A Season for Treason

by Golden Angel

  Mary

  Oh, dear…

  Walter was kissing another man.

  Well, that explains a few things.

  The automatic response of fear gripped her as she realized the danger he was in, but it only took her a moment to relax. Clearly, Hartford’s secret society was a safe place for her cousin. He was hardly the only person here with a desire for his own sex.

  She had thought her propensity for shock had worn off after touring several of the rooms and seeing the various performances. Worried someone might approach her with an offer to join them, she had not stayed too long in any one place. For once, she was having trouble fading into the background—perhaps because she was dressed in a domino and mask like everyone else, or she was having difficulty focusing on her own tasks with all the wickedly intriguing spectacles to behold.

  Despite this being the perfect setting for intrigue and private conversations, no one was talking about anything nefarious that she had overheard. The most progress Mary had made on her task this evening was recognizing a few members of the ton also present, which would at least give Evie some new avenues to investigate.

  Even though she was fairly certain there was nothing more for her to learn, and the longer she stayed, the more danger of being discovered as a trespasser, she could not make herself leave. Watching the various couples—sometimes trios or more—was having a shocking effect on her. Not just her body, which was decidedly aroused, but also her mind, as though a seductive spell was being woven around her, she could not break.

  She had never felt a yearning like this—to see more, know more, experience more.

  A hard grip wrapped around her arm and her head jerked upward in shock and surprise, heart lurching in her chest. The hard, yellowish eyes of Hartford glittered down at her, the regal lion displeased with finding an invader in his den.

  “Come quietly,” he said, warning in his voice. Mary stifled her instinct to call out to Walter as Hartford began pulling her around the edge of the room, heading to the door. Her cousin could not help her now—and she would not embarrass him or make anyone think he was somehow involved with her snooping.

  Hartford escorted her down the hall. A couple was coming toward them, the woman naked and wearing a collar and leash, a black mask across her eyes with little points on either side like cat ears. Mary had become used to seeing all sorts of anatomy this evening, but when they came closer, she had to blink several times to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing—was that a tail coming out of the woman’s bottom?

  What struck her most, though, was the look of utter peace on the woman’s face, discernible despite the mask. Confident as she gracefully sashayed down the hall like a pretty black cat, she was just as comfortable walking beside the man holding her leash as a duchess being escorted through a ballroom.

  This secret club was incredibly egalitarian—Mary could tell by the accents of some of the members, they were certainly not ton—but they all had that one thing in common. A self-assurance that left her burning with envy even more than the rest of it aroused her.

  To her surprise, rather than being shown straight to the front door of Hartford House, the man gripping her arm swung her into a room and closed the door behind him. It was an empty room, clearly an office, but Mary skittered away from him as soon as he released her. She did not think Hartford was the type to physically harm a woman, but being alone in a room with him and at his mercy, it felt unwise to rest easily on that front.

  She could not imagine screaming for help would do her any good. Even if someone came to her rescue, they were likely to be just as irate as Hartford at her presence.

  “Who are you, and how did you find out about tonight?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he blocked the only exit to the room. Evidently, he did not feel the need to chase after her since he was standing in front of her only escape route. Unless she went for the windows—hardly an appealing prospect. They were on the second floor, and he would easily catch her before she even got the thing opened.

  In fact, the only true shield she had available to her was who she was.

  Sighing, she pushed back the hood of her domino, revealing her blonde locks pulled into a simple coiffure, then she tugged at the strings of her mask, letting it fall away. The shock that crossed Hartford’s face when he realized who he’d snared was almost recompense for being caught.

  Rex

  No matter how unlikely a guess he could have conceived of the mystery woman’s identity, he would not have come up with Miss Wilson. Indeed, in his wildest dreams, he would not have thought of any debutante.

  “What the devil are you about?” He almost shouted the words, glaring hard.

  Did she have any idea of what… wait… did she have any idea of bedroom pleasures? Perhaps the reason she had not stepped back from him earlier today was due to her experience rather than her curiosity. His interest was piqued even more.

  Her chin lifted stubbornly, for all the world as if she was in the right and he in the wrong.

