The Lord's Scandalous Bride

by Emily Tilton

  She knelt. Without lifting her eyes, so that he could continue to watch her pretty face at his leisure, she said, “My lord, may I kiss your manhood?”

  Again his cock leapt. Truly no girl before had ever conveyed to him so entirely this heady feeling that his possession of her fulfilled her own needs: that to be allowed to kiss his cock would do her the greatest possible honor.

  “You may, Susan,” he said gently.

  She bent her head slowly and reverently, her pretty cornflower eyes fixed on the red muzzle of his hard cock. Her cherry lips pursed, and she touched them to the little eye of the stiff phallus that had fucked her, making a tiny kissing sound.

  Without raising her head, she murmured, “May I take your manhood in my mouth, my lord?”

  “In a moment,” Nele said. “How did Mr. Greatrex have your mouth the first time?”

  Susan spoke still to his cock, and her breath felt as delicious upon him there as her words were delicious to his mind. “He told me that girls who were chosen for the special duty for which he had chosen me must learn to take the prick between their lips, because it pleased the man who had chosen them, and it silenced their chattering mouths, and it got the prick ready for… having them. So he pushed me down the bed and told me to try my best, and he would hold my head and show me how to make his prick feel good.”

  “Kiss my balls, Susan, if you please, and lick them,” Nele said, wanting not yet to occupy her mouth, in order that the salacious tale might continue. “Did he make you do that, too?”

  “Later,” Susan said softly, as she obeyed and planted little kisses on Nele’s scrotum. “That first time he merely pushed my mouth down on him until I retched, and moved my head up and down, with his hands in my hair. He said that a wicked girl like me needed to learn that a virtuous man such as himself would turn her vice to his pleasure just as he liked, and I must become used to the idea that my comfort did not signify when he decided that he should enjoy me.”

  The little licks Susan gave to Nele’s balls sent him so nearly mad with pleasure that he found himself nearly agreeing with the wicked clergyman. But now he found himself terribly torn between the need to thrust into her mouth as Mr. Greatrex had and the craving to hear more of her tale.

  The notion that he must claim her as least as thoroughly as her monstrous former employer supervened, though, and Nele said. “Show me what you learned now, and I shall decide whether your comfort matters to me. If you prove a good cocksucker, Susan Grant, perhaps I shall find it in my heart to be more compassionate.”

  For a moment, as Susan lifted her head to address his cock once again from above, he caught her eyes darting toward his face with an expression almost of wonder. The instant their eyes met, she blushed and looked down again at his lap.

  Nele was struck suddenly by the way she had not used her hands at all upon his prick, the way most trollops did, in his experience, to provide a man with additional pleasure. It seemed to him somehow part of the ritual manner she must have been taught to adopt, and it reminded him of a passage from Dr. Brown’s pamphlet, in which the natural man was advised to make clear to her (his chosen fucking piece, that is) that her obligation to his male member is a sacred charge upon her. She must be always aware of the prick, and above all when it stands exposed before her, but she must not touch it without permission—or she shall suffer condign chastisement upon her bare backside. He must ask which of her lovers had taught her that, for it certainly did not seem that Mr. Greatrex went in for such refinements. The man on the train? Lord Granby?

  Susan opened her mouth and put out her tongue, but held her lips just above the head of Nele’s cock, as if waiting for some final instruction. “Go ahead, Susan,” Nele said. “Suck my cock now.” He had not intended truly to imitate Mr. Greatrex’ wickedness, but now he felt he could not resist: he twined his fingers in her flaxen hair and pushed her mouth down over the length of his penis.

  Nele could not suppress a long, contented groan at the wonderful sensation of thrusting inside a girl so shamefully, coupled with the marvelous sight of her face so devoted to his pleasure. Susan’s breath puffed in and out of her nose as, fascinated and wild with erotic sensation, Nele kept pushing until he felt his cock drive all the way to the softness at the back of the girl’s throat, which produced not gagging or retching but a wonderful wet noise that seemed to tell him that Susan’s inmost recesses belonged to him. Her nose rested in the little wiry nest of his curls, and she made a plaintive sound in her throat, as if to beg him to be kind.

