Captive by Aishling Morgan Read Free Book Online Page B

seamstress made a clucking noise as Aisla pointed out her choices but said nothing, cutting the swatches and noting each choice on a piece of charta. Aisla waited, feeling happier than she had for some time at the prospect of the beautiful new dresses she would have, also bolder.
    With the samples cut the seamstress went back down to the foyer, signalling to Aisla to follow with a single curt gesture. The samples were given to Madame Yasma, who took them with an expression which suggested the entire process to be beneath her.
    ‘What of the maid?’ she demanded when she had inspected all six samples.
    ‘These are mine, the deepest blue and the black,’ Aisla what.
    ‘Vendjomois silk? Imperial black velvet? For a maid!’ Yasma exclaimed. ‘Nonsense! Unthinkable! What impudence!’
    A hand shot out, aimed for Aisla’s cheek, but she had already stepped back. Madame Yasma lurched forward and sprawled on the floor, dropping the samples and drawing laughter from both Grathor and Aisla. Yasme was helped to her feet by assistants, four of them, buzzing around their mistress and throwing Aisla black looks.
    ‘That is arranged then?’ Grathor asked with mock innocence.
    ‘No it is not arranged!’ Madame Yasma spat. ‘These are among the most costly fabrics of all, entirely unsuitable for a maid! She will have two dresses, knee length, plain, in grey calico!’
    ‘As you see fit,’ Grathor answered, ‘just as long as the Count is satisfied. For now, have a couple of display dresses altered. We will be at Voelath’s.’
    Madame Yasma gave an angry nod and they left, turning not towards the impressive fortress as Aisla had expected, but down a side street, along which Grathor led her until they reached a large building of wood and yellow brick, which he entered. A broad desk stood immediately inside the door, with a small man in rich blue livery behind it. As Grathor and Aisla entered he gave a low bow.
    ‘Good afternoon, sir, my lady,’ he greeted them. ‘I welcome you to Voelath's. What service will you be requiring?’
    ‘Nothing too exotic,’ Grathor answered. ‘She is a Mundic.’
    ‘But beautiful indeed,’ the clerk answered, looking up at Aisla with an oily grin, ‘your hair, exotic to say the least; your face, pert, strong, yet sensitive; your breasts, magnificent, few Hai ladies can boast such mammary development over so trim a waist. As to your most choice features, I am sure they will not disappoint, fate could not allow so beautiful a girl an ugly cunt, still less her bottom!’
    Aisla found herself blushing at his remarks and more confused than ever, also alarmed at the implication that he might shortly be able to inspect her bare bottom. The clerk appeared indifferent to her reaction and had turned to look at a board on which a list of names were marked, some with a red panel beside them, others without.
    ‘May I suggest a private room, sir?’ the clerk offered, making an obsequious gesture. ‘A chamber with full appointments is available at twelve crowns, including hoses, valves and a selection of instruments you cannot fail to find edifying. A plain chamber may be had for eight, with a simple but effective choice of instruments. Or you might enjoy wine and a collation if you wish to wait until either the stuffing room or the coprophilarium are free?’
    ‘No, thank you,’ Grathor answered, a place in the upper saloon will do very nicely, I like an audience.’
    ‘Wise, sir, wise,’ the clerk answered, although in a tone marginally less unctuous than before. ‘Yes, been watched as her buttocks warm will always give the lady a certain added frisson, especially for a novice! That will be five crowns.’
    ‘Am I to be beaten?’ Aisla queried. ‘Why? I haven’t been naughty!’
    ‘So sweet!’ the clerk declared. ‘She plays the teasing game, and not even in her straps!’
    ‘She means it,’ Grathor replied as he paid over the money. ‘In Mund, girls are only beaten for punishment, so