by Emily Tilton
“I wager that will make her think twice before she does it again, my lord,” William confirmed.
“No… oh, no… please,” Susan wailed.
“Don’t be silly, Susan. Did you not just say that you have done it in front of a man before?”
“But…” Her eyes went frantically to William.
“Ah,” Nele said, unable to stop himself from assuming his most masterful air, and pushing the scene into wild motion, like a galloping steed, “you begrudge the sight to a servant. I must say, though, that it suits the purpose very well. We must teach you to feel shame about your little cunny, after all. Sit upon the bed and spread your knees.”
Breathing hard, Susan sat. She closed her eyes and slowly parted her knees, making a little whimpering sound in her throat as if at the feeling of the air moving freely there, where Nele could now see she glistened in the light of the lamps on the night table and a little table in the corner of the room.
“There,” Nele said. “What do you think, William?”
“Is it nice and tight, my lord? It looks nice and tight.”
“It’s very tight. I had a sweet ride there last night.”
“I’m sure you did, my lord. Will you ride her there tonight as well? After you punish her, I mean?”
“I think not, William. I’ll spend in that sweet little arsehole, and make her wait for her cunny’s pleasure.”
“Very wise, my lord,” William said, nodding.
During this little dialogue Nele watched Susan very closely. Her blushes seemed to come in waves and, even more divertingly, her fingers, lying atop her thighs on either side of the pink little pout that invited the man’s eyes, seemed to twitch as if with anticipation of being allowed to touch the sensate place at the top of her cunt.
The scent of Susan’s arousal now began to waft to Nele’s nostrils, and, intoxicated by the musky aroma, he felt impelled to try her modesty to the utmost. “I believe,” he said to William, though he continued to gaze at Susan’s openness. “I should reward you more handsomely for your wise counsel than the simple site of Miss Grant’s naughtiness can do. Can you tell from the pout of those pretty red lips—I mean the ones on her face, now—that Miss Grant is an accomplished cocksucker? Would you like to feel those lips around your manhood, William?”
Susan gave a little cry, and her hand moved with a will of its own, it appeared to Nele. The words declaring to her that he would make her suck the coachman’s cock had precisely the effect Nele thought they might: the fingertips of Susan’s right hand began to move up and down her private lips, as she whimpered with the forbidden pleasure. Now that she had begun, without permission, as if knowing herself lost Susan seemed simply to give herself over to the lewd sensations her self-pleasure brought. Her left hand came down under her thigh and stroked the lower part of her glistening cunt, and even the place where the little cheeks just covered over the tiny ring Nele had promised to use rigorously for his pleasure.
“Look at me, Susan,” Nele said softly. Her eyes flew open and looked back into his. As if the idea that Nele watched her in her shameful act of masturbation had aroused her doubly or even trebly, the fingers rubbing between her legs seems to grow much more frantic.
“My lord…” she whispered. “My lord…”
Nele spoke almost solemnly then. “After I cane you, while I fuck your bottom you will pleasure William with your sweet mouth.”
She gave a loud cry, then, and to Nele’s gratified surprise, her body tensed into an enormous spend, her eyes closing and every muscle seeming to clench. Her face, her neck, and her shoulders all turned crimson in the throes of her titanic climax, until she threw her head back, gasping the end of her ecstasy to the bed’s canopy.
“What a pretty sight,” Nele commented. “Have you ever seen a girl spend like that, William?”
“Truth to tell, my lord,” William replied, “I have. But very seldom. When you work for the earl, you get to see quite a few young ladies have their spends.”
Nele chuckled and stepped forward. He couldn’t help reaching out his right hand and, with his eyes fixed on Susan’s face, in which her own eyes remain closed, putting it down to join hers between her thighs. “You must remove your hands from my property now, Miss Grant,” he said in a low, severe voice. Her eyes opened again and again they looked into his with a submissive yielding that nearly took his breath away. He firmly grasped her right hand, and then her left, and moved them back to her thighs. Then, still not breaking their mutual gaze, he boldly laid claim to the spot with which he had just permitted her to toy.
