What the Mistress Did

by Anya Delvay

  “No”—she pulls against my hands—“that will not do. Make her leave, and speak to me now.”

  Against her best efforts, I have her at the door and reach for the handle. “Tomorrow will be soon enough,” I say, not relenting, only wanting her gone.

  All sorrow falls from her countenance when she realises her entreaty has failed, and the look she gives me is poisonous.

  “Fine,” she hisses from between clenched teeth, wrenching her arm from my grasp, reaching up with one trembling hand to try to straighten her wig. “I will go, but do not think this is the end of it, Marianne.”

  I have known her too long to be fooled. To most people, Imogene seems all that is gentle and genteel, but beneath the surface smiles and impeccable manners lays the soul of a viper.

  Bending low so my face is mere inches from hers, I whisper, “If you ever wish to speak to me, be in my company again, you will say nothing about what you have seen tonight.”

  Her chin lifts, and the calculation in her eyes chills me to the bone. “What would I say, Marianne? To whom would I speak of such a thing?”

  I smile, but it is more a baring of my teeth than an expression of amusement. “I cannot imagine, for whosoever hears such a tale would also wonder at the amount of time you spend in my company. And I’m sure when the story reaches Eustace’s ears, he will be delighted to know his mother has been keeping such indecent company.”

  She trembles, the colour once more receding from her face. It is unkind to threaten her with her son’s disgust, but I know of nothing else she holds as dear as his esteem, and right now, I have secrets I would kill to protect.

  “You are cruel,” she whispers. “I never realised just how so until now.”

  “Don’t be silly.” I lift the latch, ease the door open for her. “If I seem so, it is because you are overwrought—not thinking clearly.” Bending, I kiss her cheek and continue. “But remember what I say, Imogene. You are much more likely to be caught in any trap you set for me, for you have so much more to lose.”

  “Marianne—”

  It is a sob, but I am far too angry still to care whether she is hurt or not. Yeats comes forward, and it takes all my command to keep my voice level as I say, “Have Jane summoned to assist Lady Bledsoe. The gold room would be best.” Imogene reaches out one hand to me, and I force a smile as I avoid it and somehow also propel her into the corridor. “Jane will help put you to rights before you leave.”

  Shutting the door behind her, I turn the key and hear her call my name as I sag against the wood, my legs trembling with an onrush of weakness brought on by the aftermath of fear and rage.

  How close we came to disaster. The thought of Imogene seeing who it was tied to my bed makes me shudder. Nothing I could say or do would have stopped her from going to David, telling him all. And she would not be above spreading the story, veiled in innuendo and couched as rumour, besmirching Annabelle’s name to any who would listen.

  The implications make my stomach roil.

  Stumbling to the bed, I untie Annabelle’s arms, and she sits up, rubbing her wrists. I cannot bear to look at her fully, afraid of what I will see. Once more the urge to run overtakes me, but there is nowhere that seems safe. How she must despise me—see me as a seducer of all who cross my path. Why this distresses me, I do not know, but I cannot bear to witness her disgust.

  The sound of her quiet laughter jolts me from the fog of anguish, and my gaze flies to her face in disbelief. But she truly seems amused, and I wonder if she realises the gravity of the situation.

  “How can you laugh?” I demand, wanting to shake her. “I find nothing amusing in the situation.”

  Instead of answering, she slides to the edge of the bed to pull me into her arms, and kisses me with unqualified ferocity. Stunned, I instinctively reciprocate, our tongues meeting in a frenzied duel, hands grasping and caressing as though we have only just begun to explore each other’s bodies.

  She pulls me back down onto the bed and rolls me beneath her, rising up far enough to gasp. “Now it is my turn to have my way with you, in return for the danger you put me in.”

  The light in her eyes both thrills and terrifies me, so closely does it seem to echo the maelstrom of emotion thundering through my heart. My only answer is to entwine my legs with hers, and pull her mouth back to mine.

