Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “Please, Sir, will you spank me for my bad behavior?”

  “You assume I’m going to spank you?”

  “Uh, yes, Sir.”

  “My instruction was that you ask for the discipline you deserve. Do you think reddening your bottom is the only way I have of punishing you?”

  “I didn’t think about it, Sir.”

  “Ask again.”

  “Please, Sir, will you administer the discipline I deserve?”

  “I certainly will,” he declared. “I said you’d be sitting on a hot bottom at the dinner table, and that is correct, so your assumption was understandable, but there will be more.”

  “More?” she squeaked, but as he cupped her womanhood through the flimsy fabric and began to rub, she closed her eyes, surrendering her thoughts to focus on the divine pleasure.

  His erotic massage became more aggressive.

  Her arousal grew.

  She could feel the soaked gusset of her drawers.

  Just as she began to wonder how his tantalizing touch could be considered punishment, he abruptly stopped to slap her—hard.

  “Ow!” she cried, her eyes popping open.

  “Pay attention!”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “As I spank you I want you to say the following. I promised to obey you, Sir, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Continue to repeat it until I stop smacking you. Start now,” he ordered, landing his hand on her right cheek, then sending it quickly to the left.

  “I promised to, ouch, obey you, Sir, and I’m, ow, sorry I didn’t. I, ooh, promised to obey, ow, you, Sir, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Ouch. I promised to obey you, Sir, ow, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  His hand suddenly returned to her pussy and rubbed vigorously. Though he’d landed only half-a-dozen smacks, they’d been delivered with significant force and left her with a burning backside.

  “My naughty wife is drenched,” he growled, abruptly spanking her with his free hand as he continued to rub her clit.

  “Ouch. I promised to obey you, Sir, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “You may stop repeating that now. You’re nearing your climax, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir. Oh, I’m so close,” she whimpered, then wailed as he landed a volley of hot swats.

  “Does my naughty wife deserve an orgasm?”

  “Uh, only if you think so, Sir.”

  “Correct,” he said firmly, pulling his hand from her womanhood to rub her sore bottom.

  She assumed he was allowing her to catch her breath, but she was wrong. His thumb suddenly pressed against her rosebud.

  “Connie, do you remember how the pirate pushed his manhood between his wife’s cheeks?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered breathlessly.

  “I’ll be doing the same to you. Does that scare you?”

  “Ooh, yes, Sir, it does.”

  “Remember the pirate’s wife was scared too, then she discovered the pleasure of it. I want you thinking about that.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “It’s time for me to bare your backside,” he said briskly, moving his hands beneath her and untying the cord around her waist. “Are you ready for the rest of your discipline?”

  She wanted to ask, does it matter if I’m not? but thought better of it.

  “Yes, Sir,” she murmured, and feeling her drawers slide down her legs, she took a long, deep breath.

  * * *

  Studying Connie’s red, blotchy skin, and feasting his eyes on her glistening sex, Malcolm would have liked nothing better than to plunge inside her slick channel. But her discipline was not yet over. It was time to introduce her to his wooden clothes brush. The handle was only four inches long, and the bristled end the same, but its diminutive size belied its scalding sting.

  “You’ll receive a half-a-dozen swats with this on each cheek,” he declared, smacking it down in the center of her backside. “They will hurt, but the punishment will be over quickly. If you show such flagrant disregard again, the six will become twelve on each cheek. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Put your hands behind you or kick out and I’ll start from the beginning, but if you need to yell, you may. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Six on the right cheek!”

  Moving to stand at her side, he raised the brush and peppered her skin. As he’d promised, it was over in seconds, but her howl echoed through the dungeon.

  “Ooh, Sir, that hurt frightfully.”

  “Now the other cheek,” he exclaimed, ignoring her comment.

  Stepping to her opposite side, he repeated the swift, scorching swats. Another wail bounced off the walls. Immediately returning the brush to his pocket, he pushed his finger into her depths and thrust it in and out.

  “You love that, don’t you, naughty wife?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she panted, “thank you, Sir.”

  “But you like this just as much,” he murmured, moving his hand to agitate her clit.

  “Ooh, yes, Sir. I can feel my climax building already.”

  He stopped.

  “I’ll ask you again. Does my naughty wife deserve an orgasm?”

  “Ooh, Sir, only if you think so.”

  “Tell me when you reach the edge,” he ordered, placing his finger back against the sensitive button and rubbing aggressively.

  Paying close attention to her gasps and utterances of pleasure, he could sense her orgasm was drawing near.

  “I’m right there,” she cried, just when he thought she was about to give into temptation. “Please, Sir.”

  “I consider myself a strict disciplinarian,” he said calmly, dropping his hand away.

  “Ooh, Sir. I need to orgasm so badly.”

  “Does my naughty wife deserve her climax? Has your answer changed?”

  “No, Sir. Only if you think so,” she mewled, then plaintively added, “but I hope you do.”

