by London Casey
The door came open, he entered and closed it. His expression gave nothing away. Her heart began to beat rapidly and flutters blossomed in her insides.
She remembered to look down and studied her hands.
“Stand up, Nan.”
“Jon…”
“Stand for me.”
She left the bed and stood slowly, trying without success to avoid jarring the devilish little balls.
“This will be real punishment. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to hurt.”
Of course. He was not going to let her get away without paying the price for her disobedience. Respect for him and a peculiar sort of gratitude settled over her. Her nipples grew tight and her cunt began pulling, a pleasurable ache swelling within her nub.
“Do you accept it, Nan?”
She nodded. “I understand. I accept it.”
“Good girl.” He sat on the bed. “Come, let’s not drag this out.”
Her breaths became shorter and faster. Apprehension, fear, arousal—all tingled through her in a dizzying rush. She let her feelings wash over her without examining them. She had decided to give her body and her heart into his keeping. She would trust in the moment and in him.
She began walking towards him. She lowered her gaze.
When she reached him, he took her hand. She laid herself across his knees. He pulled her and settled her to suit himself. She didn’t resist. It had been her decision to defy him. It was now her decision to take her punishment.
She understood. He’d gone easy on her before. However, this was the moment of her real surrender to him. She’d lost her centre of gravity; it felt like being precariously balanced. But he wrapped one leg around her ankles. He held her shoulders with one arm. “I’ve got you.”
She felt herself melt, go even limper within his hold.
He ran his large hand over her buttocks. “God, I missed your gorgeous arse.”
Air rushed over her flesh. Followed by the sharp crack of his hand. Pain bloomed in its wake. Mercy, he hadn’t been jesting. It was real punishment. Painful desire exploded within her as the shock jostled the silver balls. He struck again. And again. Each time, he struck a new spot, even the crease between her bottom and her upper thighs. Ten times he laid his hand upon her and then he stopped.
She pressed her face to his leg and burst into tears. She ought to have been mortified. But she wasn’t. Her arse burned like fire and it was safe to cry over it. Here alone with him.
He kept silent, caressing her back and her hair until her sobs abated.
“Nan, do you know why it had to be this severe?” His deep, firm voice seemed to come from a distance, somewhere beyond the blood rushing in her ears. “Because you disobeyed an order that had to do with your personal safety. And because you didn’t trust me. You must trust me when I tell you something is important to your wellbeing and safety. Do you understand?”
She sniffed and gulped, “Yes.”
“I imagine you’ll have cause to remember my words during the ride tomorrow. Do you think you can stand now?”
She sniffed again and nodded.
He eased her off of his lap then supported her as she stood. He caressed her face with his eyes. “You’re a good girl, Nan. I don’t think this will be a frequent occurrence.”
She wiped at her eyes with her arm. “No, it won’t.”
It wouldn’t be, because she knew how much he wanted her voluntary submission and obedience.
“Sit on your heels on the floor and spread your legs,” he said.
She instantly obeyed him.
“Good girl, now let the balls come out and hand them to me.”
She did as he bade with gladness. The orbs rolled out, pressing on her inflamed pleasure points with painful effect as they did. She winced. God, she never wanted to see those horrid little objects again. He set them aside. “You can wash them later and return them to their pouch.”
He reached out and touched her swollen folds. Her wetness was audible. “God, you’re soaked. I can’t wait to sink my cock into you.”
He put two fingers inside her, his motions forceful, rough. She adored it, crying out with the relief of it, closing her eyes and shuddering all over as her inner muscles hugged his digits. He removed his fingers and she moaned in protest. Her empty channel clenched and clenched and clenched. “Go and lay on the bed, on your stomach.”
She could hear him undressing. Every inch of her body felt aflame. Ready for him. Ready for his cock, erect and huge. Her cunt contracted like mad with the eagerness to be filled by him. Possessed. Claimed for all time.
He flung himself down on her, his powerful thighs straddling her hips, his weight pressing her body into the feather-bed. He impaled her suddenly, savagely. She screamed, an expression of pure emotion and release. It felt good to be wild like this. It was safe to be wild like this with him.
He thrust back and forth with a feverish, merciless hunger, filling her with a sense of delicious, unbearable helplessness. Soon she panted, obsessed with one need and one need alone—to come for him. To come all over his cock. Her head thrashed wildly on the pillow, mindless words of love and desire spilling unheeded from her lips.
He took hold of her hair and pulled her head back in those last moments before white-hot pleasure took her spiralling away.
She returned to her senses to feel him massaging cool oil into her burning buttocks. Between her legs, his semen seeped out slowly. There would be no going back now. She had no Greek sponges. There would be children and suddenly she couldn’t wait to feel his child quicken within her.
“Are you all right, Anne?”
She laughed softly. “I think so.”
“When we meet your sister, you must keep your expectations realistic.”
