by Jaye Peaches
“You defied me, Alice. Why?” He failed to hide his exasperation, yet to his chagrin, her face showed no regret.
“I knew I could make that jump, and I did!” said Alice proudly. Her earlier distress appeared entirely forgotten.
He let go of her. “You came so close to losing your balance and toppling—”
“I didn’t though,” she interrupted gleefully.
Edmund gritted his teeth. Not only had she ignored his decision, undermined his authority, she had failed to appreciate the distress she had caused him, watching her near accident play out before his eyes.
It struck him deeply, how accustomed he had become to her company in such a short time. Marrying her had been a matter of mutual convenience. Somehow, with feminine wiles and charms, combined with her apparent meekness in the bedroom, she had unearthed emotions in him he hadn’t believed possible. The sweet and accomplished Caroline may be a good friend, but Alice had dug into his heart, extracting the tender side of his persona, the one which a battle hardened soldier must not reveal.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a brief shake, as if to knock sense into her. “I could not bear something terrible happening to you. Why can you not see that?”
Alice appeared struck dumb by his remark. Reaching out, she rested a hand against a stone column, as if to steady herself. “I scared you, did I not?”
For a soldier to confess to fear wasn’t easy. Swallowing hard, he nodded. “You are precious to me, Alice.”
“And I have made you angry too. It wasn’t my intention to fill you with displeasure. I do regret my choice,” said Alice slowly.
He tossed his hat away and ran his fingers through his hair. “What am I to do with you?” He knew what he needed from her and before he could tell her, she spoke, her voice soft and purposeful.
“I think you know, sir.” She looked down at the crop in her hand, chewing apprehensively on her lip. After a pause, she rested the crop on two outstretched hands and offered it to him. “And I do too. I would have you remind me of what you feel towards me, sir.”
He didn’t move. “I will not beat you in anger or with malice.”
She held his gaze without flinching. “I trust you not to. I wish to be forgiven.”
Edmund’s pulse quickened. To see his wife demure and apologetic filled him with both relief and a strange lust for her. With the crop remaining held out before him, he scanned about. They were quite alone and the folly door would be unlocked. The need to spank her felt both necessary and unwarranted at the same time. Her contriteness had enabled him to dismiss his anger towards her, yet he required a suitable purging of her ugly display of defiance. She invited him with her sacrificial pose, not that it mattered, if she had continued to be bullish with him, he felt sure he would have dragged her into the folly to have strong words with her while she lay across his knees. She hadn’t though and Edmund convinced himself he need never be so forceful with her again. Those days, he believed, were behind them.
“We will enter the folly together and deal with this matter appropriately.” He took the crop from her.
Alice didn’t smile or show any joy in his decision. Her breath altered. A snatch of fresh air taken speedily and then she nodded at him. “Yes, husband.”
* * *
Entering the gloomy folly, the only light cast came through the door behind Alice and she was convinced numerous eyes stared at her from out of the darkness. The damp air smelt of cold stone and emptiness. The austerity of the small building wasn’t the kind of reception Alice hoped for when he told her to enter. Opposite the doorway were tall wooden shutters. Edmund strode across the floor, having closed the door behind him, slid back the bolt and pulled the shutters back. Before him was a window, reaching from floor to ceiling, and made up of numerous small panes.
The room lit up about Alice. The walls were made up of alcoves each with their own painted fresco and above her head, the domed ceiling also contained a brightly coloured painting. She gaped at the half-naked demi-gods and nymphs, draped in loose clothing.
Returning to the window, she took in the view. The folly, built on the ridge of a hill, commanded an impressive vista. Before her, the Derbyshire Peaks with their rolling hills and rocky ridges. Bright sunlight shone through into the folly and with it came warmth, dismissing the dankness.
“It’s beautiful,” she declared.
“I’m glad you like it. I often rode up here in my youth.”
Alice recollected the matter in hand—her chastisement. “I nearly destroyed that joyful ride for you, didn’t I?” He wanted to bring her to somewhere special and all she had done was bring him strife.
“It made my heart falter, yes.”
She stepped towards him, unafraid and quite affected by his confession. “What shall I do to rectify that?”
“Do you wear those pantalettes?” he asked with a faint smile.
“I do.” She enjoyed wearing them and always hoped he would too.
“Then, they are all I wish to see on you.”
His carefully worded request ignited her passions and quashed any inhibitions she held about their setting. Alice took her time to undress. Edmund leaned his back on the wall, a gloved finger running repeatedly over his lower lip as she mesmerised him with a slow seductive unlacing of her corset. His eyes tracked the leisurely rolling down of her stockings and when she picked at the hem of her chemise, which once she feared to remove, she peeled it away from her pale flesh as gracefully as possible, reaching her arms up straight and letting her breasts appear gradually. She lay each item of clothing on the stone bench, which sat before the window.
The cool air swept about her body, setting off ripples of shivers down her spine. With her near nudity on display, it also felt like the whole world was watching them through the vast window. There was nobody to see. The folly stood high above the valley below and nothing overlooked their position.
