by Renee Rose
Marco dismissed the servant after she brought the dinner up to them, saying they would serve themselves. She and Celia were quicker than any servant in their eagerness to keep his glass full or pass him the bread or cheese.
When they finished, and the two of them had cleared and stacked the plates for the servants to take away later, Marco pointed to his bedroom. "Naked. Now."
Lucia felt a fluttering in her belly as she quickly obeyed. Marco didn't make her wait long. "Turn around, let me see how you look tonight."
They both turned around obediently for his inspection. She heard him walking over slowly. "Put your hands on the bed," he instructed. They did, folding at the waist to present their backsides to him. Lucia shivered when his hand caressed her sore cheeks. Then she sensed him moving to Celia. He ran his hand over her bottom, too, then patted it. "You've already been punished today, haven't you? Go and stand in the corner."
Celia lifted herself from the bed and walked to the corner, facing it.
"And you are still quite red," he mused, turning his attention to Lucia. "I imagine it still hurts?"
"Yes, my lord." It hurt in some places on the surface, and there was also a deeper, bruised sort of feeling. The overall burn had, of course, faded a few hours after the spanking the night before.
"Strap or spoon, Lucia?"
"Spoon," she said, surprised she'd been offered a choice.
"Bring it to me," he commanded. She obeyed. "Hands on the bed again," he instructed. She bent over and presented her sore bottom to him, belly fluttering.
The spoon sent her squirming immediately upon application. She gasped as he worked to cover every inch of her very sore backside. It took some time, since the surface area of the spoon was small. After he seemed satisfied that he'd smarted the entire globe of each cheek, he began to strike her on the place she sat—the place where the bottom meets the thigh.
Hot tears smarted her eyes as she tried to hold still and find a mindset that did not rebel against every smack of the punishing spoon. He paused.
"You've been a bad girl, Lucia." Five hard whacks, all in the same spot. "Bad girls get spanked." Another volley on the other cheek.
He put the spoon between her legs and pressed it to one side and then the other. "Spread your legs."
She obeyed, taking a step out so her legs were spread. He turned the spoon so it faced her sensitive sex now and tapped lightly. It wasn't enough to hurt her, but it was certainly frightening. The thought of that spoon being applied with any force between her legs was terrifying. She found her knees went weak, and she could barely keep standing. She made a whimpering sound.
"Yes..." he tapped it again, and she flinched.
"You've been a bad girl, haven't you?"
"I'm sorry," she squeaked.
"I know you are." He removed the spoon from between her legs and spanked her burning bottom again. She gasped and cried out.
"Shhh." He returned the spoon between her legs. He tapped her there again, a little harder. Still not enough to hurt. He did it two more times, each time slightly increasing the force. She jumped and flinched. He smacked her there one more time, this time enough to make it sting, and she shrieked. The spoon withdrew and his fingers arrived there, rubbing on the outside, not entering her.
He spanked her between her legs with his hand, slowly, carefully, it seemed. As if he were measuring by her reaction how far he could go. Perhaps that was why he had abandoned the spoon in favor of his hand.
She tried not to let on how much pleasure she found in it. The stimulation was obviously even better than when he spanked near her sex and she found his hand was meeting more and more moisture each time it struck.
"Never again, Lucia." He continued the slow, deliberate spanking of her swollen sex. "Not without my permission. Promise me."
"I promise," she cried.
He spanked her there again. Then he stopped and gripped the outside of one of her thighs with one hand and applied hard slaps down the inside of her thigh with the other hand. She shrieked again. He gave the other leg the same treatment.
"You will be a good girl for me." He spanked her bottom with his hand.
"Yes," she gasped. "I will."
He gripped her hips with both of his hands and she tensed, not sure what he was doing, but then she felt him kiss each sore cheek.
"Get in bed," he said gently. "You too, Celia."
