Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle)

by Colette Gale

  Jane couldn’t control a shiver as the other woman reached out to brush a fingertip over her upthrust nipple. Marcine smiled, her eyes narrowing with delight. “So incredibly responsive. Was she always like this?” She slipped her hand down to cup Jane’s quim as she had done yesterday.

  “Always. According to Wheeling, anyway.”

  “Incidentally, do we know whatever happened to dear Jonathan Wheeling?” Marcine slipped one finger inside Jane’s warm, wet vagina, and gave her own delicate shiver. “Very nice. Tight and ready.” She pulled away and then, as Jane watched, sniffed her glistening finger, then slipped her tongue out to swirl around it.

  Jane’s breath clogged at the unexpected eroticism, and before she could look away, her gaze was caught by Marcine’s. There was heat, delight, and determination there—as if she were about to embark on some delightful but exhausting task.

  “From what I’ve heard, our old friend Jonathan Wheeling has met a very bloody end at the hands—or should I say claws—of an angry lioness. His greed finally caused the death of him, as I had so often predicted.”

  The fact that Darkdale and Marcine were speaking of Jane’s former fiancé in such blithe terms had little effect on her. She’d long come to realize that Jonathan had never truly loved her—for it was due to him that she’d been given to Cold Eyes and his villagers in payment for a map to a diamond mine.

  “I have my own desires,” Darkdale continued in his mellow voice, “but they are more for flesh and blood than cold, hard stones.”

  “But wasn’t Jonathan feared lost in the jungle? Isn’t that why you went to Madagascar with—oh.” Marcine’s laugh was one of admiring comprehension. “It was never the diamond mine you were after, was it, Kellan? It was our darling, luscious, delectable Jane here, wasn’t it?”

  “Indubitably.” Darkdale sipped from his drink. “You understand me so very well, Marcine.”

  “Of course. We are two of a kind.” She turned to Jane. “Bend over that stool there, arse up, knees wide. I want to see your hot, wet cunt showing while I undress.”

  Jane’s flutter of anticipation was immediately eclipsed by a stab of apprehension as she went to obey. The stool was rather large, and cushioned with purple velvet. She bent over, lying on the padding on her belly with her breasts tumbling just over one side, bracing herself with her hands and knees.

  She arranged her legs as directed and felt the edge of the stool pressing lightly against her suddenly ripening clit. When she heard movement behind her—she recognized Darkdale—Jane couldn’t help but tense. His trousers brushed one of her calves, and suddenly she felt the familiar, gentle slide of something hard and slender down her spine.

  The riding crop.

  “Shall I warm her up a bit for you, Marce?” he asked, slipping the flexible little rod down between her arse cheeks.

  Jane closed her eyes as the two little nubs on the Y-shaped end of the crop slid down over her moist folds, then bumped their way across and over and around with slow, sensual movements. She quivered as he found her sweet spot, the hard little nub where all her pleasure was centered, and gently stroked it with the tip of the crop, and then thwack!

  She gave a soft shriek and reared up a little, one leg bumping into his foot. Her buttocks stung on one side, particularly tender after last night’s abuse. Panting, she focused on the carpet just below her nose and waited for the next blow to fall.

  But it didn’t come. Instead, she heard more shifting and then suddenly, “Stand up, Jane, and come here.”

  Wary, she pulled to her feet, very aware of the fullness of her quim and the slide of her juices between her legs. When she turned, she found Marcine standing in front of her, completely naked and with her long blond hair unbound.

  She still wore the red gloves, which covered her from fingertip to past the elbow, and her scarlet lips blazed with the same color. Jane couldn’t help but notice her small, tight breasts with hard nipples, her pale white skin, and the thatch of blond hair between her legs that had been trimmed and plucked to nearly nothing. She also wore laced-up boots like nothing Jane had ever seen, also in the same bright red color. They had long, slender heels that looked like ice picks.

  Jane swallowed hard, aware that her lungs felt constricted and her head felt light. She couldn’t suppress a sharp twinge of attraction and interest as she looked at the high, rose-tipped breasts and the interesting apex at her thighs.

