Chapter Text
I love you, Mr Bridgerton.
I hope the lady of the house never returns so I may attend to your every need.
I wish I could marry you, sir.
If I was your wife, I would remain forevermore your servant.
I long to bear your children.
Still on her bruised knees under the desk, there is so much Penelope wishes to say to her master that she cannot, and it is not because of the cock swelling on her tongue and nudging the back of her throat. Nor is it the three fingers she has kept in the warm cavern of her cunny to keep his seed inside.
No, it is because of the all-important issue of stations.
She has longed to say these things to her master, but usually only in her dreams. Such things sounded silly even a few days ago when her master barely deigned to look at her. It is different now she is his mistress—but that is all she is.
A mistress is to be fucked. A wife is owed a marital duty.
Or, more clearly: Penelope is to be fucked by her master. The former lady of the house performed her marital duty.
Still, there is no denying that in her world of fantasy, where she somehow, impossibly, marries her master, in a world where he was not already bound to someone else... Penelope would still serve him as she is now. What better way to show marital devotion than to allow her husband full use of her body whenever it pleased him?
With her mouth full of her master's cock, she gazes up at him with hooded eyes, steadily, wetly, dutifully lapping up his pre-spend dribbling onto her tongue. He watches her with the kind of quiet intensity that makes her sigh, barely blinking, not saying a word, even more so when her master caresses her face. She feels peaceful, her mind wonderfully blank. As if she would do anything for her master at this very moment.
In fact, her master's pleasure is all she can think about. Her thoughts are all of what she can do to please her master most. Her mind goes into overdrive thinking of all the things she would be willing to do if it meant seeing her master smile or tell her she is a good girl, a good convenient, the most beautiful whore he has ever had. If he invited all his friends to observe her sucking him down in his study with not a stitch on her body and her hands tied behind her back, she would not object, not even if he held her head in place so he could thrust in her throat until she choked. If her master was less possessive and had ordered her to attend to Debling just now so she could indeed be shared—she can imagine herself closing her mouth around another man's cock whilst her master penetrates her from behind. She can picture it in her head, how with each thrust from her master she would be forced further onto Debling, how she would endure being to all intents and purposes roasted on a spit like an animal if it was for her master's pleasure, if it meant meeting his carnal needs. In this otherworldly state she can see herself submitting willingly to her master, draped over his lap as she swallows and screams and sobs around his cock whilst he uses a horsewhip on her bare arse and makes her watch in the looking glass.
In this tranquility within her mind, all that grounds her is pleasing him.
In short, she sinks deeper and deeper into this mindset, in which all she can taste, smell, feel, hear and see is her master, whose cock is hardened now. He does not begin to fuck her, though, appears perfectly content just watching her with a growing and warming intensity, and Penelope finds that she might just glide up into the air, she feels so light…
Until she does not.
She does not know what causes it. Her master has still not spoken but has also looked up from her for the first time in what feels like forever. He checks his watch. He surveys his desk, no doubt rueing the mess his whore has made of his letter and the fact that his entire pot of ink has likely spilt all over his correspondence. She watches his every expression and begins to cry, heaving sobs even as she keeps her lips wrapped around him, for she does not wish to be disobedient. Her master has not given her leave to release his cock, especially now he is hard and heavy on her tongue. And it is as though she hurtles into melancholy from nowhere, for she races through the thoughts she had in her mind, the wicked things she would have wanted to do for her master—
“Oh, my sweet," her master murmurs, and his voice breaks her out of her spiral though she is still breathing heavily and wanting to serve him. Amid her tears she attempts to suckle his now hardened member, making loud, wet popping sounds from her lips and tongue, wanting desperately to lose herself in making her master come—not expecting him to pull out. She continues to sob, her saliva dripping from her lips, not only from whatever has caused her such sudden melancholia but also the absence of her master's cock.
But he is regarding her with worry in his eyes, and his voice when he speaks feels so faraway. "Whatever is the matter, my sweet? Come, sit on my lap, you have been on your knees far too long.”
But she cannot move, not on her own, she slumps and rests her cheek on his thigh, separated by the fabric of his breeches that are dampened from her drool. Her fingers are still inside her cunny, she cannot move them either. Her master is insistent, tugging at her wrist to pull her fingers out, lifting her off her knees, carrying her so gently, and oh, she does not deserve him. Oh, she loves him, how very dearly she loves him, and it only makes her cry harder as he deposits her in his lap.
