Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  She tried to push his head away. He had begun licking the rosy bud, sending reverberations through her whole body, making her toes curl.

  "Enough!" she gasped, trying to turn her body away.

  But he had a firm grip upon her breast. “Behave if you wish to keep your chemise."

  She whimpered and tried to still her body, tried not to heed the assault upon her defenseless nipple. But when he began sucking, albeit slightly, she did not think she could stand it any longer. Once more she tried to push his head off of her and nearly knocked his mask askew. This seemed to make him cross. He flipped her over and retied her wrists behind her before turning her back over. He adjusted his mask.

  "You shall pay for your disobedience, madam."

  Grabbing the neckline of her chemise, he tore the garment down the middle. She sobbed as her body lay exposed to him. She could not look at him, not when he could see all of her — her rounded hips, the swell of her belly, the ampleness of her thighs. Tears pressed against her eyes. She desperately wished to be anywhere but here.

  She felt his hand lightly caressing her curves. His touch felt tender, almost as if he appreciated rather than abhorred the flesh.

  I deserve this, she thought to herself. This mortifying embarrassment was her penance for the wrong she had committed. She lay in silent submission, unable to speak or move while his hands wandered all over her.

  His mouth was over her nipple once more, and she gave a cry. She clenched her teeth when he sucked harder. It was oddly pleasing in small part but mostly torturous. One hand of his was between her thighs, stroking her, and this helped to alleviate a little of the discomfort of his sucking. She squirmed beneath him as he intensified his actions upon both areas. She could not tell which was greater: the delicious waves spreading from that other rosebud or the acute discomfort upon her nipple.

  The latter won out when he bit her nipple. She gave a shriek.

  "Please…" she begged.

  The other words were lost in her throat for he had intensified his fondling. It was the strangest of delights, this agitation that both vexed and pleased, an agitation that left one worse off in its absence. She wanted that euphoric end, that pinnacle of tension that would leave her satiated and calm after the storm. And it seemed he would provide it to her, but he began nibbling on her nipple, occasionally nipping her flesh. Her body pressed into the mattress, as if she could sink into it and escape the ravaging of his mouth. The lower half of her body sought the opposite, seeking his hand when it drifted higher. She gasped in both pleasure and pain, groaned in agony and moaned in delight.

  He slowed the ministrations between her legs and gradually came off her nipple. Her body was in a state of confusion. She panted heavily, and a tear slid from an eye. She quivered at the loss of sensation. She was relieved not to have his attention to her nipple, but that other part of her throbbed in need. Though wanting to know his thoughts, she dared not gaze at him.

  "Do you wish me to continue?" he inquired.

  She did not know. She could not stand his nips, but her body craved his fondling. He waited patiently for her response.

  "Yes," she said meekly, then wondered if she had gone mad.

  He held her other breast and licked the nipple. She began to regret her decision almost immediately. He swirled his tongue and coaxed the nipple to full hardness. She trembled at what was to come, but he eased her fears when he resumed stroking her between the legs. She yelped when he nipped the nipple with his teeth, but he rewarded her with more of his beautiful caresses, lifting her body towards the heavens of carnal rapture. With his attentions, her body climbed toward that longed-for precipice, but whenever she came near to going over its edge, he lightened his touch and bit down harder upon her nipple. It was a slow and arduous dance between pain and pleasure. Her body felt stretched to its limits. To her dismay, he groped both breasts, pushed them together, and alternated between the two nipples, kissing, roughly sucking, biting. Her body wanted to curl into itself like a snail into its shell. She screamed and sobbed. The word of safety was upon her lips when he stopped. He slid down her body and situated himself between her thighs. He tongued that nub of pleasure, making her want to scramble toward the ceiling. Her nipples still smarted, but there was no ignoring that blissful heat in her groin. He licked quickly but skillfully and deliberately. Soon the waves of pleasure melded with the soreness of her nipples. She could not sustain the storm raging inside her body. She felt herself catapulted into a sea of ecstasy. Her body convulsed violently, but he held her in place as his tongue continued its wicked, wanton assault. Her body shattered into pieces, each one shaking to its own tune, and she wondered that she could ever be put back together.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS LEOPOLD SPENCER BEHELD his wife lying upon the bed, her body bared to him, he was struck by how beautiful she looked. Her chemise hung in tatters at her sides. Her arms, still pinioned beneath her, caused her breasts to thrust outward. Beautiful breasts with large areolas that seemed to occupy half the mounds even whilst her nipples stood hardened. He had assaulted those elongated rosebuds with much pleasure. At times her shrieks and sobs had made him wonder if he had gone too far, but she had not commanded him to leave.

  He had overheard Trudie's conversation with his cousin Diana.

  “Leopold broke his vows first,” Diana had said

  “Two wrongs do not make a right,” Trudie had replied.

  “No, they do not, but they make an equivalency, and it is not unfair to pay a wrong with a wrong.”

