The Tsaritsa’s palace glittered. Icy chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting soft blue light throughout the hall. Sconces magically manipulated to glow in purple added to the ambiance as figures in black and white and blue milled among the marble columns. High heels clacked on the tiled floors and the whirling mosaic set in them. Musicians played in one corner, filling the room with sound so couples could dance.
Signora glimpsed the splendor for only an instant. Then the mask came down.
“It’s a masquerade, pet. You must wear it,” the Tsaritsa said earlier, while they squeezed into gowns encrusted with jewels.
“Of course, my Tsaritsa,” Signora had said. “I only lament that I will not get to see you.”
The Tsaritsa had smiled, the small, secret smile only Signora saw and only in private. She truly was stunning, blue hair crashing over her pale shoulders in waves, bust pushed up from her bejeweled gown, a lacy mask of white and blue obscuring part of her face. Her dress hugged her torso tight with a glimmering corset before flaring out in wispy trails of thin, flowing fabric. It made her look like a winter wind when she moved, a curl of air slicing through the room and commanding everyone’s attention.
Oh, how Signora longed to bask in her glory. Even now, wearing her blinding mask, clinging to the Tsaritsa’s arm, she knew everyone was looking, soaking in the beauty of Snezhnaya’s leader. Signora pushed her shoulders back, aglow with the knowledge that all those curious eyes also saw her, a mere Harbinger, but chosen by the Tsaritsa as her companion for this ball, wearing the leash the Tsaritsa herself held. No one else got to cling to her slender arm. No one else walked beside her. No one else heard the Tsaritsa’s voice close by their ear when she said, “Kneel, pet.”
Signora knelt. Cushions met her knees rather than cold tile.
For a time, she sat there on her knees with the Tsaritsa’s voice wafting over her. People came to greet her, to bask in her presence, but none of them got to stay as long as Signora. None of them got to feel the scrape of her nails along their scalp. None of them felt the pressure of her presence at the other end of the leash.
Signora’s knees ached. The collar chafed her neck. Her stomach grumbled as the scent of foods she could not see drifted to her. But she stayed exactly where the Tsaritsa had placed her, wearing her blinding mask, her restraining leash, her elegant gown.
Then the Tsaritsa tugged. “Up,” she said and Signora rose.
The Tsaritsa maneuvered Signora over her lap, setting her face down over her knees. Signora’s head swirled with her master’s scent, so close and vibrant like this. Silk whispered over Signora’s skin as the Tsaritsa pulled her dress up, exposing her before the entire party.
Signora trembled, but not from shame. Who could feel ashamed to be the Tsaritsa’s chosen, displayed and beloved and used before all?
Nails dragged up the undersides of Signora’s thighs, then over the swell of her ass.
“You’ve been very good,” the Tsaritsa said.
The Tsaritsa rubbed over Signora’s ass, idly gripping and squeezing at points. Murmurs bubbled somewhere around them, but every voice paled under the song of the Tsaritsa when she spoke to Signora.
“Would you like a reward?” the Tsaritsa said.
Signora gathered her breath. “If you deem me worthy, yes, Tsaritsa.”
The Tsaritsa’s laugh was plinks of ice striking a frozen pond. “My good girl,” she said. “Of course you’re worthy. Otherwise, you’d be dead.”
Then her fingers trailed to Signora’s hole, plunging in without warning. Signora gasped, but she was ready. She was always ready for her Tsaritsa. Two fingers slid easily into her pussy, pumping in slow strokes while Signora’s thighs quivered.
Though she could not see the aghast expressions of the onlookers, Signora could hear their gasps, their sharp inhales, their little stutters. It only made more heat flush her pussy, slicking her Tsaritsa’s probing fingers as they rocked inside her.
Suddenly, the Tsaritsa dragged those fingers out and slapped Signora’s cunt.
Signora yelped, jerking on the Tsaritsa’s lap, shuddering from the sharp pleasure spiking in her gut.
“Naughty thing,” the Tsaritsa said. “You like when they watch, don’t you?”
There was no sense in attempting to lie to her master. “I do,” Signora said.
Another slap, this one so hard Signora’s voice rose above the music still attempting to stumble along. Tears sprang to the corners of Signora’s eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.
The Tsaritsa rubbed over her abused pussy and a moan trembled out of Signora.