  On trembling legs, Jane walked over to Marcine as she’d been commanded, aware that Darkdale had resumed his seat in the chair and appeared ready to watch.

  When she got close enough, Marcine stepped up to her, slid her arm around her waist, and pulled her against her own bare torso. Before Jane could react, she wrapped her other hand tightly in Jane’s hair, then covered her mouth with hers.

  Jane had never been kissed by a woman before, and her first reaction was a stab of revulsion and horror. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but Marcine was stronger than she looked, and she easily held her in place. Her tongue thrust, strong and bold, swiping inside Jane’s mouth, deep and wet and rough.

  It was the oddest sensation—both erotic and disconcerting—to have her breasts pressing up against another pair of hard-nippled tits. She felt Marcine’s bush and the press of her mound rubbing against her hipbone as the other woman kissed her, nearly mauling her mouth as if wanting to inhale her.

  At last, Marcine pulled away and stepped back a little. She released Jane’s waist but kept a good grip on the fistful of hair she had, and yanked back so Jane’s chin jerked up sharply. Hardly able to swallow, barely breathing, she couldn’t move as Marcine trailed a finger down over her breast to circle a nipple. Then, without warning, she dipped her head and began to suck on it.

  Jane squirmed and shuddered, but she couldn’t shift away as the sensation grew stronger and more intense. Heat rolled down through her body, centering at her throbbing, wet sex as she remained helpless under Marcine’s onslaught.

  Then, just as suddenly, she was released—so abruptly that she staggered back a step.

  “Over there,” Marcine said, gesturing to the bed as she wiped the smeared lip stain from around her mouth. For the first time, Jane noticed a set of manacles hanging from one of the canopy rods that stretched between the tops of the bedposts, and she felt a flutter of nerves as she made her way to the bed.

  To her relief, Marcine ignored the manacles. Instead, she pushed Jane onto her back, shoving her roughly onto the bed. Then she climbed up over her like a feral cat, bracketing Jane’s body on the mattress with hands on either side of her shoulders and knees over her hips.

  Her eyes were a glittering, intense blue as she bent to kiss Jane once more, rubbing her own hot cunt against her shivering belly. She ground down into Jane’s mound with her own, making hard little circles that shifted and stretched her own sex deliciously. By now, Jane was panting and unsure what to do, and when Marcine shifted so her breast was over her lips, Jane had no choice but to take that hard, thrusting nipple into her mouth.

  She sucked and licked the warm, nubbly flesh as Marcine arched and ground against her. And when Marcine took her fingers and forced them inside that moist, wet quim, Jane nearly stopped breathing. The sensation was utterly unfamiliar and strange, and whilst revulsion teased at the corners of her mind, she couldn’t ignore the hot, slick fullness of the other woman’s cunt. It was deep and warm and wet, and as Marcine forced her to fuck her deep and fast, Jane realized her own body was responding in a similar fashion.

  She was hot and throbbing, tight and ready, and the smell of female musk was strong in the air, filling her nostrils and adding a layer of eroticism to her world. Soft, smooth flesh slid against hers, so different from the hirsute, muscular body of a man, and Jane felt herself falling into the depths of blazing-red heat.

  Marcine cried out, arching up and pulling away from Jane’s mouth as she contracted around her fingers, tight and undulating. She released Jane’s hand and settled on her belly, breathi
ng hard and leaving a pool of musky wet over her navel.

  “A wonderful beginning,” she said in a voice that had become even huskier. “Now let us see if you taste as good as you fuck, lovely Jane.”

  She made a quick spin and switched so her dripping red quim was over Jane’s face and her own mouth hovered over Jane’s ready mound. She spread her legs wide, placing firm, red-gloved hands on each knee to position them as broadly as possible, and dove.

  Jane shrieked and bucked as Marcine’s wicked mouth began to lick and suck and slurp in and around her swollen sex. She came almost immediately, arching up and exploding under the intense, strong ministrations of a woman’s tongue.

  Before she could even catch her breath, even as the shivers continued to wrack her body, Marcine lowered herself onto Jane’s lips. Musk, heat, wet…that was the sensation, and when Marcine pressed herself down, hard, grinding and sliding over Jane’s swollen lips, she found herself licking and sucking in a manner she’d never expected.

