by Brown, Em
CAVERN
OF
PLEASURES
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
CAVERN OF PLEASURES TRIO
First edition. February 6, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 EM BROWN.
Written by EM BROWN.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Cavern of Pleasures Trio
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MASTERING | THE | MARCHIONESS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Conquering | The | Countess
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Binding | The | Baroness
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
OTHER WORKS BY EM BROWN
A GENTLE WARNING
This novel contains BDSM elements, themes of submission and dominance, and many other forms of wicked wantonness.
GOT HEAT?
“MS. BROWN HAS WRITTEN a tantalizing tale full of hot sex...a very sexy and sometimes funny read that will definitely put a smile on your face.”
— Coffee Time Romance review of AN AMOROUS ACT
"DARCY'S FIERCE, INDEPENDENT spirit and unconditional loyalty to her family will win readers over, and Broadmoor is a romantic hero to swoon for."
- RT Book Reviews on FORCE MY HAND
“SOMETIMES YOU JUST pick up the right book that just hits you and makes you really love it. This was one of those books for me. I just got so into the story and never wanted it to end.”
- Romancing the Book review of SUBMITTING TO THE RAKE
“THIS ONE MADE ME GO WOW! I read it in a few hours which technically I probably should have gotten more sleep, but for me it was that good that I deprived myself of sleep to finish this most awesome story!”
- Goodreads reader review of MASTERING THE MARCHIONESS
“HOT AND FUN TO READ!!!!!!!!”
- Reader review of ALL WRAPPED UP FOR CHRISTMAS
“...SEX WAS INTENSE...THRILLING....”
- Goodreads reader review of CONQUERING THE COUNTESS
“I LOVED THIS BOOK. Clever dialogue that kept me laughing, delightful characters and a wonderful story. I am not generally one who likes historical fiction but this book carried me along from page one.”
- Goodreads reader review of CONQUERING THE COUNTESS
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MASTERING
THE
MARCHIONESS
PUBLISHED BY WIND COLOR Press
Copyright © 2017 by Em Brown
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.
Chapter One
HANGING FROM A HOOK, her toes barely touched the floor. Instead of the mask worn by many of the other guests at Madame Botreaux’s Cavern of Pleasures, the young woman wore only a silk red blindfold. The rest of her was laid bare for all to see.
Vale Montressor Aubrey, the third Marquess of Dunnesford, circled around her like a predator examining its prey, occasionally running the tip of a riding crop languidly over her nipples. Once or twice he pulled the riding crop back and flicked it against a breast. She gasped, then groaned.
“Please...please, Master...” she pleaded.
Peering at her thighs through his black and silver mask, Vale saw the telltale glisten of moisture at her mons. This one never took long.
“Your punishment has hardly begun, m’dear,” Vale told her.
“Please...forgive me...I was weak.”
Suppressing a sigh, Vale pulled back the crop and lashed it at her buttocks. It was unfortunate. Her body was beautiful—with full ripe breasts that quivered when punished—but she had indeed proven weak.
“I leave you to contemplate how you can do better,” Vale said with another swat of the crop.
As he headed toward the stairs, past a number of men and women engaged in various forms of coupling, a masked woman threw herself at his feet.
“Take me—I would be a far better submissive than she,” the woman declared.
Vale looked down at her. His half-mask did not cover his frown or the hard set of his jaw, and she crept away in shame.
“Pray tell that is not boredom writ on your face?” asked Lance Duport when Vale joined his friend and Madame Botreaux in the balcony from where they could view the activity below, much like patrons in an opera box.
It was the favorite spot of Penelope Botreaux. She rarely ventured onto the floor of the Cavern of Pleasures—so-called because the large assembly area existed practically in the basement of her residence. Unfinished walls left the ground rock exposed. As there were no windows, only the dim glow of a few strategically placed candelabras penetrated the darkness.
“I let you have the beauty when I could have made her mine,” Penelope declared from the settee upon which she lounged like a Grecian goddess, wearing a thin transparent gown over a body that time and a few too many glasses of ratafia had made plump in various places.
“I regret your generosity is wasted on me,” Vale
replied, removing his mask and looking over the balcony to where he had left the young woman. “Perhaps I am too old for her.”