  Kisses, bestowed with fierce passion, are strung from my lips to my neck, and then up to my ear as she undulates against me, our bodies joined from breasts to loins. The heat of her hands skimming my skin cause shiver after shiver of delight.

  Sliding down, she takes one of my nipples between her lips, and I arch into the suckling mouth, the laving tongue.

  At some point—once more aroused beyond bearing by her attentions—I realise there is nothing more I can teach her. Annabelle, assured of her power, confident in her lust, is exactly what I wanted her to be when I began the journey to despoil David’s innocent wife.

  In fact, she is more.

  “I have never felt more alive,” she tells me, staring down into my eyes, her hand cupping my mons. “You have opened the world to me, and I will never forget it.”

  The words resonate between us—a sacred promise—heartening and heartbreaking altogether.

  “I am glad,” I whisper, the words rasping from my throat, which is so tight with love and anguish, and I close my eyes, the better to appreciate the heated path of her lips as they replace her fingers.

  I am not shocked when her exploration ventures to my arse, nor can I gainsay her when she insists on strapping on the dildo and fucking me. I am so lost in passion that I offer her my fundus, but she declines, saying she will not take me there so soon after David made me bleed.

  My heart swells, and I am forced to blink back tears, glad she is once more intent on my cunt, sucking my clitoris, so she does not see.

  Coming up over me, angling the dildo to my quim, she murmurs, “I cannot get enough of your sweet cunt. I could lick it all night.” Then she smiles and pushes forward, sliding the hard leather deep into me. “But I want to be above you, see you as you spend.”

  And, as though this is something she has been doing all her life, she fucks me slowly, inexorably, as I lie trapped by the sweet weight of her body and her luminous, avid gaze.

  When I climax, I cannot hold back my tears, and she holds me as I sob and whispers words I cannot hear above the thunderous beating of my heart.

  Once more I stay awake through the reaches of the night, torn and destroyed inside. The fire dies, but long before it is nothing but glowing embers, I am cold and sit shivering in misery. I recall what I said to Imogene—that she would be caught in her own trap—and recognise the irony.

  Having set out to cause the ruination of David and his wife, I am the one left in shambles. Somehow, in the carrying out of my plan, I have ceded what power and confidence I possessed to Annabelle, and by denying David the truth of my feelings, shattered his love for me.

  His note saying he would not be attending on me was terse. There was no promise of his return, no apology for missing the appointment. It seems he has finally realised the futility of continuing to come to me, and decided on a clean break.

  I should welcome this situation, for is it not what I have myself planned, albeit in a different way? But his decision instead causes an acidic ache in my belly. Because of it, I have spent one of the most memorable nights of my life in his wife’s arms, and have added yet another craving that cannot be truly fulfilled to my life.

  For the umpteenth time in the last few days, I am unsure of what path to take, adrift in an ocean of uncertainty and heartache. Leaning my head against the back of the chair, closing my eyes, I imagine David and Annabelle together in complete sympathy, laughing, loving, giving and finding perfect pleasure in each other. The vision should be painful, and in many ways it is, yet as I finally doze, I am holding it dear.

  Perhaps in that way I may find redemption for the conundrum I have created for us all.

  I a
m startled awake knowing what must be done but with no idea how to achieve the goal. Rising to stand before the mirror, I am shocked to see my reflection. It is as though the person who existed only a fortnight before has passed into the shadows, so different do I seem. Leaning closer, I examine my eyes and realise that is where something has been irretrievably lost.

  And I fear it is my soul.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I am on tenterhooks the following evening, not knowing whether David will attend on me or if the plan I have in mind will come to fruition. I try to keep my worries hidden but perhaps am not as successful as I would like.

  “He will come, Marianne.” Annabelle pauses in the act of disrobing to give me a lingering look. “Believe me when I say he will not be able to stay away.”

  Despite the anxious flutter in my belly, I pretend indifference.

  “We will see.”

