by Zoe Blake
“You are not regretting gifting this to me, are you, my love?”
I stiffened but didn’t turn at the sound of his voice.
He was here.
Directly behind me.
I had been so enthralled with the portrait I hadn’t even heard his approach.
Warm hands encircled my waist from behind. I could feel the press of his strong chest against my back and smell the spicy sandalwood of his aftershave.
My mouth felt so dry I had to swallow several times before speaking. “Gifting it to you?” My voice sounded low and breathless, betraying my frayed emotions at his nearness.
A warm hand brushed the ringlets aside and placed a kiss at the delicate spot just at the base of my neck, behind my ear. I stifled a small moan as I resisted the urge to lean back into his embrace.
“Do you not recall asking that I place it over my bed so that your beautiful eyes would be the first I saw in the morning and the last I saw at night?” Richard whispered huskily into my ear. “It was only after promising your father I would hang it in a more respectable location that he allowed me to accept your gift.”
It all sounded so plausible. It was just the type of dramatic, romantic gesture I would be capable of.
“I think it is time I now obey your wishes and move it into my bedroom,” he continued to purr into my ear. My stomach clenched as I gripped the folds of my gown, trying to keep my breathing slow and even. Desperately trying to hide his effect on my senses. Everything about what he was saying more than hinted at a previous intimacy between the two of us. I almost wanted that to be true; at least it would lessen my shame and guilt and explain my willingness to just lie back and spread open my legs any time he even looked in my direction.
I looked up at my portrait. Now I was seeing it through his eyes. My bold gaze seemed to take on new meaning. My eyes seemed to be hiding a secret. Did I know this was being painted to hang over my lover’s bed? Is this why Richard seemed to know my body so well, my deep, dark, and twisted desires I myself didn’t know existed?
Had we been lovers for long? I know he often calls me my love. What if this was all true? What if in my own delirium I am betraying a man who loves me by denying that love even existed? If that were the case then what Richard was doing was not out of cruelty but out of love.
I looked up at the portrait again. Surely something like this would have taken months to paint? Far longer than I thought I knew Richard. It also looked old, the tell-tale cobalt blues fading into browns with age as I had learned in an old art history class.
The press of his hand broke my chaotic reverie.
The tips of his fingers began to run up and down my spine as he spoke. “I like the idea of staring into those big, gorgeous emerald eyes of yours as I grasp my cock and pleasure myself at the thought of the next time I get to feel your warm body accept me deep inside.”
Dear god, I was going to faint.
The corset felt tighter than ever before. I couldn’t breathe. Stiffening my back and shoulders, I stepped away from his intoxicating embrace.
Today he looked every inch the country gentleman, like something out of a movie. With a dark, tight-fitting frock coat and buff breeches tucked into polished black riding boots. As I looked down, I saw a riding crop dangling loosely from his right hand. Images of me draped over his lap while he punished my bare ass with that same crop flashed before my eyes.
Was that a fantasy or a memory?
I honestly didn’t know.
From the look in his eyes as he followed my gaze, I very much believed if it wasn’t a memory now, it had the possibility of becoming a future one. At his knowing raised eyebrow, I turned my head away.
Pulling at the high, stiff collar of my dress, I took a few steps backwards, away from his intense presence. “I… I need to go to the… um… the green room,” I stammered, trying to recall what Parker said was my usual routine.
“Then I shall escort you there,” he said as he took a few steps toward me and offered his elbow.
“No… I’m fine. I can find it on my own,” I hurriedly assured him as I turned away and started to head to the left.
“Elizabeth.”
His authoritative toned stopped me in my tracks. I could hear the heavy clack of his boots against the polished wood as he strode briskly up to me. I kept my eyes and head lowered, focused on the twisted folds of my dress. I wished I had the courage to spit out Lizzie defiantly, correcting his continued use of my formal name instead of the nickname I preferred, if only to have a tiny bit of rebellion… but I didn’t.
The man both intimidated and fascinated the hell out of me. Each time I saw him I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run away or toward him. All I did know was that he was dangerous… not just for whatever his involvement was in this current charade we were playing out, but for how he was able to bend me to his will with just the tone of his voice or a look.
I felt his fingers under my chin as he raised my face to look at his own. “I really must insist,” he intoned darkly. His eyes shining like obsidian even in the bright morning sunlight, giving no quarter.
I couldn’t but think of that nursery rhyme as he led me away in the opposite direction I had initially headed.
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said a spider to a fly.
Years ago, I memorized that poem to recite in a theater class in high school. Everyone knows the opening line but few know how it ends.
Up jump’d the cruel spider, and firmly held her fast!
He dragg’d her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came down again.
Chapter 13
Lizzie
The green room was actually a massive conservatory linked to the main house by a long glass walkway. I couldn’t hide an exclamation of wonder as we crossed the threshold. It truly was magnificent. I felt as though I were stepping into Eden. A heavy steel frame secured large panels of glass leading up to a massive dome ceiling. Large lush palm trees towered over us from every corner. Under their shade was every type of flower and fruit tree including orange trees, pink camellias, purple Canterbury bells, blood-red dahlias. There were even gigantic water lilies, lilacs, and myrtles.