"No, no, my sweet, please do not cry. Sit.”
"I—I cannot, sir, you are too hard," she whispers tremulously. Madly, she begins to giggle, however, and it should bewilder her master, she is sure it does, but he begins to chuckle too, as he retrieves a handkerchief and carefully dabs at her face. Penelope is smiling now, a watery smile but a better sight than whatever sorrow filled her shimmering eyes previously.
It puts her master at ease too, for he looked genuinely distressed, a frown embedded deep into his forehead. He pushes her hair behind her ear as she wriggles on his lap.
"What is wrong, my sweet girl? Oh, I know, I know, I wish I could will it down, I am sorry to make you struggle so. I cannot help it. It is just that your cunny is so deliciously wet, I can feel you dampening my breeches. Here—you may mount me, for a change, if you wish, sweetheart."
She stutters at that. “I do not—I do not understand.”
"I shall show you, you lovely thing.” Her master lifts her up, and as she looks down she can see him palming his cock, spreading his pre-spend down his length and lining himself up to her opening. Then, ever so gently, he releases her, and she only feels the head of him, throbbing away. "Sink down on me, as slowly as you like, my beautiful girl. Take all the time you need to get comfortable."
She mewls and emits soft sighs of pleasure as she settles atop her master, her hands brushing at his shirtsleeves as she takes him deeper and deeper into her cunt. His length is thick and hard and unyielding and fills her right up to the hilt, exactly what she needs. She sheaths him from base to tip with her cunny and it eases the ache she feels, being full like this. "Oh, sir,” she moans. "Sir, you feel wonderful."
“Yes, that's it, settle on my cock, my sweet, your cunny feels so slippery and wet. That is better, is it not?"
“Yes, sir,” she says softly, shifting again, and this time her master throws back his head and groans. "Does my master wish for me to move?”
"No, stay still, sweetheart.”
"But does it not pain my master? It is only—you are inside me, sir, yet you are not fucking me—"
"Penelope,” her master says sternly, "your master is perfectly capable of ascertaining his own needs. And my only need at present is for the tears on your pretty face to be tears of joy or pleasure or carnal desire. Nothing else. I do not wish for you to be upset. I do not wish to upset you."
"You have not, sir.”
“Are you certain? For I understand this is new for you. That yesterday you were a maiden. And today you are my mistress. If it is overwhelming, if your duties feel like too much—”
"No, sir," Penelope interrupts, and she cringes, for she has cut off her master whilst he is speaking. "I apologise, sir. My master was speaking.” She expects to be punished for it. But her master ignores her and looks at her expectantly.
“Then what were you crying about? I do not wish for my mistress to feel melancholy when she has given me more pleasure than I know what to do with."
That makes her duck her head to hide her smile. “That is surely my duty, sir, to tend to your every need. As you stipulated to me.”
“Do not avoid the question. And do not move, you are still squirming." He places his hands on her arse, holding her still. It helps her, feeling that pressure. Not needing to think because her master decides for her.
“I do not know," she tells him honestly.
“Have the staff been rude to you?"
“No, sir."
“Then it is because I forced you to display yourself Debling whilst you were bare."
This time she giggles. “No, sir, it is not that either. I enjoyed that greatly."
“Are you certain?"
Penelope considers and her breaths calm somewhat as she speaks, as she gazes at her master. “Sir, there is no doubt it was unexpected. And humiliating, for I was entirely unclothed and at your mercy. Had it been my choice, I do not know if I would have done so, not of my own accord. But you made me come out from under your desk. You decided for me to show myself not for Lord Debling’s pleasure but your own. And it was only when you touched me in full view of your friend that I realised how much I wanted such a thing—to be prized as beautiful. To be on display and called lovely. To attract such notice that it made you so wonderfully possessive of me. To claim me as yours."
“Because you are,” her master tells her. “You are beautiful, and utterly lovely. You must know this."
“Yesterday was the first time in my twenty years on this earth that anyone has ever uttered such a thing about me, sir.”
She does not anticipate her master kissing her at that. He does so softly, so softly that his lips barely whisper on hers. "Oh, my sweet girl,” he murmurs against her lips, "you have been utterly distracting to me from the day we first met. How no one has ever told you how beautiful you are is a crime.”
