Celeste's Story

by Robin Gideon

  She grabbed the skirt of her gown and lifted it, looking at her legs in the reflection of the mirror. Having no wish to impress anyone, she had put on cotton stockings instead of wearing silk. And her garters, while efficiently holding up her stockings, were plain white with no effort to make them the least bit pretty.

  The dress would have to stay, but the stockings and garters had to be changed.

  She managed to, in record time, hurry to her closet, find new silk stockings, and garters with pretty red roses embroidered in them, and white, kidskin slippers she’d never worn outside the house. As she slid the silk up her thighs, it seemed her hands weren’t her own. It was as though another pair of hands caressed her. Her clitoris tingled, and her nipples were visibly erect through her camisole and the gown’s bodice.

  For a fleeting moment, she thought of masturbating to a quick climax then decided to let Heath do that for her. He always made her come. Always.

  She removed her drawers then stood upright and closed her eyes. Could she really leave the house without drawers? It was an unthinkable crime against proper behavior.

  I don’t want anything to get in Heath’s way. Having made up her mind, her decision to leave the house without drawers was easy. What was difficult was to accept the blunt, unladylike fact that she wanted, from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes, to get thoroughly and righteously fucked.

  A flush of heat went through her. Though it had been many years since she’d been a virgin, until Heath, she had only had sex with Ralph. And though at first it hadn’t really been an awful experience with Ralph, she had never really looked upon their marital bed as a place of entertainment. She had never happily anticipated the feel of Ralph climbing atop her body to thrust his skinny erection into her.

  But she looked forward to making love now with every ounce of energy she possessed. She anticipated being with Heath more than she had wanted anything in her life. His hands, his lips, his oh-so-responsive cock brought her delights she had not thought possible.

  She looked at herself one last time in the mirror and then frowned. It was nearly a full moon outside, and the sky was cloudless. In her white dress, she would be visible the instant she stepped into the courtyard.

  A dash back to her closet, and she solved the problem. She pulled a dark-gray, hooded cape over her shoulders, careful not to disturb her pinned-up coiffure Margaret had done such a fine job with. The cape was perfect, covering her almost to the ankles.

  She held her hands out in front of herself, fingers splayed. She tried to hold them as steady as possible, but still there was a tremble to them. The right side of her mouth pulled up into a faintly sensual smile. She was nervous, but she wasn’t going to let her own fear keep her locked up alone in her own bedroom.

  Grabbing her small purse, she opened the bedroom door and looked out. The hallway was empty. The staff was downstairs, probably still cleaning up after the supper, making as little noise as possible so Ralph would not be disturbed. She stepped out, started out of habit to her left toward the main stairway leading to the ground floor, then spun sharply on her new slippers and headed the other way.

  At the end of the hallway was a door she had only passed through a couple of times in her life. She took the servant’s entrance down to the ground floor, paused there a moment in a futile attempt to slow her hammering heart, then stepped out into the pantry. The scents of fresh potatoes and tomatoes, of various spices and particularly of cinnamon, tickled her nostrils. She crossed the small room, opened the door, and stepped out into the evening breeze.

  For warmth, the cape was entirely unnecessary; for camouflage, it was ideal, helping her blend in with the shadows as she followed the base of the two-story, marble estate, moving slowly, crouched over. In the back of her mind she wondered what kind of story she would tell if she should be stopped by a servant inquiring why Lady Fallon should be skulking around outside alone in the shadows. No logical, believable explanation came to mind, so she decided she would just have to remain unseen until she reached the stable.

  Assuming, of course, she’d find Heath in his stable. What if he wasn’t there? What if Ralph had given him the night off and he wasn’t even on the estate? Heath hadn’t earned his reputation as a womanizer by staying home on the nights he was off duty.

  Stop thinking that way! Heath’s going to be in the stable. She knew she was only trying to convince herself. He’ll have known somehow you were going to come to him, and he’ll be ready for you. He’ll want you more than ever. He’ll want you ’til the sun comes up, and then he’ll want you some more. He’ll give you so much good loving you’ll be sore for a week—maybe more.

  She stepped into the stable. Not a single lantern was lit, and the only illumination came from what little moonlight shone through the open hayloft hatch. She was grateful, now, that Heath kept such an orderly stable. Like a blind woman, she stretched her hands out, searching for familiar objects, heading for the narrow breezeway connecting the stable to the living quarters for the estate’s coachmen.

  She stubbed her toe once, and her purse briefly caught on the edge of a railing, but she had little trouble navigating in the near-total darkness until she reached the breezeway leading to Heath’s quarters. Roofed but with open sides, the breezeway was lined with large, wooden rainwater barrels. The ones on their sides were empty, but the ones on end were full. As a titled woman of wealth, she had the luxury of washing her hair in rainwater, and the household staff always made sure she had gallons to spare.

  A hand, broad-palmed and extraordinarily powerful, clamped over her mouth from behind without any warning. An arm whipped around her waist. It was a long arm—long enough to surround her, pinning both arms to her sides. Before she could make so much as a squeak, she was lifted off the ground and carried over to one of the empty barrels.

