by Viola Morne
#
Elinor stared into the mirror. It was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. She looked like a woman grown. She peered at the pink silk bodice, cut low over her bosom. The new corset made her breasts look larger, by pushing them up until they threatened to overflow the neckline. The lace trim scarcely skimmed the tops of her nipples. Was it too daring? The dressmaker had said it was all the rage in London. Was Elinor being too prudish? She wanted the major to be proud of her appearance , but not shocked.
She was being ridiculous. It was a lovely gown , and she was going to wear it. Perhaps she'd even be the belle of the ball, not that it mattered. The only man she wanted to make an impression on was the only man who wouldn't care what she looked like. Elinor sighed , and ran a finger along the lace. She picked up a shawl and drew it over her shoulders. Then she checked her hair once more, picked up her reticule, and started downstairs. It was going to be wonderful evening.
The major waited at the bottom of the stairs. His evening dress was clean and pressed, though not fashionable. He never altered. He glanced up as she descended the stairs and his lips pressed together. Elinor wondered: Was she late? Did she look horrible?
But he came forward to take her arm. "You look very nice, Elinor. I'm sure all the young men will be lining up to dance with you."
"Thank you, sir."
He escorted her out to the waiting carriage, where a footman stood by the open door. The major helped her in , and threw himself into the seat opposite. The footman shut the door, and the major rapped on the roof. The coach started forward.
It was a silent trip. Elinor was busy with her own thoughts, and who knew what the major thought about anything. He remained an impenetrable mystery. She'd tried so hard to please him, to make him like her. He remained the same--kind, strict, always mindful of her welfare, even affectionate, but never truly intimate. Elinor would just have to accept that he would never see her as a woman, with her own dreams and desires. To him, she would always be the unwanted charge, kept around because of the major's devotion to duty. Perhaps he was right after all. Perhaps it was time to cut her losses and move on, find her own life, and her own happiness.
Torches blazed in front of the entrance to the manor. The gravelled drive was thick with vehicles, and a constant stream of guests entered through the double doors, which had been opened wide. Elinor felt a frisson of excitement. Her first grown-up ball, with her guardian as her escort. She would enjoy the evening and treasure it as a wonderful memory.
A footman rushed to open the door. The major climbed out and turned to extend his hand.
"Ready?"
Elinor put her hand in his and he helped her down. She adjusted her gown.
"How does my hair look?"
The major tucked an errant lock carefully into place.
"You look beautiful."
Elinor wanted to make some flippant retort, but his voice was weighted with sincerity. He thought she was beautiful. It was like a gift.
#
The music swirled over the couples dancing in the manor's ballroom. Winter spotted Elinor, her face alight as she danced with the young heir. She moved so gracefully, her dress accentuating her youthful curves. Longing twisted in his gut. Christ, she was lovely. No other woman could hold a candle to his girl. The young pup pulled her closer and they swung across the floor. Winter's hold on his glass tightened. Was he looking down her dress? Action was called for.
Winter almost started across the floor , when the music swelled , and stopped. He shook his head. Thank God. He'd been saved from making a scene that would have embarrassed everyone. The urge to grab her by the arm , and pull her out of ballroom was so strong. He wanted her away from everyone else, back home, preferably over his lap, while he spanked her for...what? Being happy, being beautiful? He was an ass.
The young heir bent to listen to Elinor and then escorted her across the floor to where the major stood.
#
The trip home was as silent as before, but now the atmosphere was fraught with emotion. The major's anger and disappointment came off him in waves. Elinor suppressed a sob. What had she done to upset him so?
The coach pulled up, and the major jumped out, not bothering to wait for a footman. He held out an imperious hand, and Elinor place her hand in his. Winter's fingers closed closing strongly over hers.
The butler was already opening the front door.
"I trust you had a good evening, sir, miss."
"Delightful." Elinor ducked her head , and hurried into the house.
"Not so fast, Elinor."
She stopped in the hall. She felt the major's hand on her shoulders. He unclasped her cloak and pulled it away. He handed it to the butler.