  She unties the tapes of her under-petticoat, and smiles. “Yester eve, the Prime Minister demanded his attendance at a late meeting. I doubt even that will keep him from your company tonight.”

  I cannot suppress the silly leap of my heart but will not allow her words to soften my resolve. Turning away, I walk to the chaise-longue and sit, allowing my robe to fall open across my thighs. Annabelle steps out of her petticoat, and begins to unlace her stays. The urge to go to her and hurry the process steals my breath, and I close my eyes for a moment.

  Finally, once more in control of my faculties, I say, “I’m glad you came early, for there is something I need to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?” She glances up from her chore, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “What might that be?”

  I allow a conspiratorial smile of my own. “Tonight, I plan to bind and blindfold David. I thought perhaps, under those circumstances, you might want to join our play.”

  Her fingers still, and the ties fall unheeded from them as the colour leeches from her face. “Pardon me?”

  I laugh and smooth the diaphanous silk over my lap to hide the trembling of my hands. “I will tie him to the bed and cover his eyes. If it will amuse you, you can come in and perhaps suck his cock. Haven’t you longed for the chance to do so?”

  The wave of red rushes to her cheeks, but her eyes glitter, and she nods. “To say I have not wondered what it would be like would be a lie.” Then she frowns, even as her hands go slowly back to her stays and she resumes their removal. “Won’t he know it is not you?”

  “Of course”—I shrug—“but it will be a pleasant surprise for him. On occasion in the past, I have arranged for other women to take part in our encounters—sometimes when seeing my courses, others just because I know he enjoys it.”

  Once more she grows still, and her gaze searches my face, as though seeking deceit. “Another woman? Together with you two?”

  I nod and, unable to resist her blushes and curiosity, rise to walk toward her. Deftly whisking the ties away, I take over the delicious job of denuding her of the rest of her garments.

  “Certainly. Imagine sucking my quim with David fucking you, or perhaps having both David and me lavishing our attentions on your body all at once. Would that not be truly delightful?”

  The stays fall away, and I cup one breast through the thin linen of her shift, feeling the already tight nipple against my palm. A shiver of reaction echoes through her body. Before she can reply, I continue, “David will not know it is you, only that there is another woman in the room, and that knowledge will fire his passion even more.”

  “If you are sure it will be the right thing to do,” she whispers, lust roughening the softness of her voice.

  “I am indeed sure,” I reply, loosening the drawstring at the neck of her shift and smoothing it down off her shoulders. “As long as you do not speak, he will not know it is you, and I think we will all enjoy it, don’t you?”

  A gasp escapes her as I bend to take first one nipple and then the other between my lips, and she holds the back of my head to keep me there for a long moment. Freeing her arms from the shift’s tight sleeves, I follow the path of the fabric, stooping to caress her stomach with my mouth, sliding my fingers between the wet folds of her quim. Annabelle widens her stance, her hips tilting up to facilitate the incursion.

  “You do like that idea, don’t you darling,” I croon, feeling the slick evidence of her lust on my hand. “How wet you are already.”

  The only reply is the rhythmic jerking of her lower body, which matches the cadence of her gasps. Circling her clitoris with one finger, I sink to my knees and part the pink outer lips with my other hand. The pretty little cunt, framed with its dark curls, is fully revealed to my appreciative gaze. As she places her hands on my shoulders for balance, I cannot resist teasing her. “Do you want a quick spend before he arrives, dearest?”

  “Yes,” she pleads. “Oh, yes.”

  But I keep my touch light, feathering it over her hardened nub, sliding it lower so it rests at her entrance. “How David will love seeing your cunt in this fashion,” I murmur and feel her tremble. “But I will always hold dear the fact that I saw you this way first.”

  “Ah,” she gasps. “Marianne, Marianne.”

  I cannot resist the entreaty. Placing my thumb on her clitoris, I plunge two fingers into her tight cunt and, setting a rough pace, begin to fuck her. Annabelle widens her stance, hips driving forward to meet each thrust, and I allow my thumb to move in counterpoint, sending her, shuddering, into climax.