“I love hearing those words from my master," she confesses. “For I have spent my life not being noticed. To attract notice from you, sir… my master possesses me, body and soul, and it makes me feel intoxicated. But much like spirits and the like—perhaps my sudden sorrow was the aftereffect of such a feeling.”
"This… intoxication,” he says, clearly struggling with his own self restraint, "do you experience it when you reach your pinnacle, Penelope?"
“Not necessarily, sir. There are times when you say or do things to me, or make me do things. Or you withhold my pinnacle from me, as is my master's right. When my master restrains or disciplines me or pushes me beyond my comfort—pushes me so far that I feel as if I am hurtling into the sky. And something about it causes me to feel so light that I could simply waft into the air like a puff of smoke."
Her words appear to pique his interest. “When did this first happen, my sweet?”
It is only now that Penelope blushes. "When you punished me this morning, sir,” she confesses. "It hurt so much, sir, your palm stung and I felt the pain, but in a way that felt so good. It hardly makes sense at all. By the time you had delivered your seventh smack on my arse I would have begged you for more all on my own. I would have paused to kiss your palm after each and every blow and thanked you for it. It felt… euphoric, sir."
Her master's eyes are wide and his pupils are now blown with lust. “When else did this feeling occur, sweetheart?"
Her words spill more easily now. “When you would not permit me to walk to your desk, sir. When I was forced to shuffle across these floors on my hands and knees to you in the nude and all I could think of was how a servant would react if they came in."
“And what would you have done if they did, sweet girl?”
"I do not know, sir. Just that this same feeling enveloped me. A feeling that pushed away the shame and exposure of it all, the embarrassment I felt, the feeling that was like torture, but one that I could not ever live without, sir. For this feeling made everything except serving my master unimportant. A feeling that intensified when I was bent over your desk and you did not permit me to come through touching my pearl—sir, I was in the clouds reaching such a pinnacle. I could have drifted away with the wind had I stepped outside. But perhaps… perhaps I did not float back down properly. Perhaps that is what caused my distress.”
She expects him to scoff, or tell her she is hysterical or speaking nonsense. Instead, her master nods. “I have noticed when it appears you are floating away somewhere," he observes. "Particularly just now as I watched you.”
"What did you see, sir?”
"Your eyes are the most obvious sign," he tells her. “They glaze over and become unfocused. Your lips… they part just so." Her master takes a moment to run his finger across her bottom lip and her tongue lolls out to try and lick his fingertip. “Your mouth hangs open and you drool as though you are hungry and needy. Your smile takes on this dreamlike quality. And you become so very pliant, my sweet, as if I could mould your soft, ample flesh and make it softer. As if you would agree to anything."
“I would, sir," she says, but her master shakes his head.
"I know you would, my sweet. But I do not wish for you to hurtle back to earth alone. And after I punished you today, I bathed you, Penelope. Perhaps that is what you need. To be taken care of. Yes,” her master decides, as he now grips her backside tighter and pulls her more firmly onto his cock, which is still so hard and embedded inside her. “I shall take care of you, then, when I notice this. For you are special to me, Penelope."
She is on the verge of crying again. "As are you, sir, to me,” she manages to utter. He rewards her with a kiss, one that she can barely reciprocate when her jaw aches so.
"What has helped you come down, my Penelope?”
"Your touch, sir,” she replies instantly. "Just now, when you grabbed my arse. It helped."
Her master massages her buttocks a little more and she moans.
“What else does my servant require?"
“I…" she begins to say but trails off. “Sir, this arrangement is about your needs."
“This arrangement is about what your master wishes," he says firmly. “And that is for his mistress not to be in distress. Tell me what else helps you.”
Penelope does not argue. She cannot when her master's tone becomes this way, for she cannot deny him. She never will. "When… when you stroke my hair, sir. When you caress my face. When my master kisses me—"
"Where?"
"Anywhere, sir. Anywhere at all. And when—your voice, sir, its cadence, the words you say—”
"What words, my sweet?"
She sighs contentedly. “Those words, sir. And so many besides. You call me sweet and lovely and good. I love to be your good girl, sir.”
“You are my good girl, Penelope. Clearly I have not praised you enough in the aftermath of our coupling. I shall rectify that immediately.”
"You have praised me plenty, sir."
"And degraded you a fair amount besides."
“That is not to say,” she adds hastily, “that I object to the rest, sir. For I do not. I know my place. I know your station, sir, and that mine is different. I have no illusions about this. You are my master. I serve you.”