"That will be all, Chadwick." He bowed and left, motioning the footman to follow him.
The major took off his hat and pulled off his gloves, dropping them on the hall table.
"My study. Now."
Elinor shivered. She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. She glanced at the major. He jerked his head down the hall, and she scurried down the corridor.
He shut the door. Elinor stood in the centre of the room, twisting her fingers together. He pulled her to stand in front of the mirrored sideboard.
"Look at your dress."
Elinor looked at him, puzzled, and then turned to face her reflection. The pink figured silk clung to her figure, the lace framing her bosom.
"I don't understand."
"That neckline is a disgrace. You look like a whore."
"What? I know it's a little low, but..."
"A little low? When I danced with you, I could see the tops of your nipples. What do you supposed every man who danced with you tonight saw? The same thing I did."
"I didn't know...the dressmaker said it was all the rage."
"And you imagine the dressmaker is the proper person to advise you on the modesty of your dress? I sent you to Switzerland to gain poise, to become a lady. And you make your debut dressed like some slut off the streets."
"Major, please..."
He stood behind her. Elinor saw his face reflected in the mirror, his expression cold and distant. Her stomach twisted. She felt his fingers on her back. He was unbuttoning her dress. He wrenched it down around her waist. The new stays pushed her bosom up so that it threatened to fall out of her chemise. Her nipples were clearly visible. A tide of shame swept over her.
"God, I'm so sorry."
"I believe you are. Believe me when I tell you that you will be so much sorrier before we are done." She felt him unlace her stays. He ripped them from her body and threw them on the floor. Winter turned her to face him. He grabbed the top of her chemise and tore it down the front, ripping it away from shoulders so that her bosom was bared.
"Hold out your breasts."
Elinor couldn't comprehend what he was saying.
"Take your breasts in your hands, and hold them out. Now." His tone was curt. She fumbled with the remains of her chemise. She cupped her breasts and lifted them up with both hands. The major's gaze dropped to view them. He nodded , and then walked across to the sideboard. He pulled out a drawer , and drew something out. Then he walked back to her, a Malacca cane in one hand. She started to drop her hands.
"No," the major barked, "I said, hold them out."
Elinor hastened to lift up her bosom. She trembled. He couldn't, no, he wouldn't...
The cane hissed through the air and landed on her breasts. She screamed at the pain, a burning strip of agony.
"Be silent, or I'll gag you."
He let fall two more strokes. She staggered, dropped her breasts , and he leaped forward to hold her upright.
"We're not finished yet. Hold them up again."
She shook her head.
"No?" The menace in his voice was palpable.
Elinor took a deep breath , and held up her breasts.
"Good girl." The cane hissed again, once, twice. He threw the cane away.
"Over the des
k."
More? He wanted to hit her again?
"I'm waiting, Elinor."
She walked over to the desk. Her breasts were two spots of agony. He had never hurt her like this.
"Pull up your skirt and your petticoat. I want to see a bare bottom." She bent to pick up her skirts , and then folded herself over the top of the desk. She inhaled sharply when her injured flesh rubbed against the unyielding wood surface.
"I'm not going to ask you why you are being punished. You already know why. Let me add that your show of defiance did not help your cause."
Elinor felt his presence behind her, his strength, his indomitable will.
"Spread your legs."
Shock rendered her speechless, followed by humiliated desire. She widened her legs. The knowledge that she was so exposed to his gaze made her loins throb.
"Are you still a virgin, Elinor?
"What?" she choked. "Yes, of course." She felt his hand smooth over her bottom. God, he had never touched her like this before. She felt the rush of air an instant before his hand made contact. A hard spank across both her buttocks. Another blow , and then a flurry of strikes. Her legs kicked out. She tried to squirm across the desk, away from that hard hand.
"Stop it, Elinor. Keep still." His hand pressed firmly on her lower back. One finger delved between her legs. He rubbed along the delicate surface.
