by Renee Rose
He chuckled and led the stallion into a canter, following the graceful forms of horse and rider. Kitty’s long thick tresses trailed down her back, changing shape as she easily guided her mount. He marveled at how well she rode—as well as a man, even sitting sidesaddle as she was. He had to work to keep her in sight, with her advantage of knowing both her mount and the terrain, she had a fair lead on him. Occasionally she looked over her shoulder, laughing, taunting, and the primal act of chasing her down made his cock harden with anticipation.
She led him through the woods and over a small stream, up a heather-covered hill and back into more woods, pausing at last when she reached a stone wall. He dismounted and tethered the stallion, reaching her side and pulling her down off the mare, who sidestepped and chuffed in indignation.
Kitty’s eyes widened and he saw a flash of doubt, as if she thought she might be chastised for her game, until he relieved her of it by crushing her lips with his own. Her hands clutched at his arms for support and she tilted her head back in utter surrender, allowing him to trail kisses down her neck to the delicate hollow of her throat. The mare snorted again and he chuckled, taking the reins and hobbling her, before turning back to his lady.
He snatched her up against his body, one hand wrapping behind her back to squeeze her bottom and pull her against him. He pressed his thigh between her legs and she rocked her pelvis, rubbing her sex up and down on it as he kneaded her firm backside.
“I told you I would always follow,” he growled in her ear and she let out an unintelligible mewl. He walked her backward, their bodies still joined together until her back reached the stone wall. Then he disentangled himself from her arms and slowly turned her around to face it, placing her hands on the stone surface. “Allow me to show you what it means to be Lady Westerfield,” he murmured in her ear, dragging her skirts up.
She made a sound that was half protest, half encouragement.
“It means you must give yourself to me whenever and wherever I want it.” He ran his fingers between her legs, feeling the wetness of her sex through the linen of her drawers. “Can you do that, pussycat?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said in a wavering voice.
He found the slot in her drawers and slipped his fingers inside, gliding his middle finger into her juices and breaching her hole.
“Yes, my lord,” she breathed. “Yes—I shall try.”
“Good girl,” he purred in her ear, and pulled the tie on her drawers to lower them. “Spread your legs,” he commanded when the drawers had dropped to the earth and he nudged her feet wider.
There were still a few blotches on her delicate skin from the spanking he’d given her earlier—an interaction that seemed so long ago, so removed from the intimacy they now shared, that it was strange to look upon them. He picked a long piece of stiff grass and tickled her bottom with it. She giggled and looked over her shoulder at him. “Maybe I’ll switch you after all,” he said, drawing his arm back with exaggerated force and bringing the grass down on her bottom. “Alas, it broke,” he said, earning another giggle.
He rubbed the head of his cock over her welcoming slit and she moaned, pushing back at him.
“That’s my good girl,” he encouraged, guessing she was probably sore from their recent coupling, and trying to be gentle. “Open up for me,” he said and felt her muscles relax so he could slide in. “Yes, that’s it.”
He slid in and out of her, gently at first, then forgetting himself as he reveled in the sheer baseness of the way he was taking her—like a village girl out in the open air. He squeezed her nipples through the fabric of her clothing and thrust deeply, causing her to cry out with each upstroke until he climaxed, pulling her torso upright against his chest, cupping her breasts in his hands as he spilled his seed. She climaxed too, jerking in response to his finish, moving her hand between her legs as if to hold him inside her.
He kissed her neck. “Are you all right?” he asked before he could bite back the habitual question.
She giggled. “And if I wasn’t?”
He gently pulled out of her and gave her bare bottom a light slap. “Then I would say I’m terribly sorry, but it’s your duty,” he teased.
She whirled around and yanked the end of his cravat, untying it. He laughed, pulling her into his arms for one more lingering kiss before they remounted and rode back to the estate. They dined after a lazy afternoon of talking and laughing, but by supper’s end, he could see Kitty was turning a bit agitated.
“Are you nervous for your spanking?” he asked gently.
She frowned at him. “Is it really necessary?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid so, kitten. It’s a lesson I need to be sure you’ve learned.”
“I have learned it!” she promised.
He nodded. “I believe you, but I’m still going to spank.”
Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her eyes to her empty plate.
“Let’s get it over with now,” he said, standing and escorting her upstairs to the bedroom.
* * *
“Take off your clothes.”
She swallowed. Having him tear them off her earlier had been one thing, but being commanded to remove them while he watched was quite another. She hesitated and he raised his eyebrows in that thoroughly authoritative manner at which he was so skilled. She willed her heartbeat to slow to a normal pace as she offered her back to him to assist her with the hooks. The brush of his fingers ignited a fire in her low belly, even as her knees wobbled with anticipation. She removed all her clothing, even the stockings and garters.
As he had that morning, he methodically removed his waistcoat and cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. His expression was blank, but his eyes still seemed to contain the warmth she’d met in them all day. A shiver of something other than fear ran through her.
She’d thought about her spanking all day, growing more and more anxious over it, but her desire to please her husband had grown as well. His taking her in hand did make him more attractive to her. But that still didn’t mean she wanted a “long, hard spanking.”
