A cool, hard object kissed her between the lips of her cunny, and Doyle rubbed it over her engorged knob, making her squeal and lift her head to gasp for air. She could not hold still, she thought. She simply could not.
“Now,” Dr. Doyle said. “I am going to push this next plug inside of you, Miss Blanchet. It will slide easily, if you relax, and accept it inside of you. It is wider, and longer, and it will stretch you so that you may accommodate my cock when the time comes. Will you enjoy that, Miss Blanchet? Feeling my member inside of you?”
“I will,” she breathed, her chest cool again with anticipation. The cold object was now pressed against her bottom-hole, partially inside of it, teasing the ache that gnawed at her.
Slowly, Dr. Doyle pushed it inside of her. A sharp pain announced its girth, as she was stretched much wider than before, and she gasped. But for as sharp as it was, she wanted to feel it being fed inside of her, pushing in, filling her up.
Slowly, the many inches of the object pushed in, deeper, deeper, until she was certain it could not go any further. Still, it went in, and she mewled until she felt the narrow notch that marked the end of it. Dr. Doyle tugged gently at it, and it pulled like the anal hook had pulled, sending a delicious ache throughout her body.
He pushed on it, and pulled at it, a few more times, as Lina howled very softly into the bed.
“There,” he said at last, and pulled her dress down, over her bottom. “Very good, Miss Blanchet. You are now to sit upon a chair in the library, with your back straight, and think upon how you shall be more obedient in the future. Stand up now.”
She stood up, at first quickly, but when, as she straightened, the object pushed itself about inside of her and ignited again a deep soreness, she slowed.
“Dr... Dr. Doyle,” she whispered. “Sir, master... am I being punished now? Please tell me what I have done to displease Mr. Blackstone.”
He adjusted the dress on her shoulders, and began to tie the laces, pulling them tightly, making her gasp. “I do not believe ‘displeased’ is the proper word for Mr. Blackstone’s current state of mind,” he said cryptically, and she was certain she heard the smile in his voice. He pulled her laces, and she held onto the bedpost. “You are not being punished, Miss Blanchet. You are being trained. And perhaps you might think of it as being used, for our carnal pleasure.”
Lina stared at the bedpost, as a flush of heat traveled over her chest and her neck.
“I shall do my best, then,” she said quietly, “To obey.”
Doyle finished tying her dress without comment, but when she turned her head ever so slightly to see his face, she thought she could see that he was smiling.
* * *
Doyle, he could see, was feeling smug, for he had upon his face that very same self-assured smile as he so often wore when he had concluded something, thanks to the new and bizarre science he called “psychology.” Blackstone detested Doyle’s “conclusions,” particularly those about which he donned such smugness because he was usually—infuriatingly—correct in his assumptions and derivations.
Blackstone held up a hand to silence the man, but Doyle was not the type to be silenced, and he was one of very few men who did not fear Rohan Blackstone.
Doyle inhaled sharply, and it did nothing to make his smug grin fade.
“Before you speak,” Rohan began, but he left enough of a pause at the end of this proclamation to give Doyle even more confidence, for Rohan himself had no idea what, exactly, to say.
“The girl is being properly disciplined,” Doyle said calmly, taking a seat and pouring himself a healthy snifter of whiskey, which he did not sip. “As you requested.”
Blackstone became impatient. “But?”
Doyle lifted his eyebrows but said nothing.
“Good God, man, speak your mind,” Blackstone said irritably.
Doyle lifted the glass to his lips and paused, as if contemplating whether or not he wished to sip the whiskey. Blackstone rolled his eyes; he knew his friend far too well to be fooled by the display.
“You quite evidently wish to discuss some matter,” Blackstone said irritably, collapsing in a chair. “So speak your mind and be done with it.”
Doyle let a long pause linger in the air, which irritated Blackstone and made him glare sullenly at the wall as he waited. All the while, the scent of Miss Blanchet’s skin lingered in his mind, as though she were just beneath his fingertips. The thought of her was arousing him, even as Doyle was arousing irritation, and he very much wished for the moment to get going and be done with.
