Lilac

by Louisa Trent

“How long will my training take?”

  “The length is completely up to you. You have the makings of a sensuous woman.” He circled an erect areola with a fingertip. “You do,” he said to her look of disbelief. “Regardless of how you may try to deny it to yourself. That is twice now you have gotten me off with a simple rut. Imagine the power you will wield over men when you are truly accomplished.” Dropping his head to her upright breasts, he tongued her rapidly discoloring nipples. Then, with more reluctance than was comfortable for him to admit, he lifted off. “These men will want a submissive handmaiden. You have a natural sensuality, but your temperament is too independent. That must be broken. Or rather, I must break you of it. Willfulness will not find you a protector.”

  “Very well. I agree.”

  “Good. Then we understand one another.” He flicked a thumb across her tit and smiled as the bruised flesh sprang to life. “You want it again.” He looked down at her pussy lips. Dots of arousal glistened on the labia.

  Her lids lowered.

  “No need to confirm your need. I know that you do. And so do I,” he said tenderly and placed the cold compress between her legs. “But I cannot take you vaginally any more tonight.”

  “Very well. Do not take me vaginally then.” She turned onto her belly and then came up onto hands and knees. The cloth fell from between her legs to land on the bed linen.

  There was no mistaking her invitation as she raised her bottom. “The compress can wait.”

  He stripped off his clothes. When he was naked, he reached for the sex oil. “Are you sure?”

  “Very.”

  She was exhausted, wrung out from the orgasms and from the rawness of the new sexual experience. Yet selfishly, that dark need they both shared was rising up within him again, and he could no more prevent it than he could change his humble origins. Both were a part of him.

  Was this part of her? Or even now, stripped bare, did she mean to use him, manipulate him, to further her mining reform?

  After emptying himself against her lips, he was not yet ready. Not flaccid, but still only semierect. “I will want to do some things to you first,” he said quietly. “To get in the mood.”

  “Fine.” She held her all-fours pose. “Do what you will. I told you so. Nothing is off-limits.”

  He kept leather bondage restraints in the servants’ quarters, in this very room to be precise. Once more, he reached to the bedstead and took out the length. “I mean to tie you.”

  At her nod of agreement, he dragged her hips toward him, closer to where he stood at the edge of the bed. Arranging her in a rounded-ball fashion, her head tucked in, her arms wrapped around her bruised little tits, her shapely legs drawn beneath her, her feet overhanging the edge of the bed with her ass presented outward, he bound her.

  He was hard as a spike before he finished immobilizing her.

  “I feel oddly cherished,” she confided. “Oddly secure too.”

  “You will like it more with a man—with a master—who cares for you.”

  “As you do not care for me.”

  “Tegan, we have bad history between us. Need I remind you of your plans to ruin me?” There. His answer, neither a lie, nor the truth, evaded the heart of her question.

  As would his next words. “I shan’t be deliberately cruel to you. Any pain I inflict will be done to prepare you for a new master. That kindness is the only form I am able to give you.” Anointing a finger with the oil, he rimmed her back hole and then slipped the digit inside.

  Just as she had done in Delmonico’s, she bucked. For the most part, though, she took the invasion well. For a novice. Despite her tight muscles, she showed herself to be amenable.

  “Another,” he said and pressed a palm to her rounded back, his other hand busily preparing her for the sodomy by adding another finger.

  He began the stretch.

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”

  Precum now dripped from the plum head of his cock. Taking himself in hand, he led the purple fruit to her.

  He meant merely to give her a taste. Only a sample of what was to follow. But every nerve ending cried out for more.

  He pressed against the puckered hole and then halted the progress. “You realize there is no going back after this, that this act will name you a lawbreaker, a sinner, a whore.”

  “I want it with you first,” she said huskily. “I want it all done with you first. Everything.”

  He kissed her spine. “Then so it will be. I am nothing if not thorough. And your miners will benefit from my exactness. I intend to enact several more changes after this.”

  She had used him. Manipulated him. Tricked him. Tried to ruin him. She had only not succeeded due to a storm.

  A storm raging inside him, he made the breach, the head of himself making the forbidden trespass within her body.

  Ahhh… Nothing had ever felt so righteous.

  He looked at himself there, lodged within her buttocks, then, smiling in vindication, penetrated.

  Despite being tied, her body revolted with upward lunge. “Oh. Oh. Oh,” she cried.

  “Shh,” he soothed, patting her head, then flattening his palm atop her head, to hold her steady, to hold her in place. “A few more inches to go.”

  He gave her those inches, small increments at a time. When his cock was fully embedded, his black pubic curls smashed to her flesh, he began to move. A slow possession that clenched his jaw and made his balls tingle.

  The fuck lasted a long time, a deliberate and thorough sodomy that would leave no question in her mind that she had gone past the point of no return.

  On a shudder of forbidden surrender, she came first, on a strident wail.

  He was almost there himself.

  “One more stroke,” he rasped and ejaculated as deep as he could, his cum spewed inside her body’s clasp.

  “Ahhh…so good,” he grunted as he came.

