Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  The sound of the first impact is loud, and the feeling nothing short of wonderful. I squeeze my eyes closed, allowing the sensation to wash over my bottom. I find I have been spanked so much recently that the feelings are near instantly delightful, my sex throbbing and wet with impatient need for each impact. Where I once was naive, I am now expectant, braced for each swat with an improper desire. I wonder how long it shall be before I find myself a connoisseur of his erotic spanking. As with recent punishments, my mind relaxes with every strike, and I soon switch off from the issues which press upon my consciousness, instead thinking only of my submission to Thomas, and the pleasure building between my legs.

  I breathe hard against my gag, the silk now wet with my uncontrollable drool. I picture myself, and how I must look to him, and I know I am a humiliating mess. Nonetheless I yield, accepting each new swat with a quiet acquiescence, drawing strength from the heat and the passion I find in my punishment. I have already lost track of the swats when he pauses, his fingers stroking first at the warmed, punished skin of my behind, before dipping into my needy wetness.

  “Goodness, Lydia!” exclaims Thomas, and my eyes open to find him smiling at me, his grin salacious at the revelation of my stark arousal. “It would seem you enjoy the binds and the gag?” he asks, arching that brow at me again as he inches toward my face with his hardness clearly apparent.

  I moan through the gag at him, the sound more guttural a noise than I have ever heard from my own mouth before. It seems to please him, and he leans over me, gently stroking my golden curls away from my face. “Just wait until you have tasted my crop,” he promises carnally. “I vow to claim you in the most deeply passionate way until you are screaming into that gag.”

  My eyes widen at his promise, but before I can force a response through the silk, he has gone, stalking his way around to my waiting bottom. I try to catch my breath, aware vaguely of what is to come, and yet too damn excited to build the necessary fear about it. The bed shifts behind me, and I feel the lightest touch at my left hip. I breathe noisily, waiting for the feeling of the crop against my skin, the feeling of the binds and the gag serving only to reinforce the notion that I belong to Thomas, and I am his to tie and lash as he chooses.

  I stir as the fingers at my hips disappear, and briefly make out the tell-tale sound as the implement whips through the air behind me. As it impacts against my waiting bared bottom, I yelp into the silk. The sting is intense, perhaps more so than I recalled, but I am already so needy with desire that the flames are quelled by my husband’s digits as they stroke the wet folds below the strike.

  “Very good,” he purrs at my response. “Good girl, my love. You take my crop as your punishment, and then you shall have your reward.”

  I think I whimper something into my gag as a response, but the sound is lost as the next strike of the crop detonates against my waiting backside. I cry out again, the pain almost intolerable, and yet still I find myself pushing back, silently demanding more. Thomas meets my needs with a further five strikes, each landing in a new place, the final one of which nearly connects with my slick lips. I envision my bottom, the pale skin already warmed by Thomas’ palm, now striped pink by the licks of the crop in his hand. I ball the fingers of my bound hands, readying myself for the next impact, and secretly hoping that it will strike against my throbbing sex. As though he reads my mind, Thomas lands the strike there, the impact connecting with my wetness perfectly, and sending a rush of arousal up and down my taut body.

  This time my cry resembles more of a moan of pleasure than pain, and at the sound Thomas drops the implement, launching himself against my quivering arousal with his hot and hungry mouth. There is simply no holding back now. I push myself back against his face, revelling in the sensation of the hair at his chin against my sensitive flesh. His hands claw at my warm and punished bottom, prizing me apart as he devours me, his tongue lapping at my sweet spot over and over, until there are just no more sounds to articulate into the silk at my mouth. There is no hope, the exquisite stimulation of the bondage and his lips pushing me beyond the brink. I am undone! Falling free, I convulse steadily onto his waiting tongue, my body limp with spent desire.

  By the time Thomas shifts behind me, a part of my mind is floating in the space around us. I crane my neck, peering back into the candlelit darkness, to see my husband there, his organ freed and proudly waiting to claim me. “Hold still, Lydia,” he rasps, manoeuvring himself into position. “I must possess you right this moment.”

