by Ava Sinclair
Already she was struggling. “I will not be your whore, Alton Westcott!” she cried as he sat down and pulled her over his lap.
He restrained her easily across his broad thighs as he flipped up her skirt, exposing her lacy pantalets. “No,” he said. “You will not be. But you will be my willing wife.”
He pulled down her pantalets, revealing the twin globes of her bottom. Raising his hand, he brought it down hard, causing her to jerk with shock at the painful impact.
Alton kept his eye firmly fixed to her bottom as he began to deliver her second spanking. Her cries were somewhat muffled by the voluminous skirt that had been flipped over her head, but he knew they were genuine, for her little bottom was reddening rapidly. Reaching down, he ripped the pantalets completely away, tipping Penelope forward as he did so. Thrown off balance, his betrothed scrabbled to balance herself on her hands, leaving her legs kicking. The action was by design. Now Alton could see between the kicking legs, could see the bare outer lips of her pussy, parted now to reveal the inner petals, pink and engorged.
It was as he suspected, and now he began to change how he spanked her. The blows were still hard but slower as he alternated the spanks with rubs and squeezes. Penelope’s cries became mixed with distressed little moans and when he dipped one finger between her thighs and brought it up through her dewy slit, she shuddered and cried out.
He had to support her when he raised her to her feet. The dress fell back down to reveal a beautiful mess of the woman who’d been so perfectly coiffed in the ballroom. Her hair had spilled from its shiny pins, her face was a shade pinker than her dress, and her rosebud mouth turned down in the prettiest and most confused little pout. His cock nudged hard against the front of his breeches.
“Pleasure and pain. You just experienced them together. The bitter and the sweet, like the tart cherry and the chocolate.” He stared at her. “Was that really so bad? Don’t say you didn’t enjoy it.” He lifted his fingers, coated now with evidence of her arousal. “Your body doesn’t lie.”
Penelope moaned in shame and then mumbled a half-hearted protest as Alton began to deftly remove her gown.
“Oh, please, my lord,” she said. “We’re not yet married. Do not ravish me before we are wed.”
“I don’t plan to ravish you,” he said. “And I promise that, come morning, your virginity will still be intact. But there are things I will teach you before our wedding night, things you need to know to rid your mind of the poisonous misconceptions Lady Whitfield planted there.” As her gown fell to her feet in a puddle of silk, he lifted her from it and walked to the bed. Sitting down, he cradled her in his lap.
“So she told you that I mixed pleasure and pain, and she hated it. Did you?”
Her flush and lowered lashes told him all he needed to know.
“She told you I put my cock in her mouth. This is true, and an art in which I will school you. But she likely did not tell you that I am as fond of giving as I am receiving in this regard.” He stood, depositing Penelope on the bed. Grasping her by the hips, he pulled her to the edge and parted her legs.
“Oh, no. You mustn’t!” She tried to rise as he knelt between them, but he held her fast as he lowered his head. The first taste of her sweet honeyed musk was intoxicating. At first she was tense in his grasp, but as he dragged his tongue up the slit of her pussy and used the tip to coax her little clit from its hiding place, she cried out, her legs gripping his shoulders and pulling him close to her. A flood of her arousal coated his tongue as he dipped a finger inside, feeling for her virgin barrier. Next he moved that finger up to rim her bottom hole. Alton read the signs of Penelope’s body, waiting until she was at a fever pitch from the sensations. When he sensed she was at the crest of her ecstasy, he caught the little nub of pleasure in his teeth, sucking gently until she screamed and her body went stiff and then softened in his grasp like a doll’s.
“Mmmm.” His tongue made one last pass over the slick folds of flesh and he raised himself up, pulling her limp form up on the bed and lying beside her. After a moment, dark lashes fluttered on pale cheeks and she opened her eyes. Her first words surprised him.
“La petit mort,” she said.
“Why, Lady Lennox,” he said. “Wherever did you learn such a term?”
