by EM BROWN
“He has far too much honor and courage not to,” she responded.
Vale felt his chest swell at the pride in her voice. “And are you so sure you wish to be rescued, ma petite?”
“Yes,” she hissed as she renewed her efforts to free herself.
He bent his head toward hers. She jerked her face away as far as she could, but he ran his tongue along her neck, taking a playful mouthful of her earring and earlobe.
“Prove it.”
HARRIETTA FELT HER heart throb. She had not expected this from his lordship, and she wished she had simply sent him a note—or not showed at all. But in their time together, she had felt a strange closeness to him, one that merited at least a goodbye in person. Had she made her second terrible mistake of the day?
“Prove it,” her lordship repeated. “Prove that if I were to lift your skirts, I would not find you wet with desire?”
Oh dear, Harrietta thought, trying not to dwell on how his body felt pressed against her, as hard as the wall at her back. She had made love to her husband but a few hours ago. How could she find herself warming to another? Better to escape than to probe the answer to that question.
She struggled against him, but he held her firm. The exertion made her breaths full, and her bosom heaved into his chest. Her legs were trapped tightly between his and hampered by her own petticoats. Was that a sneer upon his lips?
“Admit that you want to be mine,” he said. “Admit that no man can pleasure you as well as I. Certainly not your husband.”
She looked him in the eye. “My husband fulfills me like no other. But if you think you can do better, you are welcome to prove it.”
Ceasing her struggles, she watched him furrow his brow.
“Very well, ma petite,” he accepted.
When he relaxed his body against hers and bent his head down to her décolletage, she picked up her foot and stomped him on his other foot.
He roared. “Bloody hell.”
She ran past him, but he shot out an arm and caught a hold of her skirts, causing her to fall forward onto the ground.
“You will be the death of me,” he murmured, grabbing her by the wrists and, reaching for a rope, bound them behind her back.
“Help me! Someone help!” Harrietta screamed as she kicked and flailed.
He ripped her neckerchief off and stuffed it into her mouth, covering her mouth with a hand to hold the fabric in place. Then he bent her over the table and straddled her legs. With his free hand he pulled up her skirts and threw them over her, baring her bottom.
“Now, my dear, what sort of punishment do you think you merit for having nearly broken a bone in each of my feet?” he asked, caressing her arse.
Harrietta could only groan. Bound as she was, she was at his mercy. There was naught she could do now but brace herself for the onslaught upon her body.
It began with a smack to her derriere. His hand circled around, and he buried his fingers into the hair at her mons, gently tugging. A finger slid towards her clitoris. She attempted to think about the most mundane matters—what she would wear to Vauxhall, where she might take Adia, what dishes she would request of the cook for dinner tomorrow—but her thoughts could not overcome the sensations pooling between her legs.
Several more blows fell on her buttocks. Her flesh was smarting, but the pain could not eclipse the dread she felt when he slid his hand between her legs and found her wet. Clamping her thighs together as tightly as she could made no difference. He forced his way to her cunnie and drove his fingers into her. Her traitorous body melted into his caresses, yearning for more. He pulled her hips higher, and she knew her pussy lips were in plain view to him. Her petticoats over her head blocked her view, but she sensed he was unbuttoning his breeches. Her body tensed in desire and dismay. She had no way to protest. She did not know that she would if she could.
The head of his cock stroked her slit. She moaned and inadvertently arched her arse higher to allow him better access to her quim. Then he was inside of her, and her legs threatened to buckle completely. Her wetness took him easily. Slowly his hips thrust at her arse. His cock filled her with delicious familiarity. As if it was meant to join with her quim. He took his time. Was it to prolong her defeat and prove his point?
She closed her eyes and bit down on the cloth in her mouth. She flexed the muscles of her cunnie and felt a surge of delight through her loins. He responded by thrusting deeper and harder, causing the pleasant agitation deep inside her to vibrate more intensely. Soon he was pounding her fast and furious. She spent in a whirl of sensations, body seizing against the table, her muffled cries drowned by his grunting.
