The Countess Takes a Lover

by Bonnie Dee

  “I’ll wear my rose and cream gown for dinner,” she informed her maid. Cecile had been with her a long time and served as more than a dresser or hair stylist. She was the closest the countess had to a confidante, although they never really talked. She was quiet, calm and never showed shock at any of Meredith’s antics—no matter whom the maid might happen to catch in her bed of a morning.

  Meredith rose, dripping, from the bath and accepted the towel Cecile wrapped around her.

  “He’s a very personable, soft-spoken and agreeable young man,” Meredith said. “And I never knew I should come to enjoy gardening so much. The project began as an excuse to draw him nearer and now it’s become very dear to my heart. I shall enjoy my little conservatory in the years to come, watching the plants grow and bloom.”

  “Yes, madame.” Cecile offered her slippers for her damp feet, but Meredith waved them away and padded barefoot to her bureau. She opened the jewelry case, which sat on top, and examined her choices.

  “It’s not as if I’ve led him on. I was very clear from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement. I can’t help it that a foolish young man might imagine I’m his true love just because I initiated him sexually.”

  “Yes, madame.” Crossing to the wardrobe, Cecile removed the chosen dress and carried it to the bed where she laid it out. She then gathered Meredith’s necessary undergarments from various drawers.

  “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. I haven’t changed nor have my feelings about men changed. They serve a purpose in my life, yes. I won’t deny that. But I can exist quite nicely either with or without them.”

  “Certainly, madame.”

  “One is much like another, all replaceable. And I’m quite content just as I am.”

  Cecile remained silent.

  “I am!” She paused with a pink ruby necklace trailing from her fingers and whirled toward her maid. “After young Whitby has returned to London and found a wife to please his parents, I shall carry on exactly as before. I have my work and my play, my business and my lovers. I don’t require anything else.”

  “No, madame.” Cecile held up a stocking in each hand and offered them to her with a gaze as flat and emotionless as stone.

  “Oh, do be quiet! I resent your censure. You forget your place.” She snatched the stockings and marched over to the bed to sit and draw them on.

  “Yes, madame.” Picking up a fine, lawn petticoat, Cecile shook out the wrinkles and carried it to her.

  Meredith stepped into the circle of fabric, then turned so her maid could tie it at her waist. “Do you believe in love, Cecile?”

  “I couldn’t say, madame.” She drew the drawstring tight.

  “Only the very young and the very foolish believe in love,” she announced as she raised her arms so Cecile could slip her dress over her head.

  “Yes, madame.”

  • • •

  After dinner that evening, Meredith and Chris withdrew to the parlor, each with a book to read in front of the crackling fire that had been built to take the chill from the air.

  They read in companionable silence for a bit, before Meredith’s attention drifted from the written words before her. She gazed at the fire for a few moments, enjoying the fluid, shifting colors—orange, yellow, gold and even occasional flashes of blue or green. The qualities of fire were an intriguing dichotomy, always changing yet ever the same. No two fires were exactly alike, but all generated heat and would burn a person who got too close. There seemed to be some deep meaning in that, but Meredith was too warm and comfortable to figure out what it was.

  “What are you thinking?” Chris’s voice broke her reverie.

  She looked over at him. His book, a treatise on botany, lay closed on his lap with his finger marking his place. “Oh, nothing much.” She indicated her own book. “I was thinking about the passage I just read. Would you like to hear it?”

  He nodded.

  “You’d be surprised,” she added with a smile. “Books about people can be nearly as interesting as books about plant life.”

  She began to read. “The dairymaid lifted the hem of her gown until her dimpled knees were revealed and then each milky thigh. ‘Like this? Is this what you wanted to see, sir?’

  “‘That is exactly what I wanted to see, my sweet, and more.’ The baron came closer and caressed her rosy cheek with the back of his hand. ‘If you trust me, I will show you such delights you never dreamed of.’ He stooped and his hand stole beneath the hem of her gown, pushing the bunched fabric even higher. He touched the plump, sweet petals of her sex, stroking them slowly and teasingly until she shivered like a nervous mare.