“From the maid.”
Alton threw back his head and laughed, then trailed a finger down her chin. “Hmm. I knew Betsy was a good choice.”
He sat up and looked down at the woman he loved. She was still tightly bound in her boned corset. Turning her over, he began undoing the laces.
“Damn corsets,” he said. “I’d outlaw the things if I didn’t think I’d bring down the wrath of every female in the country.”
When she looked back, puzzled, he winked at her. “No need to be demure now, love.” After a moment, the stays were undone and the halves of the boned garment opened like a shell to reveal a smooth back and a tiny waist.
“Turn over, Penelope,” he said, and was pleased when she slowly obeyed. Her hands were cupped over her breasts. His cock was rock hard now as he watched her play the unwitting coquette. “Move your hands. The man who loves you means to look upon your breasts.”
Slowly she complied. Alton could not help but draw a sharp breath when he saw the breasts he’d been fantasizing about since the maid had described them. They were perfection, these symmetrical globes crowned with large areolas the color of claret, the nipples tight nubs begging to be relaxed by the heat of his mouth.
The confinement of his pants was actually hurting him. Rising to his knees, Alton loosened his breeches, watching Penelope’s eyes grow wide at her first sight of his shaft.
“Do you know what this is called?”
She nodded. “That’s your cock,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said, gripping the base of it. He was pleased to see Penelope studying it, rather than shrinking back in fear.
“You’ll put that inside of me?” she asked.
He suppressed a smile. Penelope did not have to be experienced to see that her future husband was well endowed, or to wonder how the thick length of him would fit inside of her.
“May I…” She put a hand out tentatively, and then cried out when his cock bobbed as if seeking to meet her touch. Now Alton could not help but laugh at her wide-eyed expression, or how her hand retreated.
“You may,” he said.
He never imagined that so innocent a touch could feel so erotic. As Penelope’s fingers brushed him, Alton’s balls tightened, and it took all his will not to expel the seed that threatened to surge from within. Her hand slid underneath him, grazing his firm balls and then cradling his cock as if it were a sacred object. She looked up at him in wonder.
“It’s hard,” she said. “But your skin is so soft. And these…” One delicate finger traced the ridge of a vein traversing his length. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Just as your pussy gets wet and slippery when you are excited, my cock grows hard and long and engorged.”
She looked up, her expression one of a schoolgirl who’s just had an epiphany. “So… my pussy gets wet so your cock will slide in more easily?”
What a vocabulary she was developing. He chuckled at her frankness. “Yes, my pretty one; that is exactly right.”
“Will it hurt me?” she asked.
“There’s a piece of skin inside you, close to the opening of your pussy, that my cock will breach. But I’ve checked, and it is minimal, my dear. I am certain the moment’s sting you’ll experience will be brief. After that, there will be only pleasure.”
“My body aches for you,” she said. “If you wanted to… tonight…”
Oh, how he wanted to. Alton reached down to lift her breasts, flicking first one nipple and then the other with his tongue before gently kissing both perfect peaks. She was ready. He’d felt her arousal, could smell it. His cock was so hard it ached. Waiting was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. But he would do it for her, and he t
old her so.
“I made a promise,” he said. “I said I would preserve your virginity until our wedding night. What we’ve done tonight was to ready you, to prepare you so you’d not come to my bed in fear. Do you still think my desires depraved? To say ‘yes’ would break my heart, Penelope.” He took her hand and placed it on his muscular chest. “And make no mistake. You have that power. For I love you.”
Her face softened then, glowing with happiness as she smiled up at him. “And I love you,” she said. “I was wrong to believe that woman. She is the depraved one, not you.”
Alton pulled her to him for a kiss. Her lips were soft against his, her body lush. It was with great reluctance that he parted, preparing for the longest two days of his life.
Chapter Eight: Wedding Day
It was the first time Penelope had seen her parents since coming to Westcott Manor. Lord and Lady Lennox had arrived the night before the wedding, and Penelope received them both in the parlor hours before the nuptials were set to take place.