“I only wonder,” Doyle said quietly, sipping his whiskey at last with great affect.
“If...” Blackstone prompted, ever more impatient, his arousal stirring up a great unease in his body.
“Well, I wonder if perhaps you have been too hasty, perhaps even a bit harsh with Miss Blanchet. I wonder if perhaps you do not regret your choice.”
Blackstone was cold and silent, even as a fire raged inside of him. Of course he regretted having canceled his marriage to Miss Blanchet and turning her over to Laroui.
“I wonder if there is nothing to be done,” Doyle said, when Blackstone said nothing.
Rohan stood up, a great fury seizing him inside, a storm with no direction or purpose. “There is nothing to be done,” he said reflexively. “You know as well as I do that—”
“I know as well as you do that you have strong feelings for Miss Blanchet. That you recognize her perfection. And I know as well as you do that a man such as yourself, a man who has built a fortune from almost nothing and who has deceived so much of the world for so long, for a man like yourself, nothing is impossible, if that was, perchance, what you were about to say.”
Blackstone turned upon Doyle imperiously, ready to pounce upon his words and tear his arguments to shreds. When he saw that Doyle, as opposed to looking at him smugly as he had expected, wore an imploring look upon his countenance, Blackstone hesitated.
“Rohan,” Doyle said. His voice was unwavering, serious now. “The girl is striving to please you, and I believe that she speaks the truth about what transpired between herself and this Mr. Carrington. I know you very well, and I can see that you want the girl for yourself.”
Blackstone fumed.
“I want the girl for us as well.”
Rohan said nothing.
“I implore you,” Doyle said. “If you cannot find a solution to this problem, I am afraid I must put my foot down. I will not forgive you should you send such a perfect specimen to Laroui, not when we can have her for ourselves.”
Blackstone stared at his long-time friend and confidante, unable to believe what he was saying. In many ways, it was a relief to hear Doyle say such things, as shocking as it might have been to hear him be so determined and recalcitrant. It was unlike him, but it provided Blackstone with the cover he needed to back down from his own recalcitrance.
For what he did really want, which Doyle seemed to know, was to keep the lovely Miss Blanchet for himself.
And while he could not know what Laroui would do, having come so far with the hopes of taking another lovely girl with him for his collection, the solution, as Doyle had pointed out, was hardly impossible for man such as himself.
“Whatever are you proposing, then, my dear Dr. Doyle?”
The grin returned to Doyle’s lips, though subtly. He set his drink down. “Shall we see if Miss Blanchet has received her discipline well? And supposing that she has, I think we might divulge some confidences to her, as a reward for her discipline.”
Blackstone mulled it over.
“And,” Doyle added, “as a preamble to our taking complete possession of her.”
* * *
They made her sit upon a very hard chair, facing the wall of books opposite the door of the passageway, for what seemed like hours. The new object inside of her bottom was pushed deeper by the surface beneath her, until the ache was nearly unbearable in its hopeless, depraved pleasure. Her sore, welted skin began to burn an
d throb. As she sat, she seemed to experience her pain and her pleasure in waves, and each time she was certain she would not be able to continue for a moment more.
Somehow, she found the strength. She did not know if they were even there, or if they could see her, but she dared not disobey their orders. Not when she had done something to send Mr. Blackstone storming from the room, not when he had claimed her as his pet and then become disappointed in her. She must do something to regain his... whatever it was that she had felt between them just hours before in his training room.
The ache in her bottom was so sore and intense when the two men returned, that she let out what she intended to be a sigh of relief, and it ended up as more of a strange howl.
Still, she would not disobey, and she was determined to show them that she would not. Particularly Mr. Blackstone, for it had become a strange obsession of hers, given his treatment of her, but she desired more than anything to show her willingness to obey him. She needed it, as if something inside of her strangled her heart, and the only way to release its grip was to do what he asked of her, whatever it was.
A shiver traveled along her spine.
“Miss Blanchet,” Dr. Doyle said, and his voice was gentle as always. “I have shared with Mr. Blackstone what you confided to me earlier today. But I wish for you to repeat it here, that he may hear for himself.”
