Cavern of Pleasures Trio

by Brown, Em

  Her body made a last attempt at resistance, and he felt her derriere against his thigh. His cock stirred.

  “Greatly,” he added as he straightened and pulled her to her feet. If he had maintained their position, he would have been too tempted to take her then and there against the table. Nonetheless, he made a note to secure a table of similar height at Chelton.

  He pushed her down into the chair. Their skirmish had caused her to take in deeper breaths, and he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her bosom for a moment.

  Damn. The situation was all too intoxicating. He had never had to resort to such tactics before to seduce a woman.

  “You should reconsider my generous offer,” she said between breaths. “The consequences will prove dire for you elsewise.”

  “I see that my words continue to fall upon deaf ears. You are not the source of funds for me but, rather, of pleasure.”

  “I do not believe you. There are far prettier women you could have abducted.”

  “Indeed, they are as plentiful as flowers in a garden. There is but one Lady Debarlow. I suggest you forget all attempts to escape, bribe, or threaten. And simply enjoy what is about to be done to you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ABIGAIL FOUND IT HARD to swallow. Who was this man? To gain entry into the Cavern, he must have been someone Penelope trusted, or was impressed by. It was common knowledge that the proprietress had an eye for beauty. Abigail did not think her abductor was long a patron of Madame Botreaux’s, but she had noticed the man in Penelope’s exclusive balcony. He had somehow penetrated her inner sanctum. The man must have been handsome indeed.

  Would it be possible to, as he had suggested, take pleasure in her abduction? He had foiled her moment of glory, or at least delayed it. Tremayne could hardly reproach her for having been kidnapped on the way to meet him. She would explain the extraordinary circumstance, he would be relieved to find her safe, and he would determine that instead of requiring her to meet him at some posting inn outside of London, they should travel together. It would not matter what had been written upon that forged note once she exposed the truth to Tremayne once she had been set free. When she was to be set free. She wondered how long her abductor intended to keep her. Surely he intended to set her free at some point? Or did he plan to enslave her in some secret harem of his?

  Her offer of twenty thousand pounds had interested him. She was sure of it. He was only biding his time. He meant to toy with her at first, perhaps hoping to exact more from her. She looked at him, but the lamp had rolled beneath the table, and she saw only shadows upon his face. His hair was powdered and his hands gloved. She could discern nothing from his ordinary garments. He was a gentleman, but she could find no distinguishing features. His voice was somewhat familiar, but that was likely because she had encountered him at Madame Botreaux’s.

  The sound of a carriage approaching outside drew both their attention. The door opened and another man walked in. This time she noticed the man to be in service, perhaps a footman. He appeared surprised to find the lantern upon the ground but said nothing. He retrieved the light and packed up the victuals.

  “Have you any water to quench my thirst?” she asked. If there were a means to delay them...she would surely be better off here within proximity of others than wherever they intended to take her.

  The footman glanced at his master, who nodded. A canteen was produced and held to her lips. As she drank the water, she wondered if there was a way to leave evidence that she had been here. It were not entirely improbable that Tremayne might discover the note to be a hoax and come in search of her.

  “I am hungry,” she pronounced.

  “Perhaps you should have thought of it before your little act of defiance,” her abductor replied. “But your punishment does not entail starvation.”

  He gestured to his servant, who unpacked the bread and cheese.

  “I shall require my hands to eat.”

  “I fear you have lost that privilege, but my valet can feed you.”

  She bristled. She was to be fed like an animal or a child? But the thought of her hands bound behind her inspired an idea. She would leave behind one of her gloves if she were able to extricate one.

  “Very well,” she consented.

  The valet broke off a piece of the bread and held it to her mouth. She chewed slowly. All the while her abductor watched with a faint smile upon his lips. Behind her back, she tugged at one of her gloves. It would be but a small chance that Tremayne would come across it, but it was better than naught.

  The valet offered her the cheese, but she shook her head. “I have not enough of an appetite to be of further spectacle.”

  Her abductor pulled her to her feet and guided her out. She dropped her glove behind her before climbing into the carriage. Her abductor sat across from her once more. He crossed one leg over another.

  “Let us review a few rules,” he said, “that I am sure will be familiar to you. First, you are to address me always with a deferential ‘Sir’ when speaking. Second, you will ask permission for everything. You are to begin each request with ‘Please, Sir, may I.’”

  A tremor went down her spine. She was indeed familiar with such rules as they were employed by the masters at Madame Botreaux’s as well as herself.

  “Third, you shall thank me for all that I grant and all that I do. Is that understood?”

  Abigail contemplated her response. She would have happily played the submissive were the master the likes of the Marquess of Dunnesford, but to capitulate to a stranger who had the audacity to kidnap her...

  “Is that understood?” he repeated with an edge.

  “Yessss,” she replied reluctantly.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I must remind you that you have a punishment forthcoming. I would not compound it were I you.”

  Trying not to be too irked, she ventured, “What is the nature of my punishment? Sir.”

