Her gaze was fastened on the blue and white swirls of the circular rug beneath her. At her left, right, front, and back were four separate doorways that opened onto four different areas of the house. She didn't know which door he would enter through, but she knew to wait. She'd received his letter instructing her to kneel there and wait, hands in lap, eyes down, wearing the exact clothing she now wore: clothing that he'd asked very precise measurements for. She'd been embarrassed and intrigued when the seamstress had measured her so minutely. She'd wondered what the garments would be like, and now she knew.
Silks, velvets and lace, they were of the palest pink and shimmered against the white of her skin. A velvet-paneled corset cinched her slender middle and cupped her bosoms without covering them, offering them up. The air was chill, her nipples stiff. Her auburn hair had been plaited into one long braid and was pinned to encircle the crown of her head.
Loops of pink lace hung from the bottom edge of the corset, fluttering at her slightest movement. They tickled against her bare stomach, around the small of her back, along the naked curve of her ass. Below that began the tops of the silken thigh-high stockings she wore, and below that were the white heels strapped to her feet. Between her legs she was newly shaven, also as per his instructions. Despite her nakedness she felt hot there, wet and aware.
Their last meeting had been a week ago, after he'd negotiated with her parents and signed another round of contracts. It was then that he'd learned of her birthday, that he'd decided they would begin their new life on that day. He'd stroked the bodice of her gown as he'd told her, saying it would be fitting to start their new life on such a day. While speaking he'd lifted her skirts and slid a hand inside her panties. With a finger he'd easily parted her and found her wetness. She'd stifled a moan and he'd smiled, white teeth flashing in his tanned face as he'd slid the tip of one digit inside. She'd shamelessly pressed herself against his hand, green eyes saying she'd wanted him deeper. The bulge in his trousers had suggested he'd wanted the same, but he'd only chuckled and withdrawn his hand, slipping to the outside of her panties, pressing them against her wetness to absorb it.
"Take them off," he'd ordered, voice hoarse. He'd held them to his nose and breathed deep, starring down while she'd rubbed up against him like a cat.
"What do I get?" she'd breathed, eyes blazing up at him. He'd yanked her hand down to feel the bulge between his legs. It had been hard as stone beneath the fine cloth of his trousers, and she'd started to unbuckle his belt. "Just feel it," he'd growled, swatting her away from the buckle. "Just feel it. Remember what's waiting for you." And she remembered it still: the heat, the hardness. The palm she'd pressed to it ached at the memory.
The week had passed slowly but now, finally, it was Valentine's Day: her birthday and her namesake. Growing up, she'd often wondered at her parents' name choice. But as she'd grown she'd learned of the life offered second children, learned how her pale white skin and dark red hair caught men's and women's eyes. She'd also learned how closely linked love was with Valentine's Day. She knew most second children never dreamed of love, but she liked to think that the day of her birth made her lucky. She thought perhaps she loved the man who would soon be her Master, and maybe he loved the young woman who would soon be his pet. Certainly she loved the sound of her name on his lips, and certainly she saw how he loved to look upon her. She guessed the way he'd had her dress, the pale pinks and loops of lace, was done to make her look like his very own Valentine's Day gift.
A shadow stretched across the rug before her, starting somewhere from behind. She realized he was there, standing over her. How long? she wondered, and unconsciously corrected her posture: shoulders back, hips tilted, chest out, the graceful arch of her neck as she looked down, her hands motionless against her thighs. She stared at the shadow, her pulse quickening, and he remained quiet.
Silence. Had he changed his mind? It was the first time he'd seen so much of her; maybe he disliked what he saw? Minutes passed and she struggled not to fidget. Did he regret the contracts? Had he moved on to another? Her eyes began to feel hot, a sign of tears gathering there, and finally he spoke.
"Valentine." The single word dripped and oozed through her and she visibly shuddered, head down, questions gone. "Look at me when I speak to you," he added, voice echoing. She did as she was told, seeing a smile that was both joyous and predatory. "Rise up on your knees," he instructed. "I will see more of you."
