Choice and Consequences
This came out of something aldersprigsaid, whether she meant it or not.
Ultimately, NSFW.
Trigger warnings: nonconsensual drug use, marking & bondage.
Read below the cut if you want to continue.
Frin was no longer sure that taking on this position, accepting permanency, had been a good idea.
When her old Lady, last of her Family, had died she like the servitors and the other assistors had been thrown into disarray. In their classes the ideal was for bloodline to serve bloodline, marching through the generations together. The Family was not supposed to just...die out. Lady Jessica had done her best, but nothing had worked. In the end she had pulled enough money out of the Family assets into her own accounts to leave everyone sworn to the Family a nest egg in her will.
The assistors and servitors attached to the Family business interests had been snapped up by those asset’s inheritors, the Family would have been profitable even if there’d been much more Family than Lady Jessica for the last twenty years. The kitchen and wait staff had incorporated in their own right to run a restaurant - it might be a risky move but better than trying to find a position when all the Families had fully staffed kitchens.
Frin had done office work while she tried to find another place. Working for a business and with people with whom she had no bond other than a pay cheque was not, she discovered, for her. So she had leapt at the temporary position with Lord Dalwyn.
Lord Dalwyn had taken on the three of them for a year and had been quite clear that at the end of that time he had a permanent position for only one. They had all of them, Quenna, Halzeal and Frin, been under twenty-five. The other two were seeking positions because their Families couldn’t afford to employ all the assistors born in their households; Frin had felt smug on her own, lost Family’s behalf on that point. She heard the stories about Lord Dalwyn of course, once she entered that first year of service people had made sure they were told to her. He had dealt fairly with her, with them all, so she had disregarded the tales: that he was born a Lord but raised in another Family as an assistor; that he had taken permanent ink with the Lord responsible for his abduction; and that when he had found out his true origins, he had killed his Lord and obliterated his binding tattoos with the man’s heart’s blood himself. Now she wondered whether she should have listened.
Perhaps she should have been wary that day when she’d woken up late and panicked because that was the day Lord Dalwyn was telling them which of them was staying. She’d dashed through making herself presentable and flown down the stairs to find Lord Dalwyn waiting for her over breakfast. “Don’t panic,” he’d told her, “I arranged for you to sleep in while I discharged the others.” He’d motioned her to sit at the vacant place and poured her a glass of milk. “I don’t have enough staff to fully employ Quenna’s organisational talents and I realised some time ago that Halzeal was actually an agent for Lady Ambrosia, reporting to her on my activities. They have their references and their bonuses as agreed, and in Quenna’s case an introduction to someone who can use her particular talents. Now,” he’d passed her the sugar, “Do you want the permanent position?”
She’d said yes and he’d had her inked that day, holding her hands, one at a time of course, through the tattooing process. It was a less complicated Family mark than many, but she hadn’t realised how much having the ink done would hurt.
While the backs of her hands were healing she’d thought to ask why he had offered her the permanent position. “You assume that if you’ve been given a task then it is an assistor-level task. You carry out tasks that are new to you without questioning whether you are the right person for the task and you raise unexpected developments with me if you are unclear as to my intentions.”
With those words in mind, perhaps more recent developments weren’t so unexpected.
He re-entered the darkened room and she mewed against the gag while struggling against the rope network binding her in place in the way he liked. “I need heirs,” he’d told her that first time when her hands had just healed, “and I don’t see why we shouldn’t have fun while we get them.” She’d seen his scars, she had a fair idea of how his ideas of ‘fun’ had been formed. It explained why he hadn’t made an alliance with a Lady for his begetting.
It didn’t explain why, when he ran his hands up her body and sucked on the breasts pushed up by his ropes, she enjoyed it.
Ultimately, NSFW.
Trigger warnings: nonconsensual drug use, marking & bondage.
Read below the cut if you want to continue.
Frin was no longer sure that taking on this position, accepting permanency, had been a good idea.
When her old Lady, last of her Family, had died she like the servitors and the other assistors had been thrown into disarray. In their classes the ideal was for bloodline to serve bloodline, marching through the generations together. The Family was not supposed to just...die out. Lady Jessica had done her best, but nothing had worked. In the end she had pulled enough money out of the Family assets into her own accounts to leave everyone sworn to the Family a nest egg in her will.
The assistors and servitors attached to the Family business interests had been snapped up by those asset’s inheritors, the Family would have been profitable even if there’d been much more Family than Lady Jessica for the last twenty years. The kitchen and wait staff had incorporated in their own right to run a restaurant - it might be a risky move but better than trying to find a position when all the Families had fully staffed kitchens.
Frin had done office work while she tried to find another place. Working for a business and with people with whom she had no bond other than a pay cheque was not, she discovered, for her. So she had leapt at the temporary position with Lord Dalwyn.
Lord Dalwyn had taken on the three of them for a year and had been quite clear that at the end of that time he had a permanent position for only one. They had all of them, Quenna, Halzeal and Frin, been under twenty-five. The other two were seeking positions because their Families couldn’t afford to employ all the assistors born in their households; Frin had felt smug on her own, lost Family’s behalf on that point. She heard the stories about Lord Dalwyn of course, once she entered that first year of service people had made sure they were told to her. He had dealt fairly with her, with them all, so she had disregarded the tales: that he was born a Lord but raised in another Family as an assistor; that he had taken permanent ink with the Lord responsible for his abduction; and that when he had found out his true origins, he had killed his Lord and obliterated his binding tattoos with the man’s heart’s blood himself. Now she wondered whether she should have listened.
Perhaps she should have been wary that day when she’d woken up late and panicked because that was the day Lord Dalwyn was telling them which of them was staying. She’d dashed through making herself presentable and flown down the stairs to find Lord Dalwyn waiting for her over breakfast. “Don’t panic,” he’d told her, “I arranged for you to sleep in while I discharged the others.” He’d motioned her to sit at the vacant place and poured her a glass of milk. “I don’t have enough staff to fully employ Quenna’s organisational talents and I realised some time ago that Halzeal was actually an agent for Lady Ambrosia, reporting to her on my activities. They have their references and their bonuses as agreed, and in Quenna’s case an introduction to someone who can use her particular talents. Now,” he’d passed her the sugar, “Do you want the permanent position?”
She’d said yes and he’d had her inked that day, holding her hands, one at a time of course, through the tattooing process. It was a less complicated Family mark than many, but she hadn’t realised how much having the ink done would hurt.
While the backs of her hands were healing she’d thought to ask why he had offered her the permanent position. “You assume that if you’ve been given a task then it is an assistor-level task. You carry out tasks that are new to you without questioning whether you are the right person for the task and you raise unexpected developments with me if you are unclear as to my intentions.”
With those words in mind, perhaps more recent developments weren’t so unexpected.
He re-entered the darkened room and she mewed against the gag while struggling against the rope network binding her in place in the way he liked. “I need heirs,” he’d told her that first time when her hands had just healed, “and I don’t see why we shouldn’t have fun while we get them.” She’d seen his scars, she had a fair idea of how his ideas of ‘fun’ had been formed. It explained why he hadn’t made an alliance with a Lady for his begetting.
It didn’t explain why, when he ran his hands up her body and sucked on the breasts pushed up by his ropes, she enjoyed it.