If her hands had been freed, she would have taken him in her arms and welcomed him into her body. Blinded by the darkness, she could make him a lover, pretend he was Prince Tasio—no, not that blackguard, but some other handsome, loving warrior manufactured by her fantasies. She could believe it for the hour he took her body and made it his.
From her thighs, his caress moved upward to her pubic mound, where just to squeeze that place, the first jolts of orgasm began to ripple through her belly. He was on her with his hands, then his fingers moved with an unexpected grace to fondle the sodden place at the apex of her legs. A finger probed her privates deep, inserted beyond the opening.
“Ah, sir, yesssssss,” she murmured out of habit, without wanting to reveal herself. But what was there left of her to reveal? She was already on a cumming high, leaping from one wild climax to another.
When he clamped his mouth over her nipple, she lunged into him with another spasmodic rhapsody taking hold.
“Ah! yes, sir. Ah! how hard you are!”
She felt his stiffened member throbbing on her thigh. He was not impatient, but practiced, measured, sure, and though obviously needy, he didn’t force himself until he was ready to have her as he wanted.
She was cumming yet again when he finally climbed on to straddle her hips. Drawing her legs up over his shoulders, he jabbed the steely prick into her warmth and started the fuck in earnest. The spasming action of her inner muscles clamped him quickly. Flexing and contracting, she milked the organ with each climactic seizure of her own body.
He pounded her soundly, taking his time. He built to his own end with zeal, but remained self-possessed; he was not a schoolboy, but a man getting the most from his whore, not just the quick work of a fast fuck.
They fit like glove to hand, rocked together in the storm of fire, as though long lost lovers reunited. And for a moment, her heart beat for him. In one small instant of insanity where anything is possible, she believed that she could love this man, that he was not the villain his reputation preached.
In the last moments, he pressed his groin into hers, driving his erection until it hit her womb and stopped.
The pain was decided, but that only made her surrender more. Her body opened beyond its previous efforts. He dove deeper still with more territory to explore. There was an end to this, a place where he could go no more, but he did not seem to reach that place before his explosive climax began. Sir Roger erupted, and a deep bellowing groan of happy agony tore through every atom in her body and his and the surrounding air.
“Fine work you’ve made of me,” Sir Roger declared to her, when he finally withdrew his dripping member, and tapped the remains on her heaving belly. She, too, was spent, at the same time breathless, weary and chagrined at herself for loving the rape as much as she did. It was good that she could not look into his eyes to see the scoundrel’s jeering smile of triumph.
“I’ll have to use you again,” he said, being rather satisfied at the result of the assault. “You might have been a lady, but you’re one randy bitch. No wonder why you couldn’t be faithful to that prissy prick of a husband.”
He disappeared without another comment, leaving Jolie with so many conflicts, it was best for her to fall asleep and forget
***
The next three days, Marcus Roger kept his new chattel bound to her bed. It was a lesson in submission and obedience she’d be forced to learn. Every evening, just as the master was about to go to bed, he made his way to the lady’s room and used her as he had before. As a prelude to making love, he spanked her hard—not as hard as he had that first day, but hard enough for her to vocalize her distress and later feel a delicious erotic warmth permeate her skin and ignite her sexual juices.
The result of Marcus Roger’s game produced the most glorious orgasmic thrills she’d ever felt. Jolie could not object. Yet, after three days, she needed more than just long hours in bed and her late night reward.
“Sir, don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson?” she ventured the comment respectfully as he was about to leave the darkened room.
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
“Because this bondage is terribly distressing.”
“Is it now?” She could hear the sneer in his voice though she could not see his face.
Opening the door, the man moved into the hallway and retrieved a candle he used to illuminate the room. With the light exposing her face, he could gaze at the impoverished expression on her pretty lips and see the sullen look in her sad eyes.
“You don’t know distress, milady, but you will.”
“Sir, please. I’m begging you.” She looked up helplessly, desperation reeking from her lovely nakedness. Her thighs still glistened from the cum he left on her skin.
“Begging? Is that so?”
“Oh, sir, yes. I can be the most dutiful servant,” she rushed on anxiously thinking she at last had his ear. “I promise that. Truly. I am a finely trained woman, if you’ll only take the time to understand that. I can do so many things for your household. Just let me free of this bondage…”
“You talk to much, woman!” he barked just as she was beginning another plea.
“Oh, sir, please.”
“Milo!” he roared for his valet. “Milo.”
It was the dead of night and the valet had already been sent to bed. Even so, it took just seconds to roust the sleepy servant from his slumber.
“Sir?” he shuffled to the doorway.
“A gag,” Sir Roger said.
“A gag, sir?”
“She talks too much. I want her gagged.”
The request took Milo off guard and he had to think a moment. Then, at last, doing an abrupt about-face he took off to retrieve the requested item.
No more than five minutes later, Jolie was gagged; her frightened face looking more bewildered and broken than ever.
“Learn how to be silent and you’ll learn all you need to know to serve me well.”