  Leopold could not disagree with Diana, but still he was not happy that Trudie had come to Château Follet. The wicked debauchery that occurred here was not for Trudie.

  Or so he had thought.

  Another tear glistened in the corner of her eye, and between her legs glistened the moisture of her desire. Heat swirled in his body, and the stiffness of his cock was more than uncomfortable. But he was not done with Trudie. He had brought her to spend, which was more than she deserved. But he also felt sorry for her, had received her earlier statements about him with sorrow. He had not been a good husband, he realized. He was at best a decent one for he did not treat her poorly. But he had neglected her because, in truth, as she suspected, he had not been fully captivated by her. Taking her regard for him for granted, he knew he could have chosen for himself a prettier wife, a wittier one. Her boldness in coming to Château Follet had thus surprised him. Perhaps he did not know Trudie as well as he had thought.

  Holding himself over her, he brushed his lips softly over hers. She sighed against his mouth. Gently, he kissed her and tried not to think on how she gave of herself to a stranger.

  Reaching beneath, he cupped a breast, weighed the heaviness in his hand. She whimpered, then gasped and grunted when he rolled the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She squirmed. Her body was exceedingly sensitive, he recalled of their wedding night and how everything he did seemed to make her leap out of her own skin. Her reactions had him taken aback. They had consummated the marriage but not without tears and much distress on her part. He had made few attempts with her after that.

  But the experience of Château Follet had proved quite different. She had spent, thrice now, at the hands of a stranger. His mask hid his identity from her, as she probably thought hers did from him. He tugged at her nipple, and with some anger, pinched it. She cried out. He slapped the side of her breast, making it wobble. He slapped the other orb. Her breasts were too beautiful not to ravish. Climbing atop the bed, he straddled her ribs. He unbuttoned his fall and released his shaft. She stared at it with widened eyes. No doubt she had never seen a man’s member this close before. He rubbed his arousal and tugged it before laying it between her breasts. He squeezed them together till they encased him with their warm suppleness. Slowly thrusting his hips, he slid his rod between her flesh. She watched in bewilderment—or perhaps amazement.

  His seed soon spilled over her bosom and coated the area of her collarbone. He had thought to resist
. The crude wantonness of spending upon her might horrify Trudie. But the loveliness of her breasts, the thought of marking her with his mettle, proved too enticing.

  A drop had landed near a corner of her lips. Feeling wicked, he brushed it with his thumb into her mouth. The distinctive tang made her grimace. She coughed a little when he pressed his thumb onto her tongue.

  He was going to go to hell.

  Never would he have thought to find himself doing what he did to his wife, but she had engendered in him a mix of emotions in coming to Château Follet. It was wrong but intoxicating to see her both helpless and aroused.

  Withdrawing himself, he climbed off of her. Her expression held some misery, and he felt a little ashamed once more. But he was seeing a whole new side of Trudie, one that greatly intrigued him. He wanted to know how far this dark and mysterious part of her extended, for her dismay at being undressed and tied up had not prevented her arousal. For the third time tonight, she had spent—and at the hand, shaft and tongue of a man she believed a stranger to her.

  His vexation of her unfaithfulness had not completely dissipated, though he accepted that he had played a part, albeit not purposefully, in compelling her to seek a place such as the Château Debauchery. He recognized the hypocrisy of his anger—he had broken the marital vows first and had entertained a mistress for some time—but more was simply expected in the wife. Nevertheless, had he been a more attentive husband, he doubted Trudie would have ventured here.

  At first, he had wanted to challenge her fidelity, then, out of pity, he had decided to grant her the debauchery she had sought, to provide her the thrill she lacked in her marriage. He had not expected the situation to arouse his own desires as much as it did. Trudie was not the plain simpleton he had once thought her. He found himself eager to take her to the world of wanton carnal pleasure.

  Replacing his fall, he said, “Let us now continue with your lesson.”

  * * * *

  Rolling her onto her stomach, he undid the bindings at her wrists, then shed her tattered undergarments. She was now naked, completely naked, save for her stockings and garters.

  “Stand,” he commanded.

  With lowered lashes, she did as he bid. His mettle, adorning her collar, had begun to dry, but a bit of it slid down toward her breasts. He could have wiped it away but decided to leave his mark upon her to remind her that she was his.

  She covered herself with her arms and hands, still clearly uncomfortable baring her body to him.

  “No, you must not cover yourself. It pleases me to see all of you.”

  Reluctantly, she lowered her arms to her sides. He circled about her, taking in her body at differing angles. Unlike his slender mistress, his wife possessed a full body. What he had hitherto deemed plump, he now found rather lush. Her rounded hips and thighs had a simple quality, her large breasts were ripe for delicious torment.

  “While I do not disagree that penance is in order, I think a proper lesson might prove the better solution. Perhaps you would like to learn how to please your husband?”

  She said nothing but seemed to consider his suggestion.

  “Here at Château Follet, I shall be your master,” he declared, “and you are my student and wench. Is that understood?” When she made no answer, he repeated, “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said in a small voice.

