by Colette Gale
Jane tried to obey, but the other cock—slick and wet with her juices or some other lubricant—was pushing its way inside her and she could hardly move in the necessary direction. Then all at once, she was filled from both ends, her mouth covered by a rough, biting one.
Half sprawled in his lap, her breasts crushed into the palms of the man fucking her from behind, Jane no longer had control of her own movements. Instead, she could only feel…the sensation of being very full, of very intense, dark pleasure building in an unfamiliar way. She struggled to keep moving her hips, to breathe, to cease from falling into a vortex of hot, red lust.
Hands and mouths were everywhere…she was filled, probed, pinched, pumped, faster and faster and harder until finally her world exploded; a cock rammed the back of her throat, another buried itself deep inside her tiny hole, and she felt the waves of dark, hot pleasure convulsing over her…on and on and on.
When she finally came back to herself, Jane was on the floor, weak, breathless, sore, and damp everywhere. Her lips pounded, her nipples throbbed, her clit and quim pulsed and raged from the intensity of the last hours.
She was dimly aware of conversation going on around her—something about poker—and that all of the men had returned to their chairs, still fully clothed.
“On your hands and knees, Jane,” said Darkdale. “We are in need of a table.”
She obeyed quickly for fear of what would happen if she didn’t. After she drew herself up onto her hands and knees facing Darkdale, the man behind her stood and wedged his foot between her knees, kicking them apart.
“Much better,” he muttered, sliding a finger down over her red and swollen clit. It was all she could do to keep from moaning or pulsing around him. “Excellent view, Kellan.”
“Of course,” her master replied. “Jane, I need not tell you what will happen if you disrupt our game or otherwise confuse our cards or bids.”
She bowed her head in acceptance, privately wondering how long she would be able to hold herself up on her shaky arms. At least this was a reprieve from being teased and probed and fucked.
The cards were dealt, the bets distributed onto her back, and Jane had nothing to do but hold herself still as the hand was played. The chill metal of coins and the tickle of bills brushed her skin as they bid and drew and discarded.
She was nearly as relaxed as she’d ever been in Darkdale’s home, head bowed, shoulders at ease, hair sagging to the floor, when the hand ended.
“Excellent bluff, there, Bruce,” said her master. “You won. Take your winnings.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
The rest of the men chuckled softly and Jane saw one of them rise to his feet. But instead of scooping the coins and bills from off her, he came around to the rear. She stiffened, but she already knew what was to occur, and when he knelt and grasped her by the hips, she was ready.
“For every coin or bill that falls to the floor,” he said as he positioned his cock at her wet and ready opening, “you will receive one lash from the whip.”
Jane froze and gave a soft whimper as he slid inside her. Any pleasure she might have felt was eclipsed by fear as the coins shifted and slid on her back. She felt them moving, clinking together and jouncing as he withdrew and then thrust himself inside her again.
She bit her lip and fought with every ounce of strength to remain utterly still; to keep even the slightest bit of rocking from her hips, knees, and shoulders…but it was impossible to remain still, and impossible not to feel desire rising in her once again, to want to move to take him in deeper.
He pumped and slammed, taking no care to be gentle, and despite her apprehension, Jane couldn’t keep her well-trained body from responding to the familiar, delicious friction against her overripe clit. A haze of pleasure settled over her even as she was horribly aware of the threatening movement of his winnings in the dip of her spine and on the angular slide of her shoulder blades.
Jane was lost in the fog of pleasure when one coin slipped off and bounced to the floor, jolting her back to the moment and the punishment that now seemed inevitable. Someone made a soft sound of satisfaction, but she dared not look up to see whom. Instead, she bit her lip and fought desperately to remain rigid and unmoving, but he was going faster and faster, and she could hardly keep her hips from moving to meet his.
Another coin slipped over, and then another, and a pair of bills fluttered to the ground, and Jane couldn’t hold back the sobs of fear mixed with pleasure as more of the winnings cascaded down over her shoulders, hips, and even over the back of her arse.