Each of her heartbeats thumped against her breastbone. Her nipples stiffened into little pebbles, her sex ached for attention and her mouth went dry with anticipation.
“Place both your hands flat on this bench,” said Edmund softly, still wielding her crop in one hand. He slowly tapped it against his riding boot.
Alice leant forward, bending down and touched the cold granite. Her breasts hung low, bouncing as she took up position. As she bent, her drawers parted about her bottom, exposing her cheeks and cleft. Edmund would be able to see her private place, her excited sex and secretions. She blushed with shame at her arousal.
She watched as he tugged his gloves off, tossing them to one side. Then, he walked around her, to stand behind her raised bottom. A hand ran down each cheek and it made her calves quiver and her toes curl up.
Humiliating her further, his finger checked her status. The digit slithered between her folds, parting them and finding her wanting. Edmund said nothing to her relief. However, his discovery didn’t save her from his proposed spanking. She heard him swish the crop through the air, making practice swings and tapping her buttocks, each one in turn.
Her protective bonnet dispensed with, her hair had begun to unravel. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, loose locks of curls dropped down over her eyes. Edmund noticed her unruly hair and leant over and tucked them back behind her pins.
“I want to see your face,” he murmured.
Alice wondered if she would cry. Not since the early spankings, especially the one after their wedding when he had taken her over his lap, had she cried bitterly during a spanking. Perhaps, she wanted to let go and weep, to let go of her frustration at failing Edmund.
The crop lingered, pressed against a cheek and then with a flick of his wrist, Edmund landed a stroke. She yelped, jumping at the unexpected harshness of the blow. Immediately, it stung sharply. Another followed, with the tongue—the keeper—whipping her other cheek. She kicked a foot back, her sole brushing against the stone floor.
“Keep still, Alice,” he warned. “Breathe.”
Gasping, she bowed her head, fighting back the tears. The force of the blows astounded her. How many would he give her to make amends for her disobedience? A hand ran over her bottom and its coolness was a sharp contrast to the fire he had lit with the crop. Again, he dipped a finger between her labia and explored her slit. She moaned appreciatively. Her pussy had betrayed her terribly.
Once more, Edmund said nothing, as if unsurprised by her treachery.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t apologise.” He put down the crop on the bench next to her hands, coiled his fingers around her wrist and drew her upright.
She quickly forgot her throbbing bottom as his mouth searched out and found her own. His arms encased her, pressing her to his chest. She lifted a leg, searching with tips of her toes for the bench, and finding it, she propped her foot on it. Now, his hand could explore her unhindered and it delved into her pussy, first one finger then another, spreading her open and wide.
Alice wobbled on her leg, barely able to take his frantic probing. “I can’t stand any longer,” she groaned.
Edmund steered her backwards, towards one of the small curved alcoves. There he pushed her against the cold wall and lifted her leg again. She wrapped it around his thighs. Below, he had unbuttoned his front, and she felt the tip of his cock rub against her mound.
“Oh, please,” she pleaded and she gazed into his grey eyes, which were bright stars shining into her own. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, not caused by pain or discomfort—his adoring look triggered the emotional relief.
She gave about his erection as he rose up inside her, climbing up into her belly with his thick shaft until she felt his balls touch her outer lips. The swiftness delighted her and even with her natural juices, the friction of his broad cock stimulated her further. Her orgasm had to be held at bay, she didn’t want to finish prematurely.
Edmund sunk down, then with bended knee thrust again into her, jolting her body backwards. Her other leg coiled about his body, pinning her against the fresco. Around her, naked cherubs watched and from on high, some great Greek god stared down. Alice closed her eyes and drifted away from the images, and focused her attention on her husband’s grunts and exertions.
To her delight, they came together, encouraged by Edmund’s salacious words whispered into her ear. The familiar shudder of his body, the long exhale and then his stillness accompanied her shriek as every muscle surrounding her clitoris flexed and pulsated.
He lowered her carefully to the ground, holding her close, while they calmed and caught their breath.
Edmund’s husky voice spoke into her ear as he kissed her neck. “I would take you again, but I think we should seek somewhere more comfortable.”
He helped her dress, a leisurely re-lacing and tightening of her corset before lowering the yellow gown over her head. Before they left, he closed the shutters, returning the folly to darkness and obscurity.
Edmund lifted Alice up on to her mare and cautiously, she lowered her sore bottom onto the side saddle. He may have limited the number of blows to four, but each stripe had counted and made its mark. Edmund made no comment on her discomfort. On the way down the hill, she diverted her horse about the tree—she had no desire to repeat her little adventure.
Looking back up the hill, the folly, with the bright sunshine behind it, had turned into a silhouette. She hoped they might return there and enjoy the view, perhaps with a picnic and a book to read aloud to each other. In the seclusion of her mind, Alice constructed a new fantasy and glancing across at her husband on his fine black stallion, she knew who would have the chief role in her daydream.
