Thomas leans over me, his eyes expressing his displeasure at having been interrupted. “What did I promise would happen if you could not do as I asked?” he probes sensually.
I swallow at the menace in his tone. “You said that you would secure me to the bed?” I reply, my voice shaky with the fear that my impending bondage has roused in me.
He nods, pressing his hot mouth into my own. “That’s right, my love,” he purrs. “And also, that I will spank you for your disobedience, but first, you will be bound to our wedding bed.”
He leaps from the covers like a lithe predator and stands by the side of the bedding, drawing my arms north. I feel the tugging sensation as he secures the rope he has brought for the occasion to the cravat binding my wrists. I am unusually compliant, seeking neither to resist his action nor to view the bondage. For some absurd reason the idea that I am now tied down to the bed is thrilling, and fills me with as much desire as it does fear. I trust Thomas implicitly, and I know that he will not truly harm me, and yet the power he has over me now is captivating.
Seemingly happy with the bonds, he returns to the bed and presses himself over my tied and exposed body. Yet again my thighs are pushed open by the weight of his legs and then he is over me, resting on his left elbow as he deliberately teases my beading nipples. His right hand moves to my left breast, drawing a circle around the pebbling bud, before pinching it hard. I gasp and raise my head as best I can in time to see his head move to my right breast. He suckles me whilst his hand continues to provide the sensual torture to the other breast. The feelings are intense, arousing, and downright infuriating. Instinctively I want to push him away, protest, and make him stop, and yet bound as I am and pinioned by his weight, I can do nothing to prevent his action. My back arches as the heavenly sensations continue, his mouth finally breaking the suction of my right breast.
“You are mine, now, Lydia,” he growls from my chest. “Mine to bind, mine to explore, and mine to tease.”
I open my mouth to reply—to protest—and yet no intelligible sounds appear from my lips.
“You knew, I think, that it would be this way as my wife?”
I know his face is just a few inches from mine, and yet still I cannot meet his eye.
He continues, apparently not needing my approval. “My conjugal rights are not enough, my love. I will own your body, your mind, and your very essence.”
All at once his face is over my own, and I am no longer able to hide from the intensity his eyes portray.
“You can either be a good girl, behave, and obey my requests…” He pauses, watching my responses carefully. “Or, my love… you can resist me, try me, and be soundly spanked for your trouble. Do you know which you have chosen tonight?”
I swallow at the question, my hips raising beneath our entwined bodies as though they choose to answer for me. “I have disobeyed you,” I whisper.
He smiles, his brow rising wryly at my comment. “Yes,” he agrees, kissing me chastely on the lips. “And so you will be spanked.”
“I am sorry, Thomas,” I whimper, not really sure if I am truly sorry, or whether I just enjoy playing the heroine to his bondage scene.
He is already moving down my body. “Thank you, my love,” he replies, and there is genuine warmth in his tone. “But you know the rules. You are to be punished and then you will be pleasured.”
He kneels by the side of me, his body pressing against my right hip. “It is not my preferred manner of disciplining, but since this is where we find ourselves…”
I pull against the binds above my head, wondering to what he refers. Then in one swift movement, he reaches under my behind and tips my hips upward, forcing my legs to raise into the air above me. I am shocked at the action, although there is no pain involved. Positioning himself against the edge of my right hip, Thomas holds my ankles above him as best as he can. “Keep your legs up and out of the way, Lydia,” he instructs me. “If you cannot do as I have asked, I will add another ten swats. Do you understand?”
I nod, panting heavily. “Yes, My Lord,” I whisper, and I do my best to comply, willing my muscles to hold my legs in place as he has asked.
He watches my effort with a smile, and then tips my hips backward, placing his left arm in the crook at the back of my knees. My bottom is now right before him, exposed and vulnerable. My legs are above me, held fast by the weight of his left arm, and my arms, still bound securely to the bed behind my head. I am his; doomed to find my pleasure, and my pain, at the hand of my lord, Thomas Markham.