Because Penelope had been given over to the convent school so early, her mother had always been a distant figure, and her father more of an affable stranger than a parent. William Lennox, his declining health evident, seemed genuinely pleased by his daughter’s transformation from a shy, insecure introvert to confident, poised socialite in so short a time. But his wife’s disapproval was clearly evidenced in her pinched face.
“My dear. I hardly recognized you,” Lady Lennox said, leaning in to give her daughter a perfunctory peck on the cheek. “I would have thought you’d be slower to settle in after years of spiritual training.”
“Leave her be.” William Lennox glared at his wife. “Can you not see that she’s happy?”
“Happy or corrupted?” Lady Lennox gripped her rosary as she took her daughter’s hands. “Sister Agnes has been writing me. They prayed for a miracle to bring you back.”
“Tell them to save their prayers, mother. I don’t want to go back.”
“How can you be so ungrateful?” Tears glistened in the older woman’s eyes. “They kept you safe there!”
“No, mother,” Penelope said gently. “They kept me ignorant. I was happy because I didn’t know anything else. Now I’ve discovered love and beauty, and while I will never forget the good sisters, my place is here. “
The future Lady Westcott would have been happier to see her mother more accepting of her choice, but Penelope would not allow her mother to dampen the happiest day of her life. She was through sacrificing her happiness for the sake of others now. Alton had taught her that taking her joy was not a selfish thing, and she’d come to believe that a God who made her capable of love and sex would want her to experience those things.
As Betsy helped dress her for the wedding, Penelope confided her disappointment in Lady Lennox’s greeting.
“I feel sad for her in a way,” Penelope said. “I believe her heart was truly with the church.”
“It is sad when one is denied their passion,” Betsy said, “whatever that passion is. You were fortunate to have been spared a life of frustration. Just think. If you’d stayed in the convent you’d never have known true happiness.”
Penelope turned to her and smiled. “You’re so right. I’d have not had Alton, and I’d have not met you. Oh, Betsy, you’ve become more than a maid to me in this short time,” she said. “I think you were meant to be here as was I.” She grew quiet. “I have a question, though. That night I found you in the alcove… was I meant to find you?”
Betsy dropped her eyes and Penelope had her answer.
“I thought so,” she said.
“Are you angry, m’lady?” she asked.
“No.” Penelope shook her head. “I thought Lord Westcott had likely arranged it. I had no mother to teach me that my body is a tool of pleasure and not of shame. Seeing another woman so open with her own flesh—you’ve helped me enormously, even if it was a less than conventional education.”
“Are you ready for tonight?” Betsy stepped back. “No husband could ask for a more beautiful bride.” She turned Penelope toward the mirror as she spoke.
The woman reflected back at her was the perfect combination of allure and innocence. The long white gown was of an elegant design, but simple. The skirt was full, but shot through with silver threads. The bodice was edged in delicate lace.
“I wish you could be there,” Penelope said.
“It’s not for a maid to be at a lady’s wedding,” Betsy said. “I’ll be here to help you change for your special night.”
“Well, even if you can’t be at my wedding,” Penelope said, “one day I will be sure to be at yours.”
“You’ll have a long wait.” Betsy offered a sad smile. “Girls like me aren’t the kind men propose to, m’lady. We’re just the ones they lay with until something better comes along.”
“So there’s no one you fancy?” Lady Penelope suddenly felt sad for her friend, and sadder still at the answer.
“Just one. Tom, the valet… the one you saw with me that day. I’ve long loved him in secret. But at some point he’ll find a proper girl to marry and I’ll just have to love him from afar. I love men, but not married ones.”
Penelope took the maid’s hands in hers. “Don’t give up on yourself, Betsy,” she said. “Lord Westcott certainly seems to prize passion in a woman. Any man would be lucky to have you.” She paused. “Oh, dear, happy endings should be for everyone.”