She rose up, her knees sinking deeper into the plush rug. He circled her, and it took all her training to keep herself from following him with her gaze. His height was greater than hers, so much so that she felt he was viewing her at a distance. He was dressed in a tailored suit, the tie loosened against the crisp white shirt to announce the end of the day. Unruly dark hair was swept back from his forehead, his blue eyes piercing within his tanned face.
And he saw all of her, she imagined. He saw the flutter of her lashes as she kept her eyes forward, saw the hollows between her shoulders and collar bone and the gleam of her manicured fingernails. He saw the quick rise and fall of her naked breasts as she waited for his next words, and the shaven place between her legs that waited for deeds.
When he touched her it was as if lightning sang from the top of her head to the ends of her toes, filling every inch of her with need. His hand slid from the top of her head to under her chin, tilting her head up. "Stand, Valentine. Walk before me to the room at the end of this hall." He indicated the direction and watched her come to her feet, pale limbs unfolding, breasts bouncing, strips of cloth gleaming against her skin. Walking down the hall, her heels clicking with each step, she could feel his eyes on her: on her heart-shaped ass, the sway of her hips, the pouting lips, the gap between her thighs.
At the end of the hall was a room lined with shelves, the shelves stacked with books, papers, and the bric-a-brac of a well-traveled man. A large wooden desk sat at the room's center with a sizeable chair waiting behind it. A servant also stood in the room, non-descript: brown eyes, brown hair, average height and appearance. Then the room's door closed and her attention refocused, skin tingling as he came up behind her.
His hands rested on either side of her midriff, sliding against the bare skin, one hand moving up and the other moving down. He cupped a cheek of her ass and the side of one breast, rubbing his thumb against her peach-colored nipple, bringing a gasp from her lip-glossed mouth. He leaned over her, breathing deeply, inhaling the mixed vanilla and cinnamon scent she wore.
"We must review the contracts," he murmured, his breath warm on her ear. "Then there is the final one you must complete."
Then his hands were off her, their absence like a loss, and she couldn't stop herself from looking up into his face. She saw hunger there, and restraint, and then he turned away.
"The documents," he said, and the servant went to one of the desk's drawers, taking out a sheaf of papers. He turned them toward his master and placed an ink pen at their side. The suits the men wore made her acutely aware of how little her own clothing covered, but when she looked at the servant his eyes were distant and disinterested. The man who would soon be her Master lifted the top paper and skimmed it. "This is the chirurgeon's letter," he explained. "It states that he examined you and found you to be in good health."
They reviewed more papers, one after other, and some he signed: one to confirm her presence on the chosen date, another to confirm all contracts with her parents and the Council had been completed. Then he pulled the last paper from the stack and placed it on the desk before her, offering her the pen. "This one is for you. Read each statement aloud and initial them if you agree."
Valentine took a shaky breath and adjusted the pen in her grip. This would be the end of her old life, of time spent with her parents and of visits from her sister. Her new life would be one of pleasure, but one completely out of her control. She licked her lips and began to read, her voice child-like after his deep baritone. "I, Valentine Roosa, declare that I am the second child of Lionel and Lucretia Roosa. Their first child is wed and has fulfilled the family's obligation to the Council." She initialed.
"I, Valentine Roosa, being the second child, and being of sound mind and body, promise and pledge to be pet to my Master." She hesitated for only a moment, then initialed again.
"I will call my Master by no other name, and I will bend to his every whim." She initialed, glancing up at him then back to the paper.
"I remove myself from all responsibility. All responsibility is his. My Master knows what is best for me." She hesitated again, remembering the feel of his hand between her thighs, then sloppily initialed.
"I, Valentine Roosa, willingly place my life and my well-being into the hands of my Master." There was a larger space there, leaving room for her to sign below this last statement. She signed, hand trembling, then put the pen down. She looked up into the bright blue eyes of her Master, and he smiled.
"Tarbuck, isn't she lovely? Bring me the chocolates." To her he said, "That's my footman, Tarbuck. He attends to all my personal belongings, which now includes you."