“This belongs to me,” he said. “You must not forget it.” He did not caress her, but merely held her firmly by the quim for a long moment. Then he turned to William. “You will find my cane at the top of my trunk, William. Would you be so kind as to fetch it?”
“Certainly, my lord,” William said.
Nele looked around the room speculatively. Seeing nothing convenient over which they might carry out their lascivious plan, he said, “Close the trunk after that, and pull it out into the center of the floor. We will punish her over it.”
The sight of Susan Grant laid over his traveling trunk, her shift now stripped off her, moved Nele extremely. Her little bottom rose sweetly before him, and he put his hands between her knees to tug them apart now. “I like to see everything while I cane a girl, don’t you, William?”
“Of course, my lord,” the coachman replied. “Don’t the earl say that it helps a girl learn her lesson to know that the man caning her has his eyes nice and full of the pretty sight of her quim and her backside?”
“I believe he does say that,” Nele replied with a chuckle. Then he accepted his rattan cane from William’s hand and began to punish his sweet, beautiful girl.
How extraordinary, he thought, as he delivered the twelve cuts William had advised, that he should feel the need to chastise her so severely for precisely the inclination he loved most in her: the inclination above all to yield to him the utmost pleasure her body could afford. How much more extraordinary that she should need that punishment!
Under the fiery attention of the rattan, Susan writhed alluringly over Nele’s trunk. She sobbed and cried out, and gripped the corners of the trunk so hard that her knuckles turned white. Nele caned her very slowly, enjoying the idea that his ‘bride’s’ screams at the agony of her chastisement might be audible to the satisfied ears of other men in the inn. Every man, Nele reflected, loved to hear a young bride undergoing correction by the bridegroom who must train her well to his demands if their married life was to prove happy.
Before he delivered the twelfth stroke, he said to William, “It’s time to lower your britches, I believe. You can have her raise herself up on her elbows. She’ll take you so deep you won’t need any assistance from her hands, I wager.”
Susan gave one little whimper before she took the coachman’s cock into her mouth. The soft sound of that whimper, and the satisfyingly wet sound of William’s hardness entering her lips was, however, lost the next instant, for that was when the door behind Nele burst open.
Chapter Fourteen
Susan cried out around William’s manhood at the sound of splintering, and then falling wood. She heard a man’s voice say in anger, “Of course I would find you where the girl’s screams are coming from. And of course I would find you engaged in your favorite sort of unspeakable acts. Have you no sense of shame at all?”
“Robert?!” she heard Nele say in a startled voice. “What the devil are you doing here?”
William, evidently no stranger to being discovered with his cock inside a girl, pulled out of Susan’s mouth and quickly put himself to rights while Susan’s mind whirled, her face turned to the floor—to the place where the leather-covered and brass-bound wood of Lord Nele’s trunk, over which he had just caned her so severely and so marvelously, met the roughhewn boards of the chamber’s floor.
“A Miss Redding had the goodness to write to me by this morning’s post, Nele.
It would seem that she takes our family honor more seriously than you do.” The voice, deeper than Nele’s but of a nearly identical timbre, sent shivers of fear up Susan’s spine. She suddenly felt herself twice as naked as she had just a moment before. With Nele and even with William, the little scene had felt, again, a game—shameful, but playful as well. In his brother’s voice, however, she heard the same authority and will to dominate and to humiliate, but without any sense of care behind it.
She turned her head a little, hoping she might get a look at him, or at Nele, out of the corner of her eye, but Robert—his lordship, the earl of Mercester, she felt she must think of him, if she wanted to escape his wrath, but having just heard him called Robert by his brother it all seemed so very strange—noticed the movement, to her dismay. Suddenly, before she could even turn her head more than an inch or two, she felt a strong hand upon her neck, grasping her hair and turning her face to the front and down.
