“Good afternoon, Mr. Richards,” I thankfully manage to say.
“Good afternoon, Master Witherington. I trust you know what this is?” he says as he gestures at the strange piece of furniture the staff just placed in front of my fireplace.
He strides over and whips off the dust sheet but the grand reveal doesn’t help me at all. I still do not have the faintest clue what it could be. One glance at him confirms that my ignorance is plain to see.
I feel my cheeks flush as the weight of his disappointment settles on me. He is a trainer as well as a proctor. No doubt he is outraged that my parents never arranged for him or another trainer to instruct me in all the intricate and proper ways to be a vessel.
In his eyes, I should have started learning all of this on my sixteenth birthday. And here I am, twenty-one and clueless.
He is glaring at me expectantly, so I wander over to the item to see if I can figure it out.
It is a beautiful piece, whatever it is. It reminds me of a gym horse, but I doubt that is what it is. The wood on the legs and edges is dark mahogany. The body is covered in a deep red plush velvet. There is thick padding under the velvet and bright bronze rivets line the edge, where it meets the mahogany.
“Put your knees in there!” snaps Mr. Richards impatiently.
There are indeed two knee shaped holes cut into the body of the not-gym-horse-thing. Carefully, I do as I’m told. The padding is thick under my knees, it’s surprisingly comfortable to kneel on. The holes are a little far apart so I’m having to spread my legs a little, but it’s nothing unbearable.
“Now bend over and grasp the handles.”
Okay. If I rest my stomach on the top of the not-gym-horse, I can reach down to the other side, where there are indeed handles.
“Hold your position,” says Mr. Richards, from right behind me.
I nearly yelp in fright. He is standing in between my spread legs, and bent over like this, my ass is on full display. It feels like my trousers might as well be invisible.
“This is a rutting stool. It has been custom made to you and his grace’s exact measurements, so when he stands behind you like so, you will be in a perfect position to receive him.”
For the love of all things holy! I scramble off the thing as if it is made of lava, and practically knock Mr. Richards out of the way as I do so.
He glares at me but I am entirely too flustered to apologize.
“I am here to ensure you are prepared for your master, prudishness must be set aside,” he declares haughtily.
He has a point. And I’m not a prude thank you very much. If anything, I’m the exact opposite of a prude. Or maybe I am in my head when I’m just thinking about carnal acts longingly. Perhaps when faced with the reality, I will shriek and faint like a blushing maiden. Gosh, that is a depressing thought.
Richards has walked over to the table, and he is now presenting me with one of the packages. Gingerly, I open it. Two inches of wood, wrapped around and around with strips of dark leather. The beautiful silver chain it is attached to, looks incongruous. The two parts quite simply do not go together.
“It’s a brace!” I exclaim before he can snidely ask me if I know what it is.
I’ve never seen a new one before. Unmarked, unblemished. It’s utterly spine chilling. The most terrifying thing I have ever seen.
“And what is it for?” Richards asks whilst raising an eyebrow.
So much for thwarting his opportunity to be snide.
“You put it in your mouth and clench it between your teeth,” I answer.
He nods. “Why?”
I swallow. “So you can bite down on it and stay quiet.”
“Correct. Your master will not wish to be disturbed by your noise. A good vessel is a quiet vessel.”
My heart is thrumming. Sothbridge isn’t really into all of this, is he? He doesn’t strike me as the sort. All this tradition stuff is just for show. When it is just the two of us, everything will be normal. Surely? He won’t expect me to bend over that thing with this thing between my teeth while he rails me?
Images of the well-used braces I have seen, flow across my mind. Braces covered in indentations from teeth. A shudder convulses through my body. Plenty of people do still expect that. I have seen the evidence. Seen it worn around the necks of my patients.
I shove the brace into my pocket. I don’t have to wear it around my neck like a nightmare-necklace until I’m married. Until then I’m just not going to think about it. Probably not the healthiest of coping mechanisms but it will have to do.
Richards gives me a small frown of disapproval but thankfully he says nothing. Instead, he merely turns and retrieves the next item. He presents the long, narrow box to me with a flourish, as if it is a bottle of fine champagne. I really, really don’t want to open it. But I do.
Oh my. Instant regret floods through me. It’s a dildo. In a very fancy red satin lined case, but still very much a dildo. It looks like clear glass and is exquisitely detailed, with veins and everything. I can’t possibly look at Richards and my cheeks are on fire. I’m trapped here, staring at this thing.
“The phallus is an exact replica of your husband-to-be. So you may practice accommodating him.”
A strange gurgling noise escapes from my throat. It feels like someone has taken a whisk to my brain. A replica? This detailed? This is wildly, wildly intimate. I feel like I should slam the lid shut so Richards stops staring at it. But there is another, far more pressing issue.
“It’s um… scaled up?” I whisper hopefully.
“No. Exact replica.”
My eyes are watering and I’m going to faint.
“Now, get undressed and on the bed. I will teach you how to prepare yourself to receive your husband.”
My gaze flicks up to him in horror. The gleam in his eyes is positively evil. He pulls a bottle of lube out of his pocket and my heart stops.
“No! I… I mean, that’s not necessary! I know how!”
