, showing a rotating, wire-frame model of a generic phallus.