“Surely you don’t require help with a woman’s bodice,” she chanced with innocent eyes.
With a growl of frustration, he ripped the thing from her body. Instinctively, Cassandra tried to cover herself, but he swatted her hands away like they were nothing more than hoverflies obstructing his view of a fine flower. Bared to him, Cassandra watched nervously as he drew on the sight before him.
“Superb,” he murmured, encasing a breast in a large hand. Dipping down, he suckled hard on the peak and when he released it slowly through his teeth, she gasped at the tiny spike of pain threading all the way down to her core where it spread out again to warm her all over.
After taking his turn at her other globe, Lord Leaping got to his feet, his eyes glittering. “Undress, so I can see all of you.”
Cassandra had hoped not to waste time with undressing. It should be sufficient to instruct her without the need to be naked. Undressing took time as she still wore her stockings, crinoline, and stays. Even her gown was held together with all manner of fiddly buttons and ties. Although the earl had done damage to her bodice, it could be repaired, but the look in his eye suggested any refusal would see the rest of her clothing in shreds. So, she stood to undress while he sought a chair beside the bed to watch.
It took quite a time before she held naked in front of him. From the comfort of his chair, he looked her over with such intensity, Cassandra felt her cheeks burn. She knew she was well proportioned, her breasts plump and inviting, her legs long and slim, but this inspection of her body was nothing short of rudeness.
“What is the purpose of the heart about your neck?”
“It carries the date of my birthday, Lord Leaping, which happens to be today.”
“Then you must be afforded a birthday gift.”
“There’s no need.”
“Turn around, Cassandra.”
She wanted to tell him to go meet the devil, but decided her advice would end in another session under his crop.
“Your bum is as red as a plum pudding,” he said with a short laugh. “I might have been a little harsh on your special day.”
She rubbed at her pudding to confirm his opinion. “You are a cruel man. Why any woman would want you, I do not know.”
He laughed ominously. “You will find out. Undo your hair.”
Cassandra blew a silent sigh at the added inconvenience. It took another two minutes to free her locks from its elaborate arrangement. Her maid always dressed her hair, so Cassandra wasn’t sure where the pins were. Finally, it hung in flowing curls down her back.
Lord Leaping’s eyes traveled the length of her as he stood to free himself. “A fine slip of a thing, you are, and we have wasted enough time with preliminaries. To bed it is.”
Cassandra’s eyes fell immediately to the erect organ protruding from the thick thatch inside his open trousers. Could that huge thing possibly fit inside her body?
“It’s…it’s…”
“You are a woman who needs what I am about to give you,” the lord said over her words as he drew his cravat from his neck to toss it on the floor. “Sir Rupert must be mad to even think of letting you out of his sight.”
Cassandra had to fight for a response, as the sight of his muscular physique with its large centerpiece had her so distracted, she could barely retain her wits.
“Sir, I…”
“I presume you wish for instruction,” he growled. “For I doubt it is lust alone that brings you here.”
She nodded, still staring. “For my wedding night.”
“Well, after a night of me, you will be fully instructed.”
“No, no, not all night,” she protested, dragging her gaze upward. Though the idea excited her, an entire night at the hands of brutal Antony Leaping and his riding crop would leave her too sore to sit down. “I must be away within an hour at the most, as Father will be worried. Anyways, I have pressing engagements tomorrow and I need my sleep.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“Do I amuse you?”
“By God, you are an entertaining wench. Your fiancé will enjoy weighing you down of an evening.”
“As I told you,” Cassandra pointed out tartly, “once I produce his son, it will no longer be necessary for me to bear his bulk at all, unless I wish for a daughter.”
“Where do you expect to take your amusement, Cassandra?”
“The civilized thing is a lover. Isn’t that what husbands do?”
He nodded. “That is usually the case, but unless your lover knows how to take you in hand, you will be sadly disappointed.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, puzzled by the knowing smile turning up one side of his fine-looking mouth.
“Let us begin.”
Scooping her up, he laid her on the bed, before placing himself at her side, running his hand down between her breasts, over her stomach and along her thigh before dipping between her legs. This she knew to be the usual foreplay, as the awkward young man had attempted to excite her in a similar fashion, with limited success. The big hands now on her were far more skilled. They were also calloused, presumably from the earl’s godawful outdoor pursuits that involved the killing of innocent animals.
“You are mine tonight,” he said, his mouth wet against her throat. “Mine to govern, mine to master.”
Cassandra felt quite mastered enough, but she held her tongue for fear of the crop. With the lord still occupied with her neck, she took the time to take in the sight of his enormous, jutting phallus. It was long and thick and heavy looking, with several veins and a rose-colored helmet and, sitting on the very top, a bead of dew. She wanted to lick that bead away, then taste the rest of the tempting sight.
“I can see you are fascinated,” the earl said, lifting his head to follow her gaze. “Touch it.”
Cassandra ran an exploratory finger down the underside, then over the top to disperse the moisture, then down again. It felt warm and hard with a soft, almost spongy top. She enclosed her hand around the thick post and while her fingers didn’t meet, she was able to hold him comfortably enough within the circle of her hand while using her other to fondle the tight sack below.