She sat on the bed to shield her most intimate and vulnerable parts. Harry pulled the dreaded razor strap out of his travel case and slapped it lightly in his palm. She bit her lip, tempted to throw herself at his feet again and beg for mercy. He walked to the head of the bed and propped the pillows against the headboard, leaning back against it with his legs long. He patted his lap meaningfully.
She managed to stifle the squeak rising in her throat and crawled over to where he sat, starting to drape herself across his knees. “The other way, please,” he commanded.
“Oh!” Embarrassed at getting it wrong, she awkwardly rearranged herself to face in the opposite direction.
He ran his hand lightly over her bottom, eliciting gooseflesh all over her body. “Why am I spanking you, Kitty?”
“For leaving you,” she said, her voice muffled in the covers. His hand came down sharply on one cheek. It was not as hard as he’d spanked that morning in the parlor when she’d felt the full brunt of his anguish in the sting of each slap, but it still smarted. He slapped the other side and then directly in the middle, then he repeated the pattern: right, left, center. She wiggled at the sting as he continued the same rhythm, smacking her in the same three spots over and over again. Her initial perception that he was not spanking with as much force faded as he increased tempo and intensity. Her breath quickened to a shallow pant as she struggled not to panic. After a few interminable minutes, he paused and rubbed her flaming bottom.
The feel of his caress on her backside was so tender that she found herself lifting her rear in the air, as if to beg for more of it. She thought she heard Harry’s breath catch.
He was not distracted, however, as she sensed him picking up the strap. She immediately squeezed her buttocks together, hunching her shoulders.
He brought the strap across her cheeks harder than she might have imagined was possible whilst lying across his lap. Her cheeks clen
ched and her bottom wobbled away from him and returned. A line of fire was blazing across her cheeks. The second one landed just below, the third below that. She buried her screams in the blanket so the servants wouldn’t hear. He gave her several seconds between each one to recover, though she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. The next one landed at the juncture of her thighs and she screamed into the covers again, her sobs starting afresh. He worked his way back up her bottom, then back down again. It was pure agony—each stroke raising a fresh weal, the new strokes crossing the earlier ones so that the pain exploded exponentially.
“Why did you leave me?”
It took her a moment to understand he was picking back up with the conversation he’d begun when he started and another moment before she could pull herself together enough to answer. “Because I’m a naughty wife!” she exclaimed.
He gave a bark of laughter and let the strap slide over her bottom in a caress. “Yes,” he rumbled, “you are a very naughty wife. But why did you leave? What did you want from me?”
He snapped the strap across her buttocks again, so it was impossible for her to answer, her mind diverted by handling the fire on her backside. All she could blurt out was “This!”
He chuckled again, slapping her with the strap again, but lightly. “You wanted this? You wanted to be over my knee, having your bottom striped?”
“No! Yes—I mean, no!” She wriggled her hips on his lap and he brought the strap down again. “Ow! Harry!” He struck the other thigh. “Ack! I just—I wanted you to come running after me…I just wanted to know you care!”
He stilled, then rolled her up to cradle in his arms. “You didn’t know?” he whispered. “Kitten, I care too much—” his voice choked a little. “I’ve been in a state since the day I first met you.” He kissed away one of her tears. “I want you with a passion so deep I’m afraid I’ll break your fragile bones if I unleash it.” He kissed her temple. “I’ve made every kind of mistake over this burning need for you—I tried to bypass courtship, which gave you great offense; I acted like a madman with my jealousy, and took you by force like a brutish heathen. I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep my feelings for you in check so I wouldn’t hurt or offend again. I wanted to give you room…to get used to the idea of being married to me.”
She touched his cheek, moved to new tears by his obvious anguish. “That’s why you wouldn’t come home at night?”
He nodded, then quirked a rueful smile. “As you discovered today, I can’t be around you without wanting to take you every minute of the day. It drove me mad to be near you and not have you.” His hand cupped her burning bottom, reminding her of his possessiveness. “I love you, Kitty. My heart stopped beating when I discovered you’d gone. I didn’t breathe the entire way here. If you’d told me you were leaving me permanently, I would probably just take up residence at Spencer’s and never come out again. Or maybe I would stop speaking altogether.”
She laughed, more tears spilling down her cheeks.
He thumbed them away. “Promise you’ll never do that to me again?” he asked, his voice cracking again.
“I promise!” she exclaimed. “I promise, Harry. I’m so sorry. I just felt so alone—one moment you were so kind and attentive—the next it seemed you didn’t wish to be near me at all.”
“Didn’t wish to be near you?” he echoed, gazing at her with understanding. “Oh, Kitty. I’m so sorry. It never dawned on me that you cared enough about me to be hurt by my absence.”
She started to weep, pressing her face into his chest. “I was hurt,” she spoke into his shirt.
He cupped her head and pulled it back to see her face. “Will you forgive me?”
She nodded.
“I’m not good with words, Kitty. But you are—you are better than anyone I’ve ever met. Next time will you please tell me what you need from me? Will you remember that I’m thick and I need your help?”
She nodded.