A rush of fear washed over Lina, and then a humiliation quite unlike the desirable humiliation she had felt during her disciplining and training. This was a much colder, more fearful sensation, for while she was not even certain what confidence Dr. Doyle referred to, she was certain that it was a far more vulnerable thing than even her bared bottom, or her most intimate places.
“Speak freely, Miss Blanchet,” Doyle said.
Mr. Blackstone was behind her, standing, and she turned slightly, for she desired to look at him, but remembering that he did not wish her to do so, she stopped the turn of her head with a sudden jerk and glued her eyes to the floor in front of her.
“Sss...sssir,” she murmured. “Dr. Doyle. I am... I am not certain of what you ssss... speak.”
“No?”
“Of my... confidence, sir.”
“Ah, yes.” Doyle seemed quite cheerful now. “I do sometimes forget that what others communicate to me is not entirely clear even to them. I refer, Miss Blanchet, to the fact that when I trained you after Mr. Blackstone, that you seemed most concerned that you may have somehow displeased him. Correct?”
Lina’s cheeks burned, but she managed to nod and say quietly, “Correct.”
“Why is that, Miss Blanchet?”
Lina looked at Dr. Doyle questioningly. Her eyes began to grow wet, for she did not know what was expected of her. “Wh...why? Sir?”
“Why did you believe that Mr. Blackstone was displeased with you?”
Lina blushed again, and the skin on her chest burned with the wave of heat that swelled from her heart and washed over her face and the back of her neck until her ears burned with its touch. “I... I... because... I am uncertain, Dr. Doyle—sir—if I should... should speak...”
“Speak in earnest,” Dr. Doyle said. He seemed... almost cheerful.
Lina glanced one final time in the direction of Mr. Blackstone, but averted her eyes quickly enough that the image reaching her mind was brief and quickly distorted. He had looked, in that instant, like a very handsome man, with wild blue eyes and dark, thick hair, and a face marred only by the faintest of scars...
“I thought... he... was displeased,” Lina stammered. “He left so... with such haste.”
Her cheeks burned at the memory of him leaving her, as though she had done something most disappointing. The cold sensation in her chest grew, spreading to her limbs, and she felt almost certain she would swoon like Evangeline any moment.
“Rohan,” Doyle said cheerfully, addressing Mr. Blackstone. “Do you care to share with Miss Blanchet the reason for your hasty departure?”
There was a terrible and long silence, so long that Lina looked up uncertainly at Doyle for guidance but saw only his confident smile.
“He does not. I take it Mr. Blackstone has as much difficulty expressing himself as you do, Miss Blanchet.” Doyle smiled again. “A fine pair.”
Doyle stepped closer to Lina and pushed her hair delicately away from her face. “Would you,” he said, and Lina thought he was speaking to her, for he was looking deeply into her eyes as he spoke, “be so kind to at least explain to Miss Blanchet that you did not leave with haste because you were displeased with her?”
Lina blinked in confusion. Her mind was still struggling to understand whether or not Doyle was asking something of her, for he was looking at her almost imploringly, when she felt Mr. Blackstone’s fingers in her hair, sifting through it, a gentle caress. She looked at Doyle’s hands, unable to understand how they had come to be where they were and did not understand at all until Blackstone spoke.
“My pet,” his voice purred. “I did not leave in haste because you had displeased me.”
Lina’s body went stiff, as confusion and pleasure clanged together in her chest, and she struggled to understand what Mr. Blackstone was saying. She turned her head, and he did not try to stop her; in fact, his finger was upon her chin and turning her to face him.
Her lips parted as she let a gasp escape them.
“But you’re...” she whispered, a great tremor passing through her body.
For Blackstone was not a monster at all. His features were rugged, not refined, but his countenance was beautiful and achingly masculine. Only the faintest scar marred his skin, along a high and aristocratic cheekbone. The lips she had felt on her body were sensual and serious, but did not form the terrifying, bestial snarl she had imagined. He shocked her further by—almost—smiling. For in his face there was a tenderness that she had not expected, and she found it quite difficult to reconcile the man she had imagined with the man now before her.