Shifting patterns of crimson, amber, cobalt, and purple colored the black and white floor tile. As I looked around me, I could see my allusion to Eden was not far off the mark. Impressive panels of stained glass depicted the Genesis story of Adam and Eve. My favorite was the one of Satan in the form of a snake seducing Eve. His sinewy body seemed to shimmer with emerald and gold in the warm sunlight as it wrapped around Eve’s small waist only to curl up around one breast. The image was both sinister and sensual at once.
Sparing a glance under my lashes at Richard, I definitely knew how Eve must have felt in that moment.
It certainly didn’t help that he had the devil’s own good looks and his arrogant charm as well. Lord knew Richard was acting as if he weren’t sweating heaven and truly didn’t give a damn. The world was his for the taking, including me.
In the center of the domed room was a fountain depicting three naked women, holding jugs of spilling water over their heads. They were painted a bright turquoise blue. Wrought-iron chaises and chairs, piled high with cushions were strategically placed throughout the space both out in the open and in quiet corners under the shade of a palm surrounded by orchids.
The air was rich with the scent of citrus, spice, and earth. Between the somnolent atmosphere and the rhythmic lull of the trickling water, I could see myself enjoying many lazy afternoons in the space. Perhaps I had?
The idea was both unsettling and comforting. I could see the draw in losing myself in the fantasy. Of spending indolent days waking up to hot chocolate served on silver, wearing beautiful gowns, and napping under the shade of an indoor palm surrounded by the scent of flowers.
If this hadn’t been my life before… it was now, or at least could be if I would just surrender and allow the insanity to beco
As I tried to wrap my mind around the possibility, a small easel caught my attention. It was set up in a particularly well-lit area of the conservatory. Circling around the stretched-out spindle legs, I was shocked to see my own drawings. Reaching out, I flipped through page after page. Each one was one of my fashion designs. Instead of colored pencils I’ve always favored watercolors to highlight the drawings. The paint seemed to capture the look of my Victorian-themed designs best. Stunned, I looked down at the table set near the easel. The tips of my fingers skimmed over the various pencils, brushes, and small squares of pigment. Each were as familiar as my own hand. These were my paints and tools. But how?
“Your governess could never get you to draw flowers or landscapes like a proper lady. You have always insisted on designing your own gowns,” said Richard. There was no denying the pride in his voice. “I’m pleased you feel well enough to return to them. I can now keep my promise.”
I turned back to him. “Your promise?”
He stroked my cheek. “Don’t you remember? I promised if you were a good girl and obeyed the doctors and got better, I would bring in a dressmaker to make all of your designs a reality.”
All of my designs?
That was a fashion designer’s dream, one I never thought would ever truly be a reality. For starters, I had always preferred historical fashions that were far too expensive to ever recreate in true form.
I looked back at the easel.
All of my designs.
A life of leisure being the pampered plaything of a rich man.
I was slowly losing my grip on what I used to think was my reality. I was having a difficult time thinking of a reason why I wanted to return to my cramped little shared flat in London so badly. The only reason why I had become an actress was to lose myself in the fantasy of living in the past and here I was doing just that. Becoming a fashion student was just an extension of that secret wish. A tool of my imagination to help make it feel more real. As if putting on a corset and bustle would help block out the sounds of police sirens, ringing cellphones, and all the other noises of modern life.
Here on this estate it was luxurious and peaceful… well, at least when Richard wasn’t standing so close to me.
No! Stop it.
Just like Eve, I was allowing the snake to seduce me into believing what was not true. This wasn’t my life and never could be. Here, I was a caged bird. I had to stop giving into the allure that this life was somehow better or more real than my own.
Grabbing the drawings off the easel, I ripped them in half and then tore them again, tossing the tattered pieces onto the floor. I then flipped the small table, sending the various paints and pencils scattering across the tile.
The only sound in the conservatory was the whirring sound of a small glass of paint water as it skittered across the floor before coming to a stop at the base of the fountain.
Then all was quiet… until… I heard it.
Holding my breath, I turned my head slightly and looked down. It was the sound of leather hitting fabric. Richard was slapping his riding crop against his thigh with barely leashed anger.
Oh, god.
“I see you have not given up your fits of temper.”
“Richard, I—”
Richard grabbed me by the upper arm and dragged me across the conservatory to a dark corner far from the walkway entrance. There was a high-backed wrought-iron sofa covered in thick blankets with several large pillows on it. Swinging me by my arm, Richard tossed me onto the chaise.
I sat there sprawled as he began to pace in front of me.
“I have given you every luxury, every advantage. Indulged in your every whim and yet you continue to defy me, Elizabeth.” He punctuated each curt word with a slap of his riding crop against his lower leg.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I’m just confused.”
At that moment, I truly meant it. I didn’t know what was real or not, I only knew that I was afraid.
Richard turned back to me. Studying me with those dark, fathomless eyes of his.
“Unbutton your bodice.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Unbutton your bodice.”