“You serve me so well, sweetheart. You always have. And I understand. Nothing will change, for your role has not changed. I shall simply take more care in the future.”
“Thank you, sir. I am most grateful. I shall certainly show you my appreciation.”
"You need not do so now when you have been on your knees for so long. Do you wish to return to our bedchambers to rest, then, my sweet girl?”
She cannot fight her tears now. "Does my master not find this pleasurable?”
He kisses her soundly. "Of course I do, Penelope. Your cunny feels so warm and sodden just like this." Her master does not stop, kissing her face, kissing all her tears away so that when his lips meet hers she tastes whisky and salt. “It is for my mistress to decide. You may simply warm my cock until dinnertime if you so wish, and you will not need to move, you may stay just as you are. Or you may retire to our bedchambers to rest. The choice is yours."
“I wish to stay with you, sir," she tells him immediately, “I wish to always stay with you."
“Then you shall,” he says simply. “Make yourself comfortable on me, Penelope.”
"Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you.” Penelope presses her face into her master's neck, murmurs her next words there. “Sir, I must tell you that before this… I was crying because I was so happy.” Then she feels her master's thumb under her chin, obediently lifts her face to his.
“You will look at your master when speaking to him, Penelope.”
"Yes, sir,” she says, and she closes her eyes as her master kisses her forehead again. “I was happy being at my master's feet, to be claimed by my master, to be of use to my master. To be praised, to be noticed, to be wanted, to be disciplined by you, sir, I was and remain deliriously happy. And when you told your friend that I belonged to you… I was certain I would positively combust with joy.”
“Well, you certainly did not belong to him,” her master says, and she smiles and so does he, though his fades after a moment. “When Debling asked you, Penelope, if you were willing to be shared… were you considering saying yes?”
She is disconcerted by his questioning. “Does my master wish for this?”
He shakes his head vehemently. “No, I am far too much of a jealous type for that. But it is just like the Earl to bring up his wealth. Unfortunately, Debling—”
“Sir,” she interrupts again, and she expects a slap on her bottom but does not receive it.
“You will receive your punishments for interrupting me later, my sweet,” he murmurs to her.
“I am sorry, sir,” she rushes to say. “It is only—I do not enjoy hearing another gentleman’s name when my master is inside me.”
And now her master is laughing fully, stroking her backside, kissing her most joyfully. “Oh, my sweet. You truly are my most loyal servant.”
She bows her head in deference of her master. But she cannot resist saying: “I would never acquiesce to being shared, sir."
“Of course you would not, you are a good girl.”
“Unless it pleased my master, that is.”
He is nonplussed. “Why would it please me, to see you with any other man?”
“If you were to take me at the same time, sir,” she says before she can stop herself.
Once again her master groans and she can feel his cock twitch inside her. “Oh, Penelope. If I could bear to see you with someone else… I would have allowed it. But I cannot.”
“I thought so, sir,” she admits. “I would not wish to be taken by a man other than you unless my master fucked me at the same time. I admit I have thought of it a great deal today."
“You will tell me about your thoughts on this before we sleep, Penelope,” he groans. “For I shall lose my self-restraint otherwise.” His grip on the backs of her thighs tightens until she is sure his hands have left marks.
“Of course, sir.”
“I confess to feeling rather mad in the past day,” her master says softly. “In how often and brutally I have taken you. It is only that I have not lain with anyone in months. And you have attended to me so well, my sweet, been good to me even as I punish you.”
“I am your servant, sir. That is your right.” She hesitates, however. “How long has it been, sir?”
“Since I have lain with a woman? Oh, four or five months, easily. I have never enjoyed brothels, to be frank, but I have visited them for years for want of some… release, as you said.”
Her master’s words sink in and she frowns.
“But, sir, what about…” She hesitates again. She does not wish to say “your wife”. She has no right to refer to her by her maiden name. “What about the former lady of the house, sir?”
“Penelope,” he says sternly, “much like you do not wish to hear another gentleman’s name when I am inside you…”
“I am sorry, sir,” she says, regretting it already. “I do not mean to pry.”
But to her surprise, her master sighs. “No, Penelope, you are not. Whatever you may infer from this is likely correct. I wonder if she saw my brutish ways before I did and deserted me accordingly. Though I would not have been this way with a lady. Even if she were amenable.”
