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Always sending shivers through the bitch.Causing the bitch’s honey to pool between her legs.“As my bitch apparently is still unable to control herself I find it appropriate she have help getting these desires out of her system.”“Yes, Mistress. Your...”A sudden grip in her hair cutting the bitch short.“Only ‘Yes, Mistress,’ or ‘No, Mistress,’ or I might find new elements to your punishment.”The whip sting of words bringing focus back.“Y..Yes, Mistress!”Tension released from her head.A shuffling of items soon filled the room.“I see my bitch is already leaking quite badly. Such an undisciplined cunt.”“Yes, Mistress.”Shame filled her.For failing.For craving.“Worry not, dear bitch. I will help you learn.”Clop, clop, clop...Drawing nearer to the bitch.An sudden insertion into her cunt.Tension immediate.Oh no.A familiar thin pink protrusion now sticking out. “Recognize this, bitch?”“Yes, Mistress.”Fear.Excitement.Spreading like wildfire.“I had already purchased this as a gift for my precious. Her father smiled again; he was proud of his daughter. Few in Owldale, and certainly no woman, understood the Bible as well as Elizabeth; already the Elders were taking her into account, consulting her and listening to her thoughtfully, stroking their beards. Then, with the February sun rising over the fell behind the farmhouse, it was time for Elizabeth to go. The Candlemas market at the village was the first of the year, and the first of the four yearly visits of Isaac the Jew with his pack of those things the folk of Owldale couldn’t make for themselves; pins, needles, cotton thread, laudanum for their ills, tea, sugar, scissors and a host of other things. The farm had little to barter, but what they had Elizabeth took with her in a sack strapped to her back; eggs, apples from last years crop, carefully wrapped in hay and as sweet as when they’d been picked, a haunch of salt pork from the pig she’d slaughtered in the autumn. Hoisting her load of fifty pounds on to her back without.
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