She crawled into the bed. Marco took off his clothes and curled up around her, spooning her, stroking her hair. Celia climbed in on the other side of her and held her hand. Despite the arousal Marco had built in her by spanking between her legs, she felt suddenly exhausted. He seemed to sense it, because he did not initiate anything more, simply stroked her hair and held her close with an arm around her waist.
She must have slept like a rock, because she woke in the morning in the same exact position. Marco was erect, and she could feel him making tiny undulations, pressing his sex against her entryway and then retreating. But he didn't enter her. Instead, he sat up and drew the covers down. He held her pelvis in place so she was pinned there on her side. With his other hand, he began spanking again, right in the low middle, his fingers cupping in to simultaneously spank her sensitive sex. She cried out in shock, waking Celia with a start.
Celia watched wide-eyed as Marco continued to apply his firm hand to the same cruel spot, over and over again. She moaned and whimpered and cried, but he was relentless. Who knows how long it went on before a thunderous wave of sensation rolled through her, and she climaxed with an enormous shudder.
"Ah," Marco said with a note of satisfaction. "I knew you could do it again."
Bliss cascaded through her body, despite the fire of the spanking. The hand that held her hips released, and she rolled onto her back and gazed up at him. "That was your goal?" she asked incredulously.
Marco shrugged. "It was a bit of an experiment," he admitted.
She reached down and touched her swollen sex. She couldn't believe he had spanked her there—last night with the spoon and his hand and this morning with his ingenious positioning of her on her side. "It was completely humiliating," she said, forgetting it certainly was not her place to complain about the punishment he saw fit to deliver.
"I think that was rather the point," Celia said in an undertone.
"Indeed," Marco said, looking entirely immune to her complaints.
"You are enjoying yourself," she accused.
A glimmer of a smile curved his lips. "So are you."
She shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not. I am suffering here, praying I can be docile enough—submissive enough—that you might find it in your heart to forgive me. While you—" her voice started to choke with angry tears "you are enjoying my suffering."
Marco blinked at her. All traces of the smile had vanished from his face, and he contemplated her seriously.
"You hurt me, Lucia. And I was angry. I felt betrayed. And humiliated." He sat back on his heels, and she could see the pain in his face.
Tears spilled from her eyes.
"But punishing you—taking you as I please..." He paused and shrugged. "It gives me back what was lost. It reconnects us—I don't know—it helps me find you again." He studied her face. "Do you...can you not feel it too?"
She drew in a shaky breath. Yes. It was true that each punishment had eased more of her anxieties about their marriage and left her feeling calmer and connected to him. But instead of agreeing, she said wryly, "Oh, I feel it."
"Do you think me cruel? Or that it's undeserved?"
She shook her head and her tears sprang forth with more force. "I just need to know," she said sniffing, "that you forgive me."
He lowered himself down next to her and drew her into his arms. "Yes. I do forgive you. More and more every day. I love you, Lucia."
Those words again. They filled her with such joy.
He went on, comforting her. "This will pass, and I think we will be stronger for it. Already, as my pain eases, I can admi
re how brilliant your plan was. I have never known such clever women in my life, that's the God's honest truth." He included her sister now with his gaze.
She clung tightly to him, drinking in his praise.
"I think in the end, I may believe what you did was worth it. I meet with your father tomorrow. Your information may help me get a good contract, in which case, the vineyard would turn its first profit. And today, I meet with your barrel man to make a good deal with him."
He looked from her to Celia. "Would you like to come along?"
Her eyebrows flew up. "Does that mean you're allowing us out of the apartment?"
He smiled at her fondly. "Yes, I'm through punishing you. I know well enough when you start complaining, I've gone too far."
She was surprised by that. "Well," she said with mock indignation. "I shall have to start complaining more."
He laughed. "Haven't I told you that before?"
Chapter Eight
"The Count of Parma, sir," the servant announced Marco's presence to Don Edoardo as he ushered him into the sitting room of his apartments. Tomi was there. He had to firmly shove thoughts of his wife holding the man's cock out of his mind so he wouldn't glower at him. He could get over this.