  “Thought you’d sneak up on me, did you?”

  Celeste closed her eyes. It was Heath who held her, but in his voice she heard such fury as she’d never before experienced with him. He held her very, very tightly, her body pressed against his own, her slippered feet dangling several inches above the limestone floor of the breezeway.

  “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and you’re not going to say a word. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed?”

  Celeste shivered. Being held off the ground so easily made her feel small and feminine. And very, very vulnerable.

  Heath shook her, and her feet waggled to and fro in midair. “Do you agree, m’lady?”

  She nodded. A moment later, he removed his huge palm from her mouth, and she sighed.

  “You scared the—” she began, but Heath’s hand was over her mouth an instant later, pressing against her lips even more tightly than before.

  “You’ll either learn to follow my orders, or I’ll have to start improving your memory with some punishment,” he warned. The heat of his breath brushed against her ear as he spoke. “Now, are you going to be silent?”

  She nodded, and this time she meant it. He took his hand from her mouth, but it hovered for several seconds just an inch from her lips. Very slowly, he lowered her until her feet were on the ground.

  In a warning whisper, he said, “Remember, not a sound.”

  Celeste felt the strong hands on her shoulders, pushing her forward, forcing her to bend over an on-its-side rain barrel. He released the arm around her stomach, which pinned her arms to her sides. Before she fell face-first into the barrel, she was able to catch herself with her hands.

  But not for long. An instant later, Heath had taken the back of her cape and flipped it over her head, blotting out what little moonlight she could see with. Then he wrenched her wrists behind her back and wrapped a two-foot-long, inch-wide strip of leather around them. Her eyes opened wide as the full realization that he had bound her hands behind her back entered her consciousness. She was still in the initial stages of her indignation over it when she realized Heath had crossed her legs at the ankles and bound them, too
.

  “Now stay very quiet, Lady Celeste,” he said.

  She was more angry than frightened. She was draped over a rain barrel, her head down, her hands tied behind her, her ankles bound. Not only could she not walk, she couldn’t even get up off the barrel without his help.

  “You’ve entered my private sanctuary…once again.” His voice was calm, his tone disconcertingly cold. “It seems you need some lessons.”

  The cape was still over her head, so she closed her eyes, listening carefully to the anger in her servant’s voice. Should she say something in her own defense or abide by her earlier agreement and not say so much as a single word?

  “Keep your silence now, Lady Fallon.”

  Somehow, when he addressed her with her proper title, it made the title seem lewd, a little erotic, or perhaps simply misplaced.

  Heath took her by the shoulder, and an elbow and lifted her off the barrel. He held her by the elbows for a moment because she was weaving a little. It wasn’t easy to stay balanced when her ankles were crossed and securely tied. Once she was steady, he lifted the cape over her head and tossed it aside, and then he took several steps back to look at her appraisingly in the moonlight.

  “Even more beautiful than I remembered,” he whispered. “Ten thousand times your face and body has flashed in my mind since last we were together. Ten thousand times those images kept me from getting a peaceful night’s sleep.”

  Celeste’s eyes were squeezed shut, her face turned down. She heard the anger in Heath’s tone.

  “You have chosen an…interesting time”—he chuckled softly—“to come for a visit.” He chuckled again and whispered, “Now you’ll see why you should never come to my chambers uninvited.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It seems there are many lessons I need to give tonight.”

  Something coloring his words made her open her eyes and lift her chin. Then her jaw nearly dropped open because Heath was standing before her in the breezeway completely naked. Drawn by the magnetism of his virility, she looked down and saw his erection was three-quarters formed and already impressive in length and thickness.

  He picked up her cape and purse and then lifted her, carrying her under the knees and arms. Holding her weight, he displayed no outward effort. He looked down into her eyes, and then his gaze trailed slowly over to her breasts tenuously contained by the cotton décolletage of her lightweight gown. Her struggles exposed the mounds much more than the seamstress had intended.

  “I didn’t—” she began, but a look from Heath silenced her.

  Lady Celeste Fallon, bound hand and foot, was carried by a naked servant through the breezeway and into the servants’ quarters. Several lit candles in mirrored holders were in the main room, off of which were the kitchen area and two bedrooms. A third bedroom was in the loft overhead.

  Celeste did not at first notice the loft until she saw a rope dangling down from it. And at the end of the rope, standing with his hands bound over his head, stood Laine. And like Heath, he was naked. Around his mouth, a gag had been tied.

  “What? What are you doing?” Celeste exclaimed.

  Heath sat her upon a short, sturdily built, three-legged milking stool and used a silk cravat as a gag to silence her protests.

  “That should keep you quiet and in one place,” he said, looking down at her, his blue eyes fiery in the candlelight. He grinned wickedly and combed fingers over his close-cropped, blond hair. “Lady Celeste, when I bound your wrists with the hayloft rope, it was an unplanned act. There were truths you needed to hear, and the rope seemed a very handy way for me to make sure you heard my words. The rest…well, the rest happened because you are unimaginably beautiful and passionate, and you had the look of a woman in desperate need of several orgasms.” He smiled at her. “Clearly, I was right.”

