Cavern of Pleasures Trio

by Brown, Em

  The crop.

  “Twenty-two,” Harrietta groaned in disappointment.

  He cleared his throat.

  “My lord, my lord!” she added.

  “Too late,” he informed her. The crop fell against her thrice.

  The tears slid down toward her forehead. She waited patiently, stewing in the pain of her punishment and the anguish of unfulfilled desire. Would it be pain or pleasure next?

  He chose pain.

  “Twenty-three, my lord.”

  He rewarded her with pleasure. She grunted her approval, shifting her body in rhythm to his strokes. She felt her body racing up a hill, her climax in sight. She was almost at the top, the moment before the delicious descent into ecstasy.

  But he stepped back to give her the twenty-fourth lash.

  She had endured indescribable pain. Once, when she was young and had fallen off a horse that she should never have attempted riding, she had experienced the strongest and most painful blow to her body. But this —a prolonged pain—felt more intense. Made all the more poignant by the denial of pleasure. She desperately wanted to beg him to touch her. This waiting was intolerable.

  Touch me, damn it, touch me.

  He delivered her last and final lash, and Harrietta was glad to feel something against her body. She shuddered with relief that the punishment was over.

  But would he allow her to spend?

  STARING AT HER BRIGHT red bottom, Vale began to regret that he had struck her as hard as he had, though he had used but a fraction of the strength he would have applied to more experienced submissives. He would have gone more lightly on her punishment had he not seen her conversation with Lovell on the stairs. From her body language, he could tell she was not repudiating his advances. And it was jealousy—a sentiment that had not visited his bosom in many years—that leveled the crop upon her arse.

  Emotion should never play a part in a master’s application of dominance. That he had succumbed to his jealous feelings worried him. But she had done better than he had expected. He imagined there might have been a tear or two stinging her eyes. His sixteenth blow had been harsh, but one would not have discerned any wavering by the resolution in her tone when she counted.

  And she had been wet. The punishment had aroused her, as it was meant to. She was straining for his touch now. He stepped up to her and eyed the lovely curve of her rump. There was a nice roundness to it and not the scrawny arse that he sometimes saw with women of slighter forms. With any other woman he would have left her there to consider her predicament for a while, but he felt compelled to touch her. Fondle her. Make her cry out in her ecstasy. He wanted that sense of accomplishment knowing he had brought her body such joy.

  It did not take long before her body began jerking and quivering at his hand, straining against the shackles. And he gloried in her climax, fondling her more to ensure as many waves of release flowed through her as possible. How easy it would have been for him to pull out his cock and ram it into her quim, now flooded with her juices. The height of the gable had her rump at the perfect level for him. He was tempted. God, he was tempted. When he stepped back, he could feel his cock groaning. But he could not. He told himself it was for her sake, though he wondered if it might not have been for his own as well.

  “You did well, ma petite,” he praised, rubbing her ankles and wrists as he removed the shackles. After helping her to her feet, he pulled her over to a bench and across his lap. Reaching to the floor, he dipped his fingers into a jar and massaged a salve onto her tender rump.

  “This will soothe the burn,” he explained, the hardness of his erection pressing against her body while he appreciated her lovely arse.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said when he set her back on her feet.

  A bell of thick iron rang through the Cavern, its solemn baritone echoing through the alcoves.

  “Ah, someone wishes to exhibit his submissive,” Vale informed her. He removed the collar and leash from the wall. “Come.”

  This time she did not protest, but he could tell she was not pleased at the notion of wearing the collar. He had no preference himself. Most of the women enjoyed wearing the collar, but for the most part, he had no need of a material device to command his submissives. With Harrietta, however, he was taking no chances.

  In the middle of the assembly floor, a ring of lamps on the floor encircled a wooden table. A woman, naked, had already been tied to it. A rope had been wound around her body many times. Her master, a shorter but stout man wearing only a loin cloth and a leather mask, stood near her with his arms crossed. A number of men and women had gathered around the couple. Vale pulled a chair from the wall for himself and had Harrietta sit at his feet.

  “We begin,” the man in the circle announced. “My friends, you are fortunate tonight. My submissive has confessed a secret desire for her body to be communal property. It satisfies me to share her with all of you.”

  Vale looked down at Harrietta, who was shifting uncomfortably on the ground in her attempt not to put too much pressure on her buttocks.

  “Tell me,” he asked her, “have you ever had such a secret desire?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “As you witness this woman, naked for all to behold, her body at our mercy, do you think you will come to share her desire?”

  Harrietta considered the question. “I am curious, my lord, but it may be a prospect more titillating in thought than action.”

  He followed her gaze around the room and noted the different couples. One female dominant had her male submissive servicing her quim with his tongue. The man next to them had two female submissives lying curled at his feet as if they were his bitches. Lovell had his submissive, a young thing barely out of the schoolroom, sucking his cock. Vale noticed with discontent that Harrietta’s gaze lingered in that direction.

  “First,” the man in the leather mask said, “I will have a woman.”

  A mistress offered her submissive, a redheaded woman with a slender build. The man in leather assisted the redhead onto the table and sat her above the face of the woman bound to the table.

