Thomas’ fingers and tongue push me higher and higher, their unrelenting motion driving me past distraction to elation. With seemingly no choice in the affair, I yield, and sensing the summit approaching, I bite down on the soft covers at my mouth to prevent yet another un-ladylike performance as the pleasure consumes me. Despite this there is still an ungainly sound from me as I am devoured, my muscles convulsing in ecstatic torment. His mouth stills, and I am vaguely aware of him behind me, catching his breath. His fingers though never cease their rhythm, dominating me even as I ride the wave of my latest climax. It is only once Thomas straddles me again, the heat of his own arousal stiff at my thighs, that those digits cease.
Cradled in the hardness of his body, I am utterly overpowered. Without a word he draws me back to my knees, cocooning me on all sides. “You are so ready, Lydia,” he says, his voice breathless. “I am going to take this sweet behind of yours, and make it my own.”
I look to where his voice has come from, opening my eyes to find the weight of his stare bearing down upon me. I nod in acknowledgement, too filled with emotion to fully articulate my response, but the look in his eyes tells me that he understands. “Hold still,” he whispers, his face now close to my right ear. “I will be slow and gentle.”
I feel him rise into some type of crouching position, the majority of his weight borne on just one arm as he pushes his length into position at my rear. As the head of his organ touches my virgin hole I cannot help but inhale, the sheer intensity of what it about to transpire suddenly too much to comprehend. I had never even contemplated that such an act could exist between people until I met Thomas, and yet somehow he has made his ownership of my body feel like the most natural thing in the world.
He kisses the nape of my neck, the border between my head and my body, and at the same time I feel him ease himself into my dark channel. I cannot lie; the initial feeling is so intense that I cry out. It seems impossible not to do so. There is not really pain, but a level of discomfort as such a large organ finds its way inside of me.
I do not recall having closed my eyes, and yet as I slowly open them I see him there, gazing down at me. I swear the expression he wears could set the bed aflame, and the knowledge that he is claiming me in such a debased way makes me want to melt. True to his word, his pursuit is slow, taking me inch by inch as he watches my reactions closely. “Breathe, Lydia,” he tells me, feeling my muscles tighten and clamp around him.
I draw in a deep, deliberate breath, and focus on relaxing, the action permitting him to slide yet deeper into me. At this point I have no idea how much of him remains, but we feel more deeply connected than I had ever believed was possible.
“Sublime,” he murmurs from behind me, and once again he moves over my back, cocooning me in his heat. “I am going to move now,” he says, speaking slowly as though he intends to explain his actions. “Tell me if it is too much to bear.”
I open my mouth to reply, and yet he is already gone, rising north and withdrawing from me. All at once he thrusts back inside; the surge of sensation I feel makes me call out yet again. Before I can regain any composure, he pulls backward and then surges into me once more. I am utterly lost to it, pinioned in place by this one small action, the root of which is now my only focus.
Slowly he claims me this way, driving gently into my bottom, and yet still eliciting the most guttural sounds from the confines of my mouth. The sensation is easily the most intense that I have ever felt. It is sordid and wrong, and yet on every level it pleases me to surrender to him in this way. He is my master now, in truly every way possible, and honourable or not, we are intimately connected in our fervour. The pure carnality of the act arouses me, and I am shocked to find that the nub between my legs, so recently satisfied by my husband, begins to pulsate again.
“Oh, Lydia,” he growls, his voice so close to my right ear again. “I am going to climax here inside of you.”
