Betua, your Gallic

You wake up in discomfort, and it only takes you a few seconds to figure out why - you're lying strewn across one of your couches, where you clearly passed out last night after your party. The good news is that your cock feels very nice, as a red-headed young woman is currently fellating it...well, if not enthusiastically. The pale-skinned woman kneeling between your legs wears only a small, heavy collar, which marks her as a **** to your household; your only ****, as a matter of fact. Your father was a generous sort, and all of the other slaves were freed upon his ****. This girl, however, he had purchased in your name, and she remains your property. Which, it must be said, has its uses. And diversions.

Betua is sucking your cock almost mechanically, which is pleasant enough, but not exactly stellar work. You sigh and reach out, gently stopping her. "Wha-" You clear your throat and lick your lips, surprised at how parched you are. Damn the drinking. "What are you doing, Betua?"

"Apologies, dominus," Betua says, dropping her eyes to the floor. She's slightly built and you've always enjoyed her small, perky breasts; your hungover eyes fasten on them now, and you blink away your stupor. "Last night, you...you and your friends got rather drunk, and you ordered me to wake you up no later than the third hour after dawn, dominus. You...told me that was how I was to do it."

"Oh," you rub the sleep out of your eyes. Well, if she were going to suck your cock, it would have at least behooved her to do a good job of it. Oh well.

"Will...that be all, dominus?" Betua asks, looking a tiny bit hopeful.