  “‘Oh, my. What are you doing to me? I’ve never felt anything like this before.’

  “He highly doubted her words. The wench was flirtatious and smirking rather than shrinking or shrieking. With a smile, he probed his finger gently into the intimate recesses of her nubile young body.”

  Meredith paused to glance at her audience of one.

  Christopher’s book had slipped, forgotten, down the side of the chair. He leaned forward, his eyes wide and fixed on her. “That is truly what the book contains? Writing like that? I never knew there were such books.”

  “This is only the beginning, my dear. Listen.” She flipped to her favorite scene much farther along in the book.

  “‘Oh please, sir, let me go.’ The minx writhed in glorious nudity on his big bed. She struggled against the ties binding her to the four posts. For a moment, the baron was nearly overcome with the desire to leap on her provocative body and possess it. But he maintained his composure and simply watched her squirm for countless moments.

  “Such a beautiful sight she was with her thrusting breasts, nipples as hard and red as rubies, her parted legs revealing all to him. Oh, the glistening moisture of her cunny, the delicate lips and the arousing aroma that rose from it. He leaned in to inhale her sexual perfume. ‘My little pet, if you’re very good, I will reward you with what you’ve come to crave.’ He stroked the soaking wet slit between her legs. ‘You know what my tongue can do for you here. Do you want it? Then you must relax and obey me now.’

  “‘I don’t have much choice, do I, sir, what with my hands tied and all.’ Again the merry twinkle in her eyes let him know she was enjoying the game as much as he.

  “He loved her saucy tongue and decided he would love it even more licking his sac. Climbing on the bed and crouching above her, he lowered his testicles to her mouth. ‘Taste me. Bathe me with your tongue from base to tip,’ he ordered.”

  Again the countess paused to check on her listener. She had Christopher’s rapt attention and that of his cock, too. The bulge in the front of his breeches was monumental. “Do you like the story?”

  “Tied up? He has her tied to his bed? I never imagined such a thing.”

  “Never?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not in all your fantasies has such an idea occurred?”

  His face was bright red, and she knew it wasn’t heat from the fire. “It’s so wrong, to treat a woman like that, to demean her by restraining and forcing her to perform lewd sexual acts.”

  “Ah, but in this story, it is a game the dairymaid chooses to play. With each passing chapter their sexual games grow more intense as they discover deeper levels of pleasure. But you’re right. Forcing a woman to surrender and endure subjugation or humiliation is terrible—although some men seem to find it erotically pleasing. The scenario in this story is only acceptable because it’s a mutual game with two players. There’s the difference. Do you understand?”

  He nodded. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “A game like that. Would it be possible…? I mean, could you ever imagine yourself in such a…a position?”

  Flashes of memories burst in her mind, and her hands clenched on the book. Her history with her husband had prevented her from ever wanting to indulge in bondage as sexual play, although she sometimes enjoyed reading about it. She’d had enough of real mistreatment to make her lee
ry of ever putting herself into such a vulnerable position.

  “I’ve played the part of the baron on occasion with some of my lovers,” she finally said.

  Chris’s eyes widened again.

  “Does that surprise you? That a man might enjoy being tied up?” She hadn’t yet introduced him to the silken cords she kept in her wardrobe. There’d been enough other sex games to occupy them.

  “No.” He paused. “I mean, yes, it does. I know you’ve had many lovers and many experiences in your life that I can’t even imagine, but I didn’t know a woman could tie a man down and…do things to him.”

  She tilted her head, regarding him. “Would you like to try that tonight?”

  “It sounds pleasurable, but honestly, I’d rather be the baron than the milkmaid. Could we play at that do you think?” His phrasing was so polite, he might have been asking for scones with tea.

  “I don’t care for being tied up,” she said succinctly.

