I shift my weight left to look at my tall, imposing husband. I can positively feel the energy radiating from him, but I am not sure if the feelings are founded in nerves or arousal at being back here.
“I want to see them all,” I say, my voice sounding impossibly small in the large hall. “Will you show me?”
He nods, and my anxiety builds as he turns toward the first door on our left. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a heavy collection of keys into his hand, before walking forward and slotting the first length of metal into the waiting door.
I stand in silence, watching him. I can feel the constant drumming of my heart, once again betraying my feelings, and I swear that Thomas must also be able to hear it. The door ahead opens, and he turns to me, holding out his right palm. “Come, my love. This is where the real pleasure begins…”
I step inside the room, with Thomas just behind me. The air inside is musky and filled with dust, the evidence of its lack of use apparent. Thomas moves behind me, closing the door and striding to a tall window to our left. He draws back the drape with ruthless force, tearing the fabric apart, and flooding the room around us with what little moonlight is not obscured by the clouds outside.
My eyes scan the place, searching for anything which seems obscene or immoral. They fall over a large wooden bench which has centre stage. It is just about waist height, and appears to be well-made, with rounded edges and soft contours. On each of its lower corners large loops of rope hang free. Each seems to have been made into a slip knot, the sort which will secure as desired, but be easily released when necessary. I take a deep breath as I absorb it, clenching the muscles at the summit of my thighs as I imagine what Thomas could do to me here…
To my right I find a dresser, in the same light wood as the bench. There are a number of implements sat on top of it, my eyes making out some type of strap and a further wooden article, which is long, flat, and quite wide at the end.
Thomas walks back toward me, watching me absorb my new surroundings. “This was one of my favourite rooms,” he says sensually.
I look into his hooded green eyes. “Did you spank ladies in here?” I ask, blushing at my own question, and hoping that the shadows will save my embarrassment.
He smiles, obviously aware of my rosy hue. “Yes,” he agrees, “but play included many more articles than just my hand. All sorts of impact play were practised here. As you have learned with my crop, there is much pain and pleasure to be garnered in this way.”
I gulp at his words, watching as he moves toward the dresser of implements. He collects what looks like a small flat paddle—the sort which a child might use to hit a ball with—and he moves back toward me. His advance is slow and deliberate, watching my responses as though he imagines I will bolt for the door at any moment.
“This was one of my favourites,” he says, drawing my right hand out and placing the paddle onto it.
I look down upon the implement in my hand, using my left fingers to touch and turn it. The thing feels lighter than the quality of the wood suggests, and I survey it with interest. The whole time I can feel the intensity of Thomas’ gaze upon my face, and after a moment I look up to find his enquiring expression.
“I do not know what to say, Thomas.” I admit, feeling foolish in the extreme.
He smiles. “You do not need to say anything, my love,” he says, moving forward toward me. “I merely want to show you.”
I turn my head, glancing once again at the bench. Something about it is compelling and I find myself drawn toward the thing.
He follows my gaze and I see him smile from the corner of my eye. “Ah, you like my spanking bench?” he asks wryly.
“Yes,” I begin. “I… I have never seen anything quite like it…” I find that my feet are moving toward the bench even as I answer him, and sure enough he follows me, so that we are both now less than a foot away from its end.
My fingers graze the edge of the bench, and I am pleased that it feels as soft and rounded as it looked from my place by the dresser. Thomas moves to the right edge, smiling as he watches me. “What are you thinking?” he asks. His voice has taken on some lower, more carnal quality, as though he very well already knows the answer to that question.
“I am thinking how exhilarating and terrifying it must be to be secured here, waiting for you to deliver whatever punishment you see fit,” I reply. My voice is remarkably calm, considering the brazen answer which I have just offered him.
He reaches for me, his long arm crossing the distance between us with ease. Placing the lamp down on the surface of the bench, his left fingers stroke my jawline, before coming to rest under my chin. My eyes flutter shut reflexively at the unexpected contact.
“Is it the bondage that you like?” he probes, his obvious interest evident in his tone, “or is it the spanking which you crave?”
I eye him boldly, watching the excitement growing in his fabulous green orbs. “My Lord,” I reply. “I think perhaps it is both?”
The laugh that escapes his lips is dark; a sound which should be foreboding but seems only to stoke the flames of my desire. “You were truly destined to be my wife,” he chuckles, and all at once he moves, making his way lithely round to where I am standing. His arms are around my waist already, the left hand holding me firm as the right one searches my chest, neck, and face, eventually turning my chin to look at him.
“Thomas,” I say; my plea is urgent and yet I know he can hear the fear in it.
His eyes are dark and penetrating. “What do you need, Lydia?” he asks me as his lips dip into my nape. I arch my back as his mouth grazes my exposed neck, hearing the moans the sensations elicit from my own mouth. “Tell me…”
“I need you…” I beseech him, twisting my face to meet his eyes.
“And you shall have me,” he assures me, his tone loaded with sensual authority. “But I want to hear it from your sweet lips, my love. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
I squirm at his words, shifting my weight and trying to pull away from him. His left arm though holds me easily in place. “Why, Thomas?” I say desperately. “Why must I say such things aloud? You know what they are already, surely?”
