by Blake,Zoe
Sarah was sobbing in earnest now. Too caught up in the blistering torment of his strikes to even beg for mercy.
“You may lower your hips.”
Sarah complied.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you…my lord.”
“Good girl.”
While having her body flush with the upholstery made her feel less vulnerable, it was hard won. The contact of even the soft fabric was agony against her sore bottom. Sarah bit her lip to try to control her sobs. There was another click of the shutter. Another photograph of her torment.
It took several minutes to realize he had not struck her with the riding crop in a short while. She opened her clenched eyes to see his back turned to her. He was placing the offending instrument back in its cabinet. She could see the sinews of his back as the muscles moved with each movement. His narrow hips. The sinister tattoo.
Pierce turned back to her. With each step, he undid one button on his trousers. Stopping alongside the bench, he kicked off his boots and allowed the black trousers to slide over his hips to the floor. The searing pain was momentarily forgotten with her first true glimpse of the male member. His was nothing like the tiny biscuit looking members on the Elgin marbles!
She watched with open-mouth fascination as he gripped his shaft and slowly ran his hand up and down its length. Sarah was aghast. His hands always seemed so large and imposing to her and yet…when gripping his own member…his hands looked…well-matched! The fingertips barely touched as they grasped the thick staff. The bulbous tip frightened her most. Large, round and a pulsing reddish-purple, it looked menacing. Thank god that was his body and had nothing to do with hers!
Approaching the bench from the end, Pierce knelt between her open thighs. Placing his hands under her, he cupped her bottom cheeks.
Sarah hissed at the contact and the reminder of her soreness.
Gingerly raising her hips, his ice blue eyes captured her own as he looked down her body from a rather shameful angle.
“Ask me to kiss your cunny,” he murmured.
Her body was so swollen and sensitive she could feel the whisper of his words against her heated skin.
Sarah licked her lips, trying to gather the courage to follow him down this dark path. Until this very moment, she never knew a man would do such a thing to a woman.
“Ask me, little one,” he ground out more forcibly.
“Kiss my…my cunny…my lord.”
The long tip of his tongue stretched out to trace the seam of her cunny lips. Using his thumbs, he opened them wide. Sarah squirmed not only from the embarrassing position but from the pinching pain from the pressure of this thumbs on her still throbbing flesh. Ignoring her shimmies and squirms, Pierce swirled his tongue around her clit…once…twice…thrice. He then pulsed the tip into her tight opening…once…twice…thrice. Returning to her clit, he continued to swirl and pulse in a slow, building rhythm. Over…and over…and over…as the pressure in her middle built.
“My…my lord. I don’t understand what is happening,” she breathed.
“Don’t fight it. Let it come,” he hummed against her inner thigh. He could feel the building pressure in his cock. He needed to sink deep inside her tight heat and soon.
Sarah felt lightheaded and mystified. Nothing in all her young years had prepared her for the onslaught of feelings, emotions and sensations all clamoring inside her. The pain. The pleasure. The shame. The excitement. The fear.
Knowing she was close, Pierce knew just how to finesse a release from his little minx. He knew what she needed whether she did or not. Pulling her tight bundle of nerves gently into his mouth, he let his teeth scrape against the sensitive nub just as he squeezed her bottom…hard.
The sharp bite of pain both from her throbbing bottom and clit sent Sarah over. She held her breath as her hips lurched upwards, twisting and straining. There was a fabulous burst of white stars behind her eyelids as a delicious warmth spread across her limbs. She fell back to the cushions. Eyes closed. Limp. Sated.
Pierce had waited long enough. Knowing her passage was more than slick he lined up the rounded head of his cock. Unable to restrain himself one moment longer, he grasped her by the slender hips and plunged in deep, feeling the warmth of her punishment heated cleft against the sensitive underside of his shaft.
She was tight. Her body clasped down on his shaft like a fist. He felt each ripple, each tremor…and too late…he felt the push and tear of her maidenhead.
“Bloody hell!” he roared.