“That’s a lovely thought,” the maid said. “But today, we’re going to focus on yours. Now let’s get you into this wrap. It’s chill out.”
The two women hugged, and Betsy helped Penelope into her furs.
It was Lord Lennox who arrived at his daughter’s door to escort her from the house. Christmas Eve had dawned gray and cold, but the slate sky made the green of the trees and the white of the snow all the more brilliant by contrast. The runners of the sleigh glided across the packed snow as the harness bells on the horse jingled merrily. Penelope’s nose and cheeks stung with cold, but the rest of her was flushed with the warmth of happy expectation. It was her wedding day; after a lifetime of not knowing love, she was not only marrying, but marrying a man she had grown to love.
The windows of the Westcott estate’s stone chapel seemed to beckon them with a golden light. The edges of the pews were festooned with bay greenery and red bows. Outside, dusk was fast approaching, and the soft glow of candles illuminated the altar where Alton Westcott waited for his bride.
The wedding would be small and intimate as befitted a private gentleman whose one large social event of the year had already taken place.
“The smaller the wedding, the sooner I can have you back home in my bed,” he’d told her, and Penelope had blushed happily at the memory of that conversation. She was ready for her wedding night, and as she stood exchanging vows with her handsome lord, she marveled at how he’d opened not just her eyes, but her heart.
The look of pride on his face as she walked up the aisle just affirmed that she was not just on the path to happiness but one that had perhaps been meant for her. When Penelope placed her small hand in her Lord Westcott’s large one, she was again reminded of his strength, his protection. He was all to her now, and it was with the conviction born of certainty that she turned her eyes on the priest as he prepared to have the couple recite their vows.
“I do,” were words spoken with conviction from both, and it was with pride that she faced the small gathering as Lady Penelope Westcott.
Chapter Nine: Lady Westcott’s Gift
All brides were nervous. Penelope knew this as she sat in her diaphanous nightgown waiting for her husband to fetch her. Would her innocence disappoint him? She sought to remind herself of Betsy’s advice.
“If he’d wanted those women, he’d have married one,” the maid had said. “But he wanted you, m’lady.”
When the door opened, she startled.
“Are you well?” he asked, when he saw her sitting by the fire.
&nb
sp; “I am,” she said. “I was just waiting.”
“The wait is over,” he said, and swept her up into his arms.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked.
“Carrying you to my room before you change your mind,” he said. Outside the door, he nearly ran into Betsy. “Whatever are you doing here, girl? It’s Christmas Eve and your lady is in good hands. Go home, Betsy. Enjoy the holiday. I’ll tend to your lady for the next few days.”
Betsy gave a knowing grin followed by a giggle, and Penelope realized she’d probably never seen the master of the house in just his nightshirt. “Thank you. And Merry Christmas, Lord and Lady Westcott.”
Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck as he bore her down the hall. She’d never been in Alton’s bedchamber. It was masculine, like its inhabitant. The heavy carved mahogany bed was hung with velvet drapes. A blaze crackled in the fireplace.
At long last, they were alone as a married couple. The only thing that had kept him from taking her—his promise—had been fulfilled. They were married, and she came to her wedding night as a virgin. Now he would make her a woman.
“You’re the loveliest little thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And the most exciting.”
She flushed, for that excitement was evident. The mighty cock she’d touched two nights earlier was standing straight out, tenting the front of her husband’s nightshirt.
He stepped toward her and undid the ties on the shoulders of her gown, and then stood back as it slid off her body in a hiss of silk.
Lifting her again, Alton deposited Penelope on the bed. She lay back, looking at him as her hair fanned around her, and watched from beneath hooded lids as he pulled his nightshirt off. He was beautiful, like a sculpted statue, she thought. His muscles reminded her of his strength, and her own helplessness before it. The thought should have scared her, but instead it sent a surge of wetness from between the lips of her throbbing pussy. Penelope squirmed on the bed.