I watch his face, contorted with the rapture he feels, as he drives onward, ploughing deeper and deeper within me with every thrust. Pulling against my binds, I revel in his mastery of me, allowing my hips to rock backward with his organ, aware of how wet the whole sordidness makes me. I am struck by the utter submission of the act, and by the sheer physical presence of the gentleman who now plucks me of my last vestige of innocence. The combination, it seems, is impossible to ignore, and I am soon hurtling yet again toward the precipice of more pleasure, my hips lowering reflexively to make contact with the soft covers below me. It only takes the smallest connection, and I splinter. My reality crumbles around me, and I am aware of one of his arms reaching around and pulling my hips back up into position as I freefall. Time is suspended by ecstasy, and when I finally come up for air, Thomas reaches his peak behind me. Lurching forward, he collapses on top of me and sends us both flat into the bed. He rolls his head to one side to allow me to breathe, and all at once his smiling gaze finds me. The happiness I find in his expression makes my heart leap, and I readily return the smile.
“Now you are mine in every way,” he muses out loud.
I nod, swallowing as I process the inference. “Yes, My Lord, Thomas,” I reply, feeling overwrought with the emotion of the experience.
He leans in to kiss my nose, his body shifting on top of me, although his length remains lodged between my cheeks. “I will claim this hole whenever I choose, my love,” he explains, his eyes now level with my own. “Just as I will do with your mouth, and your glorious sex.”
I flush at the vulgarity of his language, but remain passive, nodding at his intent. “I am yours,” I say, my voice sounding oddly distant as I reply. “I want only to make you happy, and proud of your choice of wife.”
He shifts his weight, finally breaking the intimate connection between us, and coming to lie on my right side. “I have never been happier, Lydia,” he answers, leaning up against his right elbow. “And with you by my side, I know we shall both have a truly fortuitous, yet prosperous future.”
We rest there a while, me still bound by his side as we doze in the afterglow of our lovemaking. At some point, I am aware that Thomas moves, and soon enough I feel the binds at my ankles being released. He re-joins me on the bed, rolling me onto my back, and allowing my bound wrists to slip over his head. We are eye to eye once more, his kisses eager and insistent.
Drawing away, his warm green eyes consider me thoughtfully. “I thank the Lord every day for bringing you into my life, Lydia Markham.”
“And I, for you, My Lord,” I reply, pleased to finally be able to touch his skin and ruffle his dark, luscious hair.
“I cannot wait to show you off at my birthday celebrations this weekend,” he purrs, nuzzling his face into my neck as he trails a fresh line of kisses at my nape.
I tense in silence at his words, my mind once again returning to the subject of Cranningford. These last few days of joy and carnality have helped me to forget the inevitability of that meeting, and yet now I find it is just around the corner.
Sensing the change in me, his caresses pause, and he raises his head back to meet my eye. “You are still troubled by the event?” he says, his enquiry seeming much more like a statement than a question.
Knowing it is futile and dangerous to try to lie to Thomas, I bite my lip, looking for the right words to answer him. “Not really troubled,” I say, “just a little anxious to return there.”
He nods, those green orbs searing into my flushing face. “I know,” he whispers. “But remember this; you are my wife now, and I will lay down my life before I allow anything to happen to you.”
I shudder reflexively at his tone, feeling a sudden urgency swell within me. “Please, Thomas,” I implore him, “just do not leave me alone with Lord William again?”
He presses his head against mine gently. “Lydia,” he replies, his tone deadly serious. “I swear that I never will.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Cure for Agitation
Our departure from the Mivart the next
morning is tinged with some sadness for me. I have so enjoyed the private and indulgent intimacies which Thomas and I have shared at this place, that leaving its majesty is a wrench. I am certain that my husband notices my quiet demeanour, and yet he says nothing on the subject until we find ourselves back in the carriage. Side by side once again, he pulls me close against him as the horses pull us away.
“Thank you, Thomas,” I begin, turning to see his strong profile as I break the tangible silence between us. “The last few days have really been more than I could have ever hoped for.”
His face softens at my words, and he turns to me as he replies. “Lydia.” His voice is soft and warm, and resonates deeply within me. “You are so welcome. I also have had the most amazing time on our bridal tour.” His left arm snakes around my body, resting against my hip. “I know you are fretting about our trip to Cranningford. Is there anything I can do to help you relax?”