He looked down at Sarah in horror. Her eyes were still closed but she no longer had the sated look of languor. Her plumb lips were pressed thin, appearing almost white. She was just shaking her head from side to side, moaning.
Leaning down on his forearms, his cock still buried deep inside her body. Pierce cupped her jaw with both hands.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah?”
No response.
“God Damn it, Sarah. Answer me,” he ground out. The leashed sexual tension evident in his tone.
She slowly opened her eyes. They showed confusion and fear.
“I…didn’t know…I didn’t know you were going to…to…I don’t know,” she rambled.
Not for a moment did he think she had set the parson’s trap for him. The truth shone painfully through her expressive eyes. This was his doing. He had been so struck by her straightforward manner and allure. He had mistaken it for knowledge in the ways of man and woman. To be sure he knew she was innocent, but in his vain arrogance he had assumed it was because she was used to fumbling boys who had not yet learned how to handle a woman of her feisty, untamed nature…not the innocence of a maid!
While the stinging tear felt deep inside her belly was nothing compared to the kiss of the riding crop earlier, it felt deeper and scarier. Sarah instinctively knew the painful affect would take far longer to fade.
Reaching above her head, Pierce pulled at the bows of her binds, releasing her wrists. Sarah immediately lowered them, relishing in the twitching sensation as blood flowed back into her limbs. Leaning back, pulling his cock out of her warm heat, he grabbed her hands.
Placing them on his narrow hips, he said, “Look at me, little one.”
Sarah obeyed.
“Do not lower your eyes. I want you to stare into my own. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Keep hold of my hips. Don’t let go.”
Again, she mutely nodded.
Pierce fisted his shaft, giving it a tight squeeze to help ease the tension before placing the head once more at entrance to her tight passage. Slowly he pushed his girth into her body. Watching as it accepted his cock, even if her whimpers told him she would rather do otherwise.
“Shhh. Don’t fight me.”
“But it’s so sore,” she moaned.
“It won’t be for long. Feel my hips. Learn my movement. Prepare your body for when I enter you.”
Sarah listened as his words washed over her. Her cool fingers pressed into his strong flesh. She could feel when he shifted backwards, both through his own hips and her own body. Then he would thrust forward again. At first she would clench, preparing for pain, but as her body opened to his, the same building sensation she felt when his mouth was on her returned. Soon she felt herself pulling on his hips, wanting to feel the stretch, the strain as she was forced to accept the thick strength of his member.
“I cannot hold back much longer,” he ground out. Looking down at her, his eyes bore into her own. “I need you to be ready.”
“I am…my lord,” she added the last part with a small sly smile.
Pierce smiled in return. His adorably sassy American beauty was returning.
“As opened as you now are, it will still be painful,” he warned.
Sarah bit her lip in trepidation. He could feel her tense as her body cleaved onto his cock.
Pierce leaned forward, his forearms caging her in. Digging his fingers through her thick tresses, he fisted he
r hair, drawing her head back. The movement pressing her sore nipples against his hard chest. As she opened her mouth to protest, his fell on her lips in one angry push. Crushing his lips against her own, his own hunger on raw display.
As his mouth devoured hers, his cock plunged painfully deep. Her body rocked with each powerful thrust. Ramming into her sensitive passage, forcing his cock past her body’s natural resistance as his tongue swept in to plunder her mouth.
Sarah could taste the metallic tang of blood as her lips smashed against the sharp edge of her own teeth. Frightened she tried to close her mouth, to pull back.
He pulled down on his fistfuls of her hair, forcing her neck all the way back. Releasing her mouth, he dove along the slender column of her neck. Licking. Biting. Sucking. Tasting her skin. Taking in her scent. Feeling her pulse through his lips. All the while, his cock kept up the punishing frenetic pace. The muscles in her thighs burned as her legs were forced wide. She could feel the rough scrape of his hair-roughened skin as it rubbed along the delicate skin of her inner thigh.
There wasn’t a sense he didn’t own. There wasn’t place on her body he had not touched. He gave no quarter.