His right hand is raised even before I am aware of it, and comes crashing down against my upturned behind. The sound as our flesh connects is like a drum, and whips around the bed. From this position I am bound and helpless, unable to prevent his hand, and the threat of further strikes if I try to move still hangs over me. The intensity of the swat is powerful and I cry out.
“Ow, Thomas—please…” I begin, but I am silenced by the weight of the second impact, and then all at once, the third and the fourth.
“When I ask you to stay in place, Lydia,” he replies, his voice calm. “I expect you to behave and obey.”
He spanks me again, the fifth strike landing in the same sitting spot of my upturned bottom. I baulk, shifting my hips instinctively, simply unable to permit the humiliating spanking to continue. “Thomas, please stop!” I plead, but already his right hand is poised and ready to continue.
The next strike is hard, as though my protest has earned me a far greater swat. I writhe against my binds, apparently unable or unwilling to control myself. It is not the spanking to which I protest—in fact I have grown to rather like being over his knee—but the ignominious position in which he now delivers it, reinforced by the fact that I cannot move my arms or hope to rise from the bed. I am forced to yield to the spanking. Three further swats land in fast succession, again causing me to call out to my unrelenting husband. “Please, Thomas; not like this!”
“Yes, Lydia,” he replies, punctuating each word with a new swat. “Exactly like this—a punishment designed to remind you of your place. You are my wife, and you will do as you are told, or you will find yourself regularly bound and penalised this way.”
Thomas strikes me once more, and it is as though something inside me crumbles. I stop fighting, my head falling back against the soft covers behind me. I can feel tears burning in my eyes as I slowly process his words. He is right, and I know it to be the case. I am his; I have acknowledged this truth myself. Why resist it, and why resist the man who I love? The man who I have vowed to obey in front of God?
Perhaps he senses the change in me, but after a further two spanks, he pauses and shifts his weight on the bed to look down upon me. “Why are you being spanked so soundly, my love?”
His voice has taken on a softer tone, and the sound stirs me from my self-imposed stupor. I look up into his face, acknowledging once again the beauty of its handsome form. “I did not do as you asked,” I whisper, my voice raspy and heavy. “It was a simple instruction, and yet I chose not to obey.”
He nods, his face relaxing in one smooth movement of his muscles. “That is correct,” he says. “You have eight more strikes, Lydia, and I want you to count them down for me.”
I nod, acknowledging the instruction even as I struggle to contain my emotion. “Yes, My Lord,” I whimper.
His palm connects with my rump once more, the hand stilling against my warmed bottom as he turns to see me carry out his latest request.
“Eight,” I breathe, feeling one heavy tear escape my left eye as I look away from him.
“No, Lydia,” he purrs, “you will keep your eyes on me whilst I punish you.”
I snap my head back to meet his eye, the old defiance rising with my new need to surrender. “Why?” I sound desperate. “Why must you make me endure it this way?”
Thomas’ eyes narrow at the question, and he rubs my bottom gently as he replies. “Endure it you will, Lydia,” he says. “Be
cause it is my will. I will bear witness to your pain, just as I will observe your pleasure. You will be punished, and you will be loved—so learn to endure.”
The look in those green eyes is serious, and as he lands the next strike I do not dare to break my gaze. “Seven,” I whisper, maintaining my eye contact as I speak.
It continues this way, Thomas tanning my upturned bottom as he presides over my most thorough and sound spanking. For my part I remain passive, my arms bound tightly behind me, and my eyes locked firmly on my loving protagonist. By the time I number five, the look in his eyes has managed to clear any remaining clouds from my mind. I choose to yield to his desire, finding some unspoken strength in his face as he turns to hear me speak. By the final strike any fight in me has thoroughly been mastered.
As I name the swat, Thomas rises from the bed, releasing my legs. “Good,” he says, his voice a calm reassurance. He makes his way around the edge of the bed, passing the two posts as he rounds to my left side. Instinctively my legs lower, my toes brushing the soft covers on which I lay.