He wiped her tears again. “I love you and I would do anything to make you happy.”
Her lips twisted into a teasing smile. “Anything save excuse me from a spanking?”
His eyes twinkled. “Well, spanking you is a duty I could come to enjoy.”
She felt a little flutter in her low belly. “I like it too—well, not the spanking,” she said when he raised his eyebrows. “But I like that you spank me.”
“You have confused me again, little kitten,” he admitted.
She felt her face grow warm. “I don’t like being spanked, but I like knowing you might spank.” She giggled, growing more embarrassed by her admission. “Is that silly? I like feeling your power or your passion when you spank. And I like the way you hold me afterward.”
“You like knowing I might spank?” he repeated, a wicked grin on his face. He pushed her back down, rolling her over to expose her bottom again.
“No! Harry!” she wriggled. “I said I don’t like being spanked!”
He gave her a slap on the bottom at the same time she felt his other hand beneath her, curling into her sex. She gasped.
“Harry…”
His fingers slid into her pleats, which were already swollen with heat for him. He slapped again as his finger discovered a sensitive peak just inside her sex, causing her to squirm with eager need. He continued, spanking slowly as his fingers worked their magic. She pumped her hips over his lap, moaning, losing herself in the swirling sensation of pain and pleasure, of helplessness and desire.
“Ohhhhh,” she moaned, gasping with each slap, moaning in the lapses between. When she climaxed, she burst apart, losing all sense of time or place, exploding into a mindless wonder of ripple after ripple of pleasure.
After a long time, she felt the gentle stroking of Harry’s hand up and down her back as her bearings gradually returned.
She rolled over, and looked at her husband through heavy-lidded eyes. “Perhaps I do like spanking.”
He chuckled.
“Harry?”
“Yes, pussycat?” The caress in his voice caused her limbs to melt like butter.
“May I still have the reception ball?”
His laugh was a low rumble in his chest. He slid her legs from his lap and lay down beside her. “Of course you may, kitten.”
* * *
They spent four idyllic days at Penrock, riding, walking, laughing, and having sex several times a day. He spanked her in every room of the house. They were what she referred to as “happy spankings”—only enough to make her squirm and always ending with his claiming her in some new position.
It was a honeymoon, of sorts, and now that he was certain of Kitty, he felt as tall as a mountain. They returned to London on the fifth day to have the week to prepare for their ball.
“It feels different this time,” Kitty murmured as they arrived back at the house.
“What does?”
“Your house. I feel as though I’m just now arriving as your new wife.”
“Yes, the house can tell the marriage is now consummated,” he said with mock sincerity, earning her giggle. She sailed inside with a new confidence, picking up the mail that had arrived while they were gone and eagerly sorting through for the RSVPs to their ball. He picked up the newspaper and his mail and took her hand, leading her to the study, where they each took a chair and began reading through their mail.
“Ah, here’s the first bill from the dressmaker’s. Let’s see if I need to bark at you or not,” he teased, opening the bill. When Kitty didn’t reply, he looked up. She was sitting as if in shock, her face pale and drawn. “What is it, kitten?”
She held out the stack of RSVPs with a trembling hand. “I think we’d best cancel the ball,” she said. “They are mostly regrets. It seems I will not recover gracefully from the Westerfield affair.”
He understood the implication immediately. Kitty was being shunned by society. He drew in a deep breath and crossed the room, taking the RSVPs from her, shoving them in his pocket and lifting her out of the chair an
d into his arms. Her body trembled slightly as she pressed her cheek against his chest. He ran his hand up and down her back. “We are having the ball,” he said firmly. “And I will make certain it is attended.”
“How?”
“Just leave it to me, kitten. Everything will be all right,” he soothed, vowing he would do whatever he could to make his promise true.
After they dined, he made love to her to help her forget, and when she’d fallen asleep he returned to his study, pacing the length of it. His guilt had returned, but the flavor was altered. Kitty was his now—it was his duty to protect her, to somehow right this situation he’d had a hand in creating. His habitual urge to retreat in the face of shame was absent; instead, he felt compelled to action, like a warrior prepared to defend his own. Except there was no one to fight.
He sat down at his desk and buried his head in his hands. He wished there were some enemy to take on for her. But no, this situation required something different of him—something that felt far more risky than any battle.
Pulling out a piece of paper, he wrote a long letter to his mother explaining everything, shouldering the blame for his mistakes, and begging for her assistance. It was a difficult letter to write, but he was certain she would help—she was well-connected and beyond reproach. If she supported Kitty, many would follow. Then he looked through the RSVP cards, noting who had sent each regret.
The next morning, he walked through the halls of the Palace of Westminster to the House of Lords and broke his habitual solitude, pausing to join small grouping of members of the peerage. A feeling of suffocation crept over him and he tugged at his cravat for a little air around his neck. Then, remembering Kitty’s distress, he took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, how are you?” he asked, bowing.
They murmured greetings, looking at him curiously.
His throat tightened and he tugged again at his cravat, forcing himself to speak despite the constriction. “Listen, you’ve probably all heard I created a bit of a scandal with my new wife?”