  “As I just mentioned, I consider myself a strict disciplinarian, but not a cruel one. I’m going to give you your orgasm, but remember this. I have the power to bring you to this point any time I choose, then deny you.”

  “Yes, Sir, I understand,” she bleated, wiggling her hips.

  “Feel free to climax when the moment seizes you. Rest assured I won’t stop.”

  “Thank you, Sir, thank you so much.”

  Pushing two fingers into her passage, he fervently moving them in and out until she was gasping, then returned his attention to her clit, but as he rubbed, he pushed the thumb of his free hand into her back hole.

  He heard her gasp, but she was on the verge.

  Her body grew rigid.

  With her euphoric cries echoing through the room, he continued his fervent massage and held his thumb in its lewd position, but as her convulsions began to wane, he pulled his hands back and freed his member from his trousers. Joyously placing himself at her entrance, he gripped her hips and plunged forward.

  Riding her with strong, rapid strokes, he reached his climax in minutes, expelling his essence with long, loud groans, then flaccid and spent, he slipped from her succulent sex, put himself back into his pants, and sank down on the bench seat.

  “Come here,” he said breathlessly, helping her onto his lap. “My punished wife needs to be held.”

  * * *

  In spite of her sore backside, being cocooned in Malcolm’s arms was sheer bliss.

  A few quiet minutes ticked by.

  When he moved her off his knees, she grunted in protest.

  “I agree,” he said with a sigh. “If I had my druthers I’d take you into that cell with the cot and lie down for a long nap. I’m sorry to say we need to get back and clean up.”

  “Lying down and snuggling next to you would be heavenly, but you’re probably right. Um, Malcolm, I really am very sorry I burst into that room the way I did. I suppose I’ve been so anxious about everything for so long I just couldn’t stop myself. “

  “Not to worry,” he murmured, kissin
g her softly. “You’ve paid for your sins and all is forgiven.”

  “What did you use for those twelve swats? My goodness, it stung terribly.”

  “My clothes brush, and it’s always handy if I need it.”

  “I certainly hope you don’t.”

  “That, my beautiful girl, will be entirely up to you. Now you must tidy up,” he said, smoothing his hand over her hair.

  “I love this dungeon,” she remarked, pulling up her drawers and straightening up. “What stories it could tell.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like to know. God bless the wretched souls who found themselves down here all those many years ago.”

  “Oh, yes, you’re probably right.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked, turning down all the lamps except the one he’d brought in.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Leaving the room and placing the lantern where he’d found it, Malcolm gestured for her to move ahead of him.

  “The light is fading,” she remarked, glancing out a tiny window as they climbed the short, winding stairs. “The sun must be setting. I hope the good weather holds. It was such a beautiful day and I’d love to go for another walk in the woods before we leave. When do you think we should return to London?”

  “We’ll discuss that with Frank at dinner, and your earlier comment is making me think twice. You’re right about Mountbatten. He’s a snake, and snakes can be slippery.”

  “It’s still so hard for me to believe that he and Roger were, uh, together, but it explains why he was always so tentative with me,” she said breathlessly as they reached the small landing at the top.

  “I don’t even like to think about it,” he muttered, moving to her side and opening the door, but as they stepped into the hallway, approaching voices could be clearly heard.

  “It’s Edith. She must be bringing Frank and Edward here to show them the dungeon.”

  “Oh, no! I must look a state.”

  “Go back to your room. I’m going to stay here. This is the perfect chance for me to talk to Frank about keeping Hackworth in one of those cells.”

  “I love you,” she whispered, kissing him quickly.

  “I love you too, with all my heart. Now go.”

  Hurrying away, she made it through the door that led to Malcolm’s wing just as she heard Malcolm greet Edith, Edward, and Frank. Following the hallway back to her room, the carriage clock told her it was a few minutes before six. She had time for a short rest before ringing for Mrs. Melville to help her change. Opening the armoire, she smiled as she saw the gown she had worn for her wedding. Edith had insisted she keep it, and Connie was deeply grateful. Regardless of what she might buy, the outfit would always be treasured.

  Slipping out of the aqua silk dress and hanging it up, she looked forward to returning to London and heading off to the shops. Her first order of business would be to buy something very special for Malcolm’s adopted sister.

  Moving into the bathroom and washing up, she returned to stretch out on the bed. The mattress felt especially comfortable against her tender backside. A smile crossed her lips, but it passed as she unexpectedly recalled the dinner with Samuel Mountbatten, his wife Josephine, their American friend David Manning, and Roger, who had been fawning all over her.

  “Somehow they must be brought together in one place and have their guilt exposed,” she mumbled, surrendering to a yawn, “but how can we make that happen? Mamma, can you hear me? Malcolm and I are so close to bringing this nightmare to an end. We just need a really clever plan.”

  Swept up in a second, long yawn, she let herself drift away, her mother’s beautiful face floating through her mind.