He finished with one last, sharp thrust and Jane couldn’t help but meet his orgasm with her own—there was no sense in denying herself any longer, for she was already about to be well punished. Not one coin or bill remained on her skin, and she trembled with fear and apprehension as the last vestiges of pleasure left her.
“Well, now. That didn’t go well, did it, my dear?” said Bruce with great satisfaction in his tones. “You must learn to obey if you’re to please your master.”
He pulled Jane to her feet, and she looked at Darkdale, pleading mutely for him to intervene. But her master merely looked at her over the rim of his glass as he sipped, then turned to speak with the companion on his left.
Jane stifled a sob of desperation when Bruce brought her to a wall in the chamber. It was terrifying in its stark, blank whiteness. There was nothing on the entire wall, nor in front of it, except for a set of manacles that hung down from near the top.
She thought about kicking and screaming, but knew that would only bring her more punishments. Instead, she forced herself to move as directed and do as she was told as her wrists were spread wide and fastened to the wall just above the height of her shoulders. She rested her cheek against the wall, waiting for the torture to begin.
Bruce opened a cabinet and she stiffened when she saw the array of whips and crops within, and when his hand hovered over the thickest, most wicked-looking one of all, she nearly began to cry. Its handle was thick as three fingers, and even from her awkward position, she could see that the tip was a cat-o’-nine-tails, with a variety of tiny knobs that formed an octopus-like end.
But to her intense relief, he selected a much less frightening-looking whip. When he brought it from the cabinet, he cracked it sharply in the air and she felt the breeze, wincing at the snap sound. Jane braced herself, wondering how many coins and bills he’d won in the game, wondering if she’d even be conscious at the end of this torture.
For one wild moment, she almost begged, cried for Darkdale and for mercy—but she knew that was what they wanted, and it would only be an excuse for her to be punished again.
And that was when she realized she didn’t have to stay here.
She could leave. Escape. And find some other way to save Papa…somehow. Now that she was back in London, she could—
Crack!
Jane muffled a shriek as the slender leather snake bit into the soft, fleshy part of her arse. Her reaction was more from surprise than pain, for though it stung, the lash hadn’t cut deeply.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
She jolted and winced with each new lash, her fingers curling into her palms as she was bounced against the wall. The stinging continued, on and on until she was no longer able to control her sobs.
Then, to her surprise, it stopped. She heard him put the whip down, and when he came up behind her, she relaxed, expecting him to release her from the manacles.
But instead, he spread her arse cheeks and shoved himself inside her wet and ready quim. Jane gasped, and suddenly, she was undulating with pleasure as he pumped and thrust against her rosy red cheeks, pushing her against the wall as he fucked her.
He gave a groan of completion before she reached hers, and withdrew then stepped away. She’d hardly recovered from the surprise when crack!
This time, Jane screamed; the sensation was so unexpected, she was taken by surprise. He whipped her again and again, the strokes coming faster and
harder, and her buttocks were stinging and hot.
But this time, she was writhing against the wall, for what Bruce had started by fucking her was only exacerbated by the lashing she was receiving. Somehow, she became more and more aroused as he continued to whip her. She gasped and begged now, begging not for him to stop, but for anything…anything to relieve the tension and growing pleasure.
This time when he put the whip aside, Jane was ready…but it was Darkdale who came up behind her. “There, there, my love,” he whispered into her ear as he filled her. He pushed her against the wall, reaching around to touch her hard, shiny clit as he stroked long and slow inside her. “It will soon be over, my darling Jane. And you will be much better for it.”
He gave a grunt and came inside her just as her own body exploded—this time, in a shocking blast of hard, rippling heat. She sagged against the wall, still undulating with the pleasure when the whipping began again.
And so it went until all four of them had taken their turn with her, fucking her in between the whippings until she no longer could differentiate between pleasure and pain.