  Her gaze went from Heath to Laine. The young man’s body was so different from Heath’s, yet entirely masculine. But whereas Heath’s chest and shoulders were thick with muscles bulging prominently beneath his skin, Laine’s muscles were more like those of a cat, his body lean, the lines graceful and fluid. His body was stretched with his arms above his head and the rope taut, and she could see his ribs, the muscles in his chest and stomach, and the long, powerful muscles in his thighs. His hips were very narrow. And then, of course, there was his penis, fully erect, angling sharply upward. Her gaze lingered on it for several seconds, measuring its length and girth. He was nearly as long as Heath, though his girth was not nearly as intimidating.

  Looking at Laine’s erection, she now understood why Heath had taunted her by saying she had chosen an “interesting time to visit.” Laine was bound and gagged and, beyond question, wildly excited. Whatever had been going on before her arrival had obviously been stimulating to the lovely young man.

  “The irony here is rich,” Heath said, his heated gaze going slowly over her. Though she tried to do otherwise, she found it impossible to look away. “I’ve tied you up because you entered my sanctuary without permission.” He turned away from Celeste and stepped closer to Laine, whose dark gaze never strayed from him. “And I’ve tied you up because you tried to leave without permission.” He walked slowly around Laine, his eyes visually caressing the slender young man, the brutish length of his cock jutting straight out from his loins now. “Laine here thought it would be best if he went back to the count and countess. They plucked him out of the gutter, gave him the solid beginnings of an education, and were in the process of destroying his soul when I found him.”

  Celeste bit down on the cravat gag. She was hellishly curious about the identity of the count and countess and what foul deeds they had perpetrated against Laine. She was also, though she wasn’t in the least bit pleased with this, getting increasingly aroused with this bizarre stage production Heath was directing. It was exciting to see him gloriously naked, his broad chest with a sparse patch of hair and solid muscles visible as a display of savage masculinity. And to see Laine, his chest free of hair, his body sleek and slender and so very enticing, caressed her imagination in ways she hadn’t thought possible. To see Laine, with his hands tied above his head, added immeasurably to her arousal, just as feeling the leather surrounding her wrists and ankles heightened all her perceptions and made her clitoris itch with awakening desire.

  “The count would have Laine in the mornings,” Heath continued. “And in the evenings, it was the countess’s turn with him. Except she likes her gin. The count and countess might be Germans, but Frau Schneider has certainly developed a taste for British gin.”

  Count and Countess Schneider, from the Cumberland district.

  Celeste had heard whispered stories of debauchery and staggering cruelty to the servants. She’d refused to believe the rumors told of such heinous behavior, even though she’d never personally met either the count or countess. As a member of the elite, she tended by nature and nurture to trust in the inherent goodness of the elite.

  Heath turned away from Laine, walking over to a small table where there was a pitcher and basin of water. There was also a small, blue glass bottle with an ornate, diamond-shaped stopper, which looked startlingly familiar. With slow deliberation, obviously aware she watched every move he made with unblinking interest, Heath removed the stopper and then poured a liberal amount of the thick, clear fluid into the palm of his right hand. As he walked back to Laine, he stroked himself. His erection became even larger.

  “The countess gets passionate when she drinks her gin, but when she gets drunk, she can’t climax. She drinks every night. She had this lovely boy’s face between her legs for hours on end. And if it wasn’t his face between her legs, it was his hips. If he wasn’t on his knees for the countess, he was on his knees for the count.” Heath’s big fist traversed the length of his cock, the Greek ointment he’d applied making his rigid flesh glisten in the candlelight. “And since the countess doesn’t like drinking alone, she made sure Laine had his fair share of gin. Fair share and more. She foisted gin on him at morning, noon, and night. And should he ever
be too besotted or too exhausted to get an erection, they took a riding crop to him. They beat him like an animal.” Heath’s lips curled in contempt. “I wouldn’t treat a rabid dog like that.”

  Celeste watched as Laine closed his eyes. She had no doubt every word Heath said was true. All she needed to do was look into Laine’s eyes to see the damning truth. But why would he ever consider going back to them? Was his existence here at her estate and under her employ so hellish that returning to the count and countess was preferable? Was he running from Heath?

  Heath moved so he stood directly behind Laine. She watched, fascinated but frightened for Laine, as he tried to look over his shoulder. Then Heath’s big hands curled around Laine’s trim hips, holding tightly. A moment later, a deep-throated groan came from Heath. Laine lifted up onto his tiptoes, and his doe-like, brown eyes became very large. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he bit down hard on the cloth gag, his lips pulling back to reveal his teeth.

  Laine made a sound in his throat, and his body made one powerful twitch. Then he breathed very rapidly through his nostrils, and his lashes batted against his cheek. Celeste knew then that Heath had penetrated him. She closed her eyes. The thought of taking an erection of such formidable dimensions into her taboo passage caused a shiver of fear to ripple through her body. She would undoubtedly be torn in two if Heath should ever do such a thing to her. But when she opened her eyes again, she saw Laine’s slender body being buffeted by Heath’s charging thrusts. The young man’s erection had become even more prominent.