by Josie Litton
Moreover, had he been privy to any of the conversations that had gone on under his roof the previous few weeks between those who had known him all his life and she who had recently come into it, he might have saved himself a great deal of trouble.
Above all, if he had been able to consider the possibility that self-indulgent, shallow Bunny, who had never given a moment’s thought to anything other than her own pleasure, was in fact a veritable Cassandra, the prophet of their age, he would have lit out for the hills.
However, none of that happened. Secure, smug and sated, his lordship slept too deeply to have any premonition of the richly deserved fate that was about to descend on him.
∞ ∞ ∞
“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
--Jane Austen
Lord Adrian woke to the brightness of a new day shadowed by the sense that something was not right. His mouth was dry and his head throbbed. He thought that odd as he did not recall drinking too much the previous evening. He’d been far too occupied with his pet.
Slowly, he became aware of a distinctly unpleasant sensation in the area of his genitalia. His head snapped up, ringing a groan from him. He ignored the pain and gazed down the length of his body to where his trusty cock, as was usual in the morning, should have been standing proudly at full mast.
Instead he saw…
Part Two
Chapter Nineteen
Iknow it will be hard for you to accept,” Jane Smythe said. “But this is for your own good.”
Lord Adrian Burleigh stared at the beautiful, elegantly dressed young woman with mahogany hair and light blue eyes who stood beside his bed. Unless his reason had deserted him completely, a few short hours before she had been flat on her back under him in that same bed, his naked, obedient, and infinitely fuckable pet.
Now he fancied that behind that lovely façade--and damn if she didn’t look beautiful even fully clothed--he glimpsed something vastly different. The black wings and sharp talons of a harpy who inexplicably--and completely bewilderingly from his point of view--suddenly had the upper hand.
Confronted by an anomaly in the natural order certain to arouse the most primal fears of any male, his lordship responded as Man has since time immemorial.
“You’re insane.”
It was all those orgasms he’d allowed her to have--finally. He never should have listened to that quack of a doctor. Where the hell had he left that chastity belt?
But before he could do anything with it, he’d have to get out of the bed which was proving damnably difficult given that he was chained, naked and spread-eagle, to all four corners. Not tied, mind you. Chained.
Jane Smythe was nothing if not thorough.
Jane. How was it possible for such a sensuous, exotic, entrancing--no, scratch that. How was it possible for such a vile, duplicitous, dangerous creature to have such an absurdly plain name?
Yet, he did vaguely remember it from the contract, a small, neat signature next to where he placed his own. No matter, she had introduced herself shortly after he awoke to the discovery of his ghastly condition. In a state of shock more profound than any he had ever previously experienced, what had followed was muddled at best.
He had the hazy impression that she’d said something about her mother naming her for Jane Austen, although it wasn’t clear to him why anyone would do that. Namesake Jane had discovered that lady’s books in the backroom of a shuttered library. Refuge after the early deaths of her parents…inspiration to gain an education…rise above poverty…etcetera.
Jane. He took some consolation in the fact that she was obviously nervous, hence the chattering. Or perhaps it was just the pent-up need to speak after the weeks of conversation limited mainly to moans and gasps. But even so--
“What have you done to my cock?”
A becoming blush suffused her cheeks. “Oh…that.”
“Yes,” he said, his patience strained to the breaking point. “That.”
“You are referring to a certain apparatus?”
He was ‘referring’ to the damn cage in which his cock was imprisoned, his natural state of erection surrounded and confined by snugly fitted metal bars. Even worse, the devilish device was scarcely half his normal erect size, producing a decidedly cramped sensation guaranteed to inflict chastity on even the most virile male. The entire damnable thing was held in place by a ring clenching the base of his balls. It even had a vile padlock to which he had to assume she held the key.
What demented mind could possibly have conceived of such an instrument of torment? And how could it possibly be allowed to exist? Weren’t there laws for dealing with anyone depraved and perverse enough to create such a thing? There damn well should be. He would see to it at the earliest possible opportunity.
“Take it off. Or better yet, free me and I’ll do it myself.
Jane pursed her lips, considered for a scant moment, and said, “Hmmm, no… and no. Not yet at least.”
Unused as he was to being defied, his lordship did not respond well. His biceps bulged as he surged up, cursing a blue streak and straining at the chains that held him. Had the bed not been so well constructed of sturdy oak, it might well have splintered. As it was, it merely creaked.
Finally, when it became evident even to him that his efforts were futile, he fell back against the mattress and glared at his persecutor.
“Why the hell not?”
“We must come to an understanding first. And besides, I rather like it.”
She what? She had the effrontery to lay hands on his person--on his manhood, no less--and then try to brush off what she had done as a mere amusement? He wasn’t sure which was the more infuriating--that she had dared to do it in the first place or that she refused to acknowledge the gravity of her offense.
His eyes narrowed as he grasped the far likelier explanation.
“This is payment for the chastity belt, isn’t it?”
