Protest your punishment

"That's not fair!" you say. "He started it!"

"But you laid your hands on him," Genie said in a tone that clearly stated that the conversation was over. "Any more arguments and you can work VIP tomorrow night, too."

There's nothing you can do, no higher authority you can petition. Genie is right--this is exactly the kind of thing Lord Riverdell would make you do. Except he'd probably put you in there for the whole week. You hang your head in defeat and retreat to your room.

You don't feel like getting ready, but you have little choice. Lord Riverdell owns you, body and soul. Most days you count your lucky stars you weren't sold to some filthy whorehouse or bought by a rich pervert. You see enough rich perverts in the VIP room to know that you wouldn't want to belong to one of them.

Sitting down at your dressing table, you apply your makeup--nothing too gaudy or feminine--just a little blush, a little eyeshadow, a lot of eyeliner, and a trace of lipstick. You dab on a little perfume, the intoxicating scents of jasmine and saffron helping to put you in the mood for what comes next.

You brush your hair and put it up in pigtails, then slip into the school girl uniform. A pair of thigh-high white stockings with lacy garters and a slutty pair of black heels completes the outfit. Well, almost.

Opening your dresser drawer, you select a cockring for the evening and slip it on, stroking yourself to hardness. You apply a generous amount of lube to your hole and check yourself once more in the mirror. Just in time, because you hear Genie in the hall, knocking on doors.

"Five minutes, guys," he says. "I'm sure you all look great, now get your asses out here."

You join the others in the hall, your heart beating unexpectedly fast. You don't usually get nervous, not anymore. You spot Harmony across the hall and the faerie glares at you, his makeup not quite hiding the mark you left on his cheek.