  “Let us reserve that as a pleasant surprise. I will reiterate that good behavior will be rewarded, and I should prefer to mete out rewards than punishment.”

  “And what is your experience as a master, pray? It is no small responsibility to take on a submissive.”

  He waited patiently until she realized she had neglected a crucial word.

  “Sir,” she added grimly.

  “Baroness, you are not off to a promising start.”

  “Surely you would allow me some reprieve as I have been put into most exceptional circumstances, Sir.”

  “I would for an ordinary person, but you, Lady Debarlow are hardly ordinary.”

  “You flatter me. Sir.”

  Ignoring her acerbic tone, he continued, “Therefore, I have no qualms of holding you to the highest standards. I am confident you will quickly fall in line – and enjoy doing so.”

  She gave a short snort.

  “I see that I have quite the wayward child upon my hands,” he said, his tone turning ominous. I had not expected to play the role of taskmaster so soon. Turn over.”

  Had she heard him correctly?

  “Pardon?”

  There was only scant light from the moon and stars, but she saw him shaking his head.

  “Sir,” he supplied.

  She sucked in her breath. Damn. It had been too long since she had been in the role of the submissive. “Forgive me, sir.”

  “You are forgiven this once. Now turn over.”

  “But you—“

  “I will not tolerate your insolence, Baroness.”

  “I—“

  “I expect you to obey swiftly and without question.”

  She could tell from his tone that he was serious. “Turn over? Sir?”

  “Turn over and kneel upon the floor.”

  She considered playing dumb, but that would only irritate him. Complying, she turned to face her seat and dropped to her knees. He put a hand between her shoulder blades and bent her over the seat.

  For a moment she wondered if
he would force himself upon her, but the dominants at Madame Botreaux’s were not ravishers. Nonetheless, it were possible that a miscreant had slipped in. Her abductor had declared that no harm would come to her. He need not have made such an assurance, lest it were the truth.

  “What can one do to discipline an errant child?” he queried.

  “I have no children and cannot speak to what methods work best, Sir,” she answered.

  “My governor would take the paddle to my arse.”

  She became aware that her own rump faced her abductor.

  “Tell me: what form of punishment do you favor, Baroness?”

  “To administer or to receive, Sir?”

  “I have seen you, as mistress, wield the crop often.”

  She heard the sound of something slicing through air and smack against flesh – his hand, perhaps. Her pulse began to throb.

  “It be a favored tool of mine, Sir,” she acknowledged.

  “Have you felt the sting of a crop?”

  She forced a swallow. “Aye. Sir.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “It would depend upon the man who held the crop, Sir.”

  “That was not my question, Baroness.”

  “I enjoyed it, Sir.”

  “You have used one quite extensively with the Viscount.”

  What was his purpose in stating such a fact? She shifted uncomfortably against the seat. She had to crane her head for it pressed flush against the back of the seat.

  “How ironic then if you were to feel that same crop upon your own body.”

  “Do you imply that you have in your possession my riding crop? Sir.”

  He propped a foot next to her and slapped the crop against his boot. “It were an appropriate instrument for an equestrian.”

  She kept her tone light but could not resist, “You are a thief as well as a kidnapper, Sir.”

  “You may have your riding crop back when we are finished.”

  His words encouraged her. There was to be an end to their charade.

  “Now, how best to address your earlier impertinence?” He tapped the crop against his boot in thought. “The possibilities are endless...and delicious.”

  He had patience, she allowed. In contrast, Tremayne would have thrown her skirts above her hips long before. She admired – grudgingly – how this stranger had drawn out the expectation, augmenting her agitation through his procrastination.

  “Perhaps a good spanking were in order,” he declared.

  A mixture of uneasy emotions swirled in her stomach. She did not think she would like to be touched by this stranger, but she could not deny a small sense of curiosity and anticipation.

  “The rope about your wrists will be untied,” he continued. “You will lift your skirts for me...and expose your rump.”

  Her heart pounded more boldly. She wondered if she should speak and persuade him not to continue, but perhaps it were best to conclude this first reprimand sooner rather than later. She could certainly handle a simple spanking. She felt the tap of the crop against her flank.

  “The backside of a woman is a most engaging part. As with the bosom, the curves of the buttocks are distinctive of the female sex. Both sets of orbs present such supple visions, such feasts for the eye. The body of a woman is quite balanced in that respect.”

  He spoke in a whisper still, but occasionally his voice would drop into a seductive baritone.

  “How tempting would you consider your arse, Baroness?”

  “Sir?”

  “As luscious as two ripened peaches in the summer?”

  “I have had little occasion to view mine own arse, Sir.”

  “No? That will have to be remedied, especially if you prove to have an exceptional piece. Has no one commented upon your rump before?”

  “Not that I can remember, Sir.”

  “Describe your bum.”

  “I said I have had little occasion—“

  “What can I expect to behold?”

  “Two buttocks, Sir, lest I have grown another that I am unaware of.”