  The tip of his length is against my wetness, and with one smooth motion he pushes deep within me, eliciting a long gasp from my gagged mouth. Yes, I think, as he withdraws slowly before slamming himself back into my core. This is what I need. Fill me up, My Lord; possess me! In all of the experiences we have shared so far, never has our connection felt as deep and intimate as it does now.

  Slowly he presses himself into me, moving his body forward and around my own, so that he cocoons every inch of my exposed nudity. My bound arms are now nestled tightly between our bodies. His lips find the bare skin of my face, and they caress my cheek as he continues to plunder me from behind. I strain my neck to greet his mouth, willing the gag to be gone so that I may return his kisses, but utterly unable to shift the material, bound and covered as I am.

  I feel the tension in his body heightening, and slowly he raises his chest away, using his strong arms to hold his weight as he makes shorter, more insistent thrusts into my sex. I groan at each welcome intrusion, gladly surrendering to his will as I have done all the way along. As his hardness comes crashing down into me, I hear the sounds of our combined passion and the feeling of his testicles slamming against my trembling nub. Again and again he plunges into and against me, each sensation overwhelming me as it fills me up. It is then that his body stills as the pressure of his impending pleasure bears down on him.

  “Oh, Lydia!”

  The growl comes from over my head, but I am too consumed with his penetration of my body to respond. Instead, I force my hips backward, applying yet more force to his threatening orgasm. I peer behind me, finding his face in the shadows and I watch him come undone. The strong, dominant man who has sought to cherish, correct, and protect me unravels beautifully before my very eyes, barely able to catch his breath as his pleasure detonates. Slowly he relaxes, his body resting lightly against my bound form as he uses his forearms to support his weight. I settle against the covers, watching him come down from his euphoria in an almost sleepy state. As he finally rouses, I find his satisfied face searching my own.

  “How are you, my love?” he whispers.

  I blink up at him, still unable to articulate through the sodden fabric secured tightly at my mouth. He smiles, surmising my predicament, and then still resting over me and inside me, he unpicks the knot at the back of my head with his right hand. With the bind removed, his left hand eases the silk from me. I open my mouth, flexing my lips. “Thomas,” I begin breathlessly. I sound tired and emotional, and reflexively he kisses me, his tongue snaking its way inside my mouth. I taste the scent of my own arousal on his lips, and I moan at the sheer impropriety of the deed, recalling how tremendous his mouth had been.

  He pulls away, drawing back and away from me. Gradually the binds at my wrist are loosened and he liberates my arms, drawing them slowly back to the bed next to me. My limbs feel heavy as I regain control over them, the flesh tingling as the blood flow is permitted to resume in its normal way. Wordlessly Thomas collects me from my place on the bed, and places me down against one of the soft pillows, withdrawing the bedding from underneath me and using it to cover up my cooling skin. I watch, spellbound, as he stalks the length of the bed, before removing his breeches and remaining garments, and climbing in next to me. He opens his arms for an embrace, and I scurry toward him, feeling the sanctuary of his naked form against my own.

  “What just transpired between us, Thomas?” I ask dreamily.

  He chuckles lightly at my question. “I
think you know, my love,” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.

  “Well, yes,” I admit. “Yet it was more than that, wasn’t it? It felt more…?”

  “I think each time we love each other it feels a little more?” He offers the explanation whilst leaning on his right elbow, looking down upon me.

  I consider his words, but find that they do not sufficiently explain the breadth of what I feel. “I think it was the crop…” I confess, burying myself into his chest as the admission leaves my lips.

  “Yes,” he breathes into my hair. “You did seem to enjoy it more this time?”

  I sigh, the sound resonating deeply within me. “It is wondrous—and awful—all at the same time?” I risk a glance up to his face, as I offer my account.

  “I will never deliver more than you can handle,” he promises.

  I swallow at his sensual expression. “I know,” I whisper.