When they were finished, and she was released, she fell to the floor. There was no blood, surprisingly, for Bruce had wielded the whip with such expertise that her arse cheeks had merely become hot and swollen and red…but he did not cut her skin.
“Of course not,” he replied when Darkdale commented on that. “I couldn’t bear to see such beauty marred. Now…shall we play another hand?”
— XI—
Jane awoke the next morning in Darkdale’s bed.
She hardly remembered coming here—perhaps he had carried her there once the card party ended. She was naked, of course, and even her stockings and gloves had been removed during the course of the evening.
Jane had lost count of how many hands of poker were played, and how many punishments she received. The only thing she knew was that even taking a breath was painful…and that she must have pleased Darkdale enough that he allowed her to sleep in his bed.
She could hardly move; her limbs were sore, her buttocks battered, and her sex still throbbed gently in a reminder of all its pleasurable activity in the last days.
Jane realized she had been wrong. Nothing that happened in Cold Eyes’s village had prepared her for being Kellan Darkdale’s submissive mistress.
As if her thoughts had wakened him, Darkdale moved next to her. He reached out and closed his hand over her breast.
“You were magnificent last night, Jane darling,” he said, fondling her with his strong fingers even as his eyes remained hooded. “You made me very proud. Hence your sleeping accommodations.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I don’t apologize for the severity of your punishment, however, and until you learn complete obedience, you will experience similar sorts of consequences. But for now…” His fingers found her sex and stroked her only twice before her traitorous body began to quiver, to heat and dampen and respond.
He smiled, then parted her legs as he rolled over on top of her.
“It could be like this every day,” he said as he filled her with long, slow, almost tender strokes. “And I would like that, Jane. I would very much like that.” He bent to kiss her breast and tongued its nipple lazily. Jane shivered and closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her easily this time—like a soft wave on the beach.
Then, all at once, she was struck by grief and pain. Zaren. It was Zaren she wanted—Zaren being tender with her, touching her with awe and kissing her gently. She wanted to wake next to him and begin the day at his side.
She felt so much more when she was with her jungle man—there was a depth that went far beyond her body’s physical reaction, and at that moment, Jane felt ashamed. Utterly ashamed at the unwilling, almost addictive response to the man who’d brought her here.
Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t turn her body off. As Darkdale fucked her, she shifted and panted and arched and took pleasure from the action as one might take pleasure from a belch or a piss…but in the end, it was only Zaren she truly wanted.
Only Zaren she loved. Only Zaren with whom she could completely give of herself…to whom she wanted to give herself.
The difference between lust and love had never been so clear to her.
When Darkdale finished, he withdrew and yanked on a bell pull. “You may stay here for a time,” he said, rising from the bed. “Because I am well pleased with you.” He cast her a soft, affectionate smile as he reached for the chamberpot. “I suggest you rest well, darling Jane, for I have a little surprise for you tonight. Marcine will be visiting…and she is looking forward to seeing you again.”
Jane couldn’t control a sharp little quiver of apprehension and something else. Anticipation? Desire?
Either way, she wanted nothing more than to do what Darkdale suggested: rest before what was certain to be another active evening.
Unless she could find a way to escape before then.
***
The day went by very quickly for Jane. She slept until well into the afternoon—waking only to be served luncheon by a dour-faced Trevor, who seemed irritated that she should be ensconced in Darkdale’s bed—and then luxuriated on the mattress for several more hours before she was taken to the same room where Marcine had prepared her only yesterday.
Bernice and Belinda were there, but their blond mistress was not. Still, the twins seemed perfectly capable of whatever task they’d been set to—which included bathing Jane, washing her hair, and removing the few stubborn gems that survived the poker party and its related activities.
