Submitting to His Lordship

by EM BROWN

  “I should remove the jewelry,” she demurred. “They are too precious to risk damage.”

  “Leave them be.”

  Having run out of diversions, she blurted, “What you ask is outrageous.”

  His face was impassive. “And yet you acquiesce to being flogged and fucked over the back of a chair.”

  His words shot straight to her cunnie. Indignation and desire fought for dominance within her, making her dumb and immobile. What a fool she was to have come here with him and how naïve to think she could withstand whatever he threw at her.

  “Miss Herwood, do not make me punish you on the very first day.”

  Chapter Six

  HALSTEN DISCERNED BOTH FEAR and anticipation in her eyes at his statement. He knew when he had left her room last night that he had left her wanting. It had been no easy matter for him. He wanted nothing more than to make her spend as she had upon the table at the posting inn, but she needed to be well rested. And it had proven true that a slight delay of gratification could heighten her eagerness.

  His own pants had been fit to burst last night. Even now, as he beheld her in those inflammatory hues and sparkling jewels, her one arm completely bare, he had to fortify his own patience. He reminded himself that he had far more years of experience than she, had learned from a practiced teacher, and been exposed to entirely different ways of regarding the pleasures of the flesh.

  But he did not think he had judged her incorrectly. Her passion was apparent, and she was no stranger to flouting propriety. He surmised that her responsibilities and the weight of uncertainty made the opportunity for abandon appealing to her. She could appreciate releasing control, in the right circumstances, to another.

  When she made no move, he undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled the sleeves up his arms.

  “Very well, we begin,” he pronounced.

  He pulled her to him by the arm, startling the breath from her. To encase her to him, he circled his other arm around her waist. As he gazed down at her, he shook his head at himself. Did he truly think he could resist her? It had been hard enough before, but he had made the task doubly hard with the sari, for he much preferred the colors and cuts of the East. Dressed and adorned like an Indian princess, she was a bloom wanting to be picked. Her earlier flush of indignation had not dissipated. Desire glistened in her eyes.

  Leaning down, he caressed the part of her neck below her ear with his mouth. He felt her relax against him. When he trailed kisses down the side of her neck, a soft sigh escaped her lips. He shifted his hand upon her lower back to position her better between his legs. How delicious her body felt pressed to him. The blood heated and churned about his groin.

  He moved his mouth down below the necklace. She arched her back, causing her hips to move into him. He put his hand to the back of her head to hold it still when he took her wet and waiting mouth. The freshness of her bath from last night coupled with a nondescript scent all her own made for a heady mix that made the blood pound between his ears and in his cock. Parting her lips with his, he tasted of her. Deeper and deeper his tongue went. Her breath hitched at the penetration. His mouth moved over hers in constant, forceful motion. He allowed her little chance to return the kiss, a statement as to who held control. She could only submit to his plunder.

  His hand traveled up her back, gently groping between her shoulder blades before finding and removing the pin that held the pallu in place. The fabric slid off her shoulder. With a swift and practiced hand, he unwrapped the rest of the sari. The garment fell to the ground with ease. There was much to recommend the sari. He considered having her wear nothing else while at Chateau Follet, and, at times, nothing at all.

  He dropped to his knees and grasped both her hips, pulling her to him and drinking in the sight of her bared midriff. She let out a shaky moan when he kissed her there and darted his tongue at her navel. He inhaled the musk of her desire. His cock stretched even further. Reaching up, he grabbed a breast and kneaded the heavy orb. He brushed his thumb over her hardened nipple. Her head fell back, and she threaded a hand through his hair.

  “Ask permission,” he told her.

  She looked at him with a dazed expression, her eyes glossy. “Eh?”

  “You are not to move without permission.”

  He could see the thought sinking in. She withdrew her hand.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Obedience shall be rewarded.”