  “I promise I would treat you very gently. I would never hurt you, Meredith. But I would so love to see you like that, stretched out on the bed with your wrists and ankles…” There was a soft click as he swallowed. “…tied. Could you trust me?”

  Her own throat was suddenly dry, her pulse throbbing in her temples, wrists and sex. To be tied again, by choice this time and with no painful tortures or degrading words heaped upon her… Could she submit to such a thing? It would be the ultimate test of the strength of will she prided herself on. Although she told herself she’d moved past the things Stephan had done to her, the truth was she was still haunted, might always be haunted by the count’s cruelties. Maybe this was a way to finally put away her past.

  “All right.” Her stomach rolled with nausea, but perversely her pussy clenched in excitement. “You may tie me up.”

  Chapter Nine

  Before he looped the silken cord around her wrist, he caressed her hand, wrist and forearm. His light touch stimulated her skin, sending tingles throughout her entire nude body. He kissed the pads of her fingers and palm, tickling her with his hot breath and the vibration of his murmured words. “You are so beautiful.”

  His tongue lapped over the pulse beating in her wrist and then up her inner arm to the crook of her elbow. Meredith shivered. “Mm. Tickles.”

  After kissing his way back down to her wrist, he pulled away and wrapped the cord around her sensitized flesh. He pulled it tight and knotted it, then extended her arm above her head toward the bedpost.

  She craned her neck to the side so she could watch him fasten the other end of rope to the post. Her arm was stretched taut, but not uncomfortably so.

  “Good?” he asked, taking a moment to sit beside her and caress her face.

  “All right.”

  He kissed her mouth while his hand trailed down her torso to her sex. With deft fingers he toyed with her clitoris, teasing it from its little hood to full erection. When he had her gasping into his mouth and thrusting toward his hand, Chris rose and walked around to the other side of the bed.

  He gave that hand and arm the same treatment, a long slow stroke from shoulder to wrist followed by kisses and caresses. He looped the cord around her wrist and pulled it tight, stretching her arm toward the other post.

  Again he paused to admire her and to check that she was feeling all right before moving down to her feet. He grasped one ankle and gave it the same loving treatment as he had her hands, wiggling her toes and trailing a fingernail along the arch of her foot.

  “Stop!” she squealed, twisting and kicking her foot to get away.

  “No more tickling. I promise.” He kissed the bottom of her foot and her ankle, then lassoed it with a coil of gold and tied it to the far right bedpost. “Just one more. Are you ready for it?” he asked as he bent to the task of tying her last foot. He secured it to the post, leaving her legs spread wide, her pussy open and vulnerable.

  He stood, arms folded, gazing at her. Meredith’s skin prickled and burned all over as if she had a low-grade fever. Even though Chris had seen her naked many times, there was a vulnerability about being on display, tied hand and foot and laid open for a man who was still completely clothed. It was as if, metaphorically, she had no place to hide from his searching eyes. She felt he could see more than her body, that her inner secrets were somehow revealed.

  “What are you going to do with me, sir?” she tried to adopt the saucy, flirting tone of the dairymaid in the erotic story, but her words sounded much more serious than she’d intended. A little tremble in her voice kept them from being a joke.

  “I’m going to give you pleasure, Meredith. That’s all. I’m going to practice the techniques you’ve taught me.” He smiled, and her nervousness dissipated at the sweetness in his face. “And maybe discover a few new tricks of my own.”

  He went to her wardrobe and returned with a silk scarf. Once more he sat beside her on the bed, his weight pulling her body toward him, stretching the restraints on her right side. As he leaned to cover her eyes with the scarf and tie it around her head, she rolled her head away on the pillow. “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Please.” His blue gaze was gentle. “You must trust me.”

  Reluctantly she nodded, and then she was blind as the material cut off her vision with a soft whisper of silk. He tied the scarf at the side of her head so she wouldn’t be lying on a hard knot. The trailing ends of the fabric lay over her shoulder and brushed her skin lightly.

