by Nina Lane
Preston shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Language, Lydia, really.”
Fury coated Lydia’s world in a hazy mist. Before realizing what she was doing, her hand shot out and slapped Preston across his face, leaving a burnt red imprint of her hand on his jaw.
He started in surprise before a mask of anger crashed down over his features. He grabbed for her, but Lydia eluded his grasp and ran out the French doors to the garden, clutching her dress closed in front of her.
She ran far and fast, as if the very devil himself were chasing her. Hot wind blasted into her face, burning her pale skin. Her feet slammed against the grassy inclines of the plantation grounds, her lungs bursting and her legs aching with the need for relief.
And then she sank down under the drooping branches of a weeping willow, her chest heaving as she gasped for air, trying to rid herself of Preston’s revelation as if it were a squalid nightmare from which she might awake.
She collapsed onto the grass, burying her face in her arms, silently sending apologies to Cassie for having divulged their secret in so explicit and coerced a manner.
She did not know how long she lay there, but a hand on her shoulder startled her out of her despair. She lifted her head, her eyes glazed with tears behind a veil of silken dark hair.
“That was a dangerous move, Lydia,” Gabriel murmured. He knelt on the grass beside her, not moving his hand from her shoulder.
She turned away from him, hugging her arms around herself. “I don’t care.”
“You know he’ll punish you.”
“I don’t care. He would have anyway. He’s depraved.”
Gabriel was silent. A breeze rustled through the willow tree, causing the slack branches to sashay back and forth in a seductive, gentle dance. The pungent scent of grass and pure, fresh air filled Lydia’s nose.
She closed her eyes. An unbidden thought appeared in her mind, one that imagined how it would be to leave this place, to simply walk out the front door and never look back.
“You can’t,” Gabriel whispered.
Lydia turned back to him. Oddly, it didn’t seem strange that he had voiced the response to her internal question. “I know I can’t.”
She gazed at him for a moment, sinking into the emerald depths of his eyes, watching the sweep of a breeze through his black hair.
“What did you mean?” she asked. “When you said I have to be like my surroundings?”
“Ivy and oak,” Gabriel said. His fingers brushed over her forehead, stroking away a lock of hair. “Pliant and strong. Manageable and unyielding. Compliant, docile, but also inflexible. You must be both. You have to adapt and surrender, and yet no one can take from you an inner core of pure strength.”
“I don’t think I have one.”
Gabriel looked dismayed. “Ah, Lydia, of course you do.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because you want to retain control of your life.”
“But I don’t have any control here.”
“That is not true. You only think you don’t.”
Memories of yesterday appeared in Lydia’s mind, an image of how she must have looked splayed over Kruin’s knees with her buttocks flaming, on her knees between Gabriel’s legs, laving his prick with her mouth, crouched over with him thrusting his fingers into her from behind.
A horrible, sordid sensation threatened to engulf her in a wave. God, she was as depraved as they were if she derived pleasure from such events.
And there was no denying she had been pleasured.
Lydia turned her face away from Gabriel again, feeling the damnable flush of shame creep over her neck.
He was no better, she reminded herself. He’d left her last night to wallow in her own wantonness, her inability to resist the undeniably delicious things they did to her. He had only wanted to confirm their expertise in making her succumb whether she wanted to or not.
Gabriel stood, brushing loose grass off his trousers. “Come back with me.”
She did. They passed Kruin on the veranda. His glare said more than words ever could, singeing into Lydia like a firebrand. She felt like a wayward child who had misbehaved and was now required to await punishment for her wrongs.
At his short instruction, she went into the house, her heart beginning to pound hard as she entered the drawing room.
Preston was waiting for her, his hips propped up against the oak desk, his eyes narrow as he watched her approach. He nodded toward an overstuffed chair. Lydia lowered herself into the plush depths, suddenly wishing she hadn’t behaved so rashly.
Preston rapped out an order, and Lydia’s fingers flew to the buttons of her dress. She unfastened each tiny pearl, revealing her nakedness to him again, her legs parted in symbolic invitation, her skin gleaming with sweat from the haste of her flight. Preston’s blue eyes raked over her, lingering at the apex of her thighs which was spread for his viewing.
A hard smile twisted his mouth. “You think I’m going to punish you now, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think you deserve it?”
Lydia’s eyes flashed, but she nodded.
“I’d like to do it now, of course. However, I find it far more interesting if one is required to wait. I think you’ll be far more apt to be compliant if you know that a punishment is awaiting you. And that I might choose to carry it out at any time.” He smiled again and rubbed his palm against the front of his trousers. “The mere thought of it excites me.”
He approached her chair, stopping in front of her so that she was almost eye-level with the bulge in his crotch.
She fought the urge not to recoil, wishing for the presence of Gabriel or even Kruin, for she did not relish the idea of being alone with Preston in any capacity. Her fingertips dug into the velvety arms of the chair, her body tensing as Preston reached out to flick his fingers over her nipple.
“Come, now, Lydia,” Preston murmured. “I won’t punish you today, but I do think you owe me something for having acted the way you did.”