  She stiffened in obvious resistance to the idea. Undeterred, for he had expected she would not fully accept the practice—at least, not at first—he continued to work the nipple. Pinching, pulling, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until she whimpered. He pulled the blouse down below the breast. Rising to his feet, he lifted the exposed breast and attended the nipple with his mouth. She groaned with every swirl of his tongue, every nibble, every suck. When he had her panting, knowing she was wet with desire, he turned her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek was pressed against a tapestry depicting Kama and Rati locked in a naked embrace.

  “Your obedience shall be rewarded,” he repeated, “and your defiance punished.”

  He stepped into her, pinning her body to the wall with his. He ground his desire against her.

  “What is the safety word?” he demanded.

  “Rati,” she answered quickly.

  “Good.”

  He circled his right hand around her waist and between the front of her thighs, rubbing the petticoat against her. It quickly dampened. He fondled her more, using the garment to further the friction. She writhed, her movements hampered by the wall and by him. Her legs shook a little.

  His left hand went back to the same breast, mirroring the rhythm of his right. The petticoat was drenched against his hand.

  “Ohhhhh,” she moaned, a melodious sound.

  When he sensed her nearing her peak, he slowed his ministrations. “Now, Miss Herwood, I had directed you to pleasure yourself.”

  She shifted her weight but said nothing. He pulled his right hand away completely. Bereft, she let out a sigh.

  “I am still waiting, Miss Herwood.”

  She squirmed. “What you ask is...degrading.”

  “Degrading? Consider yourself fortunate that I did not ask you to pleasure yourself before all the guests at the Chateau.”

  She sucked in her breath.

  “Pleasuring yourself is no less natural than coition.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. You may find it easy to adhere to Eastern philosophies on the matter, but it is different for me.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Miss Herwood. Come. It would please me greatly.”

  He seized her moment of indecision to pull her petticoat down to her thighs, his own breath catching when he beheld her naked arse. Yes, he remembered well her delightful derriere and how it had quivered beneath his flogger. He slid two fingers down the curve of one buttock, admiring its contour, before palming it. He returned his other hand between her thighs. She let out an immediate moan.

  Grasping her hand, he forced her to join his caresses. She put up a short-lived resistance until desire overcame her shame. Her hips swayed gently to their joint strokes. He pressed his erection against her arse and closed his eyes for a brief moment. With her body rubbing against him, her grunting and groaning filling his ears, it was all he could do not to unbutton his fall and release his cock.

  And they had barely begun.

  He took a fortifying breath and gathered his concentration. As he kissed her behind her ear, a particularly sensitive spot for her, he gently retracted the hand that held hers. She did not stop. Satisfied, he reached for her breast and kneaded the flesh while his fingers toyed with the nipple. He ground his hips into her backside, bumping and grinding her into the wall. Eyes shut, she frigged herself more vigorously. His blood was on fire with the motions, the sounds, and the scent of her desire wafting into his nostrils, triggering something primeval and animalistic. Pinching her other nipple, he sent her over the
edge. She cried out. Her body shook against him. He caught her about the waist and pinned her to the wall before she slid to the floor. Her breath was fast, her cheeks flushed. He kissed the tip of her ear.

  “Well done, Miss Herwood,” he commended. “Now, about your punishment...”

  * * * * *

  Deana could barely hear him through the loud thudding of her heart. Overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened, she kept her forehead pressed to the wall and her eyes closed, not ready to face the world, still waiting for the currents in her body to run their course. She could hardly believe that she had done what he had bid. That she had truly executed the deed was as shocking as the initial request. Shame and impish satisfaction flooded her body. What she had done was wrong and naughty.

  But, oh my, how glorious were the results. Once she had begun, the titillation had surprised her. Eventually the needs of her body had consumed her. The feel of his hands upon her body, the confined space betwixt him and the wall, all added to the concentration of desire. If only he had taken her and inserted his cock into her yearning cunnie, the experience would have wanted for nothing.

