“Then I would submit to myS’renthaand do whatever she commanded,” he said calmly.
Lucy shook her head.
“How can you talk like that? Surely you can’t be serious about submitting to…to that kind of abuse!”
T’zaren gave her a level look.
“I would do anything to save my home—to save the Mother Ship.Anything.Please remember that when Mistress Shin’dara expects you to act like a realDom’mesqueand don’t hesitate to do what she requires.”
“But—” Lucy began, frowning.
“Anything,” T’zaren interrupted her. “Do whatever she demands. Wemustcomplete our mission—the entire Mother Ship is counting on us.”
Lucy wanted to protest again that there were some things she just wasn’t willing to do—some lines she wouldn’t cross. But just then the door to the Banquet Hall opened and a guard stuck his head in.
“Excuse me, Lady Lucille, but the Loyalty Ceremony is about to start in the Throne Room and Mistress Shin’dara has requested your presence.”
Lucy nodded.
“All right—we’re coming.” She turned to T’zaren and took the end of the black leather leash which dangled down his broad, bare chest in one hand. “Let’s go,” she said.
“As you wish, myDom’mesque.” T’zaren nodded his head.
Lifting her chin, Lucy led him out of the Banquet Hall and down the corridor to the Throne Room. She knew that the big Monstrum behind her was committed to finishing their mission, no matter what. And Lucy was committed, too.
But she couldn’t seem to help it—she had a bad feeling as they approached the Throne Room where the sadistic Mistress Shin’dara was waiting for them.
A very bad feeling indeed.
THIRTY-NINE
LUCY
The Throne Room of the stronghold looked completely different than it had when they had entered it the day before. Somehow all the sparkling white marble had been turned to black and all the pastel flower arrangements had disappeared. Even the white, feathery, floating chandeliers had been changed. Their feathers were gone and something that looked like black leather bat wings had been attached in their place.
The throne itself, where Mistress Shin’dara sat, was different too. Instead of the many pillows and cushions, there was an overlay of spikes on the seat and the back of the throne. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, but the Twainer was sitting there in apparent ease, her leather cat suit stretched tightly over her voluptuous body. Her back was still completely hidden by the long, white veil which now seemed to be stained red in places.
At Mistress Shin’dara’s feet crouched a miserable looking male who Lucy recognized as one of the guards. He was completely naked and the Twainer was using his as a living footstool.
“Wow,” Lucy murmured as the guard announced her and they stepped over the threshold. “This is…different. Andnotin a good way.”
“Changes have certainly been made,” T’zaren murmured.
Lucy would have said more but she saw that Mistress Shin’dara was beckoning to her.
“There you are! Come and watch the ceremony,” she called to Lucy.
Lucy ducked her head in a bow and made her way between the rows of assembled guards to the seat which had been saved for her—a leather wingback chair that would have looked at home in a study or private library back home. It was sitting right beside the throne, close enough that she and Mistress Shin’dara would be able to talk if they wanted to—which Lucydidn’t.
She wanted to keep her distance from the Twainer—especially after what T’zaren had told her—that Shin’dara might have a third form which was deadly-dangerous. Unfortunately, keeping her distance wasn’t an option—not if she wanted thedimriel.So she smiled politely and settled herself on the leather chair while T’zaren stood at her side.
“I’m so glad you came—the ceremony is about to begin!” Mistress Shin’dara smiled down from the throne, which was on Lucy’s right hand. “I have many,manyguards who need to prove their loyalty to me—andpay for what they’ve done!” she added, digging the stiletto heels of her leather boots into the guard who was serving as her living footstool.
“Ah! Mistress, please forgive me!” he groaned, wincing. His light green skin was already a mass of bruises and cuts from the cruel heels.
“I will never forgive the fact that you tried to penetrate me in my sleep!” The Twainer snapped, digging her heels into him again. “This is theleastof what you deserve, maggot!”
“I thought you were Lady Twa’linda!” the guard/footstool moaned. “She loved it when I woke her up with a good-morning fuck! I swear, if I had known it was you instead of her, I never would have tried anything!”