  * * *

  Seeking solace and strength, Samuel had returned to the gallery of his great and noble ancestors. If he didn’t hear from Hackworth soon he’d head off to the country himself. He would have no choice. He’d just received another letter, this time from the shrew he’d married. She and her lover would be arriving in London soon, though they hadn’t specified when.

  David is expecting to hear positive news, Monty. I hope for your sake you won’t disappoint him.

  The passage jangled in his head. He despised the woman, and suspected she had been plotting against him from the moment they’d met.

  “I bet you knew about my gambling debts,” he grunted as he paced around the gallery. “You seized the opportunity to tempt me with your fortune and lure me into our so-called marriage just so Manning could blackmail me. It’s over,” he grunted angrily. “This is the last relic I’m stealing for you! No more.”

  There had been two previous thefts, but they’d been easy. Hackworth had lifted them from the homes of private collectors. The Statue of Kharute had been something else altogether.

  Samuel suddenly stopped his pacing.

  “I’ve been a fool,” he exclaimed, staring up at his larger-than-life ancestors. “I should have killed them both after their first threat! Hah. Let them come to London and bully me. I’ll be ready and waiting for them both.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Returning to his room and finding it empty, Malcolm felt a wave of disappointment. He’d been hoping to find Connie resting in his bed—their bed. But he had only himself to blame. He’d told her to go back to her room, so she had. Quickly walking the short distance to her door, he was about to knock when it opened. Standing before him, her eyes wide and obviously excited, Connie stared up at him.

  “How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was about to come to your bedroom to wait for you.”

  “Our bedroom,” he corrected her. “I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to send you—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said urgently, cutting him off and pulling him inside.

  “Good heavens, what on earth’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, but I have to speak to you. I know how to trap Mountbatten and his wife and that awful American man. Roger too. I know how to get them all in one place. I know how to get them to confess what they did. I know exactly how to do it!”

  “Take a breath,” he said calmly, though his pulse had ticked up. “Let’s sit down. You need to explain this to me slowly.”

  “I’ll try, but it’s hard not to be excited,” she gushed as they walked to the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress. “They want the Statue of Kharute. Samuel Mountbatten and Roger want it because they’re being blackmailed. David Manning and Josephine want it simply because they do, unless there’s another reason we don’t know about, but it doesn’t matter. They all want it—and desperately. Right?”

  “That’s a given.”

  “So, we’ll give them the opportunity to get it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sort of what you were going to do, but they won’t think you have possession of it, and they won’t come to your house.”

  “Then where?”

  “Where it’s supposed to have been all this time. My house.”

  “I’m not having you there! I won’t let you put yourself in danger like that.”

  “No, they won’t hear from me, that would be too obvious. Let me tell you my idea.”

  Malcolm listened attentively, and when she’d finished, he stared at her and shook her head.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered.

  “What? You don’t like it?” she asked anxiously. “You don’t think it will work?”

  “Connie, it’s absolutely brilliant. You are one very clever young lady. It’s perfect. Even if they suspect something untoward, they’ll feel compelled to show up, though if we word the letter correctly,” he said thoughtfully, “we can help to alleviate their fears.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “There’s still the problem of telling the detective that I’ve had the statue all this time. I should have turned it into the authorities the moment it came into my possession.”

  “I know how to deal with that as well.”

  “Do tell,” he said wit
h a grin.

  “Very simple. We don’t need to actually have it. Mountbatten and Manning just have to believe we do.”

  As she finished outlining her suggestion, he put his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  “My beautiful bride. How did you come up with all this?”

  “I dreamed it,” she said softly, “but if I’m being honest, I think Mamma put it in my head. You probably think I’m crazy, but I talk to her all the time. Just before I took my nap I told her how close we are to putting this horrible nightmare behind us, but we needed a very sneaky plan that would catch all of them.”

  “And you dreamed it?”

  “Yes, I dreamed it.”

  “Perhaps she did whisper it in your ear as you napped,” Malcolm murmured with a smile. “There are many unexplained things in this world. Regardless, you have given us a clear way forward.”

  “Will you be keeping Hackworth in the dungeon?”

  “Hackworth!” Malcolm exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I have to get him to write the new letters before he leaves.”

  “Leaves? Where is he going?”

  “Frank sent a message to the local constabulary and they’ll be picking him shortly. He’ll be charged with trespassing and held in the village station house until we’re ready to bring him back to London. Frank’s waiting for me to take him to the secret room to arrest him.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Connie, I want you to come with me. Having you there will remind him of the agreement he made regarding his wife and son.”

  “I’ll just put on what I was wearing before,” she said, moving to the wardrobe and slipping the aqua dress off its hanger. “When is the constable arriving?”

  “Any time now. Do I still have that note pad on me?” he mumbled, checking his pockets. “After he’s gone I’ll go into my study and write the other letters. They can all go out the moment we arrive back in London. I think I’ll have one of the clerks at the law firm I use. They’re bound by confidentiality, and we’ll have no doubt the letters will have been delivered.”

  “And they should be written on fine paper.”