  “I overheard you and Walter talking about the masquerade earlier today,” she said simply, mask dangling from her fingertips, voice cool and haughty. “I wanted to know more.”

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rex closed his eyes for a moment, tightening the reins on his burgeoning temper.

  “Where are you supposed to be this evening?”

  “Lady Farthingale’s ball.” She shrugged. “I told my aunt I had a megrim and wished to stay in to recover. She was happy enough to stay home to dote on my uncle. I am sure everyone believes I am in my room resting. Or possibly reading. If they even think about my whereabouts.” That last was tacked on matter-of-factly. She was not looking for sympathy, merely stating things as she saw them. “I tucked some pillows under my sheets, so if anyone opens my door. they will think I am in my bed and will not bother me.”

  Pushing away his desire to reassure her, of course, her family would think of her, he focused on the why of her presence.

  “Did you have any idea what you would be walking into this evening?”

  A blush heated her cheeks. Interesting. Although not necessarily indicative. Even for a young woman with some experience, the activities of the Society could be shocking.

  “I did not,” she admitted.

  Rex leaned back against the door, tilting his head in consideration. She watched him… warily but silently. Submissively.

  “Did you understand what you saw?”

  “Well enough.” There went her chin again, although the blush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her neck. Something about her demeanor convinced him she was bluffing. He was not sure why he thought so, but he was inclined to call her bluff.

  While he would not have taken this step until after the wedding to gauge her interest in such things, since she had invaded his territory, all bets were off. The temptation to discover her inclinations was too great—and she deserved it.

  “Good. Then you understand why I am going to punish you now.”

  Hazel eyes widened in shock, pink lips shaping into a little ‘o.’ His cock jerked with interest at the image that flew through his mind of her on her knees, taking his thick shaft into her mouth.

  “P-Punish? H-How?” Her voice quavered, but she did not retreat. If anything, she sounded breathlessly interested rather than terrified or dismissive. Rex’s cock began to swell, his instincts sharpening, interest heightening. His entire world narrowed and focused on her.

  “You are going to put yourself across my lap, and I am going to spank you.” He stated it as a fact, pushing off the door and striding to the chair nearest her—one of the leather chairs across the desk from his usual seat. Settling onto the chair, only a mere two meters away from her, he patted his thigh. “Come here, petal.”

  Mary

  She could run out the door. There was no barrier to escape now. She could run out the door, out into the night, and never look back.

  Except… she would have to see him
again, even without Evie’s plea for help—especially because of Evie’s plea. Did this count as successful infiltration of his club? Would she be welcome back again if she did this? Was this some kind of test?

  Most importantly, would she be able to admit to herself the true reason she was talking herself into letting Hartford spank her had nothing to do with Evie’s plea or duty to her country but because she wanted him to? She wanted to know the why behind the expressions she had seen on so many faces throughout the house… and she wanted it to be with him.

  “Is it going to hurt?” she whispered, even as she took a step closer, her skirts shushing across the top of the plush carpet.

  Hartford tilted his head, studying her for a long moment.

  “It would not be much of a punishment if it did not.” His eyebrows rose, mocking. “Do you think your infringement on my party and all of my guests’ privacy should go unpunished?”

  “No.” Of course not. She just had not expected this punishment. Had not expected to be so curious about what it would feel like. Had not expected to want it.

  She took another step closer. One more step and the only move available to her would be to put herself over his lap. Staring down at his broad thighs, the muscles sleekly encased by his tight leather breeches before they disappeared into his knee-high black Hessian boots, she felt as though reality was fracturing. This could not be real, could it?

  Perhaps she was dreaming. Tomorrow, she would wake, and it would be just as she had told her aunt—she had had a megrim, laid down, then fallen asleep and had the wildest dream about Hartford’s masquerade.

  He held out his hand.

  Silent.

  Demanding.

  Mary placed her fingers in his.

  Chapter 7

  Mary

  One quick practiced tug of Hartford’s hand and all the breath left Mary’s body as she found herself tumbling over Hartford’s lap with dizzying precision. The world upended, leaving her staring at the carpet as the circumstances of her situation became all too real. There was no denying the firm thighs beneath her stomach, the hard ridge pressing into her side, or the sudden dread that coursed through her body.

