Edward could only blink uncertainly before her, wildly on display. “Y-yes, Miss?” he squeaked.
“Yes,” she said, eying him slowly up and down, “yes indeed…” She licked her lips again and worked to catch her breath. “Tell me, Master Edward,” she began, her voice syrupy sweet, “are you comfortable?”
Edward bit his lip. Of course he was not comfortable! He was shamed and humiliated, with the chambermaids smirking on either side, and he felt less a human being than a great piece of red meat hanging on a hook in a butcher’s shop. And he was acutely aware, too, of how fat and engorged his mindless c**k stood, how brutishly obvious. Why, the wicked thing was pointed straight at the good lady who worked so diligently at trying to rectify his behavior, its bulbous head swollen and purple, and glis