With that proclamation lingering in the air, he unzipped his trousers, releasing the length of his phallus which quivered for release. He grasped the base of the stalk in his hand, leisurely stroking the stiff member up to the tip, from which a drop of moisture began to leak.
Apprehension lit in Lydia’s eyes, causing Preston to smile. Although he was not quite as well-endowed as Gabriel or Kruin, they both knew he had an edge over Lydia the other two men lacked.
“You were always so proud, weren’t you, Lydia?” Preston asked.
“Was I?”
“So proud that you wouldn’t fuck around when we were younger. They all talked about you, you know, how untouchable you were, how arrogant. I remember a bet once. Who could touch your cunt first. The problem was that no one could decide on how to prove the winner.”
A sick feeling of loathing rose in Lydia’s chest.
“I suppose none of us would have won in the end, would we?” Preston continued thoughtfully, his hand still sliding up and down the thick root of his penis. “You were too busy sucking lovely Cassie’s pussy, weren’t you?”
“Christ, Preston, I hate you,” Lydia hissed.
“Do you?” Preston replied mildly. “Do you want to leave?”
Lydia fought to regain control over herself, her breathing hard as defiance raged in her with the power of a thunderstorm. She stared at the swollen member in front of her, trying to somehow distance the organ from the man who possessed it.
She closed her eyes. An unbidden reminder of the means by which she had arrived at this place returned to haunt her. She had been arrogant. She had thought she was covering her tracks so cleanly that no one would ever unearth her as the culprit embezzler. And this—here, now—was her lengthy punishment, her exile from the world.
Thick silence filled her ears as she opened her eyes and parted her lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
Preston smiled as he nudged the knob of his prick into Lydia�
��s mouth. Dribbles of semen coated her tongue, and she closed her lips around the throbbing hardness of his shaft. Her tongue laved the underside of his penis as Preston’s hands clutched her head and he began to thrust himself lecherously in and out of the cavern of her mouth.
A glorious merriment filled Preston as he looked down and watched the movement of his erection pumping between the red lips of his captive, making his loins twitch at the thought of the glistening lips farther down. How he had longed to take her there, longed to immerse his stiffness into her and thrust away for as long as he could until splendid rapture overtook him.
The thought cast his senses into a maelstrom as he pulled his saliva-wet shaft out of Lydia’s mouth and commanded her to lie on the desk. To his intense gratification, she did, even parting her dress and spreading her legs to reveal the damp folds of her sex, the delicate morsel of her clitoris protruding forth as if begging to be touched.
Preston was only too delighted to comply, for although he intended to punish Lydia for her infraction, he was not averse to her obtaining pleasure from their little games for the time being.
In fact, it made their situation all the more intriguing, as she would be obliged to struggle with her distaste of submitting to them, while at the same time unable to deny the physical pleasure she received at their hands.
Lydia’s breathing came in rapid, little pants as Preston began to massage the receptive button with his fingertips, everything in him thrilled at the sight of proud Lydia spread out on the desk like a lamb at a sacrificial altar, her pale skin burnished with perspiration, the hard, tight sprouts of her nipples sticking straight up from the swells of her breasts.
Before she reached her climax, however, Preston stepped away from her. Lydia’s eyes opened, her chest heaving.
“Ah, Lydia. Not so regal anymore, are you?”
She didn’t respond, but her lips compressed with displeasure and apprehension. She began to close her legs, but Preston moved forward and pressed his hands against the tender flesh of her inner thighs.
“Oh, no,” he said, his voice laced with menace. “Especially not in front of me, Lydia. Don’t even think of it.”
A tremor went through her as she stared at him with luminous eyes. Preston’s penis ached. He longed to envelop himself in her flesh, but he clenched his teeth and forcibly restrained himself.
He leaned over Lydia, his hot breath against her face as he whispered, “You were more of a little sensualist than you ever let on, weren’t you?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?”
“What other activities did you engage in when we were younger?”
Lydia’s mouth tightened. “None of your damn business.”
Preston grabbed her by the chin, his fingers digging into her creamy cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Rage tightened every muscle in his body as memories of their youth flooded his mind.
“How dare you,” he hissed. “You’d better watch yourself, Lydia, or you’ll be out on the street before you know it. Is that what you want? Do you want to escape from the investigators on your own? I’d be more than delighted to sit back and watch that happen, if for no other reason than to see how far you get. And we both know, darling, that it won’t be far at all.”
He drew her face closer to his, so close that their harsh breaths mingled in the space between them. “Is that what you want?”
She didn’t respond, although Preston could not determine if she didn’t want to or if she was simply incapable of it. He released her and grasped his erection, which was still wet from Lydia’s mouth.
He picked up her hand and wrapped her tapered fingers around his shaft, commanding her in curt tones to massage him. She stared at him, then at the movement of her hand as she began to stroke the compact stalk up and down. Her thumb rubbed the underside, her fingers cupping his tight sacs with her other hand as her fist repeatedly engulfed him.
“You’re quite an expert at this, aren’t you, Lydia?” Preston whispered, his hips beginning to thrust into her moist grip. “Was this what you did to boys instead of fucking them?”
