She began to feel exasperated, her skin growing hot, sweat gathering at the roots of her hair. At one point she moved frantically up and down, and discovered that the motion mimicked, in some way, the rubbing against the sensitive nub Mr. Blackstone had used to make her spend.
But she was not to do that, she reminded herself sharply.
She strained to look behind her to the door, as if she could better detect through the thick walls and endless corridors if Dr. Doyle were approaching. As she did this, she felt a stab of arousal in her center, and so she twisted the other way. She pressed her legs together and bounced up and down, and though it was very, very remote, she could feel the tiniest stimulation on the bud between her legs. It seemed, coming to her most naturally, that if she continued to do this, to give it these little stabs of pleasure, she might again be relieved of the horrible craving, by spending.
But the harder she worked at the endeavor, the more it aroused her, and never served to cure the need building up inside of her. Rivulets of sweat trickled down her back, snaking over her spine, nestling into the valley between her buttocks, licking her pleasantly sore hole with the promise of attention that would never be sufficient.
How long did she exert herself in the attempt? She would never know for certain, but it seemed like hours. With her body screaming for release, riding a wave that only grew larger and never crested, she at last gave up. She would do as Dr. Doyle had requested, when he returned, for there was no other option. She endured time on her knees, upright, for as long as she could, and then slowly settled into pressured slump that so tortured and aroused her, for as long as she could endure that.
She was alerted to the arrival of Dr. Doyle by the cool air that caressed her sweaty skin when he opened the door. He said nothing, and Lina was afraid to speak, for if she displeased him and received another minute of this discipline, she was afraid she might not endure it.
When he swept his fingers lightly down her back, a feathery caress from her neck to her lower back, and then further, between her buttocks, to the raw opening of her bottom, she gasped. “Oh!” she could not help breathing. He gently teased the circumference of her bottom hole, the light touch of his fingers teasing the soreness and the pleasure back to raging life.
“Now, Miss Blanchet. Have you learned your lesson? Will you submit to me and call me master?”
Her voice was shaky, but she did not hesitate. “Yes, master.”
“Are you very sorry for your naughtiness, Miss Blanchet?” His voice teased her, like his fingers.
“I am very sorry, master,” she pleaded. She brought her lips together tightly, and pressed them closed, but could not stop herself from moaning, desperately, “Please.”
He gathered her soaked hair to one side, sending a shiver through her as his fingers and her own hair caressed her upper shoulders. Playing with the back of her neck in the same lazy, teasing way that he was touching her bottom, he asked her. “Please, what, Miss Blanchet?”
Her head dropped forward. Her arms were almost shaking, and her legs had begun to tremble much as they had when Mr. Blackstone had made her spend. And yet she knew that she was frighteningly far away from any such release. “P...pp...please,” she whispered, and then moaned, for Dr. Doyle at that moment pushed on the center of the ball and dipped it inside of her. The change in sensation traveled through her entire body. “Ppp...please...”
What had she been intending to say?
“Master,” she whispered. “Please, I cannot... please, let me down, allow me to... to...”
As much as she wanted to, desperately, she could not form the words.
“This is what you must learn, Miss Blanchet. You must learn that your masters will grant you every wish you may have, but you must dispose of the modesty that you have been taught, for I shall not give you what you want unless you submit yourself fully to my will and ask me for it, as I have requested. When you say the words, you shall feel shame, but that is why I am making you say them, for you must embrace your humiliation and shame as part of your submission. It is what you give to me, so that I know you are obedient and willing to please me in all ways. You shall recognize, once you have learned this lesson, that submission will bring you intense pleasure. Then you will do it willingly. So, again, Miss Blanchet, say what you desire for me to do. Beg me to do it and call me master.”
As he spoke, he moved his fingers in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive places, and she trembled like a leaf, losing control of herself. Tears formed in her eyes as she struggled to form the words he had requested. She bit her lip and moaned. The ache in her bottom, and the ache between her legs, were both nearly unbearable now. She felt as if she might faint at any moment, if she were driven to further madness by this punishment.
“I want... I want... please, master, I www... www...want...” she mewled. “I want to... please, take me down from this device, I cannot bear any more. I www...www...want to sp...sp...spend. Please. Master.”
Saying the words indeed had the effect Dr. Doyle had described to her. As she pronounced the word she had never known to mean anything except to use money, a hot wave of shame engulfed her, and her already hot skin burned. The ache inside of her moved and kicked, and set even her abdomen to shaking like her legs.
For a terrible minute or two, Doyle said nothing, and she sank from her knees and howled as the hook pressed against her bottom. At last, she felt a slackening—of the restraints on her arms, and above her. She sank to rest upon her calves, shaking with relief.
He pressed his fingers against the small of her back, prodding her forward. “Lie down on the table, Miss Blanchet, but leave your knees on this stool. There, very nice, just as you did for Mr. Blackstone. Now, open your legs, spread them apart so that I may examine what lies between them.”
She did as he commanded, but when it was time to spread her legs, she did it slowly, in hesitant increments. The position was so very... scandalous, and improper.