  He hadn’t intended not to be kind, but the idea of what Mr. Greatrex had done took hold of him again, and instead of treating Susan’s mouth gently, he found that he must use his hold of her head to begin to propel her mouth up and down with what seemed to him the same kind of disregard Mr. Greatrex had told the girl she must expect.

  As he fucked her face, Nele said, “I am afraid that in some respects that monstrous vicar had the truth of it, Susan. I, too, like to use a wicked girl’s body for my pleasure. You must expect that I will often do this to you, especially as it appears that you are indeed…” The pleasure of his cock, and of the wanton sight of it going in and out of her face, which had assumed the distressed, teary-eyed expression that Nele guiltily loved to see on a trollop’s face as she gave her mouth’s service, combined with the ecstasy attendant upon his lewd little speech to her, had come close to a spend, now. “…very… well… trained.”

  At the last moment Nele pulled Susan’s mouth from his cock. She looked at him, wild-eyed, for a moment before she again returned her gaze to the place between his legs where she had just given him such marvelous dominant pleasure.

  “How did he have your bottom, that first time?” Nele growled.

  Chapter Six

  Susan trembled as she remembered. She sensed a strange potential in the moment that fascinated her even as the shameful images of the past came crowding in, though, transforming the parts of her history that she always shrank from remembering into an odd new sense of… possibility—as if by telling Lord Nele and even by enticing him to reenact the most terrible parts, like the moment he now asked her to narrate to him, she could find redemption.

  “He… he told me I must prepare myself for something that would seem very strange and new. He said that he knew I had certainly never thought that the little hole from which I answered the daily call of nature might be the subject of a man’s interest, but that now I would learn how very interested a resolute man such as himself could be in that place. He told me it would be painful for me, especially at first, to have to receive him there, but that since I was a wicked girl I deserved that pain, and I should thank him for using me that way, because by providing him with such a tight place to enjoy himself, in such a pretty bottom, I would make up for my wickedness at least a little bit.”

  As she recalled all the things Mr. Greatrex had said in his insinuating whisper, Susan kept her eyes on Lord Nele’s cock. She felt such gratification at how stiff it remained as she told her tale, and even more at the way Lord Nele seemed so moved that he must take it in his right hand and pump it while she spoke, that her heart itself seemed to smile though she kept her face grave. Proud, she realized abruptly and with astonishment. Suddenly I feel proud to remember this humiliating moment, when Mr. Greatrex had his way with me in the most shameful possible way, using his ridiculous arguments.

  “And you knew no better, did you?” Lord Nele said, his tone a mixture of compassion and lewd interest. Susan watched him move his hand up and down his cock, and she knew that just as that night, as she had never denied to herself, part of her had been so terribly eager to please Mr. Greatrex in this strange and special way, now she wanted just what Lord Nele provided: sympathy, but also the evidence, in his hardness, that he took pleasure in hearing of Susan’s wrongs at the hands of those men who had used her.

  Do I want to be used that way, then? she suddenly found herself wondering. Always, until tonight, she had spared herself from asking that
question, but always it had seemed to lurk at the fringes of her consciousness. But she didn’t have to attempt an answer now, surely? For there sat Lord Nele, pumping his manhood in his hand, commanding that she relive that night with the vicar of Combfield. If she refused to tell the tale, he would of course tell the earl, and Susan would be whipped. She need not worry whether she wanted to obey; she must obey, or be punished.

  She wanted to look at him. Should she look at him? He wasn’t like Lord Granby, after all, who had caned her for looking him in the eye. But the respect for a cock she had learned from Lord Granby still seemed appropriate, and the habit had proven hard to break. She said to his cock, “No, my lord. I believed him, strange as it now seems to me, and when he told me to put my pillows in the middle of my bed and to lie over them so that my bottom would be lifted up for him to… enjoy, I thought I had no choice. I did what he said.”

  “Go do that now, Susan,” Lord Nele said softly.