“Please, I—”
Placing his booted feet on either side of my legs, he placed the leather tongue of the riding crop under my chin and forced my head back. “Don’t make me hurt you more than I already will,” he warned softly. With that he stroked my jaw and cheek with the leather flap, his threat unmistakable. With one flick of that crop he could scar my face for life.
Without lowering my gaze, I reached for the fabric-covered buttons of my bodice. With shaking fingers, I fumbled with each one. After an eternity, the bodice gaped open, exposing the curved tops of my breasts.
Letting the riding crop dangle from his wrist, Richard leaned over me. Grasping the shoulders of my bodice, he forced the sleeves down over my arms till they tightened at the forearm. Since I had only unbuttoned half of them, the bodice was still clasped around my waist securing my arms as tightly as if it were a straitjacket. The downward movement had also shifted my corset down only slightly but just enough to expose the pink flesh of my nipples.
With shaking breath, I watched as he slowly undid his cravat. Stretching the long, thin linen strip between his fists, he circled around the sofa till he was standing over me from behind. My breath was coming in such fast gasps I felt faint.
His arms appeared on either side of my head, holding the linen strip in front of me.
Was he about to blindfold me?
Before I could decide if that was a good or bad thing, I felt the press of the linen against my throat. Immediately I tried to spring up from my seat but couldn’t. The linen tightened, cutting off my air. I tried to scream but nothing came out. Desperately I pulled at my arms but they were hopelessly tangled in the tight sleeves of the bodice.
The linen tightened around my throat. My mouth gaped on a silent scream as my head pressed against the wrought-iron sofa back trying to ease tension of the fabric. Then some of the pressure on my throat eased but did not fully let up. I tried to move away but couldn’t.
Richard once more appeared before me.
He had secured his cravat around my throat and through the intricate lattice of the wrought-iron sofa behind my head. I was now completely tied down and at his mercy. Worse, my struggles had forced my corset to shift even lower, now fully exposing my erect nipples.
“As your guardian, it is my duty to punish you as I feel fit.”
Grasping the riding crop once more, he raised his arm.
My eyes widened in alarm. “No!” My scream coming out only as a weak croak.
The riding crop came down with full force on my right nipple. The shooting pain was agony. Worse than anything I had ever felt before. It seemed to radiate in waves over my entire body. Before I could recover, he struck my other nipple.
“Please! Stop!” I sobbed as I tried to curl my shoulders forward in a vain attempt to shield my vulnerable flesh from his punishment.
Richard’s response was to once more strike my right nipple with the leather tongue of the riding crop then swiftly strike the left.
My breasts throbbed with pain. Straining to look down, I was shocked to see I wasn’t bleeding for I was certain he had torn my skin to shreds.
Kicking a small ottoman over to me, he sat down. He was now almost level with me. Without taking his eyes off me, he slowly started to grab fistfuls of my dress and raise it up. Inch by inch, he was exposing more of my body to his gaze. First my calves, then the top of my thighs. Running his hand down my leg, he placed one hand around my ankle and lifted it high, placing my booted heel on the edge of the sofa. He did the same with my other ankle.
It was an uncomfortable position that forced my hips forward and spread my legs painfully wide. Finally, he flipped my skirts up around my waist, completely revealing the large slit in my pantalets.
I gasped as I felt his fingers on my pussy. Miserable, I shook my head side to side as far as the cravat around my throat would allow. Not again. No. I didn’t want him to force my body to betray me. It was humiliating the way it responded to his painful touch and punishments. I knew without even seeing his raised eyebrow that he would find me wet and ready for his touch.
Slowly he penetrated me with one finger, then another. He thrust them in and out several times while his thumb swept over my clit, stimulating the small bundle of nerves. Then he slipped in a third finger. It started to feel tight and full, my body stretching to accommodate him. I could feel his fingers twist as he shifted his hand palm upright. He then pushed a fourth finger inside of me.
“Please! That hurts!”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” was his curt reply.
I bit my lip as he stretched my body beyond its limits. Still he continued to rub his thumb in slow, rhythmic circles. I could feel the pressure of a traitorous release begin to build. After several pulsating thrusts, his fingers left my body. I let out a breath of relief but it was short lived.
Soon I felt something hard and rigid enter me. “What are you doing?”
Richard didn’t answer. The hard object pressed in deeper and deeper. It felt like the same width and length of a cock but was harder and more painful. It was only after he had pumped the object ruthlessly into my unwilling body several times that I realized it was the leather handle of his riding crop. A tremor ran over my limbs at the illicit thought. All of this was so wrong, I had no idea it was about to get far, far worse.
After he slipped the handle free, I then felt pressure at my back entrance.
“Now it’s time for your real punishment.”
“No! I’ve never done that! I don’t want to.”
“This isn’t about what you want, Elizabeth. This is about what you need.”
The pressure increased. I squeezed my anal muscles tight, trying to keep him out. He pushed on the handle that much harder till my body relented.
There was a sharp stabbing pain the moment the tip of the handle penetrated my ass.
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