by Violet Blue
The next spring’s offerings by the Passion Flower imprint of Thorne Publishing included The Widowed Countess, the story of Emma, the twenty-eight-year-old Countess of Boylestone, who falls in forbidden love with her eighteen-year-old footman, taking his virginity and unleashing his sexual desires. Unbeknownst to her, he is the illegitimate son yet ultimate heir of her dead husband’s business partner, the Earl of Bathampton.
“I wanted to make her older, like thirty-five,” I explained to Mark as he paged through my advance copy.
“So why didn’t you?”
“My editor thought it would be gross. Like when she’s fifty he’d only be in his early thirties. That’s too kinky for Thorne.”
“And how is it that a raven-haired, emerald-eyed, awesomely-buffed eighteen-year-old is still a virgin?”
“His father instills in him a sense of honor and pride. Farm girls and servants are not good enough. So when the beautiful countess seduces him, he is totally ready.”
Thorne initially was not sure their market would go for such a story, but within a week of the release, they were proved wrong. It shot to number one on their bestseller list.
Knowing Emma Boyle in Bath would eventually get a copy, I left a veiled note for her boyfriend on the acknowledgments page:
Dedicated to my loving husband, and a certain young man. He knows who he is.
ARE YOU SURE?
Alexander Liboiron
Are you sure?”
“About what?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked for the third time.
“Yes, I am.” He didn’t sound nearly as nervous as she felt, probably because he had never done it before. “What are you worried about?”
“We don’t have to, I don’t want to weird you out.” She hated this part, when she wanted to back out, but the conversations, the revelations about personal fantasy, the dares and the insinuations had finally gone too far. It was amazing how you could love someone, and know they loved you, and still be worried about revealing something to them. She knew she was committed. “I have had guys try this and then decide it was too strange.”
“Stop. Enough of that,” he said, and silenced her by putting his hand on her throat. The pressure on her collarbone arrested her, his fingers firmly on her left shoulder, his thumb in the soft crevice below her neck. She could feel her pulse through his hand and wondered how he felt about her sudden intake of breath. Was he surprised? Did he notice how the irises of her eyes dilated, how her hands unclenched reflexively? Certainly he noticed how her chin lifted up, lengthening her neck.
He seemed to take the motion in stride. He easily moved into her, pressing her against the wall with his body. It didn’t seem forced or awkward, which she had experienced with past lovers. The motion seemed natural to him, an expression of a genuine desire, rather than just a thing done to satisfy her fantasies.
She didn’t realize her lips were parted until he kissed her, first gently, then forcefully. She savored the feeling of being able to strain slightly against him, to struggle against his grip on her neck and the force of his form pressing into hers. As she strained against him, she felt him return her pressure. He matched and easily exceeded her strength, and she felt, just for a moment, the languorous ability to push against him as much as she was able and still feel herself contained.
Then he released her, and she fell forward against his chest gasping. “How was that? Was it what you were looking for?”
She smiled and caught her breath. “That was…ah, that was good. I liked that,” she said. “Let’s do that some more.” She began to head nervously for her bedroom. The rush had left her, and she hoped that he would be willing to continue. Too often neck-grabbing would be the end of it.
She wanted more.
Her collection of toys was eclectic. It ranged from things that any girl could be expected to own: dildos, paddles, vibrators, things he was already familiar with. She went past those and into the storage boxes she had never shown him, usually kept under the bed. She pulled them out one by one—the riding crop, the wrist and ankle cuffs, the opera gloves, the gags—watching his face, waiting for the cringe. She was proud of her leather and chain collection, but always in private.
His face was carefully neutral. He picked up a gag, one of her favorites, with a panel to go over her mouth and a leather ball attached to the inside. He looked at it clinically.
“So, you want me to tie you up, tightly, with all of this,” he gestured at the ropes and leather cuffs, “and then you want me to torture you. And then you want me to hit you and fuck you. Quite hard, harder than you think I will feel comfortable with.” He looked her in the eye, apparently unperturbed.
“Before we get started,” she said. “I want to make sure you understand why.” She swallowed and paused, trying to find the right words in her anxiety. “It’s more about ‘how,’ really. Don’t treat me as though I’m a naughty child, or a bad girl, or being punished, well, maybe we can do ‘punished’ some other time.” She was getting ahead of herself. “I don’t want to feel that I’m bad or wrong or wicked. I don’t want you to hit me because I deserve it.”
He thought for a moment. “Why do you want me to hit you?
“Hit me because I want you to.” She swallowed. “Hit me because it feels good and makes me want to come.”
“Okay,” he said after another pause, and her heart sank. He didn’t get it. This was too far past the typical naughty play. She got ready for the first unsatisfying touch, the too timid slap or spank that would show his hidden discomfort. She had been here before; schoolgirl role-playing was fun, but it didn’t go where she wanted to go. When it was over and done, the fantasy was finished and everyone could put his kink away safely in a drawer until the next time. It was as if they were saying, “You’re not naughty anymore, so I won’t hit you.”
She had learned from experience, though, that her kink wouldn’t go away. She didn’t want the bondage or the play to stop just because she took off a plaid skirt. She always wanted more, and that freaked men out. They didn’t have the energy to maintain the control she ultimately wanted.