“Did I ask you to move, Lydia?” he says tersely.
I tense at once, raising my legs back to their original position. “N-No, My Lord,” I reply.
“Let me look upon you,” he says by means of explanation. “I want to see your punished behind in all of its glory.”
I eye him as he sits at the opposite side of me, moving immediately to tease and torture my nipples again. All at once the humiliating penance is forgotten, and my head is filled only with the sweet sensation of his fingers at my pebbling breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my breasts forward into his waiting hands.
“Now I am going to claim you,” he tells me sensually. “First with my mouth, and then with my manhood.”
I turn my face toward his voice, trying to listen over the top of the dominating sensations.
“And you, my love,” says Thomas, his voice louder than before, “will lie here and yield.”
I open my eyes to find him just a few inches over my face. The intensity in his eyes quite takes my breath away, but before I can reply, he rises, leaving me bound and desperate. For the longest time he waits at the end of the bed, watching me. “Lower your legs, and spread them,” he demands in a soft, authoritative voice.
Finally, I lower my legs, pressing the base of my feet against the covers for a moment, before opening them as he has instructed. I look to see him dropping to the bed once more, that devilish look in his eyes alive with desire for me. He is on me within seconds, his hands spreading me wide as his mouth devours my wet, hungry seam. My punished bottom grazes the bedsheets, but it pales into insignificance compared to the sensations Thomas’ tongue produces between my outstretched legs. I never knew that it was possible for a man to deliver such an act to his wife, and bound as I am, I am helpless to resist his outrageous ministrations. I feel his lips pressing between my soft hair, and then once again his tongue parts my lips there, and he devours me. I know I cry out, this time not in pain, but rather from the shock of the feeling, and yet he does not even pause.
After a while, I settle into the feelings, each lap of his tongue now less uncomfortable and more needed by my hungry body. I feel the heat within me building, inspired by my bondage, and the weight of his hands holding my legs down and apart. With each new sensation my fervour is increased. I feel his tongue at the very base of my quivering sex, and slowly it rises north to my tingling nub. Every time it makes contact with that excited bud, I feel my body tighten into an excited ball, each sensation drawing me closer and closer to the edge of reason. I hang in the midst of the impending pleasure, pulling futilely against the silk at my wrists. I am panting with desire, the urgency of need I feel becoming consuming. I spread my legs wider, pressing my hips up to meet Thomas’ mouth, willing him to consume me. As he has done so many times before, he seems to sense my requirements, and all at once his tongue circles my trembling nub, before clamping down upon it hard. The feeling, which would have been completely overwhelming earlier, is now heavenly, and as I buck against his mouth, I feel myself at the very precipice.
He sucks at my sensitive flesh, pulsing the sensation between demanding and gentle, before once again clamping down at me. It is everything my desperate body needs, and pleasure begins to burst from my every fibre, coming in expansive waves which send my body rising from the bed, drawn between the ropes behind my head and Thomas below me. I spasm in his mouth, convulsing as he draws away, my eyes squeezed shut as I deal with the sheer intensity of the whole experience. It is then that the whole sordid reality of the event dawns upon me—Thomas has just pleasured me with his mouth, and I have thoroughly relished it! I can scarcely believe it, and yet it is eroticism defined…
As he crawls up the bed, I can feel the extent of his excitement at his thigh. My eyes fly open at the sensation, and I find him bearing down over me. “Lydia…” His voice is deep, rasping, and desperate with need. “I have to possess you; I need to make you mine.”
I stare up into his eyes, my body recovering from the immense pleasure which he has just delivered to me. “Yes, My Lord,” I say, my voice almost begging him. “Please, make me your one, true wife.”
He pinions me with the weight of his body, resting on both of his elbows as he gazes down into my eyes. “I love you, Lydia,” he says. “I want to show you all of the ways in which a gentleman can love his woman.”