Penelope snorted. “I am over forty and hardly consider myself old. You are barely five and thirty.”
“And you could best any of the younger men here,” added Lance as he raked an appreciative gaze over Vale’s body.
An active life of riding, hunting, fencing, and an occasional bout in the ring kept Vale’s physique in admirable shape. His stockings encased calves that were the envy of his peers. His simple linen shirt opened to reveal a broad, strong chest. His tight breeches covered muscular thighs and left little to the imagination.
Lance turned to Penelope. “You know half the women here—and men—would give their right buttock to be partnered with Vale. He needs more than a neophyte.”
“Would you give your right buttock?” Penelope returned.
Lance curled his thin lips into a salacious grin. “I would give both my buttocks. Do you remember Demarco?”
“Ah, yes, how can I not? He was a beautiful brute. A Samson with that lush head of hair.”
“And cocky as hell, but Vale had him writhing in submission within the hour. After such a conquest, I wonder that Vale should wish to trifle with the weaker sex.”
Vale smiled. “Despite all appearances, women are not the weaker sex.”
“Well, what the devil are you looking for?” Penelope prodded. “Apparently not men, nor women of unsurpassed beauty. You have spurned both novice and skilled submissives. Only Lovell Elroy has had more partners than you.”
Vale pressed his lips into a grim line as he looked over the balcony at a man wearing a red mask flogging a woman. “Lovell is malicious. He cares nothing for the women he is with. I wish you would throw him out, Penelope.”
“But the women flock to him—especially those whose hearts you have broken.”
“Lovell breaks more than hearts, Penelope.”
“Ah well, like you, he is a beautiful specimen to behold, and I do enjoy beauty.” Penelope held up her quizzing glass and blatantly directed her gaze at Vale’s crotch.
“Egad, Vale,” Lance interjected. “Nearly forgot: felicitations to you on your recent nuptials.”
Vale started. He had nearly forgotten that he was now married.
“Indeed,” Penelope said. “Where are you hiding this wife of yours?”
“We arrived in town but yesterday,” Vale answered. “She is with my cousin Charlotte at the moment.”
He was not particularly interested in pursuing the subject. Though he was sure that Charlotte would prove better company for Harrietta than he, he nonetheless felt a stab of guilt for pawning his wife off on a relative for the evening.
“And will you be introducing us to her?”
“Good God, no,” Vale shot back. “She is a simple girl from the country.”
“Hardly sounds like the sort of woman you would choose to marry after all these years,” Lance commented.
Vale shrugged. “Dunnesford needs an heir. Does it really matter whom I marry?”
“Yes, but of all the beautiful and wealthy women setting their caps at you, why a chit for whom you seem to have ambivalent feelings?”
“Her brother and I were the best of friends before he died at Yorktown in the service of His Majesty. We served in the same regiment for some time together, and I owe my life to him. At the age of ten, I would have drowned in the lake at Dunnesford but for his efforts.” Vale put back his mask. “I should return to the beauty. Her arms must be sore.”
“Even if her constitution is weak,” Penelope attempted, “her arse must be a delight. I almost wish I were a man that I might experience the feeling of being inside her.”
Her arse should have been delightful, Vale thought as he recalled how easily his cock had slid into the woman due to the immense amount of wetness that had dripped from her cunnie into her sphincter earlier. But there had been something missing with this one—as there had been with all the others. The women were more and more beautiful, yet his drive, his passion, continued to diminish. Perhaps it was only natural once one had experienced all there was to experience, tasted all that a feast could offer.
“Ah, we have some newcomers,” Lance noted of a few people who had just walked onto the assembly floor. “Damn me, that brunette looks like Charlotte, but who is the one next to her with the lackluster brown hair and emerald necklace?”
Vale narrowed his eyes at the three emeralds separated by two small diamonds and laced together with silver. At first, he paled. Then his jaw hardened as he answered, “My wife.”
Chapter Two
FOR HARRIETTA DELANEY, now Marchioness of Dunnesford, the eye holes in her mask were not large enough to accommodate her wide-eyed stare as she followed Charlotte onto the floor of Madame Botreaux’s Cavern of Pleasures. There were men and women about her in all states of undress, and yet she, clothed from head to toe in a modest evening dress, felt like the naked one.
