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You’re on your hands and knees, panting and shaking, and your body is covered with a thin layer of sweat. You’d be cold, probably, if you weren’t so flushed, if your whole body didn’t feel like it was on fire.
You don’t dare look at her, but you know Tasque Manager is smiling. She’s always smiling, after all, even when you’ve been misbehaving. And you have, you guess - spreading mischief in the castle isn’t really in the interest of your Mistress.
(Though you doubt Queen would mind. It’s not like she doesn’t constantly spread mischief herself.)
“You have something to say for yourself?” she huffs from above you, and you glance up just enough to see her legs, crossed right in front of you where she’s sitting, her white split dress falling right between them, trapped between her thighs, the sight sending another hot rush through your body - you know how soft the silicone is to the touch.
Her whip strikes you across the back, and your body twitches from the sudden pain erupting where she has hit you, moaning and back arching, silently begging for more. Tasque Manager hums.
“I’m sorry,” you pant, and God, you’re so wet, you’re so desperate. You need to her to fuck you, like, right now. “I’m sorry.”
Tasque Manager tuts, and you can see from the corner of your eyes how she reaches out. She cups your chin, the metal of her hands sending a cold shiver through you once it touches your naked skin, then she tilts your head upwards so you have to look at her. Smiling, always, even when it’s like this - maybe even especially when it’s like this.
“Not that,” she says, and her voice is deep and robotic, somewhat melodic even in a rhythmic way. “Don’t be silly.”
You swallow heavily, leaning into her touch, pressing your thighs together. Kneeling like this is starting to hurt, starting to ache where your knees touch the hard ground, not to mention how you’re completely naked in this not very warm room, but still, you wouldn’t exchange any of this for the world.
“Show me order, please,” you mutter finally, your gaze dropping back down to the floor, to the red carpet (that really doesn’t soften anything due to how thin it is).
Another quick strike of her whip, this time aimed right at your ass, and it almost feels like a reward. It stings deliciously, and you moan again, the sound growing louder as Tasque Manager grabs a fistful of your hair to pull your head into her direction. Then, she presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Good little girl. See? It’s not that hard.”
She’s being patronizing, she always is, even when she doesn’t even notice herself. Not that you mind; it only makes her hotter. It only makes all of this, this little game or whatever, all the more enjoyable.
Still, you’re not done yet. You really need to come.
“Please,” you repeat, and you let out a pathetic little whine as she stands up and circles around you, now standing behind you where you can’t see her. You don’t dare move or turn around - order. All of this is about order, for her, and you’ll need to keep her satisfied if you want to taste release. “Please make me come, Mistress.”
Another strike of her whip over your ass, and this time, Tasque Manager makes sure the spikes catch onto your skin, digging into your flesh for a few delicious seconds. Your moan hitches high, filling the entire room, and now, your eyes are burning with tears. Your ass is burning, too - her hand sinks down on it, cold against your flushed skin, and you hiss in pain.
She’s kneeling behind you, isn’t she? Another surge of excitement thrums through your veins, of pure desperation, and you buck your hips back, whining out a small moan, quietly begging her to get on with it.
As if on command, her hand dips between your thighs, rubbing over your pussy, a few of your pubic hairs getting stuck in the joints of her fingers for fractions of a second, making your hips twitch with the small tingles of pain. Though unplanned, definitely not unwelcome.
Finally, two of her fingers dip between your folds, brushing up and down your slit until they find your clit, and you gasp at the contact of cold, smooth metal against your hot, slick skin. You’re almost drooling, you think, and your arms and legs quiver beneath you, barely still able to hold your weight.
“So wet…” she mutters, and retracts her hand, which earns a disappointed whine from you. She swats your ass and you’re back to gasping. “Slowly I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.”
You want to answer, something clever maybe, something to impress her, but your mind is blank and white and hot. Turns out you don’t need to, anyway, because you hear the telltale rustling of fabric, and the thought of Tasque Manager finally pushing aside her dress makes you shiver and grin to yourself like an idiot.
“Oh, well. You’ve shown willingness to bring order back into your life, so I’ll give you this.”
Your mouth opens again, but before it can form the words thank you, she pushes inside of you, and a broken cry rips out your throat instead. Your head spins for a few moments until you’ve adjusted to her size, and even the dildo inside of you feels cold and smooth, just like everything about her.
Her hands grab your hips, and really, it’s the only thing still holding you steady. Your arms quiver even harder now, and you think you’ll crumble to the floor - then, Tasque Manager pulls out, before thrusting right back in, and your whole body jerks at the intrusion. You’re so wet that there’s really no resistance, of course, but it’s still overwhelming.
The cold metal of her hips smacks against your skin, and you moan. For a moment, you want to muffle your sounds with your hands, or a pillow, but then you realize you’re being fucked on the floor and you need your hands to keep you steady.
Then, she stops, and your head spins a few more times before you realize what she’s expecting. You definitely are drooling, now.
“Thank - thank you.”
Tasque Manager gives a satisfied hum, then she continues to fuck you, her pace growing harder and faster by the minute - but it’s rhythmic, controlled. You really don’t know how she manages to do it, but she’s always been utterly amazing.
Her hips rapidly crashing into yours, a new, burning pain erupts on your ass. The metal irritates the flesh tender from being whipped, and the burning sensation only adds to the bone chilling desperation you feel.
One of Tasque Manager’s hands lets go of your hips, and before you can wonder what exactly she’s doing, she reaches around in front of your thighs, and presses something cold and hard to your clit, still continuing to fuck you from behind. You have no idea what it is, and frankly, you can’t bring yourself to care, not when it rubs against your clit with every thrust, not when your entire body is tingling, not when you’re so wet you can feel yourself dripping onto the carpet. Your breasts bounce with every movement, your nipples hard against the cool air.
So many sensations. Frankly, you think you’ll go insane, and God, are you close already.
“Please,” you manage to sob out, slurry and high pitched and needy. You’re not sure what exactly you’re even begging for. “Please, please, please, Kitty -”
At the use of the pet name she lets go of your hips completely for just a moment, enough time to swat your ass once more, making you sob out in pain and excitement. You’re so, so close.
“Go on,” Tasque Manager whispers, her voice sounding vaguely distorted at such a low volume, and she punctuates her words with another thrust. “It’s fine. All is in order.”
And that’s it. Whatever it is that is pressed between your legs rubs against your clit again, sending hot sparks through your body, and she continues to fuck you as you desperately buck your hips to rub your clit against the cold surface of the object. You come, twitching and groaning, your arms giving out beneath you, and you press your face into the cool carpet as she fucks you through it.
A few heartbeats, you’re both still and silent, and Tasque Manager waits until your hips stop twitching - she always does. Then, she hums again, back to her usual volume, and when she stands up, your body slumps to the floor completely. You glance up, blinking against the light - she’s holding her whip. Which of course, isn’t unusual, but now you realize that the whip handle was the thing pressed between your thighs - you can see it glittering in the light, sticky from your fluids, making you gulp.
“Good. I will get someone to clean you up and bring you back to your room. After an hour of rest, you shall go back to your work, understood?”
You only manage to nod weakly. Still, her hand comes down on your head, giving you a small pet, and a smile spreads on your face.