There is something in his tone which startles me, and makes the butterflies within me rouse from their recent slumber. “I cannot think what would help,” I sigh, suppressing the strange attraction I have found in his question. “I suspect that only a good experience there will quell my anxiety.”
He rolls his tongue around the insides of his mouth, the look of it stirring something deep within my core. “I am certain that you are right,” he agrees, his eyes drilling into me. “A good experience will help to alleviate your concerns, and yet—I wonder if there is more I can do for you now?”
Our eyes connect at his curious suggestion, my innermost muscles clenching in a peculiar reflex. “What could you do, Thomas?” I ask.
Even as the words leave my lips, my brain is whirring into activity, and I think I know what he has in mind. The dark, delicious look in his eyes reinforces my original notion. “I can take you over my knee, Lydia, and draw your mind away from your woes?”
There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks, and all at once my heart begins to hammer beneath my gown at the excited realisation of what he has suggested. “A spanking, Thomas?” I say breathlessly.
His smile widens, turning into a broad grin. “We have quite the journey,” he answers matter-of-factly. “There is plenty of time for our pleasure.”
I squirm reflexively against the bench, my mind considering his delectable proposition.
“Do you recall that I took you over my knee once before in this carriage?”
His mischievous voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look to his handsome face at once. “I do, My Lord,” I reply, my voice already trembling at his naughty proposal. I find that I seem always to refer to Thomas this way whenever I am aroused by his domineering presence, a fact which I note he also seems to enjoy.
“You were disagreeing with me that day, I think?” he says, his tone somehow teasing.
I nod eagerly. “I was disobedient, My Lord,” I reply. “I often am…”
The atmosphere in the carriage shifts almost palpably at my final words. Thomas moves to meet my eye, as though he wants to see my expression, my consent for the fantasy which we may be about to play out. “You are indeed, My Lady,” he says, his voice brooding with sensual desire. “What is a husband to do?” His dark brow cocks at the question, daring me to answer him.
“I need correction, My Lord,” I say, my voice breathless with excited anticipation.
“Correction?” he asks wryly. “What type of correction should I deliver, do you think? What do you need, Lydia?”
A low gasp leaves my lips at his question. He wants me to say it, I realise. Thomas wants me to vocalise my needs. “I think that I need to be spanked,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.
The smile on his face is utterly devastating, and I draw my thighs together in a reflexive response. “Then spanked you must be, Lydia,” he says flatly, patting his lap beside me.
I look to him, my face full of uncertainty. “Now, My Lord?” I ask.
“Right now,” he says authoritatively. “Place yourself over my lap this instant!”
The change of tone makes me move, and in a matter of moments I am drawn over his lap, the skirts of my gown and petticoats thrown over my bodice for good measure. The hand of my husband roams my bared behind, tracing invisible lines over the punished area.
“Lydia.” His voice is low and firm as his fingers probe the dark place he had claimed the prior evening. “You are to be punished, a form of correction for your ungainly behaviour.”
“Yes, My Lord,” I pant, tensing as the digits make contact with that tender place.
Thomas’ hand leaves my bottom as I answer, and I ready myself for what is to come; a punishment which will surely feel real enough, but exists only as a pleasurable fantasy between us. The first strike is hard, and yet it feels sensual as it lands upon my already tender skin. The second strike connects with both cheeks, catching my sitting spot and my obviously wet sex. His palm lands against my bared behind again, as one, two, and then three swats berate me. A succession of further strikes land against me, creating a warm area which he strokes between slaps. He spanks me soundly, pausing to massage my cheeks. I am breathless with desire at the treatment, my core bursting with arousal at my ignominious punishment.
As each strike lands I realise that he is right; face down over his lap in the moving carriage, Cranningford is now the furthest thought from my mind. With the pain and the pleasure of the spanking, Thomas has done more than distract me; he has set my mind free. A groan leaves my lips as I thank him, and I find that I love him even more now than ever before. The knowledge that he understands me so well, and can deliver what I need, makes me heady with lustful emotion.