Releasing her hair, his large hand engulfed her small shoulders as he suddenly reared upwards, arching his back. His head tossed back he let out a full-throated roar as his cock found relief buried inside her.
~*~
There wasn’t room on the narrow bench to hold her close as he wanted to. Besides, there were her needs to attend to as well. Carefully, pulling himself free, Pierce quickly untied her ankles. Sarah pulled her knees up to her chest. Shivering.
Pierce wrapped the edges of the dressing gown over her slim body, rubbing her arms.
“It is just your body responding to all the intense emotions. It will ease soon,” he soothed. “Let me get a cloth to bathe between your thighs.”
“No,” she called out as he rose. Sitting upright as she pulled the dressing gown close. “I would prefer to do it myself,” she said shyly.
Pierce reluctantly nodded his assent. Gently taking her by the shoulders, he helped her rise. Placing her arms in the gown, he wrapped the belt securely around her tiny waist. “You may use the suite of rooms again down the hall. I will give you some privacy.”
“Thank you,” she quietly left the room.
Pierce ran his hand over his face. She was not the only one shaken by their experience. Never in his life had he felt such an overpowering connection with a woman in his bed. He wanted to consume her. In many ways he felt as if he had. Her virginity was a minor inconvenience but there was no reason why it should change his plans for her. What was done was done. If anything, it would more securely bind her to him. Marriage to an American was not possible but he was a wealthy lord. It was not only expected it was practically a requirement to have a mistress. He had never pursued one before, preferring more casual dalliances but circumstances had changed. Satisfied with the outcome, Pierce went to tell Sarah the good news.
After respectfully knocking on the door and hearing no response, he entered. The room was empty. She was gone.
~*~
Sarah dressed quickly and fled down the servant’s staircase. She needed time to think. Racing back to Mrs. Needham’s, she cloistered herself in her room. Complaining of a headache, grateful Elma was out in the country on an assignment with a female painter. Less than a quarter of an hour after arriving home there was a discreet knock on her door. It was Mary with a note from Lord Warrington.
Nothing has changed. Be at my home tomorrow at the appointed time. Do not be late.
P.
Chapter Seven
“She’s a strumpet who stole that fancy lord from me and I hate her!”
Victoria sighed as she tied off her thread and started another needle. Florence had talked of little else the past few days than her keen dislike of Sarah. “From what I hear, it is your own fault for playing that nasty trick on her,” said Victoria referring to Florence deliberately tight lacing Sarah into her corset.
Florence played with the lace edge of her sleeve. “I’m sure I do not know what you mean,” she retorted with all the haughtiness of the Queen. Victoria’s only answering remark was a knowing smirk.
Their conversation ended when Mary brought in the evening tea tray, knowing Sarah, Elma and Mrs. Needham would soon be joining them. It was the usual practice at Mrs. Mildred Needham’s Studio of Virtuous Young Beautiful Women Artist Models for everyone to gather in the drawing room after supper for a final cup of tea and to discuss the day’s events and tomorrow’s assignments before retiring above stairs to their boarder rooms.
Mrs. Needham entered in mid-sentence, “lighting the fire in the front parlor and don’t forget to fill the coal scuttle.” Her eyes were trained downward on a stack of wayward papers and notes.
“Mrs. Needham, Mary is not with you. She probably did not hear any of your instructions,” said a bemused Victoria. It was an amusement in the household that their maid-of-all-work Mary would usually slip away at every chance knowing if she stayed too close to Mrs. Needham she would always be given some task or other.
“Oh bother that girl!” huffed Mrs. Needham. “At least she brought in tea. Victoria, dear, will you pour. Florencia, please tell Euphemia and Sophronia the tea is poured.” Mrs. Needham always used their model names even in private company.
“Why,” argued a petulant Florence. “They know what time tea is! Why should I have to leave the fire to go find them?”
“No need Florence, we are here,” announced Sarah with false cheer as she entered with Euphemia.
“How is your head pain?” asked Mrs. Needham.
“It is still with me I’m afraid.”