He pulled her to her feet by her hair. With barely a moment to savor her orgasm, she was dragged to the center of the alcove. He removed the neckerchief from her mouth, and she took a much needed gulp of air. It had been suffocating under her dress. She stood in a daze, wondering what sort of wife she was to have spent at the hand of another man but hours after she had lain with her husband.
As if reading her mind, he said, “There is no shame in giving in to the natural urges of your body. It makes you no less moral, simply more human.”
Odd that she should be reassured by his words, but perhaps because she wanted to believe him?
“You are clothed far too much,” he noted. “Remove the caraco.”
She obeyed but continued to wonder if she should be resisting. Dissatisfied with her pace, he stood in front of her, grabbed the lapels and ripped the garment open, sending buttons flying to the floor. After tossing the caraco, he stared down at her corset and grazed his knuckles over the swell of her bosom. Her heart hammered against her ribs as his languid caress made her cunnie throb.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
She did as told, as if it was the most natural order of things for her to comply. She even felt a sense of comfort in his commands.
His firm hands began unlacing her petticoats and corset with practiced swiftness. The petticoats pooled at her feet, and then the corset. Her breasts relaxed from their artificial placement. He reached around her and pinched her nipples through her chemise, eliciting a shooting sensation that went from the tips of her breasts to her clitoris. Just as she was settling into the pleasurable pain of having her nipples roughly fondled, he jerked her chemise down her shoulders and pressed his mouth to the exposed skin.
Have mercy, she silently begged him. He molded his body to the back of her, and his erection pressed itself into the small of her back. Her wetness slid down her thighs, and she was sure he could sense her arousal intensifying.
Abruptly, he grabbed her chemise with both hands and ripped it from her. The garment tore down the middle, baring her breasts, her belly, her legs. She stood in naked glory before him. As she wondered how she would explain the torn chemise to her maid, his lordship walked over to the wall and took the leash and collar from its hook.
This is madness, she thought to herself. How could her heart belong entirely to one man, but her body be in love with the touch of two different men?
He clicked the collar in place about her neck. She followed him as he led her from their alcove and out onto the assembly floor. Leaving her to stand where she had stood to present on her first day at Madame Botreaux’s, he went to ring the bell. Her pulse began to quicken as men and women began to filter into the common area. There must have been dozens of patrons—all with their gazes fixed upon her. She felt like a prized horse at an auction. One man sitting near the front grinned at her as he fondled his cock. A compulsion to flee filled her even as she felt an arousal mounting in her body.
His lordship stood behind her and whispered, “You asked for punishment. And now you shall receive it, ma petit.”
The sound of his voice made her groan. Her mind began to clear itself of all thoughts save what was about to happen.
“My submissive wishes to taste the nectar of another’s quim,” he announced to the onlookers.
“I will offer my submissive,” respon
ded a man with a naked woman collared and kneeling at his feet.
His lordship nodded, and the other woman rose to her feet to stand next to Harrietta. Harrietta eyed the woman, a tall one with long dark hair and curved figure. How am I to do this? she wondered. She had never been with another woman before.
The woman had smooth alabaster skin, Harrietta observed. As she recalled the few dreams she had had of kissing or fondling another woman, she warmed to the idea of touching another woman.
“Lie down,” he instructed the other submissive. Then he turned to Harrietta. “Kiss her.”
Awkwardly at first but not wanting to embarrass her master, Harrietta knelt down, straddled the brunette and lowered her face. Their mouths touched. Harrietta noted how much softer and more supple the lips of the brunette’s were in comparison to those of a man. It was a strange feeling kissing a woman, but not unpleasant. The brunette parted her mouth and Harrietta slipped her tongue into it dark moistness. Murmurs of approval sounded around them.
“Caress her breasts,” his lordship ordered.
