The Last Submissive – Mistress Elisabeth Hunter (16)

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Lillian Appears In My Bedroom In The Middle Of The Night

The night before she left, Lillian tiptoed into my room sometime during the wee small hours of the morning. I was finally asleep, after fitfully staring at the ceiling for hours, agonizing over the situation (just what in the hell did “she will be bred” mean?), thinking that I should do something to prevent this inhuman crime, escape with Lillian and make a dash into the streets of Alexandria and freedom. Neither of us owned a thing or had any money, but we’d find a way.

With a hand over my mouth, she woke me with a kiss to the forehead. I was barely able to see her outline in the darkness, but smelled her familiar fragrance. She shushed me and removed her hand, whispering, “Don’t say a word, be still.”

Don’t say a word, be still? My body flooded with adrenaline, not only in alarm but equally aroused by her physical presence. What was she doing here in the middle of the night? What about the security camera in the hallway? I ignored her and whispered back, “Are you running away? I’ll come with you.”

Lillian Reminds Paul They Are Slaves With No Rights

Lillian returned her hand to my mouth and hissed, “I told you to be quiet. Relax. I turned the security system off. Mistress Hunter won’t know I’ve been here, she’ll think it was a glitch or power outage.” I could just make out her features by the pale green light of my digital alarm clock, next to my cot. She wore cotton pajamas; two piece, pants and a buttoned top, white gossamer fabric.

“Now I mean it, be quite and listen,” she said, her voice throaty and firm. I nodded understanding. She removed her hand. “Listen carefully, Paul . . . I’m not the person you make me out to be. I’m a whore, I’m a slut; Mistress Hunter’s slave. If she wants to send me to her farm to be bred like an animal, then I’m her animal, her property, to do as she wishes. I have no rights. You have no rights. We gave them up willingly, remember?”

I blinked at her. Yes, we gave up our rights, but not for this. She read my mind and hissed, “You bull fucking the senator’s wife is no different than me being used as a fuck toy for Mistress Hunter’s guests. I’m not the angel you make me out to be, Paul. I want to be fucked by strangers. I’m a bitch in heat; I want to be bred.”
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Will She Really Be Bred Like An Animal?

I could hardly believe my ears. Not Lillian. I loved her. I could imagine us a couple, having kids. She stared down at me, letting my brain absorb incomprehensible words. ‘Bred’ implied so much more than being fucked by strangers. If she got pregnant, there would be a baby. Would she keep it? Give it up for adoption? Would Mistress Hunter sell it to the highest bidder?

My mind reeled. Lillian offered no explanation to quell my fears. Instead, she stood, crossed her hands, grasped the hem of her pajama top and lifted it over her head. The sight of her bare torso and breasts took my breath away. Now she pulled down the pajama bottoms and stood before me naked. My heart stopped.

Being Inside Of Her Feels Exquisite

Without a word, she straddled the cot and settled down on the top of my thighs, her crotch pressing against my balls. My cock grew instantly hard. She took it in her hands and stroked it. For a moment, I thought I was in a dream. Or a nightmare. But then she rose and mounted my cock, slowly settling down until all of me was thrust up inside her. She sighed, and then began to gently rock back and forth, a low moan emanating from her chest. This was no dream.

I couldn’t believe how incredible it felt. Then I realized we weren’t using a condom; no wonder the sensation was so exquisite—this was flesh against flesh. And then the thought occurred to me, she had come down to do this, she had risked Mistress Hunter discovering us, risked everything, because if she were to be bred, she wanted the first sperm to be mine. She wanted my baby, not a stranger’s.

A wave of understanding rushed over me, a hot wave of epiphany that crashed down on my feeble brain. I gave myself to the idea, found comfort in it, thinking that not now . . . but when the time was right . . . I would renounce my servitude to Mistress Hunter, I would leave her and find the farm, I would find Lillian and take her away with me. Even if she were pregnant. Especially if she were pregnant.

My Time With Her Was Short But Unforgettable

Our lovemaking didn’t take long. She rose and fell on me maybe a dozen times, and I began to heave, my breath betraying my arousal, so that again she put her hand on my mouth, leaving only the air whizzing in and out of my nostrils, which only intensified my passion, and unable to control myself, I came hard, hard squirts of cum flying up inside my beloved, sending my seed into her womb.

When I was spent, she collapsed down on my chest, keeping my mouth against her neck, muffling my spasmed breathing. She gently stroked my hair. Finally, I calmed. She lifted her head and looked down on me. She might not be an angel, she might be a whore, a slut, an animal to be bred, but her face was angelic, perfection. I swear I could see her eyes and into her soul, even in the darkness.

Suddenly, quickly, she lifted off me, put her feet down by the side of my cot, stood and slipped on her pajama top and bottom. She bent over me, a finger to my lips, and whispered, “I love you, Paul.”
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I Was Awake The Rest Of The Night

Like an apparition, she left me, across the floor to the door in an instant, the door opened with the slightest creak of hinges, then closed, leaving me alone in my small room next to the dungeon.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. When the alarm went off at six a.m., I was wide awake. I did my ablutions in the tiny washroom at the end of the hall, then made my way to the kitchen, where Lillian prepared our Mistress’s breakfast. We exchanged a knowing glance, but didn’t say a word.

Up to Mistress Hunter’s bedroom with the breakfast tray, hot coffee steaming from a stainless-steel pitcher. I set it down on the table and assumed my position of submission at the foot of her bed, waiting for the coffee to wake my Mistress. For some reason, I was smiling.

Next: Life without Lillian

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Freelance author living near the Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia.

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