Don Edoardo and Tomi both stood to shake his hand and then, after the servant had poured them each a glass of Dante wine, they all sat down.
"What brings you here, my lord?" Don Edoardo asked, a bit tightly.
"I have barrels of my first wine to sell. It's not worth drinking on its own, but Lucia suggested you might make a blend with it."
Don Edoardo tapped the tips of his ringed fingers together. "I see," he said slowly. "Yes, I could take them off your hands. I normally purchase poor quality wine at 20 barrels per florin."
"I was thinking five barrels."
To his credit, Tomi did not give away anything in his face or demeanor to reveal he might have had a part in giving away the pricing information.
"Have you brought a sample?" Don Edoardo said, lifting his chin to the terracotta jug Marco had brought with him.
"Yes, of course."
They drained their glasses of Dante wine and Tomi, being the lowest rank in the room, poured a small amount of the Parma wine in each glass. They all sniffed, swirled, and tasted. And puckered.
Don Edoardo looked to Tomi for an evaluation.
The steward swirled it in his glass again. "Purple-red, but clear. Normal viscosity." He sniffed it again. "Closed. Coarse. But of the little aroma there is, it is relatively clean." He tasted it again. "Fresh. Warm." He paused as if listening to something. "Not too short a finish for a young wine. Probably the best wine you possibly could have made with young grapes," he said, addressing Marco, which was a bit bold, considering he was Don Edoardo's steward.
"Ten barrels per florin." Don Edoardo offered.
"Five."
"Eight."
"Six. May I remind you any profit I make will keep your daughters in silk?" He said it lightly, and it might have gone over as a friendly jest, had he not said daughters instead of daughter.
Don Edoardo froze. "Six, then," he snapped.
Marco sat back and waited for the tension to ease.
"How many barrels do you have to sell?"
"Four hundred. I left them in Parma, but I will have them carted to you directly when we return."
"Tomi will draw up a contract."
Tomi stood and went to retrieve parchment and a quill pen from the desk.
He was impressed Tomi could read and write. Actually, he was more than a little impressed with Tomi's wine expertise and demeanor in general, which eased some of his resentment. He swirled the remaining Parma wine in his glass and considered whether it was worth drinking.
Noticing, Tomi brought over the jug of Dante wine. "Would you like to see how it might blend?" he asked politely.
"Yes, thank you." He held out his glass to be filled with an equal measure of Dante wine and swirled them together. Tomi poured the same for Don Edoardo, and they both sampled the impromptu blend. It was not half bad.
He waited a moment and then looked at his father-in-law. "Your daughters are a great pleasure to me, Don Edoardo."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tomi's eyes shoot to him. Ha. Let him guess the truth of their arrangement. The old man had stiffened again. "I am glad to hear it."
"Celia—"
"—is dead to me." he interrupted firmly.
"—is no longer with child, as you may have noticed. She was beaten and raped on her way to my villa. And that was after the beating you gave her. She miscarried when she arrived."
Don Edoardo blanched. Tomi looked stricken, his hands clenching into fists.
"Who knows of the scandal, besides your household and mine?"
Laying aside his desire to make Don Edoardo remorseful, there were practical considerations to assess still. Don Edoardo looked a bit surprised at the question. "No one. I would certainly never speak of it, nor would anyone in my household."
"Good." He waited a few moments before he said, "I think she's paid enough for her mistake, Don Edoardo."
The man's jaw set resolutely. "Don't speak to me of her again, my lord."
He persisted. "I am more than content to keep her under my guardianship, but a little forgiveness from you would go a long way."
Don Edoardo stood up. "We're finished here. Tomi will bring the contract around to your apartments later."
He stood and extended his hand to Don Edoardo.
The man shook it briefly, without meeting his eye and exited before his guest, a rudeness that reflected his temper.