With both hands, Harrietta took hold of the fleshy orbs. She kneaded them, and the brunette purred. His lordship placed a boot on her back and pushed her body down into the brunette’s. Harrietta could feel the points of the other woman’s hardened nipples against her own breasts. She continued to dart her tongue in and out of the other woman’s mouth while fondling the breasts below her.
“Suckle the teats.”
Harrietta bent over the woman’s large areolas and engulfed one nipple. The brunette moaned. Encouraged, Harrietta sucked harder as she continued to caress the other breast.
“Permission to touch her, my lord?” the brunette asked his lordship.
“Permission granted.”
The brunette wound her fingers into Harrietta’s hair and pressed Harrietta’s face harder into the breasts until her nose was buried in the ample flesh. Fighting for a breath, Harrietta bit down on the nipple. The brunette squealed in delight and pulled at Harrietta’s hair. Harrietta knew to cease her attentions would merit his lordship’s anger, but she was not enjoying the current state of affairs. Every time she bit down harder, the woman would wrench her hair so fiercely Harrietta worried her mask would fly loose. There was naught to do but to succumb to the brunette’s ministrations.
“Enough,” his lordship said finally. “Attend to her quim.”
The brunette wore a smug smile as she parted her thighs. Harrietta settled herself on all fours and positioned her face between the woman’s legs. Praying that the woman would spend soon, Harrietta dove in. She licked the nub of flesh protruding from its hood. The bushel of hair at the woman’s mons tickled her nose, but Harrietta lapped at the quim, which was fast becoming slippery with wetness.
“For arriving fully clothed, you will merit twenty lashes,” his lordship told her.
The crop descended quickly onto her rump. Harrietta yelped into the other woman’s cunnie.
“As you are occupied, I will have your other submissive count for you.”
“One, my lord,” the brunette said.
A second blow fell on her other buttock, but Harrietta remained on task.
“Two...three...four...”
Harrietta rolled her tongue over the clitoris, wishing the woman had trimmed her hairy mons. But she could not deny that her own body was responding quite favorably to what was happening. Her own cunnie ached for the same attention.
“Five...six..seven...six...”
Eight! The count is at eight!
But his lordship continued without a word. The brunette miscounted several times. Harrietta felt like biting her, but she refrained. She had been trained better.
Her arse smarted from the extra lashes. The brunette was grinding her cunnie into Harrietta’s face. She could sense the woman’s orgasm looming. The brunette clamped her thighs about Harrietta’s ears, blocking out the sounds of the other patrons mating around them. Her mouth felt sore, but Harrietta wiggled her tongue into the brunette and finally the woman broke into spasms, knocking Harrietta’s head about. Harrietta milked the orgasm until the cries and the tremors subsided. Her own cunnie throbbed, wanting the same.
“Well done,” his lordship praised, but when she tried to rise to her feet, he pushed her back down onto her knees. “My turn.”
The brunette was dismissed, and his lordship unbuttoned his breeches and pulled out his cock. The light in the Cavern was still dim, but she thought the cock was not unlike that of Vale’s in shape and size. But before she could examine it further, he had pushed her face at his crotch and stuffed the whole of his erection into her mouth. She began to gag instantly.
“Relax, ma petite,” he urged gently.
She complied, but it was no easy task taking in his length. She was still surprised that he had finally allowed her to take his cock in such a manner. With the flavor of the brunette still in her mouth, Harrietta tasted the faint saltiness of him. The wiry hairs of his crotch tickled her nose as well, but she minded it less. With his hand fisted into her hair, he guided her mouth up and down his shaft. She unfurled her tongue so that its whole surface could envelope him. Up and down she went, trying to suppress the reflex to gag every time his cock forced itself deeper into her throat.
His grunting came faster. His hips thrust into her face as he pushed her down harder onto his shaft. Then his thighs began to quiver, and she felt hot liquid filling her mouth. She fought to swallow as much as she could, but some of it spilled past her lips and trickled down her chin.
“An adequate effort for your first time,” he praised as he wiped the drops from her chin with his thumb.