The gag was by far the worst of her trials, worse than the spanking, worse than the bondage. Not only did she suffer the indignity and discomfort of the wadded rags inside her mouth, she couldn’t eat until the master of the house ordered the gag removed. Hours passed with the torment increasing as each moment of distress ticked by. She slept the night, but all the next morning and afternoon, she remained without relief, without food, without any means of expression. She watched from her bed as daylight shifted from dawn, to midday, to the waning stages of an old sun’s final embers. Her stomach growled with hunger, raw and anxious for some kind of sustenance.
When her door finally opened, she was tempted to breathe with relief, though she had no idea what this visitor would bring.
“Up!” Milo said, as he untied the cuffs and chains that kept her bound to the bed. Though he didn’t remove the gag, at least she had some hope.
“Sir Roger has summoned you to the dining room,” he said. “I’d suggest that you put on your most surrendering face and yielding body.”
She did her damnedest to follow his advice as she made her way to the dining room and hopefully, her evening meal.
“Ah! It’s my bound beauty!” Sir Roger exclaimed as she entered the room.
She nodded, since she still could not speak.
“Is the gag a problem for you?” he asked, his face lighting with amusement.
She nodded her head.
“And I’ll bet you’re hungry?”
She nodded again.
“You know, you’re still quite pretty with your mouth stuffed with rags.”
She could give him no response.
“But then again, I suppose I should feed you. You won’t be much good for our midnight fucks if I don’t supply you with a little fuel.”
She couldn’t agree more, though she could give him no reply except for the hopeful expression in her weary green eyes.
“Come here,” he ordered.
She moved to his side.
Though she could have accomplished
the task herself, Marcus Roger removed the gag himself, pulling the soaked cloth from her face and handing it to one of his servant girls.
“So, Antoinette, please sit down.” He smiled broadly, gesturing graciously to the chair next to him.
Jolie sat as ordered, almost drooling at the food piled on platters before her eyes. Roast, potatoes, vegetables and bread pudding. She hadn’t seen anything as divine as this in weeks—or so it seemed. Her old life was so far from her now, it only appeared to her in flashes, like pieces of dreams that haunt the mind.
“Hungry, are we?”
“Yes, sir.” She did her best to adopt an air of submission, just as Milo suggested.
“Then let me fill your plate,” he said.
Taking great spoons and a serving fork, he dished up a plate of food to satisfy anyone’s hunger. Despite Jolie’s enthusiasm for the meal, she ate as submissively as she was acting, in an attempt to impress the man with her change in attitude. Even so, she managed to assuage the grinding hunger and ease that disturbing pain.
“So, my dear Antoinette,” the master turned to her after he’d cleaned his plate of food. He snickered, looking surprisingly jolly, considering his usually grim humor. “We have, it seems, reached some accommodation between us.”
“Sir?”
“I think that little thrashing I gave you the other day turned you on,” he declared happily.
“Oh, sir, it did not!” she spoke up louder than she should have considering the attempts she made to quell her imprudent behavior.
But Marcus was not put off. “I heartily disagree. Not only did you enjoy that strapping, you relished the way I spanked that glorious butt of yours with my hand before I skewered you with my cock.”
“Sir, please. Perhaps that rouses my dormant body, but it certainly can do nothing to spark my sexual fires.”
“Ah, milady, you do jest to separate the two.”
She felt her indignation and her fear begin to grow. Her attempts to be respectfully submissive were fast disappearing.
“Well, my dear Antoinette, we shall see first hand.”
“I think not!”
Her spirit and her voice rose on an anxious blast of fear. And she was lucky that the man did not take offense. Rather, it appeared to be a game for him—and one he was enjoying very much. After all, he was making up the rules to his design.
“Well, I think otherwise,” he stated flatly. “And we’ll find out right now.”
“Here, sir?”
“Well, who’s around to witness?” he gazed about the empty room. Even the servants had fled the scene. “Besides, my slutty wench, the exposure of your body has not seemed to harm you. That incident before a crowd of gaping fools was certainly more difficult than this.”
Her heart beat hot as she viewed the man through clear, unfettered eyes, inside his brightly lit dining room. How different it was having him in the dark where the absence of light hid a multitude of feelings from her mind. This would not be that kind of anonymous experience where she could abandon everything but her sexual body.
“Really, sir,” she quietly spoke, “I thought you enjoyed me at midnight… when you have no reminders of what a shrew or harpy I can be…”
“Yes, I like you then, and I’ll like you even more now, when I can fully relish the bounty of your body.”
She saw his lust. It captured hers and drew her in, without his making a single move. When he reached for her hand, she gave it willingly; not because she wanted what he was about, but because she had been rendered incompetent of any will of her own. The shock to her system was so great that her body, mind, soul—everything that was Marie Jolie Gabrielle Antoinette was numb and useless to her.
Pulling the lusty lady to him, Marcus Roger wasted little effort. The wench was gliding effortlessly over his lap.
She could feel her body quaking as she felt the prowess of the man’s firm muscles—something she neglected to feel when she was in her darkened bedroom.