"You're wet." Was he angry about that , too? He had called her a whore, after all. No, he sounded...satisfied. His finger touched inside lightly, before moving along the crease between her buttocks. He stopped when he reached her bottom hole, pressing down lightly on her private flesh.
"This is another way to discipline you, Elinor, so you will recognize me as your master."
He pushed the moistened finger inside. Her flesh resisted, but he pressed on. It burned. He withdrew his finger, only to push it in again, deeper. She could feel the bulge of his knuckle.
"Let your muscles relax, Elinor ; , let me in."
She gasped and tried to obey, willing herself to soften and open. He pushed in again to his second knuckle, holding it in place. Her body was his to control, as it found pleasure in ways she had never imagined. The major removed his finger, and then pushed it in again, thrusting over and over. Her buttocks clenched against him. The discomfort she felt was giving way to a dark pleasure. She moaned, and the major withdrew his finger. She heard him walk back over to the sideboard. The wood of the drawer squealed as he pulled it out. She heard his footsteps Footsteps back behind her, and then she felt his warmth behind her once more. A whisper of displaced air, and then the slash of a riding quirt burned against her skin. Elinor cried out. He paused, waited for her silence.
The quirt fell again and again, bright stripes of pain that mirrored the welts which throbbed on her breasts. Silent tears overflowed on her cheeks and dropped onto the desk's surface. Dear God, would it never end? Finally, the blows stopped falling. The major smoothed over the surface of her skin, fingering the marked flesh. He pulled down her skirts and helped her stand on shaky legs. Then he traced his marks on her bosom.
"Kneel on the carpet." Dear God in heaven, what was he going to do her now? Elinor fell to her knees, dizzy with pain, with a longing that she knew must be wrong.
"Lift up your breasts again."
She couldn't do it, couldn't take any more pain. She looked up at him. He shook his head and waited. Again, she cupped her breasts and held them up to his gaze, to his service. The major unbuttoned his breeches. He pulled out his member, as huge and thick as she remembered. Did he want her to suck him? He pulled the erect flesh through his fist. He must be wet , too, because she heard the sound of his sliding skin. Over and over, he pumped himself. His breath came faster, his fist working himself harder and harder. A flush darkened his cheekbones. Winter held himself still for an instant, and then his seed spurted in thick milky ropes over her exposed bosom. There was pain as his hot essence landed on the reddened skin. He worked his member until it drained.
"Rub my seed over your breasts."
She complied, logical thought impossible. She was all sensation and need. Elinor smoothed the cooling fluid over her breasts.
"Work it over your nipples." He watched as she moistened her nipples, the buds erect and swollen. The major tucked his member back in his breeches and buttoned up. Then he pulled the shreds of her chemise back over her bosom , and re-buttoned her dress. He took her hand and led her up to her room, dismissing her maid.
He unbuttoned her dress again , and helped her out of it. He made her sit at the dressing table , while he took down her hair.
"Open your chemise. I want to look at your breasts while I brush your hair."
The air was cool on her exposed skin. She looked at major in the mirror. His gaze was riveted on her bosom, the skin scored and glossy with his fluids. The pull of the brush through her hair brought a strange kind of contentment, coupled with the sting on her breasts and her bottom.
"Don't wash your breasts. Go put on your night rail." The maid had laid it out on the bed. She walked, a little unsteadily, over to the bed. Elinor pulled the chemise over her head and slowly pulled on the gown. She turned back to see the major staring at her. He took her arm again and led her to the side of the bed. He helped her under the covers.
"I'll enjoy thinking of you in your bed, with my seed on your breasts. You took your punishment well, Elinor. I am proud of you."
She felt a rush of warmth at his words, even now.
"Now go to sleep, little one, and no touching your womanly parts. They belong to me now."
She nodded and closed her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked the blanket snugly around her shoulders.