“I know.”
“Do you, Anne? Are you even aware of what you expect?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I do not want to see you hurt by your own longings for family connection. Your sister has been raised by her nanny. She will be attached to her. She will also be frightened at times by all the unknowns here. She won’t know us. She may fear us. Resent us. We must give her space and time.”
“Yes, of course, Jon, I understand perfectly.”
He stopped massaging her and shortly she felt his lips upon her oiled flesh. “I know you do, love, but you’ve been hurt so much by life, I can’t bear to see you hurt over this matter.”
Gently, he laid his cheek upon her still-tender arse and they fell silent.
Yet still something nagged at her. “Jon.”
Again, he pressed his lips to her oiled flesh. “Yes, love?”
“Well…” She chewed her lip.
He lifted his head. “Well what?”
She rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow with her hand under her cheek. “It’s this obedience thing. I want to renegotiate the terms.”
“Do you?” He didn’t sound particularly surprised.
“I cannot always be obedient. Not completely. Not all the time.”
He laughed softly, tracing a fingertip over her nipple. “Of course you can’t. It would be most undignified for Lady Ruel. And of course we’ll negotiate it. We shall always negotiate everything, within reason. It was only non-negotiable for the time at the cottage. But you must always remember something, Nan.”
“What?”
“In our bedchamber, you shall always be my little wench.”
And she wanted it no other way.
Anne and Jon’s story continues in Trust Me, Regency Risks Series Book Two.
Is she insane?
All of Mayfair is whispering the question.
Anne Lloyd, the new Countess of Ruel, thought she’d finally begun to heal from having witnessed the terrible death of her first husband. But, from her new husband’s grandmother to his ex-mistresses, it is all that is on everyone’s lips. What scares her more than the potential social ruin is that even she isn’t sure they aren’t right.
> Jonathon Lloyd, the Earl of Ruel, has commanded men on the battlefield and women in the ballrooms and bedchambers with his dominant personality. It tears him apart that he can’t command his wife’s terrors to go away. To top it off, he has to battle his grandmother, for Anne’s acceptance as the new Countess. There are times when it seems that the bloody battlefields of Europe were easier to navigate than the so-called civilized graces of Society.
There are those who will stop at nothing to tear apart the fragile bond between the newlyweds. Can Lady and Lord Ruel learn to trust each enough to keep their love, and her sanity, intact?
Erotic Romance, Regency Historical, Light BDSM, Rubenesque / BBW, Character-driven Story, Shy Heroine, Angst, Drama, Novel Length/approx. 100,000 words
Perilous Risk, Regency Risks, Book Three is coming Oct 3, 2014
Dear Readers,
Thank you for your purchase of this ebook. You are my greatest source of support and encouragement. You make it all worthwhile.
If you would like to give me further support, I am always grateful for word of mouth recommendations and reviews. Reviews need not be overly detailed; one or two lines can be wonderful.
About the Author
Escape into the past with intensely erotic, emotionally driven love stories. Natasha Blackthorne writes character-focused historical erotica romance featuring strong internal conflicts. Her stories are most frequently about the intimate journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.
Her heroines are not perfect ladies. They are wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden. Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return.
Would you like to connect with me online?
Readers are welcomed to “friend” me or subscribe to my public feed on Facebook, where I am most socially active:
https://www.facebook.com/natasha.blackthorne
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Books by Natasha Blackthorne
Her Mystery Duke
Waltz of Seduction
Regency Risks Series
A Measured Risk
Trust Me
Perilous Risk (Coming Oct 3, 2014)
The Wild, Wicked and Wanton Series
(American Regency Era Erotic Romance)
Grey’s Lady
White Lace and Promises
Alex’s Angel
Emily’s Seduction
Summer’s Journey
A True Romance / Erotica Series
Summer Daniels
Volume One: Losing Control
Prologue
I slipped the blindfold over my eyes, took a deep breath and knocked twice on the door. I heard it open and Mark’s warm voice filled my ears. “Come in Summer. I am so happy you chose to join me tonight.” He led me into the center of the room and stopped. “Just stand there for a moment if you would while I feast my eyes. You look absolutely stunning. That lovely dress is going to look very stylish on the floor next to the bed.”
I never heard him move, but I could feel him behind me now. As he nuzzled the side of my neck, he pressed himself lightly against me. Whatever reservations I once had at giving up control to this stranger disappeared as my nipples did their best to rip through the lace bra and silk dress. How on earth could he know that my neck was one of my weak spots?
“I must confess that you are wearing much more at the moment than I am” he said. “Allow me to even the playing field.” As he slowly unzipped my dress, he followed the descending zipper with his soft lips and tongue. He reached up and tugged gently and the dress pooled at my feet.
1
I gave serious thought to unveiling my real name to the world. Throwing all caution to the wind and changing my life for good.