  He eased out his cock but held her open with both hands so he could watch his seed seep out of her, watch the slick trickle down the back of her leg.

  Eventually, he untied her.

  “You will want to bathe,” he said and helped her up, supporting her when she faltered.

  He pushed her thick black hair back from her rounded forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He tilted her chin onto his crooked finger. “I enjoyed it. All of it. Did you?”

  She frowned. “I thought whores only pretended to enjoyment. If you wish me to, I shall say I did. Will that satisfy the terms of our agreement, sir?”

  She might just have well have slapped him across the face.

  “I know you enjoyed it as much as I.” He sounded petulant, and he was petulant.

  “My enjoyment is not part of our arrangement.”

  “You did enjoy it,” he insisted.

  “My body certainly enjoyed it, but I am more than a body.”

  So that was it. She intended to give him her body but withhold all emotion.

  “Is this some devious design to get me to wed you, you will be sadly disappointed.”

  “You jump to the wrong conclusion from a shaky premise. I would never marry without love, and this is not about love. This is about your anger over what you perceive as my guilt.”

  “You are guilty. You tried to ruin me.”

  “I tried to get you to do the right thing.”

  “By extortion.”

  “By whatever means possible. People—babies, the elderly—would have died this coming winter without someone interceding on their behalf. Was I to turn my back on them when I had the means at my fingertips to allow them to live?”

  “You could have taken the ethical route. You could have come to me, argued your point. But no. You chose to use me.”

  “I did. And so now you are using me. Do not expect me to act like a lover with you when it is clear you think of me as a whore. And yes,” she seethed. “I did enjoy it. All of it. And it does not make me proud that my body betrays me a
t every turn with you. You have only to touch me, and my resolve to remain separate and apart from what transpires between us dissolves. My body is weak where you are concerned, but my will is strong. Ask me no more how I enjoy our times together.”

  He nodded. “As you wish. That is my last attempt at intimacy. Here on out, we fuck.”

  “That is what this arrangement is about, sir. Fucking.”

  He snaked a hand to her nipple, squeezing the carnal point between his thumb and forefinger. “This will be pierced. When I return from a short business trip, you are coming with me to my private club for a viewing of what your future protectors will expect from you. While there, you will have this ringed in gold.” He let the end go and then palmed her loins, a finger bent into the notch. “This will be shaved, the labia pierced. Research that part of your anatomy during your visit. Your innocence grows tedious.”

  He thought to hear an argument from her over all his outrageous demands, but instead all she said was, “Going away? When?”

  “On the morrow, first thing. Crack of dawn.” Which explained his gluttony for her tonight. How could he leave without having her again, without making her come again, without making her scream again?

  “For how long will you be away?” she questioned.

  “Not much more than a week.” He should be able to conclude his new inspection of Central Mine in seven days. All he needed to do was make sure all the improvements he had ordered before Tegan’s arrival were well under way.

  At her sad expression, he spanked her bottom. “Go bathe.”

  As she walked away, he remained rooted in place, his gaze glued on her.

  To break his spellbound rapture, he called after her, “I shall shop for an anal plug for you while I am gone.”

  “What a sweet gesture. The romance of it all quite spirits me away.”

  At her snippy sarcasm, he grinned. Even acknowledging that there was nothing he could do to get even with her for his unwise obsession with her, still he smiled.

  She had gotten under his skin. So much so, he might have canceled his previously scheduled trip to Pittsburgh…

  Save for duty.

  He had reluctantly accepted a mine in exchange for a gambling debt, and now that mine was his responsibility to fix. “A plug is a practical necessity for a woman in your chosen profession,” he argued, though she had raised no objections to the purchase.

  “I am all for practicality. And professions for females. Seeing that I took so well to the sodomy, bring me two, so I am never without.” Like a pussy at a bowl of cream, she looked over her shoulder at him and licked her upper lip.

  His eyes had long ago run out of tears to shed, but his cock wept at the sight of her kittenish pink tongue.

  To hell with breaking his spellbound rapture!

  He stalked after her, tether in hand.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You mean to watch?” Tegan asked the robber baron from inside the Spartan servants’ bathroom.

  “Why not? Pretend I am not even here.”

  “Because my imagination is not nearly that inspired.”

  “On second thought,” he said as she swung a leg up over the rim of the porcelain tub, “allow me to do the honors. Bring your leg down. I prefer to bathe you freestanding. A sponge bath at the sink basin.”

  “Yes. Very well. As you wish.” She removed herself from the tub and waited. Her breath caught as he approached with the leather straps gripped in his hand.

  She told him the restraints had made her feel secure, and they had.

  When she had been doubled over on the bed. Now, however, she admitted to some apprehension.

  He beckoned to her with a crooked finger. “I would like to spread-eagle you as you stand. At the sink. Any objections?”

  Only about a million. “None, sir.”

  He indicated the position she was to assume. Her arms at shoulder level and out to the sides. Her legs splayed. Naturally.

  She took the position, and he made short work of securing her, though not flat to the wall. Well away from its support. The ends of the tethers that held her arms out to the sides were attached to two widely spaced towel hooks. Her ankles were restrained by similar hooks on the baseboard. Who knew what purpose those hooks were meant to serve, but they conveniently served his purpose here. The leather straps were not tight. She could move a muscle. But really, she had no desire to do so.