“Do not dare to attempt to lay your slut’s eyes on me, you little whore,” came the terrible voice behind her. “I am pleased to see that my brother has at least given you something to remember him by. I think I shall do the same, in a few moments, and you shall beg me for it. But you shall not presume to turn your eyes behind you, even as I ride you in the filthy manner you deserve, and make you scream much louder than little Nele ever could.”
“Robert.” Nele’s voice seemed weaker to Susan now than it had before, and she could not tell whether that impression arose from the contrast between the brothers or from some yielding on her protector’s—he must remain her protector, even now, mustn’t he?—part. “Robert, you have no right…”
“I have every right, you reprobate. Don’t speak to me of right, Nele. I am going to save this family from the shame and ridicule our father has brought upon it by pretending to enlighten the world with his debauchery. You will return to London tonight, and you will apologize to mamma. I will take charge of your slut, and I can assure you that you will never hear of her again, and neither will anyone else in Britain.”
“No. Oh, please, no. Lord Nele… you p-promised!” The words burst from Susan unbidden, and she tried again to turn her head, so that she might use her eyes to plead with the man she loved despite the terrible fear she now felt that he would not prove the man he had pretended to be. The earl held her head even more firmly, though, and pushed it further down.
She could see William’s boots, and she almost called out to him, but then the earl said, “Coachman, if your cock is in your breeches now, you will prepare the carriage to drive to Mercester House tonight. I shall reward you—and compensate Hobberly—generously.” William’s boots moved away, and she heard them receding out the door.
Why wouldn’t Nele speak? Surely he couldn’t allow this to happen?
“What will you do with her?” Nele’s voice sounded terribly flat and hollow. No, no, no. Please, my lord.
“Australia, I think,” Robert said. “I know a captain who likes a warm berth on the passage. When I tell him he may tie this slut to it and have her any way he likes, as much as he likes, I won’t even have to pay him very much to take her to the other side of the world. As a favor, to prove my love for you, I’ll give him a little extra so that he may put her in a finer class of brothel when she arrives.”
Susan tried a final time to turn her head, but Robert’s hand almost casually prevented it.
“Feistier than I would have imagined,” he commented dryly. “I had thought you liked them more pliable, Nele, as father does. I’m almost prepared to believe you caned her as the sort of punishment this sort of girl needs so as to learn her place, rather than in one of your little games. Now run along while I show her what it’s like to have a nobleman up her arse who really understands his honor and his duty to such as her. I shall see you in London.”
Then she felt his breath hot against her cheek, and he murmured into her ear, “Now if I let your head go, do you think you can keep your face turned in the proper direction, my dear? I assure you that if you attempt to turn your head again, you will travel to Australia with a backside so very painful that the captain of whom I spoke will have to gag you whenever he mounts you—and he will mount you morning, noon, and night, I promise.”
Susan sobbed, “Yes, my lord.”
The hand released her. The earl straightened, and now his voice came from above. “Staying to watch, little Nele? That’s alright; I shan’t be long. The bottom looks like it’s still tight enough for me to spend in short order.”
A sound of buttons undone and fabric parting. The voice, just behind her, of an earl who must have his manhood in his hand, “Now, whore, reach back, and spread your tight little arse for me, to show me how much you need my cock there, and I shall—”
“You shall not!” Scuffling, and the sound of a blow. Nele’s voice, suddenly strong again and even more commanding than his brother’s. “Susan, get—”
“Whoremonger,” the earl spat out, “vile filth—”
She still did not dare turn, or even move at all. But Nele spoke with icy calm. “Susan, if you please, get up and put on your shift and your gown. We will leave tonight, together, but not for London.”
Then she did turn around at last, and saw the brothers, like mirror images of one another, but Robert’s face somehow twisted and not just with his obvious fury at his younger brother.