Marco looked over at Tomi, who was considering him.
Tomi dropped his eyes back to his parchment.
"What do you think? Will he come around?"
Tomi looked surprised to be asked his opinion. He shrugged. "He's a stubborn old man. He had hoped to make as good of a marriage for Celia as yours with Lucia. But he grieves over her—deeply. I know that much. Whether his pride will allow him to forgive, I couldn't say."
"Work on him."
"I have been, and I will continue," the young man said earnestly.
"Good. And thank you for your help," he said meaningfully. He wanted Tomi to know he was aware of what had passed between him and the sisters. It was important to show that he had not been cuckolded, but merely had used an unconventional means extracting important business information. When Tomi blushed, he was satisfied.
* * *
"We made a deal," Marco announced, returning from her father's apartments. "Sixty-five florins. Tomi's bringing the contract by this afternoon."
"That's wonderful," Lucia exclaimed, giving her husband a celebratory kiss.
"So did it help? Having the pricing?" Celia couldn't help but ask. She'd wanted the count to get the best of her father. And she wanted to know the punishment had been worth it.
He seemed to understand her question perfectly. "Yes, Celia. You won me quite a bit more than I would've asked for. He started at 20 barrels for a florin. If I hadn't known how off that pricing was, I would've been satisfied bargaining him down to 15."
"And what is the contract for?"
"Six."
She grinned wickedly. "Good." Then she arched her brows at him. "So, you think our tactics were worth it?"
Lucia bit her lip, uncomfortable with the topic.
"Don't bite your lip, Lucia," she chided.
Marco looked to Lucia and smiled fondly. He went and sat down in a chair. "Come here, both of you, he said, patting his knees. They each perched on a knee, and he put an arm around their waists.
"You were supposed to tell me why what you did was wrong," he said. "Let's hear it now."
Celia sighed. "It was unladylike?"
The count laughed. "Certainly. What else?"
"It could have been dangerous," Lucia offered.
"Yes, we've discussed that, haven't we?"
"We didn't ask you first."
"Right. All of thi
s upset could have been avoided if we'd discussed it together, beforehand. I might have even agreed to your crazy idea—I don't know."
"I betrayed you," Lucia said in a heavy voice.
"Yes," he said quietly, leaning his forehead against her shoulder. That had been the real pain of it.
They were all quiet a moment. Then the count gathered himself. "I told you the ends don't justify the means, and I still think that's true. But that doesn't mean I'm not grateful to you for your efforts. I'm going to add all eighty florins to the hundred from the duke to go toward your dowry, Celia."
"My lord," she breathed. She was stunned. She had never expected to earn any compensation for herself. "That's—too generous. You can't—"
"I can and I shall. You earned it. It's yours."
Then a thought struck her. "Are you anxious to marry me off, my lord?"
"No, Celia. You are welcome to stay with us until the day you die. I'm just thinking Lucia and I will be starting a family soon. And you might grow tired of helping to raise your sister's children and wish for some of your own."
Celia knew without looking that Lucia had teared up at that. He finally wanted children. She almost wept herself, so happy she was for her sister. Finally, her sister's husband had fully committed to his life with her—he'd declared his love and his intention of having children.
And as for what he'd said to her—well, it was a thought she had not dared to consider since her ruination. "Yes," she said hoarsely. "I might like that. Thank you, my lord—for everything."
He gave them both a squeeze and then pushed them off his lap. "Maybe we should go practice making babies before Tomi arrives," he said to Lucia, waggling his eyebrows. She giggled.
"And speaking of Tomi, I was impressed. He knows a lot about wine, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he was raised to it like we were, but has all the practical experience since he worked everything first hand," she said.
"I wonder if we could steal him away from your father," he mused.
Celia gasped in delight. That would serve her father right. And the thought of having Tomi around made a heat flare deep in her low belly. "Oh, please try—that would be the perfect coup."