In confusion, she whipped her head back to Dr. Doyle, her eyes imploring him for an explanation.
“I don’t understand,” she said quietly, when neither of the men spoke.
Doyle looked at Blackstone, and the two men seemed to exchange something in their look. Dr. Doyle reached for her hand. “I believe Miss Blanchet has been sufficiently disciplined, do you not, Mr. Blackstone?”
“Indeed,” he said, his breath warm on her shoulder, for he had come up behind her as Doyle made her rise from the chair, and his arm encircled her waist. Lina’s heart beat wildly at his touch, at the presence of the two of them so close to her, the swirling confusion of their intentions. Her mouth was open, but she did not know what to say or do.
“Come, Miss Blanchet. I think it is time we explain everything to you,” Dr. Doyle said. His eyes looked up at Blackstone’s over her shoulder.
She felt Blackstone’s lips on her skin and her entire body shuddered as the tender, dry, warm kiss brushed over her and he pulled her closer to him with the same formidable strength he had shown before. This time, however, it was different: as if a need stemmed from within Mr. Blackstone, one he would sate with tenderness.
“First,” Mr. Blackstone said, “we shall attend to another, more pressing matter.”
And then he was guiding her, and so was Dr. Doyle, both of them holding her and pushing her forward. Their lips were on her hands and her shoulders, and thankfully, their own hands holding her up, for her eyes had shut and the world was spinning in a delirium she had never imagined experiencing before.
* * *
After another confusing trip through the dimly lit passages hidden behind the extraordinary rooms and corridors of the grand estate, and ascending many staircases rather than descending, the two men guided Lina to a room she had never been in before. It was a smaller chamber—at least by the standards of the enormous home. Walls, painted a lovely shade of rich red or covered over with luxurious paper, enclosed a space occupied largely by an enormous bed. A cozy fire crackled in the hearth, keeping the room
a pleasant temperature.
But she could scarcely take in her surroundings, for her sensibilities were immediately commandeered by the attentions of the two men. Dr. Doyle entered first, and, standing by the bed, began to unbutton his crisp shirt as Mr. Blackstone restrained Lina gently by the arms, his fingers traveling along the length of her limbs with no more weight than a feather. It sent shivers along the backs of her arms to crash with the waves of pleasure radiating from her spine and her shoulders, where his lips grazed her skin, warm and dry.
She wanted to close her eyes, as if doing so would make it possible for her to anchor herself in the spinning, wild world of sensations that she found herself. She could not, however, take her gaze away from Dr. Doyle’s simmering stare, for he was devouring her with his own eyes and held her captive with whatever burned behind them.
His shirt fell away to reveal his smooth skin and the contours of the sculpted muscles beneath his chest and abdomen. Lina blushed, for she had never gazed upon a man so brazenly, and yet she could not take her eyes away. She could not know why, but she enjoyed the sight of him, however inappropriate it might be. She could not be sure what Dr. Doyle had in store for her, why he and Mr. Blackstone were acting together to stir her into this delirious state. She only knew that, however wrong it might be, the feeling that clawed at her from the inside was drawing out all reason or protest, and she could only comply with whatever they seemed to want of her.
Mr. Blackstone’s fingers moved over her shoulders and nimbly along the buttoned bodice of her dress, pulling the loops from the hooks with slow deliberation. Each soft sound of the loops releasing drove the cool spike of desire into her belly further, and she could feel longing and anticipation making her cunny wet, making her bottom squeeze the object inside of her, making her pulse race and her chest tighten.
Dr. Doyle removed his trousers, still holding her in his burning gaze. She held her eyes rigidly upon his face, forcing them not to wander to take in the things below his bare chest. But Mr. Blackstone’s lips were close to her ear, sending another ripple of pleasure sliding down her neck like a droplet of water. “Do not be afraid to look at Dr. Doyle, and look at his prick, for he wants you to take pleasure from his body the same way we will take pleasure from yours.”
Theirs to Train: A Victorian Menage Romance Page 16