He shuddered.
“Do I please you, sir?” she enquired, running her hand up to examine the top again.
He shuddered again, took a second or two to find answer. “You do.”
She pumped him, eliciting a groan from him, so tried for another. “Does this please you also, my lord?”
“It does.”
Cassandra carried blissfully on, intrigued by his trembles and the way his hips were now jerking in time with her accelerated pumps. He really did seem to be enjoying her work. Deciding she should find out what he tasted like, she slid down to lick around the reddened helmet. It appeared to be the final straw for the earl as, suddenly, he grabbed her hair and holding her head in place, pushed himself deep into her mouth. Cassandra was so surprised by the unexpected invasion, she could do little but allow her lips to be stretched wide to take him, although it was all she could do not gag. Thankfully, he appeared to realize she could take no more as he eased off, and began a rhythm of shallow slides, while continuing to hold her head in his tight grip.
Cassandra, opened her mouth as wide as possible, completely intrigued by the sensation of having a large amount of flesh in her mouth. Placing her fingers around the lower half of the column, she sucked and pumped in time with his pushes. It was not long before he juddered to a stop.
“Prepare to take me,” he rasped in warning.
Her mouth full, she could not comment. Seconds later, his orgasm spurted warm into her mouth. She could feel the underside of the shaft pulsing against her tongue, along with the taste of his seed flooding the back of her throat. Messy as it was, it was not unpleasant, although from his deep groans and even more painful grip on her head, Lord Leaping appeared to be in a kind of exquisite torment.
When he was done, he fell back, releasing her hair. Cassandra sat back u
p, wiped her mouth and looked at him.
He stared back. “Have you ever done that before, madam?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“My God, you are a natural at this.”
She smiled happily. “If Sir Rupert proves adequate, perhaps I will do it to him.”
The earl drew a long breath. “A lucky man.”
Cassandra began to stroke him again, but he pushed her hand away. “The next time I spill, it will be inside you. Let us join giblets.”
She had heard the expression before but never knew what it meant until she’d asked the stable hand. His explanation had been coarse, but rather amusing.
Cassandra felt the earl’s hand work her legs apart and the other slide below her back. Sandwiched thus, she had but a second or two to know his intention as he flipped her over, hauled her to her knees and tucked her in the saddle of his hips.
“You are a beautiful wild animal, Lady Cassandra Worthingstone,” he murmured, placing his length between her legs so that when she looked down she could see it poking out the front. “And like a wild animal, you need to be tamed, but carefully, so as not to ruin you.”
“Lord Leaping, you will ruin me with that thing.”
She heard him chuckle, felt him work it against her opening. “True, you have not been widened by many unions, but a spanking will get you well primed for my cock.”
He pulled back to begin another round of punishing smacks which, while heating her core, brought the bees back with a vengeance.
“This isn’t helping me, my lord,” she shrieked as an exceptionally hard slap threw her forward into the pillows.
He paused to check her with one hand, the other rubbing at her pain before setting to again.
Cassandra, writhing under the razor-sharp stings, could do nothing but accept his harsh command.
Suddenly, mercifully, he stopped. “You are as wet as a spring shower and I can wait no longer.”
Scrunching her eyes shut, she braced for the ruthless entry of his immense appendage. Instead he was gentle in his intrusion. By the time he had slowly worked himself to the end of her, stretching her beyond belief, Cassandra felt so perfectly stuffed, so eager for movement, she pushed her hips back to spur him into action. With a snarl of what she hoped was approval, he made even more room for himself inside her body by thrusting deep, his big hands spreading around her hips to secure her.
“As I thought, Lady Cassandra,” he said, leaving her completely to impale himself again, this time so forcefully, she was shunted up the bed. “You are made for rogering.”
“Th-thank you, Lord Leaping,” she stuttered, unable to think of anything else to say.
And there all conversation ceased as he set to a powerful rhythm, while Cassandra buried her face in the pillows and quivered with delight at the huge heat holding her body captive. She could feel it moving like a slippery iron rod inside her, feel herself being expanded to take it ever deeper, could hear the earl’s huffs of exertion as he pillaged her body. No longer did she wonder why women wanted Antony Leaping.
“You are as tight as tick,” he said, some time later. “And as much as I would enjoy riding you until next week, it is time to hasten this journey.”
On those words, he thrust into her harder than ever. Cassandra gripped the brass balusters of the bed and held on for dear life as the earl slammed her forward, still holding her hips so she could not escape, although there was nowhere to go with her head almost between the rails. An abandoned, lustful copulation, primitive and raw, but one which Cassandra knew with absolute certainty, had made her coming of age complete. If she had not experienced this headiness firsthand, she would have thought it an act of torture. Instead it threw her into an almighty orgasm. Cassandra screamed, sobbed, bucked and rolled into the ecstasy while the fearsome weapon continued its relentless plunder. When it was over and the last tremor had died, she fell face first to the bed, Lord Leaping still buried deep, his fingers digging into her hips as he ground himself to his own completion.
He slid from her, lay back to catch his breath. “Well, Lady Cassandra. Do you consider yourself tutored?”
