"Mother, please. Peter is a complete boor."
"Is that boor or bore?" the Countess D'Lehan asked idly.
"Take your pick," Alana snapped back. She was normally even-tempered, but she vehemently disliked Peter Augustavus D'Mannor and was put out by her mother's insistence on dropping hints. Furthermore, she had been standing on a small box for forty minutes now whilst a swarm of dressmakers fussed around her, supposedly taking in seams and lengthening hems, but mostly jabbing her with pins every few moments. The young countess had never dreamed that a dress fitting could take so long or be so exhausting.
"Peter is the crown prince, my dear," her mother said. She could afford to be conciliatory, Alana thought; she was happily reclining on a chaise lounge to one side of the room with her miniature poodle, Taffy, intent upon finalizing her daughter's dance card for the upcoming presentation at court.
"Mother, I wouldn't care if he were the Emperor. Peter is a conceited prig and I will not give my first dance to him. Try someone else." Alana had good reason to insist. The first dance of a young woman at court was traditionally given to the man she had set her sights on, and was often the way one family opened betrothal negotiations with another. Only the boldest dared say they thought themselves worthy of royalty.
Alana could have afforded to be bold, had she wanted to. Her father's sister, Elidia, had married the king's brother, moving the entire family line into First Ranking and making Alana and Peter cousins by law, if not by blood. The two had grown up together and both families had begun to speak of the match as a sure thing. But despite their plans, something had gone awry, and ever since the crown prince had entered court, the two had cordially detested each other. Alana thought Peter arrogant and self-centered, concerned only with wine, women, and song. Peter told anyone who would listen that Alana was shrewish, bookish, and uptight. Only Elidia, perhaps, who had some insight into human nature, felt that both of them did protest too much, and saw the injured pride beneath the surface.
The Countess D'Lehan sighed. "I don't know why you won't at least make an effort."
Alana gritted her teeth. She had been "in society"—that is, no longer a student—for less than twenty-four hours, and already she hated it. Everlasting dress fittings, hair styling sessions, and deportment lessons were tedious, but bearable. The real problem was the single-minded focus of everyone around her on the minutiae of court politics. For a girl whose last heated argument had revolved around whether or not the Odyssey was the first truly great poem, this complete banality of mind was slow torture.
And it did not help that she could not get her tutor – no, her former tutor, she corrected herself sternly – out of her mind. Whenever her mother paused for a moment, Alana's mind shot back to the previous evening. She supposed she should feel ashamed, or perhaps used, but try as she might, she could not summon a shred of either emotion. She could think only of the intoxicating thrill when Master Elgan expertly bound her, the way her ass still smarted as a delicious reminder of the whipping he gave, the feel of his warm cock filling her mouth and pushing rhythmically against the back of her throat. Fortunately her maid was both open-minded and discreet. She had noticed the marks on Alana's body while dressing her—Alana clearly remembered the knowing smile, half-questioning, that Kelsey had given her that morning—but there would be no gossip.
Though her reputation was safe, her peace of mind was not. Alana was wet every time she thought about the previous night. She wanted terribly to compose an atrocious essay, or to completely fail to turn in her assignments, just to give Master Elgan an excuse to chastise her, but she was no longer a student and had no opportunity to do so. It was so bad that even the seamstress pulling a tape measure around her bust reminded Alana of being tied up and made her lick her lips nervously. When the draper encircled Alana's waist with her arms to fix an errant pin, the countess' thoughts were cast irrevocably back to the moments after Master Elgan had finally made love to her.
* * *
After a long, slow, captivating eternity, while Alana's mind danced among the stars, Master Elgan slowly unfolded his arms from around her. Alana reluctantly let him push her away.
"Stand up and let me look at you," he said.
Alana got to her feet and his eyes swept slowly up and down her naked body. She smiled ever so slightly. With her master's eyes upon her, she felt thoroughly sensual and more attractive than ever before in her life.
"Turn around," he commanded.
She moved slowly in a circle, letting him see the stripes he had laid upon her ass and thighs before turning back to him.
"My dear," Elgan breathed, "You are so beautiful." Alana smiled and blushed, but far from being moved by this response, he continued harshly, "now put your clothes on and get back to your room, and don't be seen."
"But I—" she began. Elgan raised one eyebrow and she stopped.
"I don't expect any backchat. At some point tonight, you finally learned to do as I say. It is a skill I suggest you hold on to for the remainder of the evening."
"Only for this evening?" she asked mischievously.
Elgan gazed at her levelly, no trace of teasing or humor in his tone now. "I meant what I said earlier. After tonight, we will never see each other again. Tomorrow morning you will be a full countess, and as such, you will not be permitted to enter the Collegium. And mere tutors, of course, cannot cross the threshold of the palace proper."
Alana looked at her master a moment, then slowly began to gather her clothes. She drew on her torn stockings, pulled her tattered chemise over her head, and picked up her gown. The shoulder ties had been cut—her breath quickened, thinking of that moment—but Elgan did not appear to be about to help, so she pulled her chemise lacing out of its casing and held it between her hands in front of him.
"Would you cut this, please, sir?"
He drew his dagger out of its sheath with a soft scraping sound. He put the point next to her temple and dragged it slowly down her face to the center of her collar bone before drawing the blade towards him, pulling it sharply through the ribbon. Elgan kept his eyes on Alana's the entire time.