I nod, biting my lip as he shifts his weight. I feel the head of his massive manhood pressing against the wetness at my core. My legs are spread wide open where he has left them, and slowly he pushes inside of my need. Despite his gentle precision I am overawed by the sheer size of him. A small gasp leaves my lips as I search his face above me. “Thomas!” I whisper, the urgency in my voice obvious. “Surely you are too large? You will never fit?”
His smile is kind as he answers. “My love, you are more than ready to receive me. Stay with me; look into my eyes whilst I make love to you for the first time…”
The feeling of surrender as he slides deeper within me is near overwhelming. I am his for the taking, and I do so want him to take me. I keep my gaze steady on his green eyes as his girth stretches me, and there is just the faintest hint of pain as he fully deflowers me. My mouth opens of its own accord, as if it is acknowledging the truth; this man and this act have become the centre of my entire world.
He stills at once. “Lydia.” His voice is pained. “I do not want to hurt you.”
He presses his forehead against my own, and our lips meet, colliding in a sensual frenzy. I taste my own excitement on his lips, a thought which should have rightly disturbed me, but at this moment serves only to fuel me. “Thomas,” I pant. “I want you, please…”
His lids are hooded as he acknowledges my words, and then his mouth makes its way across my jaw, planting sensual kisses over my flushed skin. At the same time, he begins to move again, drawing away from me just a fraction, before pushing even deeper within me. I groan at the intrusion, feeling fuller and more satisfied than I have ever been. Thomas is right; I am so ready for him, my body compliant with arousal as he thrusts into me. He is everything—over me and inside me—all at once. His fingers are at my bound flesh, and his lips caress my face, as his organ begins to find his rhythm below. I am heady with desire as he takes me, devouring each and every part of me at his leisure.
“Lydia…” The words of my lover draw me back to the moment, and I realise that I have slipped away into some other state amongst all of the pleasure and sensation. I gaze up into those deep green orbs, spellbound by the effect he has on me. “You are so magnificent,” he moans, strands of his dark hair falling over me as he once again dips his head to kiss me.
I groan into his mouth as his tongue claims me once again, the muscle imitating the sensual act transpiring between us. As he draws away, the rhythm grows faster, each thrust becoming shorter and more necessary. I can feel his passion hardening even now, and with every plunge into my wetness,
the contact at the apex between my thighs brings fresh pleasure to my own excited body.
All at once he stills, reaching back to my left leg and drawing the thigh up into the air. “Like this, my love,” he gasps, levering my leg north, before encouraging the right leg to do the same. Following his lead, I hook my ankles up and around his back, opening my hips and welcoming him to even greater depths. The difference is striking, and as he begins to move again, I rather lose my breath. He smiles at my response, his eyes darker all of a sudden. “Yes, Lydia,” he coos from over me. I feel his fingers caressing my upturned wrists behind me. “I have you now, do I not?”
I eye him, unable to reply, and breathless at both the intensity and the look of him. He is the picture of the devilish cad; strong, dominant, and virile, and he is all of these things. And yet he is now my guardian and my husband, bound to love and take care of me. He has the right to touch me, and spank me, and possess me—and I must surely be the luckiest lady in the world.
He continues to drive into me, the pace increasing with urgency, his breath coming in short, laboured bursts. Our eyes never leave each other. He looks to me as though the very presence of my face is grounding him and stopping him from floating away. I, for my part, am totally absorbed by the man consuming me. The feeling of him within me is more than I could ever have imagined, and despite a tenderness at his depth, a part of me never wants it to stop.
I watch the tension climb his arms and shoulders, reaching the handsome features of his face, and I realise all at once that Thomas’ own climax must be approaching. Lifting my head, I raise my body as best I can, given my bondage and his weight bearing down on me. His whole body stiffens as he makes more insistent thrusts into me, and I am overawed by the masculine vision before me. As his pleasure peaks, he pushes his weight forward, forcing my head back down onto the covers. A low growl leaves his lips, and his face lands in the nape of my neck, his hot breath tickling my flesh.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 31