When she didn’t answer, he pinched her nipple between his fingers. Lydia drew in a breath, flinching at the mild pain.
“Was it?” Preston repeated.
“S-sometimes.” She didn’t look at him, her hot gaze still on the pumping motions of her hand.
His lips curled. “Sometimes? When?”
“When…when they asked me to. When I wanted to.”
Preston’s head filled with images of a young, burgeoning Lydia jerking the cocks of teenage boys. Her wet lips would have been parted in fascination, as if she wished to submerge their erections in her lovely mouth, her nipples pressing against her shirt.
“Where did you do it?” Preston hissed.
“In their cars,” Lydia said, her bare torso shifting, her legs parting like uplifting wings. “At the movies, sometimes.”
“Tell me.”
“I…Preston, I can’t…”
He pinched her nipple again, harder this time, and delved his fingers into the fissure between her legs. Her clitoris pulsed against his fingertips like a heartbeat.
“Don’t you use those words with me,” he snapped. “You can, and you will. Tell me.”
Her eyes closed, but her hand didn’t stop gripping his thick erection. A breathy sigh emerged from her lips.
“We would sit…sit in the back row,” she whispered.
“What did you wear?”
“Cotton T-shirts. Mini-skirts.”
Preston smiled and leaned over her, rotating his thumb around her bud of pleasure. “To show off your figure? Or so they could stick their eager hands between your legs and excite you?”
Lydia moaned, her body tensing. Her fingers slackened on his phallus, giving Preston cause to take his hand from her slippery folds. He grasped her hand again and tightened it around his shaft.
“Don’t you dare stop,” he murmured. “You have several punishments awaiting you, Lydia. Don’t give yourself another one.”
She shuddered, but resumed her tight stroking from base to tip.
“Did they?” Preston asked. “Did they fumble around awkwardly to try and get into your panties?”
Lydia nodded. Preston smiled thinly. Oh yes. This was exactly what he wanted, to embarrass her by forcing her to dredge up all the sordid memories of her youth, to expose the libertine who had always lain beneath the surface of her refined self.
“And you liked it,” he said.
“Y-yes. God, yes.”
“You were wet for them, weren’t you? Just like you are now. Did they bring you to orgasm?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did they touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Were your nipples hard?”
“Yes.”
“Did they come all over your pretty hand?”
“Yes. Oh, God.” Her pale skin was wet with perspiration. She pressed her thighs together as if trying to draw sensations from her body.
Preston gave her hip a light slap. “Open your legs this instant.”
“No, I can’t…I…oh…oh!” Her body stiffened and shook with a sudden and intense series of explosions, glistening juices bathing her inner thighs.
“Oh, Lydia,” Preston said, his voice both soft and steely as his expression hardened with displeasure. “You will pay for that as well. You know that, don’t you?”
She turned her head away from him, her eyes heavily lidded and filled with a mixture of satisfaction and unease. Preston positioned himself over her breasts, his penis sticking rigidly over the damp globes. He brushed the head against her nipple.
“Do it,” he ordered.
She gasped softly and eased his shaft between her lips, her tapered fingers encircling the base almost delicately. She moved her head back and forth, her hair shifting with her movements as her tongue circled and danced over his throbbing shaft.
Preston pulled away from h
er as he felt unbearable pressure begin collect in his loins. He pushed her delicious legs apart and positioned himself between her thighs. With one movement, he immersed his bulging shaft into her opening, thrusting so far that only the pouch of his testicles prevented further entry, for he truly felt as if he could sink into her completely.
Lydia moaned, her body quivering as Preston began to pump inside her, his entire being electrified by the rapture of his plunges into her gripping orifice. The lack of intrusive hairs in this particular region augmented Preston’s pleasure tenfold, as every element of Lydia’s delectable treasures was laid bare for his rapacious plundering.
He bent forward to capture her nipple between his lips, tugging at the bud until Lydia gasped with pleasure and began to writhe about lewdly under him. Honey flowed profusely from between the smooth lips of her labia, bathing Preston’s prick with a glistening polish.
Broken whimpers spilled from Lydia’s throat, inflaming Preston’s blood all the more as he stroked the knot of her clitoris and felt her inner walls shudder around his shaft. Then he withdrew from her body and gave her hip another light slap.
“Turn over.”
She stared at him, dismay darkening her lovely eyes as she appeared to realize exactly what further insult he intended to bestow upon her. Her mouth opened to protest, but then she twisted around and presented her plump backside to him.
Preston gripped her waist to pull her to the edge of the table so the tips of her toes touched the plush carpet and her hips were positioned in a perfect curve that would allow him unconstrained access.
Placing his hands on the fleshy mounds, he parted her bottom to examine the furrow between them, tracing it down to the delicate crinkle in which he intended to embed his quivering shaft. He rubbed the little hole with the tip of his moistened finger, causing his captive to emit a mewl of protest and writhe her buttocks most enticingly.
“Ah, darling,” Preston said breathlessly. “Hasn’t a man yet experienced the delectation of your charming backside?”