Chapter Eleven
The heat of August grew until the grass began to turn yellowish and the petals wilted on the roses. Alice stayed indoors, in the cool shade of the stone house. Her new fan, hand picked by her in Buxton, was her constant companion. She would flick it open and wave it before her prickly face. The sultry days reached a level where the oppressively humid air was almost unbearable and unmoving.
The plans for the ball continued unabated. The date set for the last Saturday of the month, the invitations were sent out and some replies received. Nobody had turned down the offer of dancing at Westfell Hall.
One Wednesday, a few days after their visit to the folly, during the sweltering night, Alice lay naked on top of the bed with Edmund resting beside her, his bare arms flung above his head. He seemed to tolerate the heat easily after his campaigns on the Spanish Peninsula. She envied him the deep sleep, especially when the room lit up with a streak of lightning. Finally, the heat of summer was about to break.
The thunderclaps shook the window panes while bolts of lightning fired out of the sky in rapid succession. Still, her husband slept. It was the sound of torrential rain, which awoke him from his slumber and caused him to sit upright in bed. Alice stared up at him, as he scratched his head, disrupting his chestnut hair into an unruly shape.
“Umph,” he muttered and then lay back down. “Sleep. It is only a storm.”
“I know,” Alice shivered. “I don’t like them. I’m afraid.”
“Silly girl.” His arm looped about her waist, drawing backwards to fit against his body. A flash of lightning, followed by an immediate and tremendous crack of thunder, made Alice jump. Edmund chuckled and folded a bedcover over them, as if it added a layer of protection.
With his moist breath on her back, Edmund quickly returned to a deep sleep while Alice lay listening to the lead guttering overflow and the water cascade down onto the ground below. Eventually, with dawn approaching, she fell asleep in his restful arms.
The rain didn’t stop even after the storm blew over, continuing its downpour into the early afternoon. The wind, which had howled during the worst part, had brought down small branches. Across the garden, the debris of leaves and twigs swirled and drifted. Alice kept watch from a window, hand resting on her chin, as the rain drenched the ground until it overflowed into puddles and quagmires.
It was across one such sodden field that Alice spied a horseman. He came towards the house at a gallop, his shoulders hunched down to protect himself from the unceasing rain.
Alice, picking up her skirts, went to the entrance hall. She watched as the young man dismounted, his legs bowed and shaking. His oilskin cloak had protected his body from the worst of the rainfall, but his mud-splattered breeches were soaked. Taking off his hat, he wiped away the dirt about his face. A groom led the stumbling horse away and Alice could see froth about its bit and the mud caked hooves. This ride had been conducted in great haste.
Edmund appeared from his study and approached the messenger. From beneath the protective layers of clothing, the man extracted a letter, but he didn’t offer it to Edmund—he held it out to Alice with a small bow.
“Mrs Seymour,” he said breathlessly. “I bring this from your father, Mr Aubrey, who instructed me to deliver it to you in person and with all speed. I haven’t stopped to reach here.”
Alice took the crumpled letter, checked the seal and glanced nervously at Edmund before tearing it open. The words written in her father’s hand sent her heart lurching with shock. She could feel the colour drain out of her face as she read the letter again hoping she had mistook the content.
Edmund touched her shaking wrist. “What is it, dearest?”
She didn’t want to speak the words and they stammered out of her mouth. “My Mama… is gravely ill. She has succumbed to a terrible fever… quite delirious. Papa has told me to go there in all haste. They fear she will not survive the night.” At the last words, her voice broke and tears trickled down her cheeks. “I must go, now.” The piece of paper began to
slip between her fingers.
Edmund retrieved the letter from her hand and put a comforting arm about her shoulder. “I will order up the carriage.”
“Sir,” said the exhausted horseman, waiting patiently a few feet away. “The turnpike is barely passable. The storm has washed most of it away. The tops of the moor are especially bad. I fear any wheels would become stuck in the mud. My own ride struggled on the horse path.”
Edmund fetched out coins from his pocket and paid the messenger, instructing him to seek out the kitchens for warm food.
“I must go,” repeated Alice, ignoring the warnings of the courier. Her mother needed her!
Edmund frowned. “It is not possible by coach.”
“Then I shall ride,” said Alice with increasing determination. She had to find a way to reach her mother. “My lessons are over. I can take my mare over the Peaks myself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted quickly. “That fit young man could barely cope. You do not have the strength to make such a journey. You could easily be thrown by the horse.”
“It is not far,” She turned to face her husband. “Ten miles by the most direct route. I can ride such a distance.” She knew she lied. The distance seemed enormous and beyond anything she had ridden previously. How she wished she could fly immediately to her mama’s bedside.
“No, Alice.” He shook his head as she paced up and down the entrance hall. “I must keep you safe—”
“My mother is dying!” Halting, she glared at him disbelief. “Do you not understand? I have to be with her. She needs me and you cannot stop me—”
“I can and I will.” He reached out to grab her arm, snatching her against him. His grey eyes, piercing and stern, ensnared her along with his restraining grip. “Your well-being is everything to me. You will not go on your own. I shall ride you over the Peaks to your mother.”
Alice froze in her struggling. “But you said the carriage—”
