The "servants' quarters" are better than expected—especially after my brief stay in that dungeon shithole.
The small room at the end of the hall has a narrow but comfortable bed, a wooden chest for belongings I don't have, a wash basin, and a small window overlooking part of the gardens. Simple, clean, private.
A skinny young servant named Tib brings fresh clothes—brown pants, white linen shirt, leather boots that actually fit.
"You're lucky," Tib tells me while I dress. "Most new slaves sleep in the communal quarters. Private rooms are for higher-ranking servants only."
"So what did I do to deserve the VIP treatment?"
Tib shrugs. "Lord Derek specified it. And when Madame Rosalind saw you..." He trails off with a look that's part envy, part warning. "She usually takes a personal interest in the more... impressive male servants."
Great. I've landed in a medieval porno.
"Lord Derek wants to see you in his study," Tib says. "Follow me."
---
Derek's study is all dark wood paneling and leather-bound books. He sits behind a massive desk, reading papers, not looking up as we enter.
"The new slave, my lord," Tib announces, then backs out quickly, closing the door.
Derek continues reading for a full minute, completely ignoring me. Just as I'm about to say something, he speaks without looking up.
"You will not speak of Earth or your origins to anyone in this household."
My blood runs cold. "You know about—"
"I know many things." He finally looks up, gray eyes unreadable. "Including the fact that you are not from this world, nor are you in your original body."
Holy shit. That saves a lot of awkward explaining.
"How do you—"
"You are not the first," he says simply, returning to his papers. "Though the others arrived through more... conventional means. Summoning circles. Ancient rituals. You simply appeared. That interests me."
Others from Earth. Summoning circles. This world keeps getting weirder.
"Your duties will be light initially," Derek continues. "You'll assist in the library, help the stable master, perform whatever tasks Madame Rosalind assigns. In return, I will investigate how you came here and whether return is possible."
That's... surprisingly reasonable for a guy who just claimed me as property.
"But understand this," Derek's voice drops, cold as winter. "You are mine. Your body, your service, your very existence here depends on my continued protection. Cross me, and I'll return you to the Duke's justice."
There's the threat. The leash around my neck.
"I have powerful friends with particular tastes," he continues, his eyes boring into me. "They pay well for... entertainment. Beautiful slaves. Exotic specimens. If you prove useful in that capacity, you'll be rewarded. If you prove difficult..."
He doesn't finish. He doesn't need to.
He's going to pimp me out. Fuck.
"Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, my lord," I manage, throat dry.
"Good. Madame Rosalind will oversee your integration. I suggest you cooperate fully with her methods, unusual though they may seem." The ghost of a smile touches his lips. "She has a talent for breaking in new acquisitions."
He waves dismissal. "You may go."
As I'm escorted back to my room, my mind races. Derek knows about Earth. He's collected other transmigrants. And he plans to use me as a fucktoy for his "powerful friends."
The leash just got a lot tighter.
---
I'm back in my room maybe ten minutes when there's a sharp knock.
Before I can answer, the door opens.
Madame Rosalind stands there, and she's changed. The burgundy corset is gone, replaced by a deep emerald silk robe that clings to every curve, tied loosely at her waist. Her hair is down now, cascading over her shoulders.
She steps inside and locks the door with a decisive click.
"Now," she says, her eyes shining with hunger as she approaches, "let's begin your proper orientation without interruptions."
Her fingers work the tie of her robe. It falls open, revealing she's wearing absolutely nothing underneath.
My cock goes hard instantly.
Her tits are even more magnificent freed from the corset—heavy and full, with large dark pink nipples already stiff. They sway slightly as she moves, and I can't look away.
"Strip," she commands.
I hesitate for half a second—she's supposed to be dominant, in control—but fuck that. Something in me snaps.
I stand, stepping toward her instead of obeying.
"I said strip, slave," she repeats, but there's a tremor in her voice now.
"Make me," I growl.
Her eyes widen—shock and arousal mixing. She tries to push me back, reassert control, but I'm faster. I grab her wrist, spin her around, and pin her against the bedpost.
She gasps as my body presses against hers, my cock hard against her ass.
"You forget something," I murmur in her ear. "I'm not your slave. Not in here."
"I'll scream," she breathes, but her body's already responding, pressing back against me.
"Then scream."
There's a knock at the door. "Madame Rosalind?" Gareth's muffled voice, concerned. "I heard noises. Everything alright?"
Rosalind looks at me, panic flashing before she pulls herself together.
"Everything's fine, Gareth," she calls out steadily. "Just... teaching the new slave some discipline."
"Of course, Madame. Call if you need anything."
His footsteps retreat.
She turns back to me, eyes blazing with anger and lust. "You'll pay for that, slave."
I smirk and release her. She lunges to slap me, but I catch her hand and bring my other hand down hard on her ass.
The crack echoes in the room.
She yelps, eyes going wide with shock and arousal.
I grab the robe and yank it off her completely. She's naked now, breathing hard, her body trembling.