“Good girl,” the Tsaritsa said. “I’m sorry I need to punish you, but such things cannot be overlooked.”
Signora tried to offer her assent, but all that came out was a groan. She shivered in the Tsaritsa’s lap, cloaked in darkness, pussy so wet something was starting to trail down her thighs. The beautiful lights of the chandeliers must have been glinting off it by now, but Signora could only assume.
“That’s my girl,” the Tsaritsa purred, and her fingers slid back into Signora’s aching cunt.
She rocked her hand almost as though stroking Signora’s pussy, murmuring encouragement all the while. Signora whined in her lap, trying not to jerk her hips or cry out too loudly, but even those slow pets wound her so tightly she drooled. Signora chewed her lip to staunch the spittle, but it was a losing battle. Every bit of her body responded to the Tsaritsa’s hand – from her soaked pussy to her drooling lips to the tears collecting at the corners of her eyes. Sweat even prickled along her back as waves of heat crashed through her.
The Tsaritsa curled her fingers and the cries tumbled out of Signora. She forgot all about the party, all about the curious eyes, all about everything but those fingers inside her, the most beautiful, glorious fingers in all of Teyvat. She spread her legs wider, opening herself even more to her master’s supple touch.
“Please,” she babbled amid her moans of release.
Instantly, Signora knew her mistake.
The Tsaritsa pulled her fingers free and laid a stinging slap against Signora’s pussy. Signora jerked, her voice spiking even higher and louder in the echoing hall. But the Tsaritsa just pulled back and slapped her a second time, leaving her whole cunt sizzling with pain. Then she jabbed her fingers back in and a fresh jolt of pleasure crashed against the sparks and pinches of discomfort.
“You do not beg me like an animal,” the Tsaritsa said. “You’re better than that. You must be, to be among my chosen.”
“Y-yes, Tsarista,” Signora managed.
“Unfortunately, I’ve no choice but to punish you properly.”
Signora trembled, but did not fight or refute the judgment. If the Tsaritsa said it must be, then it must be.
Yet she did not remove her fingers, curling a deep, aching ecstasy into Signora with deep thrusts.
“Ah, but how I wish I could only reward you, my dear one,” she said. “How I long to hear you cry out only from pleasure, my beloved. Know that I do this only because I must.”
The Tsaritsa made one last, indulgent push deep into Signora. Then she dragged her fingers out. Signora braced, but it did little to change anything when the Tsaritsa slapped her cunt.
Signora was still reeling when the Tsaritsa said, “Turn over.”
She tried to obey, rolling onto her back on the Tsaritsa’s lap. It left her top half dangling off. Her heavy breasts fell out of the top of her dress. It hardly mattered. The Tsaritsa was pulling up her skirts as she hooked her arm under one of Signora’s legs to force it high.
In this tremendously open and exposed position, all Signora could do was wait.
For a few shivering breaths, the Tsaritsa left her like this, sprawled out over her lap, tits and pussy out for anyone to see, one leg raised high. Then she slapped her free hand down against Signora’s pussy.
It wasn’t like any of the strikes that came before. None of those smacked directly on Signora’s clit – this one did. The Tsaritsa brought her hand down with brutal swiftness and every overstimulated nerve in Signora’s pussy screamed at once.
Signora cried out, hips spasming as the tingle of pain reverberated through her whole body. But the Tsaritsa hardly gave her a moment to rest. Slap after slap swept down, each brutal strike cracking through the hall like a whip.
“You do not beg,” she said.
“You do not plead,” she said.
“You are my chosen and you take from this world—”
“—and receive from me. And me alone.”
The tears flowed freely now, but they were not the only thing dampening Signora’s face. She writhed and squirmed and moaned, her voice wavering out until she had no breath left with which to scream. Each slap met more slickness as her pussy gushed from the Tsaritsa’s attentions.
Still, she responded, as bidden: “Yes, Tsaritsa.”
And the Tsaritsa rewarded her at last, one final slap that broke everything coherent left in Signora. As the Tsaritsa’s hand came down and new pain flashed through Signora’s body, a rush of wetness squirted out of her. The Tsaritsa let her leg drop, but it was useless as Signora’s whole body shook from the orgasm now dripping on her thighs.
The Tsaritsa pet over her pussy as Signora struggled to calm herself.
“Good girl,” she said. “Such a good girl.”