The Queen asks for refreshments

The three girls stood together, a tableau of naked vulnerability. Sam, trying to reclaim her smirk but failing, rubbing her sore cheek. Erica, lost in a daze of turned-on submission. Cathy, openly weeping with shame and a confusing thrill.

Allison observed it all with deep satisfaction. Her kingdom had expanded. Her eyes then fell on the one anomaly in the room: Suki.

The Japanese girl was still curled near the sofa, fully dressed in her simple camisole and skirt, her eyes like dinner plates, taking in the scene of total debauchery.

“Suki,” Allison’s voice cut through the heavy air, not unkindly, but with the casual authority of someone used to being obeyed. “I’m thirsty. Be a darling and fetch me a drink from the kitchen. Something cold.”

Suki nodded mutely, scrambling to her feet, her movements jerky with relief and a strange sense of rejection. She practically fled from the room, the door swinging shut behind her, leaving the heated, scent-heavy air of the lounge for the comparative coolness of the hallway.

The silence of the kitchen was a physical shock. It was clean, orderly, and still. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. Suki leaned back against the cool wood of the door, her chest heaving. She pressed her palms flat against her eyes, trying to block out the images burned onto her retinas.

Allison’s powerful, glistening body. The sharp crack of palm on bare flesh. The sight of Anita, on her knees, using her mouth to strip the others with a terrifying efficiency. The twins’ bold nudity. Cathy’s tear-streaked face.

And her own hand. The memory of it, slick and warm, buried deep inside Allison. The feeling of that incredible, creamy wetness coating her fingers. The possessive weight of Allison’s gaze.

A hot wave of shame washed over her. She had participated. She had obeyed. She had… enjoyed it. The thrill of being chosen, of being the one allowed to touch the queen, had been undeniable. She had been a willing instrument in the humiliation of Anita, in the stripping of the others. Her own arousal, a damp, aching heat between her own thighs, was a traitorous testament to her complicity.

She was not an innocent bystander. She was an accomplice. The only one still clothed, perhaps because Allison saw her not as a ****, but as a favorite pet. The thought should have revolted her. Instead, it sent another illicit thrill through her.

Her hands trembled as she opened the refrigerator, the blast of cold air doing little to cool the fever in her skin. She grabbed a can of soda blindly, the aluminum icy against her burning palms.

She had come to England to study mathematics. To solve elegant, logical problems with clear solutions. There was no formula for this. No theorem that could explain the chaotic, raw power that had taken over her new home, or the dark, hungry thing it had awakened inside of her.

She was guilty. She was aroused. And she was desperately afraid of what would be asked of her when she had to return to that room.