  “It seems,” he says, drawing himself down so that we are now eye to eye. “That you are more and more relishing my darkness, Lydia?”

  “I relish every part of you,” I reply, but then seeing his expression I stop. “Yes, I think you are right,” I affirm.

  He kisses me once more, the act a sensual connection between us. “The more I push you in that dark direction, the more you respond, my love,” he says, his eyes boring into me.

  “The more you push me,” I correct him, “the more you make the mundane seem unpalatable.”

  The last thing I remember is the sinful look on his face as I slip finally into a satiated slumber.

  Chapter Forty-Three: The Clearing

  I wake the next morning, gently roused by the light flooding from behind the pale fabric of the drapes. I roll to my left to see Thomas sleeping soundly, and I take just a moment to indulge myself, enjoying the look of his peaceful, handsome face. Memories of the previous evening inundate my mind, the sensual carnality of our passion making me blush. Was that really me: the bound, gagged, wanton recipient of the crop? Apparently it was, and there is no denying the pleasure the riding implement wrought from my tightly wound body, despite its intended use as a punishment. I muse on the idea from the serenity of the bed. My last comment to Thomas remains the truth; something has been done which cannot be undone. I have entered the darkness of a world from which I cannot—and do not want to—retreat from.

  My eyes assess the sleeping gentleman beside me. He is the one who has taken me into this new world. He has rescued the defiant and naïve little lady who wandered into his home, and made her a woman. Yet more than this, he has offered her something new; something which differentiates her from the masses. Love, pleasure, and punishment, all combined into one heady mixture.

  I slip from the bed in silence, seeking not to not disturb Thomas until I am ready. My limbs feel heavy as they come to life, my bare behind inflamed and still slightly warm from its punishment the night before. I skip around the edge of the oversized bed to find the small gift which Lucy had acquired for me, still hidden in the bedside drawer. I make my way back to my bedside, leaving the gift in place under my pillow as I make a short visit to the next-door bathroom.

  As I return to the bedroom I find my husband, awake and once again leaning up on one elbow. He watches me as I make my way to the bed, his eyes alight as he appraises me. “Good morning, my love,” he purrs.

  I smile as I climb back between the sheets at his side. “Good morning, My Lord,” I press myself against his lips, offering him a warm kiss, “and may I be the first to wish you the happiest of birthdays.”

  He smiles, pulling me into him, against his body. His hands grab at my backside, rubbing my cheeks tenderly as I shift my weight to mount him.

  “How is my wonderful wife this morning?” he asks, between kisses. “Does this behind need some further attention?”

  I nuzzle against him as his fingers explore my tender skin. “It is your day, Thomas,” I say with a sigh. “Think of me as a mere vessel for your pleasure…”

  My tone is teasing, and yet I mean some of what I say. I do seek to bring my husband pleasure on this special day.

  “Well, well,” he replies, lazily, shifting his weight and rolling me onto my back. “There is an offer which I cannot refuse!”

  I gaze up to him, smiling, and it is then that the small, wrapped gift under my pillow comes to mind. I reach for it, his gaze following my hand to see what awaits there. “What is this?” he asks, that brow rising into its involuntary arch with the enquiry. He rolls back to my left side, freeing me to collect the package.

  I shift so that our noses are aligned, and present it to him with a smile. “It is a small gift from your wife,” I murmur, pressing it gently into his torso.

  His face widens into a grin as he attacks the brown paper packaging. “Lydia,” he replies, looking from my face to the gift. “This is such a surprise! There was no need for this.”

  I watch him, genuinely happy as he rips the paper to reveal the luxurious silk inside. His fingers find the delicate fabric, drawing it from the wrapping and running the crimson fabric between his digits.

  “I hope that it pleases you?” I whisper, watching his reactions closely. “I suspected that I rather ruined the one you used to bind me on our wedding night?”

  He laughs gently, a sound which never fails to warm me. “A new cravat?” he reconciles, tracing a line over it with one of his long fingers. “Lydia, it is fabulous, and such a wonderful colour, thank you!”