  As she grew used to the darkness, her other senses heightened. She listened carefully to the sound of Chris walking across the room. What was he getting now? What might he do to her? She shifted and pulled at the cords binding her wrists, abruptly and desperately anxious to escape. He might burn or whip her, squeeze, twist or clamp her genitals and breasts, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him.

  Such things could be sexually stimulating if one was a willing participant, but Meredith had had the misfortune of suffering tortures from an unloving man. His cock had been forced, unwelcome, into all of her orifices, and she’d suffered humiliating words as well as painful treatment. Now, alone in the darkness behind her blindfold, she imagined Stephan was there in the room, ready to hurt her again.

  “No!” she called. “I don’t like this. I want to stop.”

  “Are you afraid, Meredith?” It was Chris’s amiable voice, but deeper and roughened by lust. “It’s just me. I promise you nothing bad will happen.” His hands stroked her body up and down. His lips nibbled at her jaw and throat before settling on her mouth. He kissed her lightly, then deeper, tongue delving between her lips to find hers and urge it to play. When he pulled away, he whispered, “I’ll take the blindfold and bindings off if you want me to.”

  “No. Not yet. I’m all right now. Just, please, keep talking to me so I know it’s you.”

  “All right.” He didn’t ask who she thought he might be. She’d told him a little of her husband, so he probably knew.

  He resumed touching her, thumbs tracing her collarbones, hands cupping her breasts and toying with the nipples. “You know you’re safe. I only want to make you feel good.” He talked on in a reassuring litany, while his hands massaged the tension from her shoulders and arms. By the time he’d kneaded all the way down her torso and each leg, then back up to her crotch, she was relaxed and aroused. Her sex felt like a lump of butter melting from solid into warm, slippery liquid.

  She moaned and shifted, pulling at her legs and arms, testing the restraints. When she tugged against them, they held, but it no longer made her feel like thrashing in a panic to get away. She was comfortable and content to give control to Chris, who continued murmuring endearments and compliments about her beauty, cleverness and strength of will, all the while touching her in delightful ways.

  Meredith felt him kneel between her legs, his hands resting on the insides of her thighs. She raised her pelvis toward what she knew was coming. When his mouth touched her sex, her senses were so attuned that it sent a powerful jolt through her. T
he lips of her aching pussy were swollen, and without the distraction of sight, his kiss on her flushed labia was like the striking of a tuning fork—vibrations arching through her in waves.

  She moaned softly and raised her hips even farther off the bed, straining her arms and legs to push higher, yearning for his tongue on her clit. But Chris wasn’t going to make it so easy. He teased her, kissing her inner thighs, licking the crease where thigh met torso, nibbling with careful teeth at her folds, then dipping his tongue deep inside her. He lapped her juices, spread them from her quim to her clit and swirled around it—but just once.

  Meredith moaned louder, encouraging him to give her more, but he left her nib erect and aching for touch. He rose from the bed and crossed the room. She whined in disappointment and listened to the soft sounds he made somewhere over by the dresser. Her curiosity about his actions now held anticipation rather than fear.

  His footsteps trod back toward the bed across the heavy carpet, one of the floorboards creaking under his weight. Now he stood beside the bed again, and Meredith drew in a breath, waiting…waiting.

  Something soft and fragrant brushed her face. It tickled over her forehead, cheek and lips. A feather? She inhaled and identified the object by fragrance. A rose! He had taken one of the roses from the bouquet on the dresser and was stroking her throat, her chest, each thrusting breast and her twitching belly. The pink roses had been cut several days ago and were completely open and beginning to shed petals. The rich, sweet smell of the flower suffused her senses and every cell of her flesh felt alive and sensitized to the petals’ touch. Having her vision removed enhanced these sensations. When Chris swept the soft petals all the way from her instep to her inner thigh, her leg shook, and when he stroked it over her yawning pussy, tickling it around the stiffened lips, her whole body convulsed.

  “Ohhhh! Please,” she begged.