“Celia, I had no idea you felt this way. Do you not love Patrick?” Gabe asked, in confusion.“Yes, my Master. I love Patrick. He has always been good to me. I will marry him tomorrow, and be a dutiful wife to him, but he can never be my Master, only you can be that,” Celia said with a sob.“Is that why you are here,” Gabe asked, “to tell me this?”“No, my Master,” Celia said, as she shook with fear and desire, “I am here to beg for one last gift from you. Will you hear a poor girl’s request?”The old Duke stood with clenched fists. He had long feared something like this. He had known since their time in the gardener’s shack, when he had rescued her, that Celia desired him. Now here it was again on the eve of her wedding. He prayed he had the strength to resist her. They had done nothing more serious than hug each other, and a occasional kiss on the cheek, since Celia had been at his manor. He had held her on walks in the garden, but that had never been serious.Now here she was addressing. I stood and stared, disbelieving, shaking with rage and fear and indignation and hopelessness and all the other things a woman was suppose to feel during a sexual assault. I began to cry. I shook my head. "Please," I begged weakly. "Please don't do this to me."But he just stood there. Again, I sensed that he wanted to communicate something to me, but lacked the power. Crying openly, I began unbuttoning my blouse. "Promise me you won't hurt me," I sobbed. "I'll do anything, but don't hurt me, please!" But his only response was to begin taking off his own clothes.I forced myself to keep going, taking off each piece of clothing and letting it fall at my feet. I made no pause at the bra, simply unsnapped it, dropped it, and bent to remove my shoes and socks. Get it over with, I thought to myself. Just do it and get it over with and hope he doesn't kill you. After the panties were gone, I stood there, eyes downcast, waiting, shaking, crying. But when I realized he had stopped moving as.
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