“Okay, so you want me to tie you up, fuck you and hit you like I mean it.” Was he smiling?
“Yes.”
He slipped the gag into her mouth and tied it tightly around her head. Her jaw responded with the familiar ache, and the leather ball in her mouth choked off any further reply.
“Are you sure?” He was definitely smiling. She nodded
She had planned an explanation for each toy, how it was used, how she liked it used. With the gag securely in place, her voice had been taken from her. So she stood mutely as he lifted the bottom of her shirt over her stomach, grazing his fingers across her skin as he went. She felt his fingernails trail across her bra and he raised her arms above her head and pulled her shirt over her eyes. He stopped there for a moment and held her wrists in one hand, tightly. He pulled her arms so her spine arched backward and guided her, staggering, toward the bed. Unhooking her bra, he lifted it over her shoulders and tossed both it and her shirt aside.
She felt naked with him now, though she still wore a skirt, more than she ever had before. Seeing her gagged and topless was seeing her desires exposed and she felt vulnerable and raw, as if her skin was tender and would easily bruise. She was aware that she was panting around the gag. He turned her around, roughly forced her to her knees and put the cuffs on her wrists, linking them together with the same lock he used to fasten them. The flesh side of the leather cuffs felt warm and smooth against her skin, and the click of the lock sent a small shiver up her arms. With her hands bound behind her back he bent her forward, over the bed. A chill ran up her spine as her skin pebbled in anticipation of what she hoped would come. Her erect nipples pressed into the sheets, and she felt the texture of the fabric rub against them.
He grabbed her hips tightly, as if he was preparing to enter her from behind. He gripped the waistband of her skirt, caught it and her pantie
s under his fingers and pulled them down her thighs to the floor.
“Lift your knees, one at a time, starting with the right.” His voice was softer than she expected it to be and nearer her ear. She did as she was told, relishing the chance to obey an order. She felt herself becoming wet, and she allowed herself to have high hopes. This was going very well. She lifted one leg slightly, then the other, as he pulled her skirt off. He didn’t tease or take his time; he used quick, confident motions. Had this been a fantasy of his as well? Or did he have experience with a previous lover?
She felt him slide the ankle cuffs over her feet, tighten them securely and then lock them. Once again the action of the lock fastening made an audible click and sent a shiver up her legs, this one reaching all the way to her clitoris. She wondered how she looked from behind—were her pussy lips red? Was she visibly wet? She hoped she was, hoped that her arousal was visible, that nothing about her was hidden from him. She felt more and more naked, less and less in control, and the thought of not knowing what was next made her moan softly, a sound not quite stifled by the gag.
She thought she heard him laugh. Was he aroused? Was he erect? Would he take her from behind while she was helpless to resist? Not that she would, but it was exciting to know that she had no options.
His hands were on her neck again, and his weight on her back caused her to take short, shallow breaths. He grabbed her hair firmly in his fist and pulled back on it, lifting her head off of the bed as he placed a collar beneath her neck. It was tall and made of stiff leather, a posture collar she had bought but had been too nervous to wear during sex. It was just a little too restrictive, and she was surprised he had selected it. And pleased. She had hoped he would be willing to push her just a little, to take her just one step past her own boundaries.
She began to grind her hips into the edge of the bed. As he released her hair, she craned her neck, eager to feel the collar tight around her neck. She felt him pull it taut, felt it lift her chin and sink down against her collarbone, felt it wrap around her, encircling her throat. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of being tied up, being helpless and bound.
She didn’t expect the pain. It sent a shock through her and startled her so completely that at first she wasn’t sure of its source. She wanted to curl up, but the collar and the cuffs kept her rigid. A sound came to her, the pleasant clap of a paddle, and she realized she had just been spanked. He hadn’t taken the time to warm her up or to start softly, asking, “Is this good?” or asking which paddle she liked. He hit her again, even harder. The pain radiated up her back and down her legs and became something altogether more than pain in her crotch. He hit her once more, and then again in rapid succession, and she felt her whole body quake with each strike.
When he paused she pushed backward, thrusting her ass out to him, begging him with her body to continue. She tried to look back, but the collar kept her eyes fixed forward. Instead of pain, though, she was rewarded with the feeling of his fingers on her crotch. He touched her lips gently, carefully avoiding her clitoris, teasing her. He slowly spread her lips apart with two fingers and with a third gently stroked her, careful not to actually penetrate her. She could tell that she was getting his fingers wet. He was spreading her open, looking at and into her, getting his fingers wet with her. She clenched her pussy, hoping that he would fill it soon.
Instead, he spanked her again, striking not only her asscheeks but also her protruding, thrusting labia, shocking her and making her arch forward again. She cried out in pain and surprise and felt her eyes water. Twice more he hit her before she heard him set the paddle down on a chair. The pain and the pleasure and the surprise had brought her to a place where the only sound she could make was a low, continuous moan, and once again she began rubbing her hips into the edge of the bed.