She made a derisive sound. “For the belt perhaps but hardly for what was in it. The dildo was bad enough but what fiend came up with that demented vibrator?”
Vindictively, his lordship said, “I believe he was a marine biologist originally.”
Her eyes widened. She looked at him with dawning horror. “Oh, god, that’s enough. I don’t want to know.”
Recovering herself, she added, “The cock cage stays, for now. So does the rest.”
The rest? What fresh hell was this?
He stared down the length of his body in dismay and only then noticed the thick, gold ring protruding from the crest of his caged prick.
“My god! What is that?”
“It’s a piercing. You’re quite fond of those, aren’t you?”
For her! Not him. The bed frame creaked again wildly as he once more strained to break free.
“Unchain me!”
“I intend to but first there is something you should know.”
“I don’t bloody well have to know anything except how I am going to make you pay for--”
Speaking right over him, she said, “Obviously, you’re much stronger than I am. Not to mention quite aggressive.”
She said that as though it was a bad thing whereas to his lordship, it was simply the right and proper order of the universe. How bizarre that women had such difficulty understanding that and being humbly grateful for it.
“Therefore,” Jane continued, “I have taken measures to equalize the situation between us.”
He wasn’t listening. Not really, certainly not any more than he had to all that business about books and--
“And while we’re on the subject,” he interrupted, “what the hell is wrong with my tongue?”
“Again, pierced.” Her flush deepened but she did not appear to be in the least repentant. On the contrary, she gave the impression of a woman looking forward with some eagerness to a new experience.
“I’m told the ring inserted into the crest of the cock enhances the pleasure of intercourse--for the woman at
least--while the other, in your tongue, improves the experience of cunnilingus.”
Generously, she added, “Not that you aren’t already quite good at that.”
For just a moment, he let himself be the smallest bit mollified. That vanished when the full extent of what she had done sunk in.
To say that his lordship was dumbfounded would be to miss the mark by the width of the universe and then some. He clung to the hope that he was trapped in a nightmare from which he would wake at any moment.
When that inexplicably failed to occur, he yelled, “You were a virgin only a few weeks ago! How could you possibly have come up with such depraved ideas?”
The arch of her brow questioned his seriousness. “Aside from the obvious fact that I have been in your company, milord?”
She tilted her nose and looked down it at him. “In addition to your own sterling influence, I read a great deal, most likely more than you ever have. As for the range of my imagination, you were kind enough to provide me with certain books.”
Preferring not to dwell on the suggestion that he had unknowingly contributed to his present calamitous situation, he said, “That’s absurd, you cannot possibly be better read than I. I was at Eton and Oxford.
“And what exactly did you do at either, milord? Drink, perform coitus with the town girls, and dabble in the classics, would be my guess.”
What could he say? She had summed up his education with remarkable accuracy. For the most part.
“And politics,” he said. “I took a dual degree.”
“Good you. But my point is that you neither know nor care anything about the ordinary people who make up the vast majority of those on this planet. Your ignorance could be overlooked except for two unfortunate facts: One, this country and the entire empire with it are going to hell in a hand basket. Two, you are seriously spoken of at the highest levels as a future prime minister. The latter being the case, something has to be done. As terrifying as it is to consider, you may be our last, best hope.”
Tempted though he was to deny her claims, the latter was simply too flattering to disown. Not that he wanted to be Prime Minister…first man in the kingdom…responsible for guiding an empire that straddled the globe and upon which the sun never dared to set. But there were other men ahead of him, the old lions. If he thought of it at all, it was in terms to being patient and awaiting his turn. Two tasks for which he was singularly ill suited.
As to the first part of what she’d said-- Hell in a hand basket? Had she been talking to Bunny? The mere thought of that made him queasy. The Amazon was bad enough but she had never, ever attempted to lay hands on his person and perpetrate unnatural acts upon it.
Apart from the single incident of drugging him through his cock. Under the present circumstances that was taking on the aspect of no worse than a jolly prank. Whereas lovely Jane, whom he so enjoyed fucking, apparently had no qualms about committing the most foul acts on his body, his manhood, and above all his pride.
Not to mention the absurd notions she had about the state of the world.
“What are you going on about? The empire has never been better.”
“It has never been bigger--you had to have all of Antarctica as well? And it has certainly never been more prosperous for your kind. However, the picture for the rest of us is nowhere near so rosy.”
With a deliberate glance at his cock and a further tilt of her nose, she said, “Bigger is not necessarily better.”
His lordship’s only answer to that obvious nonsense was a snort of derision. Moving on, he demanded, “My kind? And what is that exactly?”
Loyal servants of King and Country? Men who thought nothing of sacrificing themselves for the sake of both? Was that whom the willful chit had in mind?
No, apparently not.
She didn’t hesitate. The words tripped from the tip of that delightful pink tongue that he still, even now, thought of so fondly.
“The overly privileged, insufferably arrogant, appallingly self-centered, jumped up, self-anointed, willfully cruel, so-called elite.”