Within a few moments I am right on the brink, my excitement reinforced by the stimulation to my throbbing nub, caressed with each new impact to my bared bottom. “Oh, Thomas, I…” I begin, the words spluttering from my mouth as the latest swat winds me.
“I know,” he replies, his voice warm with passion. “Climax for me; I want to feel your pleasure.”
His words are somehow enough to topple me over the edge of the precipice, and my body convulses, almost on command. As the waves of intensity rise, he slips a welcome digit inside my wetness, riding the surges with me. Slowly I come down from the high, but the warm, euphoric feeling spreads over me like a veil of calm.
Cupping my sex in his left hand, he draws me upward with the assistance of his other arm. I move to straddle him wordlessly, his left arm snaking to my waist to hold me in place whilst his right hand unfastens his breeches. There are no explanations about what is to transpire, only the glorious knowledge that I am going to have him inside me again. He frees his organ quickly, and although the sight is lost beneath my skirts, I can feel it throbbing obediently at my thigh. My gasp is instinctive, the sheer size of him once again startling me, but one look from Thomas settles me in an instant.
“Climb on top of me, Lydia,” he commands in that soft, brooding voice which I have grown to love so much.
I hesitate, suddenly unsure. In all of our exquisite lovemaking sessions until now, it has always been Thomas on top of me, and in control. Never have I been in charge of proceedings this way, and now the idea fills me with trepidation.
“I do not know what to do, Thomas,” I confess, searching his face for the reassurance I need.
He smiles, leaning forward to find my lips with his commanding mouth. “Slide me inside you,” he whispers, his eyes drilling into me with searing sensual intensity. “I will guide you, my love.”
I nod, not wanting to displease him. Shifting my weight on his lap, I position the head of his shaft to find its place at my wet core. He stares carnally into my eyes as I slowly move onto him, pushing my weight south against his hardness. The sheer intensity of the undertaking overwhelms me. Being in charge of such an intimate act and seeing the pleasure it brings us both is empowering, and yet still, I yield to Thomas’ every word.
“That’s right,” he tells me, smiling as he watches me. “Rid
e me, Lydia. Push yourself up and down my length.”
I do as he says, marvelling in the sensation, and how different this feels from our previous encounters. From this position my sweet spot receives constant stimulation, rubbing against his groin each time I move myself back down upon him.
“You are so beautiful,” he purrs, using his right hand to loosen the fastenings at the back of my gown. With a sharp tug at either sleeve, the bodice of the dress pools at my waist. My breasts, now liberated, begin to move of their own accord with each thrust of my own hips. His eyes light up at the sight of me, the appreciation I see there pushing me deeper into our personal hedonism.
Settling into my own rhythm, I begin to gain confidence. I arch my back, enabling my body to take even more of Thomas, reaching back to his knees to take my own weight. In doing so, the power shifts between us, and Thomas begins to resume control of the situation. I can feel the length of his organ sliding slowly in and then out of my wetness, and oh my, the feelings are divine! With my arms now taking the burden of my body weight, his hands are free to roam and within a moment they are at my breasts. His palms massage them roughly, before his fingers find my pebbling nipples, pinching and teasing them as I gasp aloud. He smiles at the sound, watching my face as he pulls both nipples forward. I am torn at the sensation; processing the pain, and yet simultaneously revelling in the pleasure it brings. The act sends me lurching forward toward Thomas again. All at once his arms capture me, and I see him grin as his mouth claims me aggressively. Now we are both moving, me squirming on top of his length, and him controlling the long, measured thrusts as he claims me over and over.
The speed of my climax is breath-taking, the waves rising so fast that I can barely even call out. The motion of the carriage, the risk of our being seen, and the relentless intrusion of his organ whip me into an unprecedented frenzy of desire. I climax right there as I straddle him, shattering into a thousand pieces around his throbbing length. He splinters right after me, and I see his face dissolve into his own ecstatic torment.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 33