The library was dimly lit, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows across the room.
The sound of rain pelting against the windows indicated a storm outside, similar to the one that had ensued inside.
Every now and then, a flash of lightning would illuminate the room, revealing the intricate details of the manor's grand library, the armchair that had no occupant, and two figures on the floor. One of them devouring another's foot like a starved beast.
Jonah raised his head, his heart pounding as he watched Guinevere. She was sitting back, her gaze fixed on his tongue.
The dim light from the single lamp beside her cast her in a soft glow, making her look almost ethereal. Her dark hair framed her face perfectly, and the loose shirt she wore—his shirt—hung off her shoulders in a way that was both casual and tantalizing.
He swallowed hard, unsure of what to expect.
Guinevere was angry. He made her angry. And now he was receiving the punishment for his mistake. He couldn't deny the thrill it gave him.
"Come here," she commanded.
Jonah hesitated for a moment, then crawled forward, his knees nearly silent on the thick carpet. He stopped a few inches away from her, waiting for her to say something, to tell him what she wanted. But she just stared at him, her expression unreadable.
Her eyes were dark and unfathomable.
"Closer," she said.
He leaned closer until he was kneeling right in front of her.
He could feel the heat of her body, the slight chill in the air around them making the warmth of her proximity all the more noticeable.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Jonah's breath was uneven, his nerves on edge as he waited for her next move.
Guinevere leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face.
She reached out and lightly touched his cheek, her fingers cold against his skin. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, not from the chill but from the way she looked at him—as if he were something to be studied, to be dissected.
"Bark," she said.
Jonah's heart skipped a beat. There was no hesitation this time; he raised his head in front of her, his eyes locked on hers.
The position felt both humiliating and strangely comforting—being at her mercy, giving her control.
It was what she wanted, what she demanded, and what he, in some twisted part of himself, desired.
"Woof! Woof!"
Guinevere's lips curled into a faint smile as she looked down at him. She stood up. She placed her hand on his head, running her fingers through his hair with a gentleness that contrasted with the coldness in her eyes.
"You look so pathetic like this," she hummed, her voice almost singing. "Like a dog begging for attention."
Jonah felt his face flush with shame, but he didn't move. He stayed on his knees, looking up at her, waiting for her to do something—anything—to break the tension that was building between them.
"Woof!" he barked again, panting and sticking out his tongue.
But Guinevere was in no hurry. She enjoyed watching him squirm, bark, pant, and see the mix of emotions play out on his face. She let her hand linger in his hair for a moment longer before pulling it away and sitting back in the chair.
"Fetch me a book," she said suddenly.
Jonah blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.
"Which one?" he asked.
"Since when did dogs speak?" she replied, her humming stopped. "You should've just wagged your tail and brought anything, you fucking whore."
Jonah trembled.
He crossed her again.
He got to his knees and hurried to one of the nearby shelves, scanning the titles. He was going to grab one but he felt chills on his naked back. He opened his mouth and used his tongue to draw out a book. He struggled as he picked it up in his mouth.
He crawled to her feet. Raising the book up with his mouth as if handing it to her like a dog would.
Guinevere took it from him without a word, flipping through the pages as if she were truly interested in it.
But Jonah knew better. This was just another one of her games, another way to toy with him.
"Sit," she ordered.
Jonah's stomach twisted with a mix of emotions, but he obeyed, sitting down on the floor beside her chair.
He felt like a dog at his master's feet, waiting for a scrap of attention or affection. It was degrading, and yet, how much he wanted to grab her attention by biting his master!
Alas! He was far too terrified of making her angry again to do that.
Guinevere ignored him as she read the book.
The minutes stretched on, the only sounds in the room the rain against the windows and the occasional crack of thunder.
Jonah's mind raced with thoughts of what she might do next, of what he wanted her to do next. He tried to stay calm, but the tension in the room was suffocating.
He was desperate. Naked and shivering, fearing to lean in closer for any warmth.
After what felt like an eternity, Guinevere closed the book with a soft thud and set it aside. She looked down at Jonah, her eyes glittering with something dark and unreadable.
"Did you enjoy that?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jonah didn't know how to respond.
He felt foolish, sitting there at her feet.
"I asked you a question," she said coldly, chilling him more than the cold outside.
"Yes," Jonah replied quickly.
Guinevere smiled faintly, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
She leaned forward and cupped his chin in her hand, forcing him to look up at her.
"You weren't supposed to though," she whispered, her breath warm against his face. "It was a punishment."
"You're not supposed to enjoy punishments."
Jonah swallowed hard, his was throat dry. Needles pierced his tongue as he licked his teeth in the absence of an answer in his mouth.
He wanted to say something, to defend himself, but there was no excuse he had. He was trapped in her gaze, unable to break free.
Guinevere released his chin and stood up, towering over him as he remained on the floor. She walked around him slowly, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.
"Do you want me?" she asked, her voice was still cold.
Jonah's heart pounded in his chest.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Guinevere laughed softly, a sound that sent chills through him. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear.
"Then beg for it," she said, her voice cold and commanding.
Jonah's breath caught in his throat.
The humiliation of the demand hit him like a wave, but so did the undeniable arousal that came with it.
He was trapped, caught between his pride and his desire, but in the end, there was no choice. He was already hers, in every sense of the word.
"Please," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, Guinevere."
She stepped back, looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and disdain.
"That's not how dogs beg," she said.
"Woof!," Jonah barked, his voice louder this time, though still laced with desperation. "Woof! Woof!"
He barked as he nuzzled at her feet. Panting and breathing hard.
His dick was hard again. Throbbing and pulsating with desire.
Guinevere smiled, a cruel twist of her lips.
She walked around him again, like a predator circling its prey.
"A dog wants to fuck his master," she said, humming again. "What a bad dog."
Jonah's heart sank as he heard those words.
He clung to her legs more and barked and panted more desperately as if telling her that he wasn't a bad dog.
Guinevere crouched down beside him, her hand once again tangling in his hair. She pulled his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at her.
"Do you think you deserve me?" she asked, mockingly.
He knew he didn't, but that didn't stop him from wanting her, from needing her.
He shook his head, whimpering.
Guinevere's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Good," she said. "Now, what a nice master I am. Taking care of this ungrateful whore."
She released him and stood up, walking back to the chair and sitting down with a grace that seemed effortless.
Jonah remained on the floor, his head bowed, his body tense with anticipation and frustration.
"Come here," she said, her voice softer now, almost gentle.
Jonah crawled to her, his heart racing as he reached her feet. He looked up at her, hoping for a sign of affection, of acceptance, but her expression remained cold and distant.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, her voice calm and measured.
Jonah nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
Guinevere reached out and touched his face, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
"Let me give you a treat," she said simply.
She opened her legs wide, revealing her pussy. Wet and damp, it was light pink and flushed red.
"Eat," she commanded.
Jonah crawled to her hurriedly and pushed his face between her legs, panting and breathing as if they were his last breaths.