“Do not dare even to think of going to Panton,” he snarled. “Father might shelter you for a day—a month, even, I suppose. But he is old, and I am the heir. You struck me, Nele.” Susan, fumbling to find her shift in the corner where Nele had tossed it, noticed now a red mark upon the earl’s cheek. “I do not forgive any man for striking me, and if you were not my brother I would have you horsewhipped, but I will forgive even that if you do as I say and return to mamma in London. I will permit you even to have your whores if you promise to settle, and to marry. I will even permit you to keep company with such as Hobberly. But an example must be made of this girl you’ve run away with in the full sight of society.”
Susan had her shift on. The earl seemed entirely intent on the quarrel with his brother. Nele himself darted glances at her, as if to make sure she continued to obey him, and to prepare for their departure. Yes. Oh, yes. She loved him—she loved him so much.
“The full sight of society, Robert? Portia Redding, who came to Hobberly because she was caught with her drawers down in the park at Blenheim, about to be rogered by a stable boy?”
“Her father birched her thoroughly for that, I hear,” Robert said, “just as she deserved, and she has reformed.”
Nele’s brow furrowed. “You sent her to Hobberly. To catch me—or to find a reason to rein me in.”
“What if I did? Hobberly himself doesn’t mind inviting girls he shouldn’t. Miss Redding wrote me that she has tales to tell that would expose that house to ruin even greater than the one you’ve tried to bring on our own. A little bit of reining in is exactly what you need—if only Hobberly had an older brother to do it for him.” The scorn in the earl’s voice seemed so hollow to Susan now, next to the calm of Nele’s. How could he ever have seemed weak to her?
Susan had done the best she could with her gown, not having any help to lace her corset. She knew she looked a fright, and she felt it all the more keenly—though it seemed strange—now that she had her clothes upon her. She stood against the wall, behind Nele’s trunk, watching and willing the terrible scene to end well despite the sinking feeling in her heart that said that no fair ending to the thing could even be conceived, let alone occur.
Nele’s eyes met hers for an instant, then turned to his brother. His jaw moved a little, as if he were trying to choose what he should say from a litany of anger his brother had awakened in his breast. He looked back at Susan, though, and now he smiled.
He spoke to her. “As the second son, I suppose, I learned something Robert never did: that one must not take one’s power too seriously.”
“What?” Robert said in a tone so en
raged and with a face so red that Susan thought the throbbing vein in his forehead might burst. “You dare to speak to your whore that way?” He turned to Susan. “Get yourself back over that trunk, girl, so that I can show my brother what sluts like you are good for, or I shall thrash you within an inch of your life.”
He raised his open hand and stepped forward as if to strike Susan, and so fierce did he appear that she felt her body move of its own accord to obey.
“Susan, come here,” Nele said, in a low voice that held in it more menace than even the earl’s fury could muster. “Stand behind me, and do not fear the bully who calls himself my father’s son.” Susan felt her eyes go very wide. She cast one final apprehensive glance at Robert who seemed frozen by his brother’s insult, and scampered past him, and past Nele, who put his right hand behind him to grasp hers as she passed.
“Miss Grant—”
“Miss Grant?” Robert thundered. “Miss Grant? Have you lost your mind, Nele?”
But Nele’s voice did not waver. “Miss Grant and I will depart, now. I suppose you shall never see us again, and so I suggest you bid us a civil farewell.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at them, and his brow furrowed. Susan had the impression he truly could not understand what his brother meant, as if a world where Lord Nele Lourcy might call a fallen girl Miss Grant could not find any place in his mind.
Nele said, even more slowly and calmly, “My lord earl of Mercester, there is a piece of wisdom with which I wish to leave you. You think yourself an upright man. You think yourself the sort of nobleman who keeps good order in his house, and you believe that when the keeping of that good order allows you to cane girls’ bare backsides, and to have them with your upright prick as you think is only proper to teach them their lessons, you preserve your family honor even as you destroy theirs. You believe that father and I, in acknowledging our lusts and in practicing them with girls like Miss Grant—girls who have found in their ruin the value of true, natural virtue—pose a terrible threat to all decent society. Is it not so?”