“Do not be timid, Miss Blanchet. The time for modest, proper behavior has passed. Open your legs wide, to the edges of the stool, and raise your bottom in the air for me. Present the holes of my pleasure to me to do with as I desire. This is the obedience you must learn.”
She scooted her legs to the edges of the long footstool, quite wide. The torrent of liquid arousal between her legs ran down both inner thighs. The hook, still embedded inside of her, shifted and made a low moan flutter to life within her chest.
Without warning, Dr. Doyle placed a finger on the center of her lady parts, and stroked it, making her yelp and then turn silent with overwhelming pleasure as the wave began to build again. He continued to stroke her, painfully slowly, but still, she was nearing the blessed juncture when she would go careening over the edge, she could feel it. All that was required of her was to bend over and allow Dr. Doyle to do this to her, and then she would be—
She was so very close that her chest had become tight and she was no longer breathing, when Doyle’s finger stopped moving. She let out a long cry, turning her face to the bed. “Oh! Dr. Doyle, doctor...mmm...master, please, I beg of you, I cannot... you must...”
He pulled the anal hook slowly, and it stretched her bottom as it was pulled from inside of her. The terrible feeling of emptiness returned to her. He used a single finger to trace the stretched and sore circle of her intimate ring, his finger dipped inside, rubbing places on her body she herself had never, ever touched.
Then, another object pushed inside of her, and she knew it was the piece she had spent the day with, the one that reached so far inside of her. Though she knew it was utterly ridiculous to feel that way, she closed her eyes in pleasure when the object was securely back in place, and she again felt filled.
But nothing had been done about the mounting ache. As the doctor took his time with her, slowly moving his fingers over her body, her legs, her intimate parts, Lina’s breath became wild and panicked.
He drove her to the point of madness with his fingers, an
d then retracted his touch, leaving her to fall back to normal on her own. This seemed to go on for hours, and she was sobbing into the bed when he leaned over her and whispered, “But Mr. Blackstone has given me instructions, and so they are yours as well. You are not to spend, nor are you to make yourself spend.” His fingers slipped into her wet flower and gave her one last jolt of pleasure before forsaking her to her pain. “Your body belongs to your masters. And so you must not relieve yourself. You will wait until Mr. Blackstone approves. Only with this discipline shall you come to understand what it means to be submissive. Do you understand, Miss Blanchet?”
She had to breathe out a sob of despair first. “Yes, Master,” she managed to say.
“You will thank me now for this session of discipline.”
“Bbbb...but,” she began, but realized she would be punished if she did anything other than what he commanded. Surely they would not leave her like this? Surely they did not believe that she would last all night? And how would they know if she had done such a thing?
“Yes, master. Thank you, master,” she whispered.
He released her hands and the collar about her neck. She rested her face breathlessly against the table.
“Dress yourself, Miss Blanchet. We will attend dinner together with Mr. Blackstone, so you must hurry to your quarters and change your clothing.”
He pulled on a cable with a wooden handle. Somewhere in the estate, her escort was summoned.
Chapter Fifteen
“She is quite surely a virgin,” Doyle said, before even sitting down. He poured himself a drink and looked pointedly at his longtime friend. “Have you considered that the girl’s story is true? For even if she exceeded the bounds of decency with this gentleman—”
“The wheels are in motion,” Blackstone said in his typically curt fashion. By this, he meant that Laroui was already en route to England, but Doyle knew him very well; he was thundering like this for he had some doubts himself.
“Pity,” Doyle commented, after taking a sip of whiskey and arching an eyebrow at Blackstone. “She is everything we might have wanted. While she is spirited, she is aroused by submission and discipline. It shall be a mere trick to make her yearn for it, and yearn to please us.”
“Laroui,” Blackstone said sharply, at the same time that Doyle said “us.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Doyle insisted.
Blackstone said nothing.
Doyle took a sip of his whiskey. “I believe her,” he continued, setting the glass down. He looked up at Blackstone. “About the young gentleman. She has never changed her story with regard to her behavior.”
Blackstone frowned more deeply and said nothing. He was sitting beneath a reading lamp and the scarred side of his face was visible to Doyle, from whom he did not hide it. Doyle, after all, had been the one to rescue him, and attempt to repair the damage from the accident.
The scarring was not terrible. It marred somewhat the striking, intense beauty of the man, but he was far from hideous, and in some ways, it gave his ethereal beauty a more masculine edginess than he had previously possessed.
But Blackstone did not hide from the light and the sight of society in order to keep his scar hidden; that was merely the story they had concocted. Blackstone hid in the shadows to hide the unmistakable beauty, and recognizability, of his countenance.
Now, he pressed his fingertips together and closed his eyes.
“An opportunity,” Doyle pressed, delicately, “like this one is most unlikely to occur again. Should you not consider—?”
“Doyle,” Blackstone said quietly, but in a tone of voice that was laced with the dangerous side of his personality. “I have naturally ‘considered’ everything you speak of.”