His smile is voracious, sending a dark thrill through me. “I know, yes,” he affirms. “Yet I want to hear the desires from you. Being able to admit what you need is not a sin, Lydia. On the contrary, it is essential for my understanding of you to grow.”
I sigh, resigned to what I know I must do. “I should like for you to bind me here, and spank me, please.”
The words are out in a hurried rush, my face looking down to the bench below us. He laughs again, and I am filled with indignation as I turn to him. “I did as you asked!” I cry out.
“I should like for you to tell me, and not the bench, my love,” he purrs, those hot lips caressing my nape once again before his eyes come to rest upon me.
“Thomas!” I am exasperated. “Please, will you bind me and spank me here?”
His eyes devour the blush in my face as he answers me. “With pleasure, my love,” he replies.
His limbs are gone from me, and within a moment my gown is unfastened and pooling at my slippers. As he offers me his hand, I step out from the fabric and allow him to guide me to the edge of the bench. I remain still as he removes the lamp, placing it on the floor to the right hand side of the other end of the bench. Next he wanders to the dresser and opens a long drawer, pulling from it a scarlet blanket, which he opens out and drapes over the bench. I watch him in silence as he comes to stand next to me again.
“You are exquisite,” he growls, taking my ample breasts into his hands and manipulating my beading nipples between his fingers. “Place yourself over the bench now, and I will secure you there.”
He shifts out of my way, revealing the scarlet-covered bench to me in all of its glory. Tentatively, I shuffle toward it, straddling the end as I place myself over its unrelenting surface. My limbs hang close to its four c
orners, my legs splayed helplessly wide. Thomas gets to work at once, moving to my right ankle. I feel the loop of rope pass over my foot, and the odd sensation as it tightens against my skin. He moves next to my left ankle, and all at once I find that both of my legs are secured. As he shifts to the front of my body, I test the ropes behind me, pulling both of my feet apart as best I can. I find that they draw a few inches away, but will move no further.
By now Thomas is standing by my head, and I shift my neck to see him as he crouches before me. He takes my left wrist, raising it from its place hanging against the wood, and resting it against his leg as the rope is slipped over it. Once it is secured, he replicates the action with my right wrist, before coming to kneel back in front of me.
“Here you are, my love,” he says, running his fingers from my right wrist, and up along my arms to my shoulders. I relax under his touch, hearing myself exhale as his hand traces the line back to the left wrist. “You are tied to my spanking bench, secured tight, and quite helpless.”
My breathing accelerates as his words illustrate my new powerlessness. I am practically panting as he continues. “I am going to spank you, first with my palm, and then with my paddle. I am not spanking you as part of any punishment, my love,” he explains. “This act is just for our mutual pleasure. Do you understand?”
“Yes, My Lord,” I reply, my breath raspy and desperate.
“Before I begin,” he answers. “Tell me, are you well? Can you feel your toes and fingers?”
I wiggle all four extremities at once, before nodding my head, my left cheek now pressed against the soft cover. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Good,” he says, trailing his digits over my behind and down the inside of my right thigh. Then all at once, his fingers disappear, and my bound, exposed body is left alone as he moves into position behind me.
The atmosphere in the room shifts somehow. I feel myself quite literally relinquishing control to my husband, yielding to his will and surrendering to him. The ropes at my wrists and ankles make this capitulation real of course, but the transition takes place in mind. By the time his palm lands on my bared bottom, I am utterly breathless with desire. I want this spanking; I need it—I need for My Lord to punish me, own me, and possess me.
His hand lands multiple times, the sounds of the strikes echoing around the near-empty room. The impacts sound severe, but in actuality the force is not overwhelming. Rather, each swat warms my behind, and the momentum of his palm landing creates its usual magic, the force pushing my hips into the cover and exciting my already needy nub.
The strikes continue, and I absorb them, calling out on occasion, but on the whole allowing the pain to wash over me like a sensual melody. I pull against my ropes, allowing my restriction to heighten my excitement. Not being able to move does something amazing to my mind. Yes, I want to surrender, but being tied down means that I have to. I have no choice but to yield to Thomas, and the reality sets my mind free. My eyes close, and I slip into a dreamlike state, feeling the weight of his palm against my bared behind as he spanks me soundly.
I do not know how long the spanking goes on. My usual cues regarding time are lost to the shadows of the evening and the exquisite sensations of the pain and bondage. At some point I become aware that Thomas is moving, the sound of his footsteps garnering my attention to the right. I press my left cheek into the cover, watching him as he chooses the appropriate implement from its place. As he returns I eye the paddle, all too aware of my current helplessness as he makes his way behind me. There are no words, and I hear nothing until the flat edge of the thing lands against my exposed bottom.
“Oww!” I call out instinctively. The change of tack and the sound of the thing makes my response inevitable.
Thomas pauses, and I hear him move over me. “How is it, my love?” he asks. His voice sounds pained and heavily laden with his own arousal.
“It is quite different from your hand,” I manage, feeling my heart racing as I speak.
“Is it too much?” he probes, circling me as he makes the enquiry.