  She rose, and risked a glance at his face, to see that his own eyes had fixed upon the bareness between her thighs. She felt her face go red, now for the first time able to observe the way Lord Nele’s aroused interest in her body seemed to bring on a thrilling sort of shame she could not remember ever feeling before, even with kind Mr. Oldham. When Mr. Oldham had come to the little room he had rented for her, unable to resist his long-pent-up need and drawn by the idea, so enchanting to him, that in that room he could tell Susan to suck his prick and she would do it, she had felt ashamed to be a fallen woman, but she had not felt that shame as something in which she might glory.

  Many men, too, had looked upon her with lust, their eyes fixed on the place between her legs where they liked to put their cocks. At first, when Lord Granby had displayed her to the eyes of his household, she had certainly felt shame, but it had worn off by the fourth or fifth time he had summoned the servants to watch him fuck Susan.

  When Sir David had bared her with the candle, she had felt a new sort of shame, but he had seemed to do it without reference to degrading her and only in pursuit of his own interest in antiquities. I wish to see how feasible it might be, to bare a cunt this way, and what the effect might be on your allure, he had said.

  Sir David had looked closely at Susan’s bare cunny afterward, just as Lord Nele looked now, but she hadn’t blushed nearly as hotly as she did now. Nor had she felt that cunny grow so warm and wet under the gaze. This bargain she had struck with the second son of the duke of Panton seemed to have awakened a shame that belonged utterly to him—a shame that for that reason, because Lord Nele owned it, felt to Susan like a transformation of everything she had been into a new and better form: Lord Nele’s woman.

  She lifted her chin, without thinking about it assuming an air of offended modesty. Yes, she wanted to get over the pillows for Lord Nele, but she also wanted to feel that he had not begun to return her to the path of virtue in vain. With that lift of her chin she sought to demonstrate that she knew good girls only got over the pillows for bottom-fucking because they had no choice. She turned away from him at last and began to make her slow way to the bed.

  “Get the pillows nice and high, now, Susan. A man likes a girl’s bottom well positioned for him. Did your Mr. Greatrex say the same?” Lord Nele’s voice behind her seemed almost to surround Susan and clothe her in shame.

  “No, my lord,” Susan said to the pillows she arranged, one atop the other. “I think he said that my bottom was very small, and he felt a little regret about… having… it so early, but that I would grow used to it, the more he had me there.”

  “And did you?”

  Susan began to climb onto the bed now. “Not truly, my lord. Mr. Greatrex still had to put the flannel in my mouth every night, even just before they caned me and sent me away.”

  Lord Nele’s voice came nearer, and she heard the creak of the floorboards under his bare feet. “And now? After so many men, I assume, have fucked you here?”

  His hand came gently down upon her bottom, and Susan gave a little moaning cry. It felt the right time to give the full count, and she whispered, “Twelve, my lord. Mr. Greatrex, Mr. Oldham, Lord Granby, Lord Granby’s butler, six of Lord Granby’s friends, Sir David, and the earl. So,” she continued, “though I know it seems strange, many more men have had my bottom than have had my… have had me between my legs, for that was just Lord Granby, Sir David, the earl, and your lordship. And though I have grown used to it, my bottom is still small, and every man who has used it has said it remains very tight. I have learned to be silent, though, while I am possessed, if my possessor wishes it.”

  “You shall not be silent tonight,” Lord Nele said. “Reach back and spread this pretty bottom for me, Susan. I am sure I shall have occasion soon to find out all that wicked history you just adverted to, but at the moment I wish to complete my possession of you and do as Mr. Greatrex did. You may cry out as loud as you like, for I am very much afraid I shall be a good long time inside your little arse.”

  Yes, Mr. Greatrex had done that, too—and almost every other gentleman who had fucked her bottom-hole—they liked to make you show them your anus, and probably the display rendered it more convenient for them to get their cocks to the place they wanted to fuck. Lord Nele, though… when he said complete my possession… No other gentleman had said anything like that, and the melding of the idea that he had taken ownership of Susan with the feeling of obeying his command to take the bottom-cheeks he continued to stroke in her hands and pull them apart so that he could see the tiny place where he would put his hardness—again, it made a difference, and a novelty, for a girl who had thought herself absolutely immune to novelty especially in the area of arse-fucking.