Doyle waited. Blackstone was a stubborn man. It would do no good to press him further, not at this moment. He was also certain that if the lovely Miss Blanchet had not yet worked her charms on Blackstone, it would not be long before she would, and then, surely, he would see the error of his judgment.
Laroui would be a problem, but Laroui was a mercenary man who surely could be placated with money.
Which Blackstone had a great deal of, provided that Laroui kept his secret.
Doyle guarded his silence, and Blackstone brooded for so long that Doyle was almost unsure what he referenced when he said, at last, “Perhaps.”
The comment hung in the air, and then Blackstone inhaled deeply and rose to his feet. “Shall we go to dinner, then, my good friend? We shall see how obedient the young Miss Blanchet has been.”
* * *
Lina had been escorted back to her room, and told to rest and change for dinner. A servant, she was told, would be along after her rest, to assist her with her dress and her hair.
When the door was closed behind her, Lina had the intention of pacing the room, for she found that she could not sit still or lie down; her body was too full of wild emotions and arousal to stay in one place. As she moved, however, the object inside of her made her even more desirous to spend, so much so that she could even feel a light sheen of sweat on her skin, as though she were playing sport.
With great difficulty, she wriggled out of her dress, and sat on the bed. She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes tightly.
Never in her life had she felt such a craving before. Certainly, the feeling itself was not totally new to her. Words like discipline, and manuals about flogging the maid, and thoughts like those, of spanking and punishment, had always caused a little thrill in her lower abdomen. But the place where she felt the thrill had been so improper, she had barely acknowledged it even to herself.
And never, ever, ever had the feeling felt anything like what she felt now. Her limbs were nearly shaking as she pressed her hands together and tried to push from her mind the thoughts of what Dr. Doyle and Mr. Blackstone had done to her.
In the pit of her stomach churned the desire to please them, and obey them.
Especially Mr. Blackstone, whose strappings and whippings had left her bottom sore, her skin burning at even the slightest touch. And yet, thinking of his hand on her bottom, disciplining her... it only drove her to want to slip her fingers beneath the shift she had slipped over her head, and stroke the center of her lady parts as he had done, and feel the sweet release of “spending.”
Her heart was beating rapidly. She reclined in the bed and placed her hands properly on her abdomen, still clasped together.
How would Mr. Blackstone know if she disobeyed him? she wondered. Could he know such a thing?
She shifted in the bed, and the object inside of her moved around, making her mewl softly. It would be so easy to disobey... and perhaps delightful to be punished...
She squeezed her eyes closed. At the same time, she did not want to further vex Mr. Blackstone. She wanted to obey him, to show him that she was capable of being obedient.
And yet, she very much wanted to be defiant, to show them that they had not conquered her entirely.
Her eyes flew open.
Would it not be more defiant, in a way, to pretend as though she did not even desire or need the pleasure it would give her to seek release?
She could do that. She could pretend, she could keep herself from doing this naughty, disobedient, but delicious thing. It would not be easy, but she would resist Mr. Blackstone, and he would know that even if she had no choice but to accept her fate in this “harem” he spoke of, she was not entirely broken, or entirely submissive.
In her bed, Lina jutted her chin and closed her eyes with the determination to rest.
It did not come easily to her.
* * *
There was something quite different about Miss Carolina Blanchet that evening when she arrived in the dining hall for dinner.
She was dressed in a beautiful gown he had chosen to be made for her while she was in London, and he was privately pleased to see that, in spite of her hasty departure from the city, this particular gown had made it into the trunks that had been packed so haphazard
ly and which had given his head maid fits when she had opened them.
It was a rich blue that matched the color of her eyes, and he was also privately pleased with his recollection of their color, for he had seen them only in a portrait and the dim light of the Harlowes’ dining room. The dress had been fitted to her lovely, svelte figure, her small, firm breasts pushed up to the low neckline, her narrow waist requiring no corset, and the new raging fashion of the bustle accentuating what he knew to be the very lovely shape of her bottom and her slender hips.
Her eyes glinted in the candlelight, and she entered with a faint smile upon her lips—one he had not seen before in her expressions. It was subtle, hardly noticeable, but the lift of her lip carried with it the features of her face, so that one could not help but retain the impression that she was quite pleased with something.
Blackstone looked to Doyle as though for an explanation, but his friend was pulling a chair out for Miss Blanchet with an expression upon his own face that indicated he was thinking much along the same lines as Blackstone.
Miss Blanchet, for her part, kept her eyes lowered demurely, but absent from her body language and her expression were the traces of confusion and fear which she had brought with her from London.
It was curious, and it piqued his interest in much the same way that Miss Blanchet’s wild hair and rosy cheeks in the fields by Green Grove Manor had captivated him. He could see in her the spirit he had so admired and wished to tame.
He cleared his throat.
Had wished to tame, he reminded himself. Miss Blanchet’s outrageous behavior had changed everything, and his decision to send her to Laroui could not be undone. And whatever Doyle might say, they could surely find, somewhere in the world, a suitable bride to share their secrets and their lifestyle.
Theirs to Train: A Victorian Menage Romance Page 13