Now that's interesting, thought Alana, a swarm of new ideas suddenly crowding into her head. But, disappointingly, Master Elgan slid the dagger back in its sheath, and she was left to turn back to her gown, using one half of the lace on each shoulder to tie the tabs back together. She slipped into the bodice and wrapped it around herself, and stood waiting.
"Kiss me," said Elgan, after surveying her for a moment. She knelt down and they kissed long and hard. She pushed her body against his and was rewarded by feeling his fingers creep down her back to drag her even closer. Alana felt her nipples go hard and rubbed them against her master's ribs, thrilling to the sensation.
"Now go," he said finally, pushing her away. Alana had to clench her jaw to keep from answering back, but she could not help looking at him with mute pleading. He gazed back immutably, and with a small sigh, the girl slowly moved to the door and let herself out.
She hoped at each moment to hear his voice calling her back, commanding her—she would have done something, anything, to hear him say her name—but it never came. Once in the hallway, the door irrevocably shut behind her, Alana leaned against the wall and closed her eyes to still the tears. She had never had such a powerful, beautiful experience in her entire life. And she knew with a steely resolve that no matter what her master said, she would find a way to see him again.
"Alana, you are not being attentive!" her mother interjected sharply, and Alana snapped back to reality, unconsciously tightening her pussy to try to quiet the throbbing inside. "Now turn around and let me look at you."
Thinking guiltily of the last time she had heard a similar phrase, Alana tiptoed around slowly. Her hoop skirt, slightly fuller behind than in front, made movement awkward, and the jewel-encrusted, heavily embroidered hip-length bodice was laced so tightly that she couldn't move very quickly. The resulting cleavage was exposed as much as decency would allow, if not a hair's-breadth more, and her arms were bare from shoulder to wrist. Looking in the mirror, Alana saw a shimmering vision in white and silver. It was surely the most sumptuous dress she had ever worn, with layer upon layer of gathered silk satin, pleats, ruffles, and embroidery. She only wished she could appreciate the gown for itself. As it was she could think only of Master Elgan ripping it off her, or grabbing the bodice and pulling her to him with a mocking smile, or throwing the skirt over her head to penetrate her from behind. Alana shook herself. She mustn't start to obsess.
* * *
Master Elgan, meanwhile, who had no classes to give that day, was in the palace gardens, at the swimming hole created by a bend of the creek. It was one of the very few places all members of the household could gather – theoretically without regard for rank, although in reality the subtleties of seating on the grass slopes either side were as much a political status game as anything else. This early in the year, however, the tutor had no other visitors to contend with. He was swimming methodically back and forth across the widest point of the creek bed, hoping that the exercise and the cold water would both tire him out and turn his thoughts from the previous night.
He counted his strokes across the water – one, two, three, four, five, six – and stopped when he realized he was visualizing the same number of lashes across Alana's naked body. He emptied his mind of all thought and simply swam, breathing rhythmically, until he realized that with each breath he was picturing Alana's breasts heaving up and down. In a barely controlled fury, the tutor completed his appointed laps, and finally dragged himself out of the water to lie panting upon the grass.
Who would have thought the girl had it in her? he mused, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Elgan was old enough and experienced enough to know his own tastes and desires fairly well. He had had his fun with enough whores (who would take far worse than a whipping, given enough money) and even a few courtesans (who had discovered in the tutor some tendencies that they liked), to know exactly where his own predilections fell in the greater scheme of sexual possibility. He was perfectly content with that, on the whole, and the previous day he had weighed his chances on an obsession of years and determined to please himself for just one night.
But Alana had only ever experienced the most conventional of sexuality—Elgan had kept himself well informed of her movements over the years and knew her naiveté better than she did. For her to have responded so passionately to pain was altogether unexpected. Elgan felt that he had merely begun to awaken Alana's hidden depths, and he wanted nothing more than to see how much his own desires interlocked with hers. So rather than ridding himself of his demons, as he had intended, last night's experience had but fueled the tutor's fantasies at exactly the time his student was no longer available to him.
Rising, Elgan plunged into the freezing water for twenty more laps. Since he could not possess the young countess, he was determined to purge her from his thoughts.
* * *
Alana finally reached her quarters some time after supper. It had taken that long to free herself of the anxious musicians and chefs wanting definitive orders for the following day, not to mention the various chattering hangers-on and admirers who were eager to make a good impression on the latest addition to the court circle. She was exhausted by the whirlwind preparations of the day, and thoroughly tired of making decisions and giving orders. She wanted nothing more than to shrug off the burden of responsibility and let someone else take charge for a while.
But as she undressed, Alana caught sight of herself naked in the mirror on the wardrobe, a petite but shapely figure. She paused. She raised her hands timidly and ran her fingers through her hair, then from her neck down over her breasts to her ass. She turned and examined herself, but disappointingly, the red lines from the previous night had almost entirely faded. Turning back to the mirror, she twisted one nipple as hard as she could and bit her lip at the thrill it gave her. She sharply twisted it again, and then again, luxuriating in the sharp pain. She was just about to begin some serious stimulation with the other hand when there was a knock at the door.
Alana froze guiltily, and in a flash she had slipped into her dressing gown, hardly daring to hope that it could be her master. Pulling the sash tight, she pulled open the door, but it was only a pageboy in common livery.