I decided it wasn’t quite fair to my family. While I’m not particularly close to my brother or sister, I am quite partial to my nieces and nephews and I couldn’t picture the looks on their faces if my secrets were revealed and my true identity widely known.
I think sometimes it is still possible that they will stumble across these stories someday and recognize their Aunt in some fashion. Then I think that the odds of their associating the wild and wanton ways of “Sassy Summer” with the Aunt who would never even wear a bikini in front of them would be akin to winning the lottery without buying a ticket. Not going to happen.
Then again, I had no idea just how wild and wanton things were going to get.
I was a simple fortyish average housewife. Not going to win any beauty pageants, but I hadn’t given up on trying to keep a little pride in my appearance, or in my marriage. Right up until the day about eighteen months ago when my husband of almost twenty years told me he was trading me in on a younger, sportier model. Not his exact words of course, but they might as well have been. To say I was shocked would be an understatement of epic proportions.
Things had never been particularly exciting in the bedroom, or in our marriage in general, but they were comfortable. That was the word that described our marriage and our life together the best. We rarely fought, nothing more serious than the usual complaints of a long marriage, such as a toilet seat left up leading to a wet ass in the middle of the night. Or his anal personality shining through in the way he scrubbed all our dishes before they were allowed in the dishwasher. I’m sure he had his complaints as well, who doesn’t after almost twenty years of marriage, but if he had them, he kept them to himself.
Perhaps the ass I mentioned previously had gotten a little wider since we had gotten married, but he never said a word and since I bought most of his clothes over the years, I knew that his waistline had expanded as well.
Looking back I suppose it is just too easy to get complacent, to get “comfortable” in a marriage, to take each other for granted. It is a sad commentary on marriage perhaps, but I would bet more than half of you out there reading this right now are nodding your heads in agreement, recognizing for yourself the truth in my words.
Some of you might take that recognition as a wakeup call for your own marriage. If you do, I am more than happy for you. Some of you will recognize the signs of demise in your marriage, or already have, but just don’t care. That is honestly more common than I think most people care to admit to themselves.
As for myself, I am not sure I really believe in marriage anymore. Or maybe I just can’t see going back to the way things were. Feeling free at the age of – well, at my age, doesn’t just feel good, it feels right.
Maybe the spark had died in our marriage when we went through the series of miscarriages fifteen years ago. The last one was a fallopian tube miscarriage, ending for us the dream of children of our own.
The emotional scars that were left behind were much more damaging than the physical ones.
Sex was never the same for us after that. Where things had once been light and playful, there was now a sense of lingering disappointment and resentment. Maybe it would have been better out in the open where we could deal with it, but neither of us were the type to confront our feelings, choosing instead to hide behind our usual routines and excuses. Sound familiar to any of you?
2
After spending the better part of two weeks crying into my ice cream and wine with my best friend Julie, I finally came to the realization that maybe this was an opportunity instead of a disaster. I had always wondered in the back of my mind what it might be like to be that uninhibited woman capable of having sex just for the sake of pleasure, to be well and truly fucked for once, to be satisfied to the point of exhaustion. Certainly these were things I had never felt in the confines of my marital bed.
Given how much time I suddenly had on my hands coming home to an empty house, I found myself spending too much time with my hands on myself. While I enjoyed masturbation with a renewed sense of purpose since the se
paration, it left me feeling empty and unfulfilled. I needed to go out on a date. Except I really didn’t want to date, I wanted to get laid. Crude perhaps, but true.
Something Julie said one night after too much wine came to mind. She said that the internet had opened up a whole new world for women in terms of finding someone to take care of their needs. Given that she is happily married with three kids, I found the comment somewhat unsettling and quickly dismissed it as nothing more than the wine talking. Her comment stayed in the back of my mind through the next several days though and made me wonder what might be out there.
I had enough common sense to not just post an ad that said “Looking to get laid” – I would still be sorting through responses and close-up pictures of men’s cocks even now a year later. Those pictures lie by the way, they are never as big in real life as in the photo, something about the angle of the camera.
After looking through hundreds of ads from men that either wanted “to meet tonight” (translation: desperate) or that were just “looking for someone to talk to” (translation: married), I finally decided on posting an ad that simply said “Seeking something casual, I’m a sure thing, but not easy, I’m going to make you work for it”. I figured that would weed out the “let’s meet tonight” guys and allow me to exchange a few emails with an intelligent man or two. I figured wrong. The sheer volume of “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll walk funny for a week” emails quickly overwhelmed me. Or should I say the sheer volume of “u r so sexy – I have a large dick and you will cum over and over” type of emails overwhelmed me. The lack of intelligent response and simple grammar skills was mind-boggling.
Sorting through emails, unsolicited pictures and more than a few threesome invites, I really had no idea what I was looking for. It became something of a process of elimination, because I certainly knew what I wasn’t looking for.