The briefest pause for breath and she resumed with renewed vigor. “I could go on but really, what is the point? You have the awareness of a toad. Only constructive experience has any chance of correcting your deficiencies.”
No one in his entire life had ever spoken to his lordship in such a manner. To be fair, neither had anyone ever knocked him out, pierced his cock and tongue, caged his genitalia, chained him to a bed and then politely introduced herself before dressing him down in the sternest possible terms.
That was damn well enough. He wasn’t going to put up with this a moment longer.
“Jameson--!” his lordship bellowed.
Chapter Twenty
Mister Jameson is entirely in agreement with me,” Jane said. Her imperviousness to his lordship’s distress was equaled only by her intolerably smug self-righteousness.
Without a flicker of remorse, she cut off all hope of rescue from what should have been his most loyal servant.
“The rest of the staff will be guided by him. He and many of them have known you your entire life. They are truly fond of you. But the promise you showed as a boy has not come to fruition, at least not yet. As for the good people who work your lands, thanks to your antics, they have become adroit at seeing nothing that it does not benefit them to see.”
Lord Adrian stared at her in dawning disbelief. Narrowed eyes, lovely mouth a bit thinned, hands on the hips he so liked to grasp while thrusting into her, voice a notch chillier…
Was she scolding him?
By god, that was not to be tolerated. And it would not be. There was a fatal flaw to her insane plan.
“You forget, I have duties, responsibilities--” He would be missed, damn it. He bloody well better be or there would be hell to pay.
“Parliament is in recess,” she pointed out. “His Majesty is on an extended photographic safari in Kenya. The flow of papers from London that require your attention has subsided to a trickle and what does come, I can handle perfectly well.”
“You?” She really was mad. Certifiable. Shame he hadn’t noticed sooner; he could have packed her off to some perfectly nice institution where she would have been right at home.
“I have already been doing so for several weeks, milord, or did you not notice that your workload had fallen off sharply? I have a month, by my best estimate, to see to it that you become a better man. I don’t intend to waste a moment.”
A new, heightened sense of dread assailed his lordship. He was beginning to believe that she might be serious. To seek revenge was entirely human and understandable, not that she had any legitimate cause to do so. But to go further, to actually try to remake him in some way…
What had she said: This is for your own good? Were those not the very words deployed to justify innumerable acts of tyranny from the pettiest domestic matters to the most ghastly atrocities? He had used them himself, or close enough, when imposing various policies for the benefit of the empire, if not necessarily the individuals within it.
A chill ran down his back. He couldn’t be undone by her, absolutely not. Never mind whatever it was he thought he’d sensed on the altar. He’d been drugged, damn it--delusional, hallucinating. But he was over all that now.
She was merely a woman, admittedly one with an astounding disregard for both propriety and her own safety. But still just a woman. All his life, he had ignored the efforts of females to shape him to their own designs, first skipping from frantic nannies, later slipping from silken arms. He had kept women in their proper place--useful, often pleasant, never to be taken with any real degree of seriousness.
But now he had the distinctly unpleasant feeling that the chickens had come home to roost. It was hens that did that, wasn’t it? Broody, feather-fluffing hens staring down their beaks at the cock running in circles, squawking his own importance but really only there to service them.
Shit.
Gathering himself--have a bit of backbone, ma
n!--he said, “And then? When that month is over? Have you considered what I will do to you?”
That was more than an idle question. He himself was at a loss to imagine what he would do once matters were righted between them and she was again in his power. He did not doubt for a moment that would happen; there was only so long that the universe could run amok. But having never confronted a transgression of such magnitude, he would have to ponder the exact nature of his retribution. A vengeful curl of anticipation elevated his spirits but it proved short-lived.
“It will be worth it if I succeed,” she countered firmly. “The stakes being as high as they are, I must at least try. The fate of the empire and all the billions of men, women, and children in it may well depend on convincing you to rise to the occasion and become the man you are meant to be.”
Heaven help him, he wasn’t dealing with mere Jane. She sounded more like Joan of Arc, ready to strap on her armor and ride in defense of all that was sacred. He wasn’t falling for that, not for an instant. She was out for revenge, nothing more.
As for himself, he was fine just the way he was. Better than fine, he was the man he was meant to be--brilliant, ruthless, unencumbered by all the emotional nonsense that weakened other men. But it would hardly do to tell her that.
Lying through his teeth, he said, “I pushed you too hard; I see that now. We’ll get you help. The Freudians have an excellent grasp of the feminine mind. I’ll call--”
She snorted. “All that penis envy nonsense? You must be joking. You’re no better than they are if you believe for a moment that I can be duped out of any of this.”
Dropping any pretense of conciliation, he said, “You can’t leave me chained to this bed all month.” She really couldn’t, could she?
To his relief, the mere notion appeared to shock her. “Of course not, that would be inhumane. But before I release you, there is something you must know. First, I am sorry to tell you that your wife has gone out to India--” She paused delicately. “--with Lord and Lady Monkton.”