  She felt feathery light kisses planted upon her neck. His hand caressed her upper back, between the shoulders, before he backed away from her. Her petticoat slid to her feet. With her breasts pulled out of her blouse, she might as well have been naked before him. Although being naked before him was nothing new, a year had passed and the novelty returned. Feeling far too exposed before his discerning eye, she bent down to retrieve it.

  He stayed her. “We’ve not finished yet.”

  Of course. He had not spent yet. She was surprised he had withheld as long as he had and wondered how he intended to finish his business.

  “Step to the foot of the bed,” he instructed.

  She did as told.

  “Grasp the bedpost with both hands above your head.”

  Though fulfilled but a moment ago, she felt a new warmth circulating within her. Her timidity had not completely dissolved, but she was feeling more at ease with his directions. Again, she did as he bid.

  “Do not let go. I could tie you to the post but prefer not to.”

  Would he take her from behind? Her cunnie throbbed at the idea. She heard his footsteps and knew without looking what he had reached for: the riding crop. The sound of it slapping against his boot confirmed her suspicion.

  “Your punishment—”

  “But I did as you bid,” she protested.

  “After much delay.”

  “But—”

  “Are you refuting me, Miss Herwood?”

  She contemplated the tone of his voice. It would be worse for her if she argued.

  “No,” she relented, for now. She had fond memories of the time he took a flogger to her, but it had been some time and had happened only once.

  “Good.”

  She felt the crop caressing the contour of her rump.

  “As lovely as ever,” he murmured.

  Even as she swallowed in fear, the wetness between her legs increased. She tightened her hold of the post. Would he exercise restraint as this was her first visit to the Chateau?

  With the crop, he began tapping the bottom of one cheek. Gradually, he increased the amount of force to a tolerable sting. Then, unexpectedly, he whipped the crop against the other buttock. Deana sucked in her breath, mostly in surprise. It was a sharp but not overwhelming blow, the sensation more pinching than what she recalled of the flogger. Her cunnie pulsed.

  He flicked the crop at her with increased strength. This time she shut her eyes against the smarting. It felt as if someone had stuck a pin in her arse. She grasped the bedpost as if she could diffuse the pain into it. He let fall the crop several times with lighter, almost teasing, strikes. When she thought she had acclimated to the punishment, he jolted her with a potent blow. She emitted a scream and felt her eyes water.

  “Do you require your safety word?”

  She contemplated answering in the affirmative, but pride mixed with curiosity won the moment.

  “No, my lord.”

  He swatted her derriere twice more. The area of her groin grew warm along with her arse. How was it she could be excited while clinging to a bedpost, nude but for the jewelry and the blouse that concealed nothing, submitting herself to being whipped as harshly as a steed urged to gallop? If she had known she would find herself in such a position, would she have acquiesced to coming here?

  The answering moisture of her arousal slid down her inner thigh. Rockwell caught the rivulet with the crop and slid it up along her leg until it skimmed her cunnie. Her legs weakened with anticipation. He rubbed the crop against her flesh. She moaned low. The tip of the crop bumped against her clitoris. He retracted the crop and slapped it against her buttock, but this time she fully welcomed the touch, the pain fueling the hunger burning between her legs. Again she felt the crop gliding across her slit, sliding with ease across her wetness.

  Good God. First her hand, now a riding crop. She shivered but did not resist the pleasure building inside of her. She wanted the stimulation, wanted it harder and faster. And he seemed to know her body better than herself. He began frigging her with the crop in earnest. The stinging of her arse had not receded and made her more alert to the wonderful sensations fanning from her nether region. Needing to spend above all else, she grasped the bedpost and fucked the riding crop in return.

  She spent gloriously, her body engulfed in flames of desire. Pain mingled with pleasure to produce a most sensational end. Her limbs shook. Barely able to hold onto the post, she was vaguely aware of her own cries. The thrusting of the crop slowed. Occasionally the tip of it pushed against her clitoris, shaking quivers from her body. When the crop finally retracted from between her legs, she slithered to the floor. Eyes closed, breath fast, she would have preferred to fall into bed to recuperate but did not have the wherewithal.