In order to secure some privacy after leaving Lord Warrington’s she had told a half-truth and pleaded a headache. Regrettably, it was no longer a half-truth. Sarah’s head hurt from having to smile and make conversation all evening long as if her whole world had not tilted this afternoon. She desperately wanted to seek her bed but one never missed evening tea with Mrs. Needham.
“Mary said a note was delivered to you from the Warrington household. What did it say?”
Sarah took a deep breath. It was time to but her scheme into play. Did she dare? After another moment’s pause, she said slowly, “Lord Warrington has requested another artist model for tomorrow.” Sarah’s stomach twisted the moment she said it.
“Have you displeased him in some way?” asked Mrs. Needham sharply.
“Not at all, madam. I believe he would like to try something different that is all,” Sarah choked out.
“I should be the one to go!” interrupted Florence. “After all, if the savage had not made such a spectacle of herself, I’m certain his lordship would have chosen me first,” she sneered in Sarah’s direction.
“One of these days, your nastiness is going to get you in trouble,” snapped Sarah.
“What, are you going to scalp me? Savage!” sneered Florence.
Sarah felt a restraining hand on her arm and looked to see Euphemia shaking her head. “Don’t,” she whispered, “she’s not worth it.”
“Sorry, Florence. I believe my head pains are getting the best of me,” finished Sarah lamely.
“Then you best go to bed. Tomorrow I will send you to Mr. Flopson’s art salon. He needs a model for some sketches for a bronze someone has commissioned,” instructed Mrs. Needham.
Sarah sighed already dreading the long hours ahead. Mr. Flopson was a young, handsome and talented artist with the charm of an over-steeped teapot. He was tedious in his demands, expecting you to hold a difficult pose for hours and worse, rarely spoke, not even the sparest of pleasantries.
“I will help you to your bed,” offered Victoria, gently taking Sarah’s arm and leading her out of the parlor.
After helping her to undress and insisting on her taking some headache powder, Victoria tucked Sarah under the covers.
Pausing to sit on the bed, she asked, “Are you sure it is just
head pains, Sarah? Nothing is bothering you?”
“Why would you ask?” Sarah was alarmed. Was there some outward sign? Could they tell she had just lost her maidenhead? Or worse, could they tell some dark part of her enjoyed her punishments from Lord Warrington?
“No reason,” Victoria responded softly. “I wanted you to know if you were having a problem with Lord Warrington, you could come and tell me.” When Sarah said nothing, she continued. “He is a very handsome man and quite rich from what I understand. He is to inherit his father’s estate and an even higher title.”
Sarah smiled. “You forget, I am a savage colonialist. I have no care for money or titles.”
They both giggled at Florence and Mrs. Needham’s many silly names for her.
“It is just as well. I have heard some alarming things about Lord Warrington.”
Sarah’s cheeks burned. Did Victoria know about his cabinet of silk bindings and riding crops?
Clearing her throat, she tried to act disinterested. “Really, like what, pray?”
“It is probably nonsense but there is talk of a rather unsavory gentleman’s secret society called the Brotherhood of the Linked Ring. Their whole creed is to drink, gamble and despoil young maidens if the gossip is to be believed. Why Sarah you’ve gone so pale!”
Sarah was thinking of the tattoo on Lord Warrington’s shoulder.
“It is just my head, Victoria,” Sarah mumbled.
“Get some sleep.” Victoria kissed her on the cheek and took the candle when she left.
Leaving Sarah alone in the dark with her thoughts. She had spent the whole evening trying to convince herself she meant nothing to Lord Warrington. She was just another female for his photographic collection. It was better to cut and run now before she truly got her heart broken…or worse. It was all just a game…a game that went too far. It is why she came up with her scheme. She almost believed it but there was small stubborn part of her that hoped tomorrow when someone else showed up for her session…well…that he would be angry and disappointed. It would have proved to her that he wanted her…not just the female who posed for his photographs. Her hope was now dashed. His tattoo was three linked rings. The Brotherhood of the Linked Rings. It could not be a coincidence.