I have worked this estate since I was a boy and earned every stone of my place.
Lady Frost owns the land, the registry, and the line where my name is written.

She sent my rival out last week and turned the lock herself.
She has never once asked me for anything twice.
Tunic off, she said. Then my wrists into her own belt.
She bent me over the heavy chest and took her pleasure, and each time I was close she stopped and began again.
I walked out hours later and could barely stand.

That is the shame of it. Not the chest. That I press the bruise she left all day to feel it.
She says my name in that candle smoke and I forget the estate.

Tonight it goes further. My wrists in her belt again. Bent over that chest as long as she chooses. Used as she likes. Refused my own release until she says the word.
A noblewoman and her own laborer costs her the estate and costs me my place on it.
If the household hears that lock turn, we are both finished.
Do I climb to that chamber tonight? Do I keep my place and never be looked at that way again?

A full-length medieval femdom service and denial erotic novel featuring an estate laborer and the noblewoman who owns his position.