  “Pleasure her with your tongue,” the man told his own submissive.

  Vale heard Harrietta inhale sharply, but she did not turn away. The redhead began to moan and rocked her hips.

  “Permission to caress her bosom, my lord?” the redhead asked.

  “Permission granted,” he replied.

  The redhead reached down and began kneading the full breasts of the woman beneath her. It was quiet save for the cries of the redhead and the soft moans from the crowd around them, pleasuring themselves in unison to the women in the circle.

  “Touch yourself,” Vale told Harrietta.

  Her hand moved without hesitation to her mons. Her fingers began rolling her own clitoris. Vale ran his own fingers beneath his nose. The scent of her was still upon him, and the blood coursed strongly to his loins once more. She had a nice light scent. Some women had very heavy and musky scents. Occasionally there was one most foul. He remembered one who smelled of fish that had not been aired. He wondered how Harrietta tasted, if she would be as sweet as she smelled.

  “Tell me what you are experiencing.”

  The lamps on the floor threw just enough light onto her face that he could see a blush coloring her cheeks.

  “Arousal, my lord,” she answered.

  “Would you have an interest in being one of the women up there?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Which one?”

  “Both, my lord.”

  He felt a muscle ripple along his jaw, and he had to close his eyes. But then the image of Harrietta bound to the table, her tongue flicking the quim of another woman, rose in his mind. Then that of Harrietta in place of the redhead. He felt the distress grinding in his groin.

  The redhead was now playing with her own breasts and pinching her nipples. He reached a hand down to Harrietta and tweaked one of the extended pebbles. Harrietta moaned, and the motion of her fingers
quickened. Her chest rose and fell heavily as the redhead began to tremble in orgasm.

  “Do not spend without my consent,” Vale warned Harrietta.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Now,” the man in leather proclaimed, “I will have four men.”

  One man took his position where the redhead had been, but facing forward so that his cock was aimed at the woman’s mouth. Another was between her legs. The remaining two each placed his cock in one of her hands.

  “You may spend,” they were told, “on her but not in her. The latter is my privilege alone.”

  Harrietta watched intently as the four men began to fuck the woman on the table. Vale glanced around the room. Many of the men and women had already spent, some now in a languid stupor. Lovell was pounding his submissive, who was on hands and knees, in the arse. As if sensing eyes upon him, Lovell turned to look at Vale and smirked. Instinctively, Vale reached for Harrietta and drew her protectively to himself.

  He had her sit on the edge of his chair between his spread legs and reached his hand over her hip to fondle her clitoris. She sighed with satisfaction, and he allowed her to lean her back against him. Her hair felt soft against his chest, and he was impatient for the opportunity to fist his hand through the silken tresses.

  The man with his cock in the woman’s mouth was the first to spend. He pulled out and shot his seed over her lips. It splashed across her cheeks. He was followed by the man fucking her quim. His seed sprayed over her abdomen.

  “Thank you,” the woman murmured.

  Harrietta was gasping and writhing. Every time her rump brushed against the inside of his thighs, his cock stiffened further.

  “Not yet,” Vale told her.

  “Then cease your motions, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He chuckled. “Then where would the amusement be, ma petite?”

  She let out an exasperated groan and clenched her hands. He noticed her trying to move herself away from his hand, but he held it in place and intensified his caresses.

  “Please let me spend, my lord,” she said, her body straining against him, her back arching like that of a bow.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “Please...”

  In the circle, the remaining two men had aimed their semen at the woman’s breast. She rubbed the viscous white fluid over herself.

  “Ahhh....” Harrietta cried.

  “Hold it,” Vale commanded.

  She shook her head.

  “Hold it.”

  “I cannot, my l—” she protested and her body erupted in spasms. Her cries drew a number of glances in their direction.

  He allowed her climax to finish flowing through her before he jerked her onto her feet with the leash.

  Back in their alcove he surveyed her in silence. She kept her eyes averted, sensing his disappointment. He went to a table and retrieved a small case wrapped in Chinese embroidery and lined with silk inside. He opened it to reveal two silver balls linked together with a delicate metal chain.

  “You will use these,” he instructed, “to discipline your body. They are sometimes referred to as Chinese pleasure balls. Lie down.”

  She lay on her back on the bench with her legs bent at the knees. He took the balls and inserted one into her vagina.

  She gasped, “It is cold, my lord.”

  “Your body will warm them soon enough.”

  He slid the second one into her fleshy folds, then pulled her to her feet. Her legs nearly buckled when she felt the balls strike against each other.

  “Keep them in you for as long as possible,” he informed her. “The longer, the better. I, of course, will be able to ascertain the next time we meet in three days time whether or not you have been dutiful in your assignment.”

  He handed her the now empty case, dismissed her and watched as she walked awkwardly away. When she was out of view, he let out a long ragged breath, wondering if he had to go in search of Lance again tonight. He undid the buttons of his breeches and pulled out his cock. It had wanted her. Wanted to be where his fingers had been tonight. If he had been any other common man, he would have been derided for not knowing what the quim of his own wife felt like about his cock.