I already know the answer before I speak it. “No. My Lord,” I reply, my tone adamant. “It is not.”
Satisfied, he returns to his original place and resumes, the paddle connecting with my flesh a moment later. I soak up the impact, mewling a little, but otherwise concentrating on how the strike feels, and what the tremors do my excited sex. As the spanking continues, Thomas begins to pick up the pace, the smacks now coming hard and fast. At this point I have little time to muse on the sensations, be they pain or pleasure, and instead I find myself pulling futilely against the ropes at my limbs, as the sound of my own spanking echoes in the air around us.
I wince as he delivers the twentieth strike, and brace for what I assume will be the next. I am surprised therefore to find that there is a pause, and then the sound as the wood of the paddle hits the floorboards below. I strain my neck to peer behind me, but all at once the feeling of Thomas’ hands at my hips makes me still. He loops his fingers beneath my pelvis and draws my body backward, forcing the ropes at my wrists to tighten as my bottom is raised in the air. One of his hands holds it there, keeping me in position, whilst the fingers of the other explore me.
Gasping, I process what I can feel. At least two digits slide gloriously into my wet, needy core, his palm cupping the underside of me as he slowly and deliberately pleasures me this way. With his hand holding my hips still, and my binds still securing me to the bench, I have no choice but to remain in place, the recipient of his magnificent and undivided attention.
“I want you to climax for me, Lydia,” he growls from behind me. “Push yourself back against my hand and find your release…”
The command is low and sensual, the words goading me as his fingers drive a satisfying rhythm beneath my legs. I open my mouth to reply, but only a small moan leaves my lips. I am caught in that same erotic contradiction; the frustration of the bondage and the indignation of the spanking, combining with the sheer ecstasy that his hand provides. As my pleasure builds, I feel his hot breath at the apex of his thighs. All at once his palm is replaced by his mouth, his tongue lapping at my throbbing excitement as the prickles of his recent hair growth stimulate my sensitive skin.
I jerk at the new sensations, feeling his arm tighten at my pelvis. Gasping, I writhe like an uncontrollable animal, for some reason resisting the intensity of the action. His tongue though, is insistent, and he laps at me over and over; his mouth commanding me as his fingers continue to drive into my wet channel. It is then that the sensations become too much and I am toppled over the precipice of pleasure, my muscles contracting around his digits as Thomas laps at my climax.
For a while we are still, Thomas motionless between my legs as I ride the waves of my pleasure. My body, convulsing at the intensity of my arousal, yearns for his manhood to dominate me, and as his fingers withdraw, I feel his hardness against my warmed flesh.
“I am going to have you, Lydia,” he purrs.
I strain to my right, and can just about make out the view of his glorious nakedness as he stands behind me, readying himself at my rear. As his erection plunges into my core, my head falls forward, a soft groan leaving my lips. He rides me, driving into my wetness at his own leisurely pace. Grabbing at my hips, he shifts his weight. I feel him climb on top of the bench, kneeling over me as his body cocoons my bare flesh. With his breath warm at my neck, he thrusts into me, purring at me as he loves me in the most carnal way imaginable. I sense his climax approach, his rhythm shifting into that shorter, more adamant insistence, until he groans into my right ear.
His weight presses into my back, his manhood convulsing inside me as his lips caress the back of my neck. “Lydia…” he croons, wrapping himself around me.
I twist to my right, returning his kisses. “Thank you, My Lord,” I murmur into the stubble at the side of his face.
Our eyes connect, and at the moment I am totally overwrought with the emotion I feel for this
man. The connection we have is singly the most exquisite thing. It seems he has come to know me in virtually every way possible. I never believed that a marriage could be this way, and I muse at how lucky I am to have found such a guardian…
Recovered from his climax, Thomas withdraws from me, moving lithely to untie my binds. As I am finally freed, he helps me from my position at the bench, before pulling the cover from its place and wrapping it around my cooling body.
“Let me take you to my bed, my love,” he whispers, moving his body against me as his lips graze my mouth.
“What about the other pleasure rooms, My Lord?” I ask dreamily.
He smiles at me, suppressing a chuckle, as he plants a soft kiss against my frame. “Perhaps tomorrow, My Lady?” he offers. “Remember, we do have the rest of our lives to indulge in all of our deepest, darkest fantasies.”
Our eyes meet, my own smile encountering his glorious face as I cuddle against his heat. Then, without a word, he swoops to lift me, holding me effortlessly in his arms as he bends to grab the oil lamp. He strides from the room, pulling me close as he secures the door, before we head back down the corridor. The hallway is now in virtual darkness, and I snuggle against him as he carries me in his strong arms.
“You are right again, My Lord,” I murmur into his shirt as we move.
He twists to look down upon me, wrapped up in his arms. “What am I right about, my love?” he asks.
“That room really is all about pleasure,” I say, gazing up into his deep green eyes to see his response.
He grins, pulling me closer into his embrace. “Lydia,” he purrs. “I promise you, this is only the beginning.”
Epilogue
“Revenge is a confession of pain.”
—Latin Proverb
Fifteen hours later, some twenty miles away, two ladies sit taking tea in the drawing room of the stately mansion house.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 40