  As she was forced to devour and taste her, Jane felt Marcine swoop back down to her own sex and together they licked and swiped and thrust the other into another blossoming orgasm.

  Marcine pulled away and turned around, coming back up to Jane’s face. “You are a very fast learner,” she said, her lips close to Jane’s. “I could become quite enamored myself.” And she kissed Jane again, this time mixing Marcine’s own juices and dark, musky scent with that of Jane’s.

  She climbed off the bed then, leaving Jane breathless, panting, and still throbbing…and more than a little disbelieving over what had just occurred.

  “Jane.”

  Darkdale’s velvety voice drew her attention and she looked over to see that he and his cock were waiting for her attention. She didn’t remember ever seeing it so large and purple and ready for attention.

  Despite her recent bout of pleasure, Jane still felt a rush of anticipation at taking him in her mouth. She scooted off the bed and made her way over to him, on her knees, as quickly as possible.

  He was very warm, and very hard, and when she took him into her mouth, Jane almost immediately felt him gather up to spew his seed. She managed three deep strokes before he gave his cry of release and shot up hard into the back of her throat.

  When she finished licking him clean and sat back on her haunches, she found Marcine standing behind her. She was holding that unusual object she’d earlier taken from the drawer.

  Now that Jane could see it better, she realized it was formed in the shape of a phallus…with two ends. A hot shudder rushed through her as she watched Marcine unbuckle the straps. The other woman looked contemplatively at Jane, then at the bed, and finally at Darkdale.

  Then her red lips curled into that satisfied smirk.

  “This way, lovely Jane.” Then, over her shoulder, she said, “You might wish a front-row seat, Kellan.”

  He chuckled and pulled up a chair nearer the edge of the bed on the side where the manacles hung. “Your wish is my command.”

  Marcine manacled Jane so she was facing Darkdale, with her wrists bound and fastened above her. Her knees were on the very edge of the bed, and spread wide.

  He’d taken a position in a chair directly in front of her, and he sat with a decanter of whiskey and a glass on the table next to him. His shirt was open, his neckcloth loose, his cock tucked away into his dark trousers. He looked rich and dark and very attractive, and Jane wanted nothing more than to sit her sleek, ready quim on his lap and ride him.

  But she heard the soft clink of metal and the swish of leather and looked over to see Marcine. As Jane watched in horrified fascination, the other woman slipped one end of the double phallus inside her, then strapped it on so the other end stuck out proudly.

  She walked over to Darkdale to show him, and he grabbed the end of the protruding cock and began to jimmy it roughly. Those movements soon turned into long, fast strokes. Marcine gave a soft laugh that turned into a husky sigh, and Jane saw heat light her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, Marcine took off the phallus and flung it aside, then came to straddle Darkdale, right in front of Jane. She opened his shirt—something Jane had never dared to do—and made him lift so she could drag his trousers away from muscular, hirsute thighs.

  The image seared in her mind: the blond Marcine, with her hair long and flowing over her bare back and shoulders, riding Darkdale—who, with his dark hair and strong hands, looked utterly masculine and powerful. Their sighs and gasps filled her ears, and the scent of musk and coitus hung in the air.

  Though she didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to know what was happening, Jane couldn’t look away. It was a combination of fascination, arousal, and unwilling jealousy that kept her attention riveted on the couple. When Darkdale rose and roughly turned Marcine around so he could fuck her from behind, her hands clinging to the arm of his chair, Jane became even more aroused and frustrated.

  The sight of his bare, muscular arse and broad shoulders had her mouth watering and her insides clenching with desire. If only she could be the one beneath him, the one crying out with pleasure and need…

  Jane forced herself to close her eyes, ashamed and confused by her thoughts, desires—and most of all, the jealousy. I must get away from him…from this. This isn’t how I truly feel; this is some sort of hypnosis or lessoning that’s caused me to want him so.