  As he stroked himself, Vale shook his head. His control of the situation was ebbing. Not a good predicament. And yet he had enjoyed every moment. Enjoyed her arousal. Emboldened by the climaxes he had wrought upon her body. And it fueled an appetite for more. As his wife, she was his in name only, but when she was bent over the gable, she was completely his.

  With a grunt, Vale brought himself to spend, pumping his seed into a handkerchief he had grabbed. He leaned his back against the wall as the final shudders worked their way through his limbs. He thought about approaching Harrietta’s chambers tonight. How would she react if he chose to exercise his rights as a husband? Would she recoil in horror? Or would she be wet with thoughts of the Cavern? Good God, he was in danger of finding himself jealous of himself.

  Over his wife? Harrietta Aubrey, nee Delaney? She was no beauty. Possessed no elegance. She was intelligent, but there were women of far superior wit. She was kindhearted.Though charity was quite the mode these days, few would have ventured to visit an orphanage. Or felt a kindred spirit with one of its orphans—and a Negro one at that.

  Her heart as well as her mind had an openness he appreciated. And he admired her determination. He remembered when she was about four and ten years of age and had attempted to ride a horse Harold had warned her repeatedly not to ride as it was a temperamental beast and quite above her skills as a horseman. True enough, the horse had thrown her off. Harold had admonished her for proving his point. With tears in her eyes from her bruising landing, she had hobbled back to the horse and, ignoring her brother, pulled herself back onto the animal.

  As with the Cavern, Harrietta would have her way.

  On his way to the stairs leading up to Penelope’s balcony, Vale passed the alcove occupied by Lovell and his submissive. Lovell had attached over a dozen clamps to the woman’s breasts alone and several to each thigh. He yanked the chains attached to the clamps on her thighs. She emitted a bloodcurdling cry. Vale understood that for some women, the greater the pain, the greater the arousal. But he doubted Lovell’s ability to gauge the right amount of pain.

  “Worry not,” Penelope said, coming up behind him. “She is a whore for pain.”

  “She is young,” Vale replied.

  “And virulent.”

  “Nonetheless, I will keep watch over them.”

  Penelope sighed. “I would rather you not interfere with my other patrons, Vale.”

  “Throw me out if you will.”

  “Then what would become of your wife?”

  His spine straightened and he turned sharply to look Penelope full in the face.

  She sighed again and retreated. “I have no desire to banish you, of course. But what will happen when you are done with the Marchioness?”

  He was unprepared to answer the question for he had been sure he would be able to dissuade Harrietta from Madame Botreaux’s.

  But he would have to redouble his efforts. And he would start tomorrow morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  “GOOD MORNING,” VALE greeted Harrietta at breakfast the following morning as she made her way to her seat.

  Harrietta returned his greeting, sat down, and bolted back to her feet when her tender derriere met the firmness of the chair.

  “Something the matter, my dear?” Vale asked with a raised brow, setting down the paper he had been reading.

  “No—no, I—I thought I forgot something,” she mumbled before sitting down gingerly. “These—these are new chairs?”

  “Yes, these possess a higher back.”

  The new chairs had not the soft cushions of the prior ones, Harrietta thought dismally. It seemed to her that Vale was eying her more intently this morning. Did he suspect something? Had Sarah mentioned something to him? No, she found it difficult the maid would have del
iberately attempted to stir trouble. It was probably her own guilt that had her imagining things, Harrietta concluded. Nonetheless, she was relieved when breakfast was served, and hoped it would be a quick meal.

  The two silver balls she had been presented last night were lodged in her quim. She had not been able to keep them inside her soon after she had received them. Embarrassed, she had quickly deposited them back into the box he had given her. As she had sat in the coach after departing Madame Botreaux’s, with the little box in her lap, she opened it and stared at the orbs. This had been beyond anything she had imagined.

  Once home, she had attempted to insert the balls into herself. They, along with her smarting arse, reminded her of her “lord” and she had soon found herself aroused by the memory of all that had transpired that evening. With the balls inside her, she had masturbated. The flexing of her vaginal muscles on the balls had added a scintillating effect to her orgasm.

  She had debated whether or not to have the silver balls inside of her when she went down to breakfast. It would be horrifying if they should fall out of a sudden. Using a petticoat, she had fashioned a loin cloth for herself that would catch the balls should they slip out of her. It took all her concentration, girding muscles that she had never been aware of, to make it down the stairs and into the dining hall without losing the balls.

  “There will be a balloon ascent tonight at Vauxhall,” Vale noted as he spread butter upon his crumpet. “If you’ve an interest in attending, that can be arranged.”

  Harrietta perked up at the thought of seeing a hot air balloon for the first time. “With Charlotte?”

  Vale cleared his throat. “I had thought perhaps you would accompany me.”

  “Oh...of course.”

  “If the prospect of my company disappoints you, you have only to say. I take no offense.”

  “Not at all,” Harrietta protested. “I-I should like to attend Vauxhall with you. It has great displays of chinoiserie, does it not? Oh...but I cannot. I am to dine with Mrs. Robertson.”

  Vale frowned. “Mrs. Olyvia Robertson? She is a friend of Lady Falconet, is she not?”