The distinctive saltiness of his seed remained in her mouth. She glanced around herself but half the patrons were engaged in their own lustful activities. She eyed a woman bounding up and down her master’s cock with envy. Her own body trembled with agitation. She had serviced the damn brunette and his lordship. Surely she would merit a reward? In her current state of need, she would have no trouble spending before the entire Cavern. The shyness she thought she would experience before all these witnesses could not dull her desire. Indeed, the thought of spending before so many onlookers thrilled her now.
Helping her to her feet, his lordship walked Harrietta over to a beam that stretched above her head. He tied her wrists to the beam and locked her ankles to the shackles on the floor. But the shackles were a few feet behind the beam, forcing her to bend at the waist with legs akimbo. When he came to stand in front of her, she noticed that he had switched his crop for the nine-tails. She stared at his crotch. Regretfully, he had buttoned his breeches. The taste of him lingered in her mouth, and she hoped to have another opportunity at that cock of his.
What a shameless wanton she had become to crave two different cocks! She wondered if Vale would ever consider a visit to Madame Botreaux’s. Even as she desired the cock of his lordship, she missed her husband. How thrilling it would be to face her husband in the manner she faced his lordship. To have Vale wielding the lash or the crop. But as she had no notion of whether or not Vale would be receptive to the practices of the Cavern, should she not cast aside her feelings of guilt and enjoy her final night here?
Braving a glance at his lordship, she saw him smile. A knowing smile—as if he read and understood her thoughts. She shivered.
Running the ribbons through his hand, he backhanded the lash against a breast.
“Ahhh!” Harrietta gasped.
His aim was amazing for he had landed all the ribbons on one breast. He did the same to her other orb.
Her cunnie clenched at the pleasurable pain. She kept her eyes to the ground to please him, both dreading and hoping that he would reward her if she should perform to his satisfaction. Another lash at her breasts had her writhing in her bonds. The spectators—some fondling themselves or fondling others—blurred before her.
“Would you consider sharing her quim?” a man from the crowd asked.
“No,” his lordship replied to Ha
rrietta’s relief.
Aside from Vale and his lordship, she wanted no other man. His lordship delivered a few more blows to her quivering breasts. God, how she wished he would suck on her smarting nipples. Her wetness was sliding down her inner thigh for all to see. She strained for release. The lashing was not nearly as torturous as the pressure building inside of her, hot and agonizing, a kettle roiling with steam.
“Please, my lord...permission to speak?” she moaned in between lashes to her reddened orbs.
“Granted,” he said.
“Please fuck me, my lord.”
VALE THOUGHT HE HAD never heard such delicious words. He might have been jealous of himself once again, but knowing that, as her husband, he had her heart was enough. He would possess her body and soul soon enough.
She had performed well. Both his heart and his cock had swelled in pride. There would be time to refine her skill in taking his cock into her mouth, and he relished the prospect of teaching her. His cock perked once more at the sight of her naked and bound, arousing the men and women around them. The image of her between the legs of the other submissive would surely stay with him for some time. He wondered if he could ever have enough of Harrietta.
“Fuck me, my lord.”
This was no longer a plea but a demand. And he was happy to oblige.
Stepping behind her, he unleashed his cock. They had made love earlier, sweet and affectionate, tender and adoring. As husband and wife. Now he would take her. Ravish her. Forceful and unforgiving. As master and submissive.
He reached around her and teased the swollen nub of flesh beneath her mons. She moaned in delight and rubbed herself into his palm. Sliding his hand further, he was amazed at the gush of wetness he met. Without a doubt, his Hetty was ripe for the picking. He smoothed her fluids over his anxious cock, then rammed himself into her.
She cried out in surprise. Though her wetness allowed his cock to glide into her cunnie with ease, she still felt delectably tight. Her rump curved nicely into his groin and he recalled how they had glowed red for him before. He savored how her hot damp flesh encased his equally hot member, how she flexed and pulsated about him. He could have shot his load then and there. But a practiced master would never allow himself such a luxury without seeing to the needs of his charge first.