“It is rather lucky then, for my master, that I am not a lady.” She means it too. For as much as she dreams of a world where she may be her master's wife—in such a world she would still be his servant. And in the world they are in where he will face social ruin if he even considered such a thing (unlikely though it is), she will take whatever she can of her master. Even if it is only as his mistress.
He smiles now. “No, you are Penelope. You hardly count. Particularly when you practically begged your master to take you as roughly as I pleased.”
“You are not a brute, sir,” she feels the need to tell him. “You must know that you are not. And… I vowed something to you last night, sir, as I parted my thighs and lifted my skirts to you for the first time. It does not have the sanctity or purity of a wedding vow. But it meant something to me. For my virtue was precious, and I saved myself for you, for the day when you would finally notice me, so I could completely and utterly give myself to you. I would not have done so had I thought you a brute.”
“Even if I have taken you brutally?” her master asks with a wry smile.
“Especially so,” Penelope says. “It may be wicked of me to say this, sir… but I enjoy it immensely if it means I am of use to you.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, stroking her hair again. It makes it easier for her to say these next words.
“I cannot imagine being lucky enough to marry you, sir, only to abscond after making those vows before God. And I am sorry, so deeply sorry, that this occurred… but in some way I am glad.” And before her master can admonish her, she goes on, “It may be what I say next earns me a punishment, sir, and I will gladly take it. But I am glad for the lady of this house not being here. I may not be a lady, sir, I may only be a servant—”
"My servant,” her master interrupts, surprising her with a possessive kiss that she smiles into.
"Yes, sir, your servant. And I fear I may not have had the privilege of kneeling before you, of serving your most intimate needs, of the sheer pleasure of your plentiful seed flooding my cunny and gushing down my throat, had your wife still been here.”
“She is not my wife,” he says roughly. “I will see to it that this is finalised, too, after my meeting today. But—” Her master kisses her again, harder this time, until she is gasping for air, for her words have clearly affected him. “You are so enticing, Penelope, that even if I were properly married… I would still seek you out. Had you offered yourself to me with that other woman I feel nothing for in the very next room… I would have taken you until you screamed, with no shame. For her and all the servants loyal to her to hear."
“Oh, sir,” she pants, now actively trying to move, only for her master to hold her still. “Sir, had I known this, I would have given myself to you the first time we met.”
“I remember when you curtseyed most beautifully before me,” he says, “and I knew then as surely as I knew my own name that a lovelier servant I had never seen. She did not wish to hire you, and now I realise why, for it was likely obvious to her how taken I was with you. And I never intended to take a mistress, despite plenty of gentlemen doing so… but no mistress would be even half as beautiful as my Penelope. I know that now.”
“Sir,” she pleads, for she is losing her mind now with want yet her mind feels clear enough to know what she needs, “sir, may I…”
“What do you need, my sweet?” Her master grabs handfuls of her arse, her thighs, and she gasps.
“To be fucked, sir, please!”
“And how would you like it, Penelope? How would you like to be fucked?”
“Deep, sir, like the whore that I am,” she begs.
"And riding me astride would not do, my sweet, for I know you are too tired for this. No, I must have you on all fours. I shall lift you off me—"
Penelope whimpers in pain because she has never had his hard cock pull out of her like this, and she immediately feels so woefully empty that she cries out.
“Hush, my sweet, you will get what you need. Get on the floor, no, I shall arrange you, you need not do anything, simply kneel for me, my beautiful girl."
She knows she will not be able to walk after this. Her master takes his time depositing her carefully on the floor, just in front of the chair Debling was previously sitting on.
"May I hold the chair, sir?” she asks unsteadily.
"Yes, you may, Penelope. Yes, that will help to support you, now, part your thighs for me, show your master your pretty cunt." Moaning, she obeys, aware that she is still sticky and gooey with spend and dripping with her own arousal besides.
“Please, sir?"
Her master pats her bottom and mercifully positions himself at her now weeping cunt. “You have been so very good for me, Penelope, you deserve to be rewarded.”
"Oh, thank you, sir,” she sighs, and she pants as at last she feels him enter her again—and because of how long he was inside her his cock feels like a hot knife slicing through butter. She is sensitive everywhere and her breaths are short and laboured. Her pleasure is correspondingly sharp and glorious, and she is already sobbing with pleasure even before her master touches her sensitive bundle of nerves—and when he does so she screams.