Not only were these men and women openly naked in public but they were engaged in all manner of...activity...in public. It hardly seemed real. Only in her fantasies—deep, dark fantasies that she had never shared with anyone—had she envisioned such possibilities. Only in London could such a place exist. Certainly not in the small town where she had lived for all four and twenty years of her life. The prospect of living in the City had been the one bright part of marrying the Marquess of Dunnesford. It was a marriage that made her among the luckiest women in England. And the biggest fool.
“He has wealth and breeding and a title and is pleasing to the eye,” Bethany, Harrietta’s junior by four years, had cooed after the Marquess had finally accepted one of their mother’s numerous invitations.
“Exceedingly handsome,” Marianne, who had yet to have her come-out, had sighed.
Even Jacqueline, the youngest Delaney daughter at twelve, had agreed. “He looks like a prince.”
Harrietta had to admit that King George himself was unlikely to have produced as grand an entry as the Marquess, arriving in his gilded carriage pulled by a team of four with gleaming white coats and footmen who appeared to possess more expensive garments than the wealthiest of the bourgeoisie. The Marquess was also perfection, from the finely powdered hair to the elaborate cravat tied at his throat, the rich velvet coat that flared from the hips, his delicately embroidered waistcoat, and down to the jeweled high-heeled shoes. He was elegant yet commanding. Powerful but refined. Regal and sensuous.
Nine long years had passed since she had last seen Vale, and she no longer recognized him. She had dreamt of him, still flushed when she remembered their last encounter, and had heard much about him—especially about the many mistresses he had kept in those years. At the time of her marriage to him, he had been most recently rumored to be with an Italian countess. A family friend who traveled in the same social circles as the Marquess had described him as an aloof and arrogant rake—not the sort of man Harrietta had ever envisioned herself marrying.
The Marquess was a stranger to her. He was not the Vale who once preferred the company of the Delaney family to his own, who had been Harold’s best friend, and who had been like a second brother to her. She resented this magnificent Marquess for failing to be the man she had fallen in love with as a girl. But Mr. Delaney had three daughters with no dowries. That a man of Lord Dunnesford’s stature would offer for Harrietta—poor and plain—was, according to Bethany, nothing short of the most miraculous gift Fate could bestow.
Dear God, Harrietta thought to herself as she glimpsed a woman whose breasts were being serviced by the mouths of two different men, surely I belong in Bedlam for wanting to see this place?
What she saw next answered her question affirmatively. A naked young woman was hanging from a hook like a slab of meat in a butcher’s shop while a man wearing a silver and black mask was circling around her—and striking her with his riding crop. Harrietta had never seen such tight breeches as those worn by the masked man. She flushed on hi
s behalf. Her gaze traveled from his loins to his finely sculpted chest. The sinews of his strong arms revealed themselves as he pulled the crop back and lashed it against the woman’s backside. Harrietta eyed the planes of his pectoral muscles, the ridges that filled his torso, and the rugged hardness of his belly. She had not thought the naked body of a man could be so...captivating. The man would have made an exceptional model for Michelangelo.
“Masterful, is he not?” Charlotte whispered.
“What is he doing to that poor woman?” Harrietta asked, appalled yet intrigued.
“Punishing her. She has displeased him in some way.”
The young woman groaned...in pleasure. Harrietta felt warmth spreading through her body. Her own carnal experiences had been limited to a few encounters with the footman and the squire’s son. There had been groping—a few playful swats on the butt that she had surprisingly enjoyed—but nothing on the order of what she now witnessed. But she had imagined a world of greater possibilities ever since she had found a copy of Fanny Hill that Harold had hidden beneath his bed.
“He is the most desired master,” Charlotte explained. “Only the most beautiful and practiced are selected to be his submissive.”
“Have you ever been with him?” inquired Harrietta as she followed the hard set of his jaw. “I should think it rather terrifying.”
Charlotte closed her eyes and a small smile played upon her lips. “I would be unworthy.”
Harrietta studied her companion, who seemed to be reveling in a daydream. She liked Charlotte—and not because the woman was her only friend in London at the moment. Widowed two years ago, before she had turned thirty, Charlotte Kensington possessed a worldliness and self-assurance that Harrietta appreciated. It therefore surprised her that Charlotte would want to submit to a man like the one in the silver and black mask.