“Ah! This is what I miss,” he declared as he pulled her skirt to her waist and inspected her bottom. “And not a mark. How amazing! After all the abuse that it’s been through these last two weeks, you’d expect to see something left.”
This surprised her, too, but she didn’t comment. Not only was her body numb, she was speechless as well.
To effect this spanking, Marcus had prepared himself, having at his side a thick, broad butter paddle to wield on her pink cheeks. The wooden surface would be unrelenting, giving the lady a good dose of the punishment she deserved—if for nothing more than a reminder. And yet, the randy master envisioned more than just a straightforward paddling. He had plans for this beauty that went far beyond punishment. To his mind, she’d been punished enough as long as she willingly gave herself to him sexually.
He started soft with the paddle barely skimming the surface of her skin. If fact, he even ran it over the creamy mounds as though he planned to soothe whatever sting first appeared.
With such a sensuous beginning, Jolie was almost floating with desire. Her crotch was unable to stop itself from wiggling into his warm leather pants. The gentle jiggle of her ass cheeks was enough to give the man’s erection an extra jolt. She could sense that, too, though her mind was trying hard to avoid the physical arousal this intimacy spawned.
Smack! The first real strike was an easy one. And so were the ones that followed. It seemed as though he was testing the endurance quality of her flesh—something he didn’t have the time or inclination to do when they were together in the dark.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The next several strikes seemed easy, too; though, their effect increased the sizzling sting of heat now manifest on her ass. More, and the fire burst with intensity. She started to squirm uncomfortably. More, and the pain felt like a burnishing shot from an angry sun.
“Ouch! No!” she spat out.
“Oh, yes, my dear!” Sir Roger instantly retorted as he continued smacking the dreadful butter paddle against her wiggling, fidgeting ass. He watched the skin brighten, the pink turn darker, and his strikes continue to add color and suffering to her plump cheeks.
Unlike the quick spankings late at night—or the heavy thrashing she took days before—this ordeal was much more methodical and thought out. He took her to the point where the heat on her ass was too much to handle, and then backed off. Starting again, his further efforts brought her bottom to a new level of pain… but one she, strangely, could handle. Either her endurance was improving, or his tiny pauses made it easier for her to live with that fire—or perhaps that fire was changing in its form, driving deeper than the skin, and working its way into her body. She didn’t know whether to cry for mercy or throw her body to him for the taking.
Her ass hot, her emotions brimming; she was certain that she could not contain herself any longer. At that very moment when she wanted most to scream, Marcus laid the butter paddle down and began gently smacking her with the palm of his hand in a way so tender that what had been lurking behind the pain began to surface in one amazing flood of desire.
He knew her well because he knew himself. He knew he’d been right to begin with; that the lady wanted sex. A few soft smacks to her rear, he changed his methods altogether with his hand dropping between her thighs where he could collect the evidence of her arousal. He was not disappointed. At the gateway to her inner sexual sanctum he found the fountainhead of her lust.
“Was I right, Antoinette? Or is this not a sign of your physical fervor?”
“Please, sir, you embarrass me.”
“Do I embarrass you in the middle of the night?”
“That is in the dark.”
“Indeed. And now we’re discovering by candlelight that you have the same delightful response to a good ass whopping that you do when you’re world is black. I’ve proven my point.”
To prove it further, he continued massaging the wet warmth. He drove the stimulation to a peak. She squirmed now, not with fear or pain, but passion.
“Ah! Sir,
please,” she quietly pleaded for another kind of mercy. But she was given no more compassion for her plight than she had when he reddened her ass with the paddle.
The muscles inside the cavity began to clench around his probing fingers. She thought of his erection, wondering if she would feel that hard meat pummel her insides as it did in the dark.
Running his fingers between her labia, he collected her clitoris between the two and pinched it with great force.
“Ah, ohmygod!” Her cries were delirious, a beautiful, though unintelligible music, which soared to the rafters above and seemed to return to her body to bring it more pleasure.
“You and I, my dear Antoinette, understand each other,” he advised her, as those talented fingers worked like magic potions inside her inner spaces.
She wasn’t hearing, or comprehending, but was lost in the world of experience alone. Such a fine caress to her ass, along her inner thighs, then to the swell of her mound again, where at last, a finger ran along the cleft and dipped inside between the cheeks to rim the sensitive nerves collected at her anal opening.
“Ah……….gawd……please……..” Her body bucked violently taking in this enchanting assault, relishing sensations she’d never felt prior to this day. “No, no, no, you can’t,” she warned as he burrowed into the passageway.
“And why not?” His sensuous voice was as astounding as the fingers working her rear. His body replied in kind, writhing ever-so-gently with hers as if the two were actually in the act of having sex. “You want this, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, more please, but….” She couldn’t think of anything right to say. This all seemed wrong… the kind of pleasure that was too evil to enjoy, from the kind of man who could be counted on for chicanery and foul things, not the sort of straightforward pleasure her body found right now.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 4