  “Lovely,” Lord Nele said, laying his fingertip there for the first time and making Susan give a whimpering cry. He pushed lightly. Then, as if feeling how tight she really did remain in her anus, he pushed harder, and Susan received his finger with a sob. “How did Mr. Greatrex make his way easy? With his spittle?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Susan moaned.

  The finger deserted her. “If I’m not mistaken…” Lord Nele said, his footsteps to her confusion moving away to the other side of the room. She heard the door of a cabinet creak open. “Ah, yes. The earl stocks his guest chambers with this lovely oil, precisely for this purpose.”

  Indeed, Susan herself had put the oil there, knowing from her experience with Lord Granby and Sir David that gentlemen who thought themselves aficionados of bottom-sex liked to employ such measures. She had even suspected that the stuff in the little phial might well be used upon her own anus. Never, though, had she suspected that when it happened it would feel like the very first time, when Mr. Greatrex had, as Lord Nele did now, work her bottom upon slippery fingers—and also like no previous time she had ever been made ready to receive a man in the most shameful way, though she had lost count of how many times that was.

  Then there was the sound of the phial being stoppered, of it being placed back on the cabinet. The feeling of a little trickle of oil on her thigh. The bed shifting and groaning a little under Lord Nele’s weight, and the sense of him looming above and over her. A gasp from her own mouth, as if from someone else’s, at the touch of his cock’s head to the tiny ring. A grunt from Lord Nele’s chest, as if of pleasure simply at that touch, or perhaps also at the sight of Susan obediently holding her bottom open for fucking.

  “Susan,” he said in a stern though quiet voice, and in a way that suggested he had not premeditated the words. “I take you into my protection, and I claim you as my own.”

  The pushing, and her cries at his insistence, ending in the loudest cry as she received him, in all the burning pain and fullness of her bottom’s shameful necessity. The bed creaking as Lord Nele pushed further and further in, and his wordless exclamation of surprised pleasure to find her so very tight and enjoyable. Her hips gripped with terrible firmness, and then the fucking.

  Long and hard he rode inside her little bottom, to the rhythm of creaking bedsprings and Su
san’s cries of submissive discomfort. All the while she must hold her bottom-cheeks open so that the cock could have its way, until at last Lord Nele took hold of her wrists and held them behind her, using them for traction as he surged wildly into her bottom.

  Susan squirmed at that, desperately seeking a posture where the fullness might be less, but Lord Nele growled, “Keep that arse up, Susan, or I shall cane it until you can scarcely walk.”

  Already, she thought, she would scarcely be able to walk on the morrow, but with a sob she tried to hold still, and it seemed her obedience to him pleased him, for he gave a great cry and came, holding her with painful force as his hips spasmed against her bottom.

  For a very long time they remained perfectly still. Susan didn’t think anything had ever been so painful and so pleasurable at once, when she had been permitted nothing up front, where she ached now so much, in the bud at the top. Her pleasure had seemed to come all from knowing that her new protector found it enjoyable to fuck her bottom, and though she would have welcomed his touch now upon her clitoris with ecstatic joy, she only wanted it if he decided she should have it.

  At last he spoke. “In the morning, we shall leave for my father’s estate at Panton.”

  Chapter Seven

  Surely it was safe to bring Susan to the pleasure house? All the way to Panton, though, in the bright September sunshine, down from Norfolk to Sussex in the landau borrowed from Bertram, Nele wondered whether his father would find out that Nele had brought a girl there—and, if he should find out, whether he would be furious or amused.

  He might even be proud, Nele thought. After all, the duke of Panton, though now quite advanced in years, retained his reputation as a libertine despite having married and begotten—lawfully, upon a wife who detested him—Nele and his older brother Robert, styled by courtesy earl of Mercester and heir apparent to the dukedom. Since the foundation of the duke’s school thirty years since, under the direction of Clarissa Halton, the duke’s favorite mistress, the pleasure house had sat idle. Nele had no idea whether a watch was still kept on the secluded spot where five generations of dukes had brought girls for fucking, and more important, he had no idea, if he were detected, if the consequences would be dire or even unpleasant.