“Very tutored, my lord.”
“You are an excellent lay,” he said with an approving smile. Reaching over, he traced a finger over her scorched cheeks, his grin hardening a little. “But there is much work to be done with you.”
“Please, sir, I cannot take more of your hand.”
He laughed softly, rolled her over to gather her close. “Let us rest awhile before we resume our rut.”
Cassandra snuggled gratefully into the lord’s arms. Despite her pain, an hour’s schooling had not been nearly enough for her liking. Nor would an entire night satisfy her now. Perhaps she would take the earl as her lover after all.
With the appealing idea in mind, Cassandra fell asleep in Lord Leaping’s arms.
Part II
Cassandra lay in her bath of scented bubbles, deeply troubled. Lord Leaping had introduced her to the joys of discipline and in doing so had robbed her of any desire to bed with Sir Rupert, even for the purpose of procreation. She could, of course, help herself to more of Lord Leaping’s discipline by taking him as a lover after her marriage. Except that posed the danger of pregnancy without knowing who fathered the child. If it were Lord Leaping’s, it would grow up bearing Sir Rupert’s name. With any other man, it would not matter a shilling to her. But the child of an earl? Heaven forbid, she could not deny her own offspring the glittering prize of the Rootham earldom.
But there was a more pressing problem for Cassandra to contemplate. Her indisputable affection for Lord Leaping. She had always considered philanderers unworthy of any form of affection. Their purpose was to service the aristocracy in the way a corsetier, a butler, or even a stable hand would attend to a titled lady. It did not sit well that she liked Antony Leaping’s coarseness and his enthralling dominance. He was also a handsome swine. In his twenties, magnificently endowed and built as strongly as a man could be. Most of all, Lord Leaping clearly wasn’t the type who sat around doing as little as possible, which was the case with most of the aristocracy. It all added up to a most desirable package. But, as her father would say, she was in a hole. However she worked her thoughts around the problem of the earl, the same reality prevailed. Her plan to marry Sir Rupert now lay in tatters. She had no option but to cancel the wedding.
Cassandra left her bath to dry herself before her mirror. She had expected to see a more womanly, more mature person staring back after a night of violent passion. Yet she presented as the same nineteen-year-old girl who had entered Rootham Castle’s ballroom only one night before.
“Milady, are you ready to dress?”
Cassandra hastily grabbed a chemise lying on the bed, then decided not to bother covering her embarrassing bruises. Her maid, Partridge, had attended Cassandra for seven years, so knew her mistress well. Cassandra was fond of Partridge, an older woman of thirty or so years. Partridge’s sole fault was her tendency to treat Cassandra like a wayward chick in need of a mother hen. More than once Cassandra had reminded Partridge of her station, although it never worked as Partridge would simply smile and carry on as she had always done. Partridge’s forwardness didn’t overly bother Cassandra, as her maid was the one person who truly understood her. Cassandra suspected that the widowed Partridge frequently enjoyed her own bawdy time with the head gamekeeper.
“Thank you, Partridge. I think the red day dress would suit and my black woolen coat in case I take a walk later.”
Partridge frowned. “Yes, milady.”
“Is there something wrong?” Cassandra enquired carelessly, knowing full well her maid’s thoughts.
“How did it happen?” Partridge asked bluntly. “It was not there yesterday.”
“If you must know, I took a tumble from Father’s new gelding.”
Partridge’s face turned skeptical. “You fall from a horse? Never. If I may say so, it was no gelding that caused your damage.”
“
You may not say so,” Cassandra answered crossly. “Now, I wish to see my day dress.”
The maid twitched her lips. “Under the circumstances, red is appropriate, milady, but I do beg you to take care. He may talk.”
“Get my dress and cloak at once, Partridge.”
While Partridge went to retrieve the garments from the adjoining dressing room, Cassandra reflected on her maid’s words. Lord Leaping would not relate this to anyone respectable, but he could tell any of his cronies of the liaison. There was little to be done but hope he held his tongue.
“I’m sure he will not tell anyone important,” she said to herself out loud, as Partridge walked back through the doorway with the clothes.
Partridge looked at Cassandra fondly. “My dear child, whoever bedded you last night may not be the gentleman you think he is.”
“Your concern is unnecessary, Partridge,” she answered crisply, her mind shelving the matter to end the bother of discussing the earl. “Now, help me dress. I think the white stockings and black walking boots.”
“I mention this,” Partridge went on as she put Cassandra into her dress and secured the opening, “because your father wishes to see you in the library.”
“At this hour? It’s not even noon…” Cassandra began, then paused to think. “What has last night got to do with meeting Father in the library?”
Partridge began to busy herself with tidying up.
“Tell me at once what you know,” Cassandra demanded.
“You must be cautious in your conversation with him.”
“I have nothing to tell him, Partridge. What is going on?”
“There is news.”
“What news?”
Partridge shook her head. “I’ve spoken out of turn, milady.”
Damn. Her father had found out about last night, probably from Captain Crawsmith. The dreadful man must have seen her enter the bedroom then loitered long enough to witness the earl’s arrival. Just when she thought she had her problems under control, another popped up.
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