  “A shame we have such little illumination. I should wish to inspect your derrière. Perhaps we could halt the carriage and access the lantern by the driver. I think the driver and my valet would readily give their thoughts on the quality of your rump as well.”

  It was bad enough that she might have to bare herself to her abductor, but the thought of herself exposed to three strange men was too much.

  “What do you wish for me to say, Sir?” she inquired.

  “The truth. I have seen all manner of posteriors. Some are rather flat. Others bulbous like tomatoes bursting on the vine.”

  “I should think mine of middling size and shape, Sir.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I do not perceive it to have any distinguishing features.”

  “Modesty becomes you not, Baroness.”

  She felt her cheeks burning at the degradation of having to discuss her arse if it were a slice of meat being sold at market.

  “Do you like your arse?”

  “I have an attachment to it, being as it is the only one I have owned. Sir.”

  “Do you exalt or despair its qualities?”

  “Exalt, Sir.”

  “Much better. What would you say to entice attention to it?”

  She envisioned her own backside and did her best to answer him. “You would find its complexion as smooth and soft as that of babe. Its appearance is full and round.”

  “Would one orb fit nicely in my hand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Does it quiver when struck?”

  “Most delectably, Sir.”

  She felt warm in the confines of the carriage – perhaps the consequence of having had to remain in her awkward position at length...or something else.

  “I look forward to making an acquaintance with your bottom, Lady Debarlow. You may resume your seat.”

  His directive surprised her. After all that dialogue, she had expected more to come of it. Was she disappointed or relieved?

  He assisted her back into a sitting position when it became clear she was having difficulty moving as the carriage jostled along the road. Her limbs were stiff, and her neck ached.

  “We have a considerable length before reaching our destination,” he explained. “I recommend you rest. You have before you a long venture.”

  She settled into her seat but doubted she could sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  HER EYES WERE CLOSED, but Montague could not tell if she truly slept. He unloosened his constraining cravat. He could not refrain from imagining himself fucking the Baroness in the carriage. He had taken a woman before in a carriage, and it was no easy matter given the unpredictable motions of the vehicle. But Lady Debarlow had been positioned perfectly, her rump within such easy access...

  He took in a deep breath. He had been tempted to soothe her sore limbs, but that would only fuel the already uncomfortable ardor he was feeling. There would be time enough for him to show her his compassion. Too soon and she may presume his concern to be a weakness. He had one chance to convert her mind by compelling her body. To show her what she denied herself by remaining with Tremayne. It was farfetched plan, but he had not the luxury of time.

  The carriage bumped along rougher roads, and Montague wished they traveled with the sunlight that he and the Baroness could witness the bucolic surroundings as they neared Chelton. Although Lady Debarlow kept her London residence for most of the year, her maidservant had told Jonathan that her ladyship did return to the country seat once or twice a year. He had had heard the estate to be quite impressive, but there was much to appreciate about Chelton.

  The home where Montague had spent a happy childhood, whilst his mother lived and before he had been sent off to school after her death, had once been a small Norse? castle. It was not entirely certain how his great grandfather had come into the estate save that Chelton might have been payment for a debt owed the elder Mr. Edwards. How ironic that
Chelton was now the means to pay off a debt once more, Montague thought grimly.

  The structure had been rebuilt a number of times in the course of its existence. Montague remembered his grandmother complaining about the draftiness of the place and questioning the wisdom of retaining the old property instead of selling it to the first bidder. His grandfather had hoped to cease her complaints by erecting a wing – built with wood instead of stone – especially for her. He had pledged Chelton to secure the funds necessary to complete the project, and thus began the first set of debts to be owed by the Montague family.

  The cellar and kitchens, however, remained of stone construction and much as they were before. As did the few chambers below ground that Montague and his sisters speculated once served as dungeons. They had heavy doors, and their small windows were situated higher than a man’s reach and barred. In one of the cells, he had Jonathan put down a palette of straw for a bed.

  Lady Debarlow opened her eyes when the carriage drew to a stop at the front doors of the manor, indicating to Montague that she had not indeed been sleeping. She looked out the window, but the morning light was still two hours away. He assisted the Baroness from the carriage and undid the bindings from her wrists. She looked up at him with a quizzical eye as she rubbed her wrists.

  “You will find naught but hills and trees for miles,” he told her as he took her by the elbow.

  No one greeted them at the door for the servants had been dismissed years ago.

  “And none save you, myself, and my valet as the occupants,” he added in case she thought to seek the aid of someone else.

  She turned to the driver, but he had turned the carriage around and was headed out the gates.

  “My portmanteau?” she inquired. “Sir.”

  “Back at the posting inn with your abigail. We did not retrieve it as you will have no need for clothing here.”

  She halted in her steps but said nothing.

  “Come,” he urged, “your phantasy awaits.”

  He could tell she was tempted to snicker – a good sign for she would not have considered such a response if she did not feel somewhat at ease.