Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories For Women. Nancy Madore
“What do you want, then?” she demanded.
“Well, to consider giving up my evening as your master, I would need the opportunity to win something of even greater value to me, say…you as my wife.” He was as shocked as she was when he said it, for he had only been intending to make her stay with him for an indefinite period of time. But once the words were out he knew he meant them. He loved the feeling he got from her challenging nature. They had the perfect chemistry, and he knew they would keep challenging each other for the rest of their lives.
But when Mouse heard his words she almost laughed. “You expect me to wager one night of slavery against an eternity of it?” she asked, incredulous.
“As my wife, you would hardly be a slave,” he rejoined. “But it is flattering to know that your first instinct is to assume that you would be the loser.”
This irritated her pride, and she grumbled resentfully, “It was only by using trickery that you won the last bet. It was completely unfair, and I can assure you that it will not happen again.” Although she could not help remembering his prying hand, and wondered how she could make true her rash statement.
“Am I to understand that you wish to undergo the test again?” he asked with a taunting smile.
“No!” she blurted, mortified. She tried to hide her blushing cheeks by turning her head away from him in an arrogant gesture. “What I mean is that I dispute the accuracy of such a barbarian test.”
“Oh, I can assure you that it is a more accurate way to find out the truth than by your words,” he argued. “What I felt there was definitely not ‘disgust.’”
She was annoyed and embarrassed by the reminder. “If you had the impact on me that you suppose, it seems that you could somehow have extracted the truth from my lips.”
“Is that another challenge?” he asked.
“I…well,” she stammered, a little more wary this time. But all at once she seemed to make up her mind. “Yes!”
He held out his hand to her. “So, you accept the terms—namely this night of slavery against becoming my wife?”
“Those terms are not fair, and you know it!” she protested.
“Whether it’s fair or not, I cannot say,” he replied. “But it is for me, as the reigning victor, to set the terms, and there they are. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
Her jaw was set in an obstinate expression as the anger flashed in her eyes. She would be damned if she would agree to his outrageous terms. “Let’s get this night over with,” she snapped.
He sighed, silently debating over how long it would take him to break her down to the point where she would accept his terms. He was torn between two and three minutes. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed forward gently. “On all fours then, slave,” he reminded her.
She took a deep breath, assuring herself that she could do this. But her first attempt failed. Her limbs felt unusually stiff. It was as if they possessed a will of their own, and refused to bend under the present circumstances. Her face was scarlet when she was finally able to force her body to submit, and at length she found herself prostrate before the arrogant cat, on hands and knees.
The position was new to her. She was overcome with shame and mortification. But there was something else. She felt agitated and inexplicably high-strung. Unwelcome tears filled her eyes. She struggled to stifle her sobs so that her tormentor would not know the extent of her discomfiture. He, meanwhile, positioned himself behind her. Though she pressed her legs together as much as possible, she knew that in this position she could not hide herself from his view. The strange stirrings this provoked within her caused the tears to flow faster. She was in a dangerously emotional and excitable state.
Cat’s hand caressed her exposed area possessively. He chuckled as he once again felt her wet desire. She gasped, on the verge of panic. I must regain my composure, she thought. But there was such turmoil within her that she hardly knew where to begin.
Her captor slapped her buttocks lightly, saying, “Forward, slave.” Awkwardly she crawled forward, hating him more with every advance. He walked behind her, enjoying the view, but not really liking to see her so subjugated. He felt that she was definitely at her most magnificent when she stood in a posture of authority.
Tears threatened to gush forth again, but Mouse blinked them back as best she could, determined to maintain an appearance, at least, of internal composure. But with every movement she felt more debased and was quickly giving way to despair.
“Left here, if you please,” Cat instructed cheerfully.
She abruptly stopped.
“But that leads outdoors into the public,” she protested in horror. By some miracle they had avoided seeing anyone in their travels so far, but she knew that the likelihood of seeing other cats and mice would increase tremendously if they left their current shelter. Surely this fiend who was to be her master for the evening would not be so depraved as to force her to accompany him out there!
“I know where it leads,” he was saying. “I have a desire for some fresh air, and you shall accompany me.”
“But there are cats out there!” She would not—could not—possibly go out there, where everyone would see her in this position and henceforward think of her as a slave. What was she to do?
He saw the look of wild desperation on her face, but he could not let up now—not when he had come so far with her. He was determined to have her submit to him fully, and he knew that the only way to accomplish that was to win completely. He was amazed that she had lasted this long. But he knew she could hold out no longer. She would rather do anything than to serve him publicly on her hands and knees. And he certainly had no intention of allowing the other cats to see her so demeaned.
With an air of impatience he gently nudged her forward with his leg. “Onward, slave!” he demanded.
She didn’t budge. Tears were running down her face. He fought the urge to stop the game and take her in his arms. But there would be plenty of time for that later, and he forced himself to give her another nudge. “Let’s go, wench.” But his voice was losing its authority. He was astounded by her stubbornness. Take the challenge, he mentally implored her; you will still lose, but at least you’ll do so with a little more dignity.
“I’ll take the challenge,” she choked between sobs.
He let out a sigh. “Stand up, then,” he said, feigning indifference. “Unless you’ve grown to like it down there.”
Mouse shot up like a rocket. She was trembling with relief and busied herself with dusting off her hands and knees as she tried to regain her composure. It occurred to her that she had put herself through all that humiliation for no good reason. What did she care that the wager was unreasonably high? She would not—could not—lose to him a second time, for this time it would require a confession from her lips, and she still had full command of that organ, if not the other parts of her body. No, he could never make her utter in words the same admission her body had given.
Cat led Mouse to his quarters, which, of course, were far superior to her little hole in the wall. It irked her that the cats always had so much more than the mice, especially since the reality was that mice worked just as hard, if not harder than the cats. She looked at him, agitated and uncertain.
“So all I have to do is remain here with you without—” she paused “—without…”
“Without confessing your true feelings for me?” he suggested with a grin.
“Without confirming your illusions regarding my feelings for you,” she corrected, becoming more hopeful and composed now. “And for how long do you plan to keep me here?”
“Will two hours, do you think, be sufficient?” he asked sweetly. “It will by no means take me the full two hours to