  “I know it is not much,” I explain, feeling suddenly as though the gift is too meagre an offer. “But my opportunities to purchase have been somewhat limited of late.”

  He shakes his head at me, causing his thick, dark hair to shift unevenly over his handsome forehead. “That is nonsense,” he murmurs, lunging at me and pressing his hot body into mine. “This is perfect, and I love it.” He flattens himself against me, drawing my arms over my head with his left hand and pinning my wrists in place. “Thank you,” he murmurs, grazing his full lips over my waiting mouth.

  My body responds to his presence in its usual reflexive way, my nipples beading under his chest, and the urge between my legs building. “I must confess,” I whisper breathlessly. “I have little experience in how to attend a gentleman on his birthday. I hope you will guide me, My Lord?”

  The expression on his face is sheer debauchery as he dips his head to kiss me. “Rest assured, my love,” he purrs as our lips part. “I will always be here to guide you…”

  He smiles, and as our eyes connect, I can already feel the head of his manhood nudging against my inner thigh.

  * * *

  An hour or so later we arrive at breakfast to find our hosts already waiting for us. They greet us with broad smiles, Lord William rising to shake Thomas’ hand as he approaches. “Good morning, old friend!” His tone is bright and upbeat, and for the first time I wonder if I have misjudged him. Perhaps his apology last night really was genuine?

  We sit, taking tea as Lord William discusses the plans for the day. My eyes are drawn toward the tall windows behind Helena. The grey November weather has, for once, cleared to produce a breezy yet sunny day for Thomas’ special day.

  “Lydia?”

  Lost in my thoughts I had not been listening to the conversation, and so I miss Helena’s statement. I turn my head to meet her eye, sheepishly making my apology. “I am so sorry,” I begin. “What were you saying?”

  Lord William laughs at my response, winking at Thomas as he speaks. “It seems that you have rather exhausted your wife, my friend?”

  The heat rises to my face in an instant, and I look to Thomas’ smiling face.

  “It is not of my doing,” he answers, putting down his teacup as he raises his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “I swear she had hours of sleep!”

  “Oh, do stop jesting!” says Helena, admonishing both of the men at once. “Lydia, my dear, I was merely saying that as well as Thomas, we also have a small gift for you.”


  “For me?” I ask, astonished, and wanting to put the previous comments to the back of my mind. “But surely it is only Thomas who should be treated today?”

  She flushes, visibly excited as she rises from the table. “Well, William had wanted to wait, but I am just too animated this morning!”

  She darts from her place to a small dresser at the edge of the large, ornate dining room.

  “Helena,” warns Lord William, his voice much lower than normal. He looks to his wife, sending her a cautionary gaze.

  “Oh, do hush, William,” she replies, dismissing his tone with a flick of her wrist. “We intended to do this before supper, no?”

  “Yes,” he answers, sounding exasperated. “But not at breakfast, my love!”

  The three of us watch as she rummages in the dresser, producing two packages in her hands. “I know,” she says, approaching the table again. “But I do so want to see their faces now, William… It will be worth the spanking!”

  I gasp at her comment, and both Thomas and Lord William burst into laughter. “Oh, you are a wanton woman,” says William, grabbing her wrist as she places the packages on the tablecloth.

  She reaches down to kiss her husband, and I sneak a sideways glance to Thomas, who watches them with obvious affection.

  “And so…” she says, moving away from Lord William, and skipping toward where Thomas and I are seated. “These are for both of you. Please, do open them!”

  She places a package in front of each of us. I eye them carefully, noticing that Thomas’ is somewhat larger than my own.

  “This is so unnecessary, Helena,” laughs my husband to my left, “but thank you both.”

  I nod in agreement. “Thank you,” I concur, my hand reaching out to brush against the packaging. It is a dark brown paper, similar to the sort which my gift to Thomas had been wrapped in.

  Thomas collects his gift from the table in front of him, and looks to me. “Shall we open them together?” he asks.