"Good night, my dear." She heard him blow out her candle and the click of the door the closing. She couldn't process what had happened, it was too much--of pain, of pleasure. She sighed, and let sleep claim her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Winter stared out the window of the morning room. His breakfast sat cooling on the table. His hand curled around the curtain edge. Good Christ, what had he done? He had been angry with Elinor over the dress, justifiably. She was a young unmarried girl, apparently still a virgin. Her dress had been shocking. This was a small community, and any slur to her reputation could haunt her for the rest of her life. He wanted to protect her. Instead, he had...well, what hadn't he done? Beaten her ass and her tits, and then, shamefully, he's spent himself on her welted flesh. It had felt like nothing else he'd ever experienced, in a long and varied acquaintance with all kinds of women. She had let him do everything he wanted. That thought alone made him hard all over again. She'd been so beautiful, with her breasts bared to eyes , marked with his cane, marked with his seed. His. Elinor was his.
But he'd scared her, he'd hurt her. Punishment had turned into something else, a perverse expression of his will over hers. That kind of power tasted heady, addictive. He'd been right to keep her away all those years. But now she was home. God, he craved her. Last night was only a taste of what his twisted soul wanted to claim. But Winter wouldn't take her virginity. Elinor was his while she remained under his roof, but she couldn't stay here forever. He would consume her with his lust, with his urge to dominate her. He had to find some way to make her leave, while his unruly heart longed for her to stay with him forever.
The door opened and Elinor entered. Her eyes flew to his, and a blush suffused her features.
"Good morning, Elinor."
"Good morning, sir." Her voice was soft, unsure. He pulled out her chair , and she sat down. He couldn't help bending low to sniff her hair. She smelled like wildflowers.
"Allow me to serve you, my dear. What would you like? Sausage, muffins?"
She nodded. He slid a plate in front of her. He poured her a cup of tea , and refilled his own cup. She raised a brow.
"I didn't realize you were a tea drinker, major."
He took a sip, and grimaced. "Last night..."
She looked up swiftly.
> He hadn't been drunk, not really. There’d There's been wine at dinner, port afterward, and then champagne during the ball. His host had dragged him away to try a particularly fine old whiskey. Perhaps he hadn't been completely sober either.
"How are you today? Are you sore?" Christ, that hadn't come out right.
Elinor met his gaze. "Yes, I am. Satisfied, major?"
He drew in a slow breath. She was baiting him, the naughty girl. Reminding him of just how he'd taken his satisfaction. Curse her, it was working. He thought of her beautiful breasts, reddened, marked by his cane and his seed. He had spent himself, helpless, on her lovely body, when all he'd wanted to do was surge inside her, and possess her. His cock swelled, thankfully concealed by the table. Christ, she must despise him. He hated his own weakness, the way he felt so helpless whenever Elinor was around. Desire thrummed along his veins. He wanted to own her, to thrust himself so deep inside her that she would yield to his mastery, forever.
But aloud he said only, "More tea?"
They ate in silence. Whenever she looked up and their gazes met, hers would slip away. Was she disgusted with him?
He took another sip and grimaced. Then he cleared his throat. "I'm off to London for a few days. My old friend Julian has gotten himself shackled at last."
Elinor nodded. "Please offer the earl and his new wife my best wishes." Then she resumed eating her breakfast.
Winter flung down his napkin , and strode into the hall, calling for his horse to be brought round. Perhaps seeing Julian happy again would cheer him up. And perhaps it would give his girl time to recover from his rough treatment. He could only hope Elinor would still be here when he returned.
#
Trevaunce Manor, near St. Ives, Cornwall, 1823
The major pulled up his horse , and squinted into the sun. Trevaunce Manor was a pretty place. The headland sheltered it from the salt wind blowing from the ocean , which lapped against the shore below. Too bad for Frost that he wouldn't be able to hide any longer. He'd picked up the bastard's scent in St. Ives, where Frost's aunt did her shopping and , then tracked her to back to this house. Winter clicked his tongue at the horse , and continued up the drive. He spotted the stables off to one side , and then rode towards them over . A groom came running. Winter dismounted and tossed the groom his reins. Then he walked back to the house, stripped off his gloves, and pounded on the front door.