  Sagging against me, trying to catch her breath, the inner muscles still clenching around my fingers, she murmurs, “David will have much to do to live up to the example you have set.”

  I try to laugh, but even to my ears, it sounds more like a sob. “I learned all I know from him, so you should expect nothing but perfection.”

  She makes no reply, only reaches down to assist me to my feet, pulling me close once I have gained them. We share a kiss of such sweetness I am hard-pressed to let her go, and we do not part until the clock strikes the quarter, telling us David will soon arrive.

  When he enters the bedroom fifteen minutes later, I await him with a crop in my hand, and there is an infinitesimal pause before he steps fully through the door.

  “How dare you not keep your appointment yester eve?” I ask, making my voice cold.

  David searches my gaze and then drops his, bowing his head as he replies, “It was unavoidable, mistress.”

  “Was it?” I whisk the supple, leather-wrapped cane through the air, watching as his breeches bulge with his rising cock. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Forgive me,” he murmurs, but there is no sound of repentance in his voice.

  “Come here,” I command, “and let me judge for myself whether you are truly sorry or not.”

  Doing as I bid, he moves closer. He is resplendent in dark blue silk trimmed with silver, his shirt, stock and hose immaculate. Looking at him, I am once more aware of how handsome he is, both inside and out, and my heart aches.

  I do not allow those gentler sentiments to infuse my voice, however.

  “Take off your clothing.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  I circle behind him as he begins to disrobe, flicking the crop lightly against his body as I go. David shivers when it lands on his leg, shudders when I land a blow on his arse through the silk, and his movements become faster, almost frantic.

  When he is naked, I slide the leather flap at the end of the crop over his back.

  “You are shivering.” Mocking concern imbues my every word. “Should I warm your arse for you?”

  “Yes please, mistress.”

  His front is toward the screen, and I consider turning him so Annabelle can see me administer the whipping but decide it will be more enjoyable for her to see his face. Every nuance of his appreciation will be apparent—every expression of pain and arousal open to her regard.

  Stepping to the side, I align myself so as to see his profile and tickle the crop over his arse. “Take your cock in your hand,” I command. “Str
oke it. But do not spend, or I will send you away immediately.”

  David groans but does not hesitate, and as his fingers encircle the engorged flesh, I commence the flogging.

  Oh, how the sheer carnality of it fires my blood. The crack of leather against his flesh and sight of him masturbating at my order, knowing Annabelle sees all, are aphrodisiacs. My cunt tingles and throbs, my breasts ache, the nipples so sensitive each indrawn, gasping breath causes them to rasp against my robe. David’s eyes screw closed, a muscle begins to jump in his jaw, while the head of his cock glows like a ripe plum, the action of his fist aided by the liquid seeping from the tip.

  Continuing as long as I dare, watching him come closer and closer to losing control is the sweetest of delights, but I have so much more planned for the night.

  With a final sharp blow, I lower the crop.

  “You may cease now.” It is a harsh growl from a throat tight with need. For a moment, I think he will not stop pleasuring himself. His body is bowed, low sounds emanating from his lips with each upward motion of his hand.

  Have I waited too long—allowed his lust to pass the point of restraint?

  Shuddering, David releases his grip. The sight of his shaking hand and the sheen of sweat on his locked and trembling muscles sends a fresh wave of arousal over my skin. I relish it, press my thighs together and revel in the sharp pangs of lust that shoot through my clitoris and out to the rest of my heated, yearning body. Waiting until his eyes open, I walk past him toward the bed, gesturing for him to follow.

  “Tonight you are my slave, subject to my every whim.” I pause to look at him over my shoulder, but he keeps his eyes downcast. “Will you take it like a man or whimper and cry like a little maid?”

  The corners of his mouth tighten, but a thread of amusement is evident in his voice when he replies, “Which will please you better?”

  I can only suppress my laughter, force it back so he will not discern it as I say, “Lie on the bed.”