  He ran water in the sink, wet and soaped a cloth, and began to wash her. Strenuously. Her breasts, belly, between the legs. He rinsed her front thoroughly and then, stepping to her rear, began the same process on her back. The restraints had enough give to allow him to stand easily behind her.

  “I liked spilling inside you,” he commented as he scrubbed her buttocks. “It does something to a man to see a woman wear his semen.”

  “I would know nothing about that. I have never worn a man’s semen before.”

  He pressed against her back opening, and his finger entered. “Sore?”

  “Yes.”

  “I commend your honesty.”

  He had tied her, but again, not so tight that she could not lift her shoulders. Not that he noticed. Too busy fingering her in back, her shrug went unobserved.

  “This is the devil’s playground,” he offered, his voice growing rough.

  “Have it again, if you like. It matters not to me.”

  That raised his ire. He rounded on her and faced her down. “I do not need your permission. Not for anything I choose to do.”

  He left her then and returned with a straightedge. She knew immediately what he meant to do. When he scraped her pubic curls away, she said nothing at all, merely letting him do as he pleased.

  What pleased him shocked her.

  After he had made her bare, he proceeded to make her want him.

  His touch was exquisitely erotic. And knowledgeable. His hands and mouth, there on her pussy, had her straining against the leather.

  “Shall I take you again?” he asked, his cock sticking straight up in the air.

  “Do as you please, sir.”

  What pleased him tortured her.

  He glided his erection across her bald pubic lips repeatedly, until she was thrashing and pulling farther away from the wall and toward him.

  Then he stopped.

  “I should fist you before I leave. Beg me to,” he said, his eyes glittering like black diamonds.

  “Please fist me, sir, if doing so pleases you.”

  What pleased him confused her.

  Fisting. She had never heard of such a thing, never thought such a thing possible. Then, again, she knew very little about any of this.

  He left her again, gone to oil his hand with some substance taken from the same cabinet as the straightedge, and then returned to her, his wide knuckles glistening.

  She could hardly believe what he was about to do, but he seemed to know exactly how proceed. He knelt down on the floor at her feet, laid the side of his face against her bare belly, and proceeded to force his hand into her body’s entrance.

  At the pressure building inside her, as his fist inched its claim on her, she started to keen, as feral as a wild animal, the growl rising deep within her soul.

  Her chin dropped, but she refused to whimper, to plead, to cry for him to stop. Truly, she hardly knew if she even wanted him to stop. He respected her little enough now; she would lose what was left of his esteem if she used her femininity to barter for clemency.

  And what did she have to trade, anyway?

  She had traded him everything already. And so she breathed in deep, deeper than miners could breathe in their coal entombments. When that no longer did any good, she began to pant.

  “Beautiful,” he crooned and stroked her elongated nipples, aroused to reddened points. “You are so beautiful with my fist lodged inside you.”

  Whether it would have happened anyway. Or whether his words caused the reaction. Or perhaps it was the swell of pain that did. But whatever it was that tripped
her over the edge, she came. Sweating and panting, naked and spread-eagled against the wall, with his hand pounding up inside her, she climaxed. And though she refused to cry before, she did weep then.

  *

  It was the evening of the sixth day without Sean, and unable to settle down to sleep, Tegan listlessly wandered the grounds of Griffith House, cursing herself in the dark for missing him. Well, not exactly missing him, the man, but missing the accoutrement that came with the man.

  She missed his cock terribly.

  After introducing her to sex, he had left her high and dry.

  He had sodomized her. Fisted her. Made her scream her throat hoarse. After that, there was no going back to the know-nothing miss who had arrived at Griffith House. She had never missed what she had never had. But now that she had experienced carnal pleasure, she ached for its loss. Now she was a woman with needs. Was there something she could use in substitution for a man, a reproduction of a phallus, perhaps?

  She would have to ask Mrs. Birch if such an invention existed. Diddling herself with a finger had proven unsatisfactory. Self-pleasuring had given not nearly the same explosive results as the genuine article. In fact, masturbation had left her climbing the walls with frustration. Perhaps, on the morrow she would try making do with a cucumber.

  Horniness was something she had never before experienced, and she found the gnawing intolerable. There really should be bawdy houses for ladies as well as men. She would match the strength of her lust to a male’s any day of the week.

  On the way back up the dark garden path, she heard the rumble of horse hooves under her feet. The gravel shook almost as much as she did.

  The master of Griffith House, her master too, had returned.

  About time too. She was nearly crawling out of her skin in deprivation.

  Heedless of how it might look, of what he might think, she raced down the drive, to where a fallen branch had ruined her plans to escape. And there he was, his dark cloak billowing behind him, galloping toward the house.

  Not her, she reminded herself. The house.

  His love for his home was there in the care he had taken in its furnishings, in its neatly tended gardens, in its crop cultivation, even in the servants he employed. The staff seemed quite happy with their positions, if unfamiliar with the man who employed them.