  He was pleased with the proper respect that she was voicing to him, but he said, “Louder.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Restate the roles for me.”

  “Sir?”

  “What is my role here?”

  She refrained from looking him in the eye. “You are the master.”

  “And what are you?”

  “Your student.”

  “And?”

  She squirmed before responding, “Your wench.”

  “And why are you my wench?” he asked as he continued to saunter around her. He eyed her arse, which he had spanked earlier. He would have to attend it more.

  “I hardly know.”

  “Is it because you stand stripped to the buff before a man?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Is it because you came here seeking debauchery?”

  She nodded.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it because you have allowed a man you know not to touch you, to fondle you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it because you have spent at the hands of a stranger?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it because you commit adultery with ease?”

  Her head snapped up and she met his gaze. Her eyes held emotion he could not place.

  “For which you are now being schooled,” he provided.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her voice shook, and he thought she might cry. She lowered her head. Cupping her chin, he lifted her gaze to meet his. “Worry not. I shall return you to your husband a better woman.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “You do not think it possible? Tell me, how do you pleasure your husband?”

  “He does not seek pleasure from me.”

  “And if he did? How would you provide it?”

  “I know not. I am not versed in such matters. I imagine it a significant reason for why he has himself a mistress.”

  “Would you like to be well versed in pleasuring your husband?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you like to be more proficient than his mistress?”

  Her eagerness was writ upon her face.

  “I promise you, by the end of the evening, you will know precisely how to please your husband. We will begin by caressing your body.” He went to stand behind her and placed a hand upon her shoulder. He heard a hitch in her breath. He slid his hand down her arm. “You must not be ashamed of your body.”

  He grazed the back of two fingers along her hip, up her waist, and toward her breast.

  “I cannot pretend I am a beauty when I am not,” she resisted.

  “Shhh. Do only as I say. Touch yourself.”

  She only stood awkwardly.

  “Touch yourself,” he said again.

  “Where?”

  “’Where, sir.’”

  “Where, sir?”

  “The breasts. They are fine assets of yours.”

  She placed her hand over the orbs.

  “Now caress them.”

  She gave herself a pat. He almost laughed at the chasteness. “More. Worship them with your hands.”

  Again she stood immobile and awkward.

  “Squeeze them.”

  She gave her breasts a squeeze.

  With a shake of the head, he reached around her. “Like this.”

  He cupped both breasts and gave the mounds a lascivious press. He kneaded the fullness of her flesh.

  “They are exquisite, are they not?” he murmured as warmth percolated in his loins. “Answer me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your turn.” He withdrew his hands and went to stand in front of her to watch her replicate his motions. “Sink your fingers into them, feel their suppleness and exalt in their grandness. Now play with the nipples.”

  She hesitated, and he suspected the buds were still sore from his prior attentions.

  “If you do not attend them, I will,” he threatened.

  She placed a forefinger over one nipple and flicked it gently. She shivered.

  “Now pinch them.”

  After a pause, she pinched the nipple.

  “Good. Now pull the succulent little bud.”

  She did a quick tug.

  “Harder.”

  She tugged again, groping herself, pressing and rolling the mounds over her chest.

  “I assure you that your husband would witness this with great pleasure. Don't forget the nipples.”

  This time she gave them a proper tug.

  “Very good. Now lick them.”

  “Sir?”

  Her breasts were lar
ge and malleable enough that she could do it. To assist her, he cupped the bottom of a breast and pushed it upward. With his other hand he pushed her head down toward the waiting nipple.

  “Lick,” he commanded.

  Her tongue emerged and gave a tentative lick.

  “More.”

  Heat traveled to his head. She gave herself two more licks.

  “Now take it into your mouth.”

  His cock throbbed as he watched her enclose her mouth over her nipple.

  “Suck it.”

  More of her rosy areola disappeared into her mouth. The urge to ravish her came on sudden and strong, but he held himself in check.

  “Now the other,” he directed.

  On her own, she pushed her other breast up to her mouth. After giving the nipple a few licks, she took it into her mouth and sucked.

  “Well done. Now you may play with your quim.”

  She balked.

  “Does it disconcert you to fondle yourself before a stranger?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you find it lewd, wanton?”

  She nodded.

  “Humiliating?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded again.

  “Then this shall be both pleasure and penance. You may sit upon the bed if you wish.”

  She went to the bed and sat down but did not touch yourself.

  “Spread your legs, my dear.”

  When she hesitated still, he went over and reached for her nipple. Immediately, she spread her legs. He took her right hand and placed it at her mons.

  “Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

  “I do not,” she murmured.

  He lifted his brows. “You do not bring yourself pleasure? Not even in the privacy of your bedchamber?”

  She shook her head.

  “You have not touched yourself there?”

  “On occasion…but I do not bring myself to spend.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was afraid to.”

  “Afraid? But why?”

  She knit her brows in thought. “I feared doing so would overwhelm me.”