She felt something wet and slick and realized he was rubbing lube into her crotch. Finally, he was going to take her. She closed her eyes. Instead, she felt his finger on her ass, rubbing lube into it, pushing her open and sliding his finger into it. He was incremental with the penetration and clearly had experience with anal play. Fist, he played with one finger, until he could bring it up to the final knuckle. He switched to two, playfully spreading her anus until it began to hurt just a little, then relaxing his motions, gently training her body to do what he wanted. She kept up her moan, punctuated by sharper cries and lower groans as he teased her and played with her.
At last she felt him press something hard into her asshole, felt the roundness of it spreading and opening her. She hoped it was his dick and pushed her ass back, hoping to fill herself with him. The pressure built and then quickly dropped off, and she realized he was pushing her anal beads into her, one after another in slow succession. The disappointment turned to anticipation. He wasn’t done with her yet.
She ground her hips into the bed again and began to suck on the ball in her mouth. Her body began to tremble, and she clenched her ass muscles around the beads. Reading her suddenly jerky motions, he slipped one finger into her pussy, and the feeling of his finger inside her caused her entire body to pulse tremulously with a small orgasm. She felt it build inside her, start to multiply.
Then he pulled his finger out.
“Not yet,” he said into her ear. She felt the command sink into her body, felt herself go stiff and still, trying to prevent any further arousal. It felt so good to have him deny her something she so wanted, to allow his words to constrain her. She breathed slowly, feeling herself come back from the edge.
She didn’t realize he was naked until she felt his penis touch her ass. She held her breath, her jaw aching, hoping that he would fill her. She felt the head of his penis push against her lips, felt his hands on her hips, felt herself slightly, tantalizingly parted. Her groaning was replaced by panting and then by whimpers. Fuck me, please, open me and take me and make me yours and…
His first, slow thrust interrupted her. He pushed the head of his penis into her and then paused, enjoying her restrained efforts to pull him more deeply into her. She clenched with her pussy and pushed her body back, but he wouldn’t let her hurry him. He eased himself into her slowly, so that she could feel when the head of his penis pushed past her lips. He pushed gradually until his pelvis was resting against her asscheeks. Then he pushed a little more, crushing himself into her, and in the process thrusting against the base of the anal beads, so that he seemed to fill both holes at once. She cried out, stiffening her back, clenching and unclenching her hands in a futile effort to reach him and grab him and pull him even deeper.
He began to fuck her steadily, slowly pulling himself out of her and then firmly pressing back in, gradually increasing the tempo. She met him at every thrust, desperately trying to pull him deeper into her. The invasion of the anal beads and his penis at the same time and the ball gag in her mouth made her feel deliciously full, overfull yet wanting more. His rhythm increased, and she felt her body tremble at each gentle impact, her skin move and tighten, her nipples slide against the sheets. She was wet and open and filled and bound, and straining against the bindings only made her pulse pound faster and her breath come shorter.
She could hear him panting and straining against her body, and the sound of him fucking her made her eyes roll back. She felt his fingers tighten and his pace became more frantic. He wanted her and had taken her and had bound her. He had denied her a voice and had hit her, and everything began to meld together—the tightness of the beads in her ass and the ache of her jaw around the ball and the steady pounding of his hips and his penis thrusting into her—and she came powerfully, her entire body coiling tight and loosening, and with each release came an orgasm and a scream so loud the gag couldn’t dampen it.
Each orgasm led to the next, and they chained together for what seemed like hours, each one making her shudder, until the sheets beneath her face were wet from tears and the sheets beneath her crotch were soaked. Still he kept on and as her orgasms faded, she relaxed into the pleasure of him using her,
past when she was done, to satisfy himself. At last he came into her, filling her completely, and lingered inside her. She could feel his penis softening inside her vagina and could feel her muscles slowly relax.
At last he pulled out, and the sensation of emptiness he left behind was only eased as he leaned forward, putting his weight on top of her, and wrapped his arms around her, encircling her waist and holding her breasts. She could feel him breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in time with hers.
“There are a lot of toys you have here that we didn’t get to,” he whispered softly. She smiled—it was as good as a promise to do this again and soon.
JENNA’S GAMBIT
Jeremy Edwards
There was no doubt that Jenna liked the way this felt. The dully aching clench in her groin was pleasurable rather than painful, and the tickle of not-quite-urgent need felt downright delicious when she squeezed her thighs together.
In fact, poised here on her bar stool, Jenna found that her only discomfort was psychological: would she have the nerve to go through with this?
She’d planned the entire evening around it, she told herself, glancing at the two empty beer bottles in front of her. By focusing on her emotional investment in tonight’s gambit, she managed to provoke a surge of confidence. A shiver of erotic anticipation came in tow.
She was wise enough to act at this juncture, while the confidence was surging. In any event, it wasn’t the only thing that was surging; she couldn’t wait much longer.
“Can we go home now?” She put her hand on Eric’s knee. “I’m horny,” she whispered. It was the truth, if not the whole truth.
Eric grinned. Without articulating an answer, he stood up and reclaimed his denim jacket from the back of his stool. For an instant, Jenna thought she noticed his eyes drifting toward the rear of the restaurant, where two restroom doors straddled a “staff only” passageway.