  After what felt like a long time, she pried open an eye and dared to gaze at Lord Rockwell.

  Chapter Seven

  DESPITE THE MOLTEN LOOK in his eyes, Rockwell showed no evidence of being affected by what transpired. Deana’s gaze fell to his crotch and the bulge there. Well, perhaps not wholly unaffected. She marveled at his poise. Surely it was uncommon for a man to show more restraint than the fair sex in carnal matters? Her lack of control over her own wayward body surprised her, and yet the self-indulgence provided a most liberating feeling.

  “What now, your lordship, now that you have had your way with me?” she asked.

  He unrolled his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. “Bhadra will see that you are properly dressed for our ride and picnic.”

  Deana found herself chagrined by his placid demeanor. It seemed unfair that she should have been in such a state of discomposure, giving in to her basest needs, while he chose to proceed with a bloody picnic. Why would he not take her? Had he no wish to? Had she dissatisfied him in some way? She watched him retrieve his coat, studying him for signs that he might be flustered in the slightest. Her body could not have asked for a more satisfying and exquisite conclusion, yet she now felt vaguely unfulfilled.

  Returning to her, he assisted her to her feet and kissed her lightly upon the hand. A shiver went through her. The simplest touch from him had such an effect upon her.

  “I shall return in an hour’s time,” he informed her before walking towards the door. He paused at the threshold and looked at the crop in his hand. A devilish glimmer flashed in his eyes. “I’ve a mind not to clean it.”

  Her cheeks heated. With some relief she watched him take his leave. She had much to digest. The fresh air would suit her. Yes, she looked forward to engaging in normal activities with Lord Rockwell. She pulled the blouse back over her breast and was picking up the sari just as Bhadra returned. Flushing, she covered herself with the fabric.

  “I’ve an ointment for m’lady,” Bhadra said as if nothing were amiss.

  The maid turned Deana around and began applying the salve upon her derriere.
Deana flinched, mostly in embarrassment.

  “It be only a balm of witch hazel and aloe.”

  Deana noted the markings upon her arse apparently did not surprise the maid. Indeed, how had Bhadra been prepared with the ointment? Her cheeks colored to think that the maid had heard through the door what had happened or had been told by Rockwell himself. She wanted to ask Bhadra but was too mortified. In silence, she allowed Bhadra to remove the beautiful jewelry, which she placed carefully back in its case. Traditional petticoats and an English riding habit, an elegant green wool challis with velvet collars, complete with a Shako hat were produced.

  “Whose garments are these?” Deana asked.

  “A cousin of the late Monsieur Follet. She went into the nunnery. You and she are near identical in size. Lord Rockwell has a discerning eye.”

  Deana looked at Bhadra. “Have you been acquainted with his lordship long?”

  “For some years.”

  “Have you always been at the Chateau Follet?”

  “No.”

  She felt she would appear prying if she asked too many more questions, so she allowed the maid to finish the toilette in silence.

  After the soft and loose sari, the stays and chemisette were an unwelcome change, but seeing herself in the mirror, Deana had to admit the ensemble looked quite smart. She thanked Bhadra and awaited the return of Lord Rockwell.

  * * * * *

  Halsten grunted as his seed poured from his cock into his hand. He shook his head and leaned back into the armchair. Not what he truly desired but at least the tension would be relieved for a time. Nothing less than her cunnie would ultimately satisfy, and he had been tempted from the moment he entered her room and saw her wrapped in the sensuous fabric of the sari. The jewelry had enhanced every part it touched—her brow, her neck, her ears, the top of her hand, her long, slender middle finger. If he dressed her again with the baubles, he would kiss each spot before it became bejeweled. Of course the jewelry looked most beguiling when she had little else on. His cock twitched at the vision of her naked arse. How beautifully the marks of the crop had adorned those full and sumptuous cheeks. But he had withheld himself for he wanted the focus to be on her pleasure. His time would come soon enough.