After her bath, the maids massaged her body from shoulder to foot with a musky, delicious oil that made Jane’s skin soft and wildly sensitive to the touch. Her hair was left to hang long and loose, and she wore no other adornment but a slender gold chain around her throat from which draped a diaphanous cloak of shimmery gold.
A clock struck seven in the distance, which seemed to spur Belinda and Bernice into more speedy action. No sooner had the last of the seven strokes echoed into silence than the door to the chamber opened to reveal Trevor.
“She is here.” He spoke in a sharp, low tone to the twin maids—certainly not to Jane.
Before either of them could respond, Marcine walked through the doors. As yesterday, her blond hair was pulled back in a rather severe bundle, and she was dressed in an austere but extremely expensive gown of slate gray. Her hands were covered by startling red gloves, and her lips had been stained a matching scarlet.
Marcine’s eyes went immediately to Jane, scoring over her as if to ascertain whether the maids had completed their work to her standards. “Excellent,” she said when her examination was complete.
The maids and Trevor seemed to take this as a dismissal, for they bowed to Marcine and vacated the room. Jane was aware of a sense of foreboding as she waited for the other woman to command her.
“I have been looking forward to this evening ever since yesterday,” Marcine said with a small smile.
She might have intended to speak further, but the door opened once more and Trevor stood there. “He is waiting.”
Marcine glanced at Jane. “On your knees.”
Jane dropped immediately, gathering up her translucent cloak so it wouldn’t be trapped beneath her as she scurried out of the chamber in Marcine’s wake.
She wasn’t surprised when the other woman led her to the same chamber in which Darkdale had entertained his guests last evening. The sight of the large, bare white wall against which she’d been whipped made Jane’s belly drop and her insides flutter with a strange combination of apprehension and anticipation.
Darkdale was waiting for them, whiskey in hand. When they entered, he went to Marcine and kissed her on the cheek, then handed her a glass of the golden liquid. “Make yourself comfortable, my dear. At least for now.” His voice was heavy with anticipation, though he hardly spared Jane a glance.
“Oh, there’s no need to delay things on my account,” Marcine replied with a Cheshire Cat smi
le, which made her scarlet lips appear even more startling. “I’ve been anticipating this evening all day. The sooner we begin, the more pleased I shall be.” Her husky chuckle sent a little shiver down Jane’s spine.
“Very well, then. Far be it from me to dissuade you.” Darkdale sounded particularly pleased, and he went to adjust one of the massive leather armchairs so it faced the large bed in the corner of the chamber.
Marcine went to one of the cabinets on the far side of the room and opened the top drawer. “Perfect,” she purred, and pulled out a strange-looking item with leather straps and buckles. She glanced at Jane, and then smiled. “Let’s wait for this, shall we? There are other things to be done first. Kellan, my dear, did you hear about Hampstead?”
“Hampstead? What do you mean?”
Marcine crooked her finger at Jane. “Come. And take off that ridiculous cloak. I want to see you unhindered.” As Jane obeyed, her mistress turned to Darkdale. “Apparently the son of the missing heir has returned. So there is a new viscount, and poor George Lumley is now merely Mr. Lumley and has reverted to being the uninteresting—and poor—Hampstead cousin once more.”
“That must be quite the disappointment for the bastard, after having availed himself of the pleasures of the Hampstead estate—not to mention the funds—for two decades. Pity the poor fellow.” Darkdale didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic.
“At least you are a self-made man,” said Marcine, drawing Jane to her feet. “Absolutely delicious, if I do say so. You have exquisite taste, Kellan.”
“I cannot argue with that either, my dear. Shall I suggest Bentley invite the new viscount to our masquerade? If Lumley is to be replaced by the true heir, we should also replace him in our social gatherings as well. After all, he won’t have the funds to continue anyway. I’m certain if the new viscount is anything like Lumley, he’ll find our forms of entertainment quite…satisfying.”
Marcine seemed to be paying more attention to Jane than to Darkdale. Her eyes had changed from cool and anticipatory to warm and feral.