“That's it, come for me, Penelope, come for your master, let me attend to your pearl—"
“I shall not be able to walk after this, sir," she says breathlessly, and that only makes her master fuck her harder, his circles on her pearl becoming harsher. Her pinnacle spills over her so fast that she barely has any time to come down, and it is only now as he palms her breasts and squeezes them that she realises just how much her master was truly restraining himself.
"Good,” he growls, "I shall carry you to our bedchambers, my sweet, after you come for me again, for you deserve the world, sweetheart, you deserve to be told you are beautiful—and how beautiful you are right here on the floor of this study being taken by your master on your knees where you belong—"
“I was made to be taken by you, sir—my cunny was made for only my master's cock, no one else's—"
“That's right," her master says in her ear, and he is thrusting faster now, his rhythm wild and his groans utterly primal, “my whore who begs me to fuck her deep, belonging to me, obeying me—"
“Yes! Oh—oh!”
"Let go of the chair, Penelope, I shall not let you fall, I shall take care of you even now, even as you serve me…"
“My master," she utters reverently, “my master, oh, sir, I wish to come after you, sir, after you fill me with your seed, won't you spill inside me, sir?"
With a roar her master thrusts into her once, twice, three times, before at last spilling his hot release into her cunt, and he does not stop fucking into her, instead circling her pearl once more. It is as her walls tighten, milking her master's cock for his spend that she mewls and squirms her way to her pinnacle, reaching such a high that her vision whites out and she would have collapsed on the floor were it not for her master gripping her hips.
"Good girl,” he murmurs to her as he kisses her ear and her cheek, "oh, you are a very good girl, my sweet. No, you shall not fall, Penelope, do not fear.”
"May I rest in your bedchambers now, please, sir?" she asks, slurring her words a little.
“Of course you can, sweetheart. I shall carry you there. I see you were not jesting about not being able to walk. Your legs are like jelly."
“I am sorry, sir."
But her master turns her face to him and kisses her.
“I am not. And I promise to take care of you, Penelope, so you may not hurtle down alone."
True to his word, after slipping out of her and closing his breeches, her master reaches for her day dress which she so carefully folded hours ago upon entering the study and stripping naked for him. Unfolding it, he covers her somewhat with it, then reaches for the jacket on the back of his chair, to drape over her body more fully. He easily manoeuvres his servant’s pliant, boneless limbs so he is carrying her, bridal style, out of the study and up the stairs. It is quite the feat, Penelope thinks through her haze.
"My master is so strong,” she says, smiling, a few minutes later when he lays her on the bed, tucking her in with the coverlet. He kisses her forehead, pressing a second to her temple, caressing her cheek as she leans into his touch.
"I shall call for a basin so I may clean you up,” he says, but she shakes her head.
"No, no, no, sir, please, need to be close to you. Want my master to hold me. Will my master hold me? Sir? Please will you hold me?” Her request comes out needy, babbling, likely desperate, but she does not want to descend into sadness like she did earlier.
Thankfully her master does not hesitate. He goes around the bed, strips off his shirtsleeves and breeches, and for the first time, without the haze of bathwater steam, she sees her master as naked as she is. She admires the hair on his chest, which she had observed when he left his shirt slightly open, but now she can see his muscled arms that look like they were sculpted by the gods themselves. Even his member which is spent and soft is thick in girth and so large that she wonders again how such a thing could fit in her body, or down her throat.
He sees her looking and smiles.
“Do you like what you see, Penelope?”
“My master is so very handsome and generously well-endowed,” she says without thought as he steps towards the bed and his cock swings back and forth a couple of times. Then she catches herself and giggles.
“You knew that already, my sweet,” he murmurs to her as he gets into the bed with her, and oh, how warm her master is. She buries herself into his body heat, relishing how he kisses the top of her head and continues to stroke her hair.
“You take such good care of me, sir," she says as she stifles a yawn. “No one ever has. Not for me."
“I vow to always look after you, Penelope," her master promises as he draws her even closer to his chest, so she can hear his steady heartbeat. He holds her so close to him that she feels like her master has her in a cocoon. “It may not be sacred or pure, but it means something to me too. For you are so very precious to me, and I shall never forsake you."
And as tears spill freely from her eyes and her master shushes her, embraces her, kisses her—for the very first time in her life, Penelope feels loved.