"You're a beast," she whispers.
"And you fucking love it," I growl, pushing her onto the bed.
She lands on her back, tits bouncing. Before she can react, I'm on her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.
My free hand explores her body roughly—squeezing those massive tits, pinching her nipples until she arches up with a moan.
"Please," she gasps, but whether she's begging me to stop or continue, I don't know.
My hand slides down her soft stomach to the heat between her legs. She's already soaking wet, her pussy slick against my fingers.
I shove two fingers inside her roughly.
"Fuck!" she screams, her body clenching around my fingers.
I pump them hard and fast, my thumb finding her clit and rubbing rough circles. She thrashes beneath me, trying to maintain some dignity, but her body betrays her.
"Scream for me, Rosalind," I command.
She shakes her head defiantly, biting her lip.
I curve my fingers inside her, hitting that spot, and her resistance shatters. A scream tears from her throat as she comes hard, her pussy spasming around my fingers, juices coating my hand.
I flip her over while she's still trembling, pulling her hips up so her ass is in the air, face pressed into the sheets.
I shed my clothes quickly, my cock standing thick and hard. I position myself at her entrance—she's dripping wet, but she's tight.
"Wait—you're too big—" she pants, looking back at me with wide eyes.
I thrust in halfway, and she screams into the sheets.
Fuck, she's tight. Her pussy grips my cock like a vice, hot and wet and perfect.
I don't give her time to adjust. I pull back and slam in fully, burying myself to the hilt.
"Oh fuck—fuck—FUCK!" she wails, her whole body shaking.
I grip her wide hips and start pounding into her, hard and brutal. The bed creaks loudly, the headboard slamming against the wall. The wet slap of flesh on flesh echoes obscenely.
Her tits swing with each thrust, and her screams fill the room, shameless and raw.
"Please—too much—too big—" she sobs, but she's pushing back against me, meeting every thrust.
Another knock. "Madame Rosalind?" Gareth again, worried.
She looks back at me, wild-eyed, face flushed and sweaty.
"Go away, Gareth!" she screams. "Don't you dare disturb me when I'm with the slave! You hear me, you bastard?"
Shocked silence, then retreating footsteps.
She turns back to me, and there's something broken and desperate in her expression now.
"Don't stop," she whispers hoarsely. "Please don't stop."
I lean down, covering her body with mine, reaching around to find her clit. I rub it roughly while continuing to thrust deep.
She shrieks as another orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on my cock so hard it almost hurts.
I flip her onto her back, wanting to see her face. Her makeup is smeared, her hair a mess, her tits heaving as she gasps for breath.
"Ride me," I command, lying back.
She whimpers but obeys, straddling me. She sinks down onto my cock with a long, broken moan.
I watch those magnificent tits bounce as she moves, her head thrown back, completely lost in pleasure. The sight is hypnotic—this powerful, dominant woman reduced to a desperate, cock-drunk mess.
I grab her hips and thrust up hard, fucking her from below. She screams again, her hands bracing on my chest.
"You're going to break me," she sobs.
"Good," I growl, slamming into her harder.
Her pussy is gushing now, soaking my cock and balls, dripping onto the sheets. The wet sounds are obscene, mixed with her wails and my grunts.
I feel my orgasm building, pressure coiling at the base of my spine.
"I'm going to cum inside you," I warn her.
"Yes—fuck—fill me—" she begs, too far gone to care.
I thrust up hard one last time, burying myself as deep as possible, and explode. My cock pulses, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into her pussy. There's so much—way more than should be possible—flooding her, overflowing, dripping out around my cock.
She screams one final time, her body convulsing as she comes again, milking every last drop from me.
She collapses on top of me, trembling and gasping, my cum leaking out of her used pussy.
"You're... a monster," she whispers against my chest.
"And you love it," I repeat, stroking her damp hair.
She laughs weakly. "Gods help me, I do."
We lie there for a few minutes, catching our breath. My cock is still semi-hard inside her, and I feel it starting to swell again.
She feels it too and lifts her head, eyes wide. "Already?"
Before I can answer, there's a knock at the door.
Different this time—lighter, more playful.
"Madame Rosalind?" A young female voice, musical and amused. "Father sent me to check on the new slave's progress."
Rosalind's eyes go wide with panic. She scrambles off me, my cock sliding out with a wet sound, cum pouring out of her pussy.
"Lady Elara," she says, grabbing her robe and trying to cover herself. "This isn't—we were just—"
The door isn't locked anymore—Rosalind must have unlocked it at some point.
It swings open.
The girl from the library stands there, golden curls framing her beautiful face, those green eyes sparkling with mischief.
She takes in the scene: Rosalind naked and dripping cum, me on the bed with my cock still hard and glistening, the destroyed sheets, the smell of sex thick in the air.
A slow, delighted smile spreads across her face.
"Well," Lady Elara purrs, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Father did say to be thorough with his training."
Her eyes lock onto my cock, and she licks her lips.
"I think I'd like to participate in the next lesson."