  Then, instead of the image of Darkdale and Marcine, it was Zaren’s beautiful face and deep blue eyes that settled in her mind—like a talisman. It was his powerful shoulders and lean, muscular arms that filled her thoughts; the way he always looked at her in wonder and with reverence and respect—not as if she were his pet. The way he interacted with the animals and other wildlife in the jungle, with the same care and honor. Even the odd jokes he made, so utterly unexpected from a man who’d been living without human companionship for nearly two decades.

  Zaren. I will return to you.

  — XII—

  Jane opened her eyes as the bed shifted behind her.

  She tensed when she felt Marcine moving onto the mattress, and looked over to see Darkdale back in his chair. He looked at her with eyes weighted by satisfaction; they gleamed beneath their heavy lids with the heat of anticipation.

  She didn’t know how long the two had left her alone, how long they’d been fucking…but it seemed as if a significant bit of time had elapsed.

  It didn’t matter anyway, for Jane had had her reprieve—and now, it seemed, she would be drawn back into their activities of hot, slick pleasure.

  Something bumped her from behind. It was hard and yet pliable at the same time. Jane didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that Marcine had strapped on the phallus once again, and now it was prodding her sleek, swollen quim from below.

  No sooner did the tool begin stroking Jane than she was submerged in that familiar world of heat and eroticism. A stab of lust shot down to her sex, for she was still frustratingly aroused. She needed the stroking and licking and thrusting.

  “Open your eyes, lovely Jane,” said a voice in her ear. Marcine’s breasts pressed into her from behind, her nipples hard, warm little points just above Jane’s shoulder blades. “Kellan likes to watch the way you fight against the pleasure you know you desire.”

  Her long blond hair fell over Jane’s shoulder as Marcine nuzzled her neck. The phallus slid between Jane’s thighs, rubbing gently along her wet folds…enough to tease, but not enough to take her where she suddenly needed to go.

  Jane obeyed Marcine’s command and found her gaze trapped by Darkdale’s. He watched her steadily, heat and lust blazing in his eyes as Marcine’s hands came around from behind to play with her breasts. Their long red and blond hair mingled and tangled over her skin, and the phallus continued to slip and slide slowly and teasingly.

  Jane realized she was breathing heavily already, that her hips were twitching and she wanted more. Marcine seemed to realize this, for she tweaked a nipple with one hard pinch, then slid her hand down to cove
r Jane’s mound.

  She gasped, biting her lip when those clever fingers found her tiny, hard nub and began to play with it. She closed her eyes and shuddered, allowing the pleasure to wash over her as her arousal built and billowed.

  “You do not have my permission to take pleasure, Jane.”

  Darkdale’s voice was cold and soft, and cut sharply into the fog of her lust. Her eyes flew open to find his trained on her.

  Jane shuddered, suddenly trying to fight the inevitable, the rush of orgasm that had begun to gather between her legs.

  Marcine gave a soft laugh near her ear and slid her fingers around and over Jane’s taut, overripe pip, pinching it between them and sliding back and forth, up and down, as Jane trembled and shivered against her.

  Please… she thought, and wondered if it would make sense to beg. Would he allow it?

  She was nearly there, nearly over the edge—where there would be ecstatic pleasure and punishment waiting for her—when Marcine slid her hand away, up over Jane’s belly. She slipped her wet fingers over her breast, painting it with her musky juices and using the lubricant to tease a nipple into a hard, painful point.

  Then, without warning, she bucked her hips and used her other hand to shove the phallus deep inside Jane. Both women cried out in pleasure and relief, but Jane fought to stifle her lust and passion as the phallus began to move inside her.

  “Open your eyes, lovely Jane,” said Marcine. “I won’t tell you again.”

  She forced her eyes open, knowing Darkdale could read the fear and struggle—and the desperate need for pleasure—in them. He was focused on her, watching comfortably from his chair as Marcine fucked her from behind, her hands and fingers playing with her breasts and nipples as the phallus stroked both of them simultaneously.

  Trapped by his gaze, stroked and probed and fingered from behind, Jane felt as if she had been stripped bare—down to her soul. She had no choice but to allow him to see her twisted desires, the struggle to control her body even as it was coaxed and teased into a frantic need for pleasure and release.