  Oh, Mary, what have you gotten yourself into now?

  Regret was pouring in hard and fast, yet she could not make herself move. Could not even find her voice to protest. The only noise she made was a squeak when Hartford hauled her skirts up, revealing the drawers she wore beneath. Heat flamed her face.

  No man had ever seen her legs, much less… well, much less than everything Hartford was seeing. On the other hand, even with her skirts around her waist, she was still more covered than the vast majority of the people present in the household. And given those activities, had she really expected him to spank her over her skirts?

  Deep down, she had known… she must have.

  “Good girl.” His voice sounded deeper. Rougher. The center of her drawers parted, revealing the bare skin of her bottom. Mary covered her face with her hands, suddenly incredibly grateful for her position over his lap. Somehow, not being able to see his expression made the indignity more bearable.

  A large, warm hand covered one cheek, rubbing slightly, preparing the skin for its upcoming chastisement, and a shiver went straight up her spine. Never had a man touched her so intimately—she would have never permitted it, even if she had found one who wanted to. Yet here she was, over Hartford’s lap, allowing him to not only touch her but punish her, and she could not even articulate why.

  Rex

  Rubbing his hand over the soft skin of Miss Wilson’s bottom, Rex gritted his teeth as he made himself wait for her response. He was not convinced she entirely understood what was happening and wanted to give her every opportunity to call a halt to the proceedings, even if it killed him.

  The soft globes were creamy and pristine, a blank canvas waiting for an artist to decorate with pinks and reds, and possibly darker hues. Suspecting it was an entirely untouched canvas added an extra note of interest. If he did not want to discourage further exploration on her part, he would need to carefully tread the line between pain and pleasure—punishing her enough to be effective, but not so much she dampened her natural inclinations.

  “Is this your first spanking?” he asked, almost conversationally.

  There was a little pause, and he stilled his movements, waiting for her answer.

  “I… yes.” Her voice was soft, low. Unsure but eager. It was a tone he was highly familiar with from newer members of the Society, those who had the desire but had never participated.

  “Do you understand why you are being punished?” His hand moved across her bottom, and he felt her shiver in response. His cock was achingly hard, pressed into her side. Rex had never particularly cared about his partner’s level of experience. There were different delights to be found, from a novice to a practiced participant and all the variations in between. What he wanted, what moved him, was how eager his playmate was. From everything he could tell, Miss Wilson was hesitant but desiring.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.” He stroked his hand over her bottom, fingers brushing just a little lower until he felt the barest hint of her curls, then retreating.

  “Must I?” She squirmed on his lap, for the first time seeming she might try to escape, but he pressed down on her lower back, pinning her down, and felt her still—not the stillness of fear, but the stillness of a woman who had felt the dominance of her lover and submitted to it.

  Hartford landed two small slaps, barely stinging, to her bottom—one to each upturned cheek. She let out a little gasp of shock, and this time, when she squirmed, it was not because she was trying to get away. As Rex had suspected, a little taste whet her appetite. Her bottom lifted, a silent request for ‘more.’

  “In order for a punishment to be truly effective, the receiver must understand why they are being disciplined.” He patted his fingers gently against the pinked skin he had just slapped. “So, Miss Wilson, tell me why you are being punished.”

  She squirmed again when he said her name, the formality of his address while she was over his lap with her skirts up around her waist, affecting her as much as feeling his hand touch her skin.

  “Because I snuck into your house and… and invaded the privacy of your guests.” The words came out in a rush, only slightly tinged with regret.

  Rex grinned.

  “Very good, Miss Wilson. I think twenty slaps should do it.”

  “Twenty?” she gasped, squirming again. He firmed his grip on her hip, holding her securely against him.

  “To each cheek.” He raised his hand and brought it down with a satisfying slapping sound, his cock jerking with appreciation. Miss Wilson bucked against him, but she did not have time to shriek before his hand was descending again, landing with similar vigor on her opposite cheek. Both swats were much harder than the first little taps he had given her, and when she did find her voice again, she let out a lovely shriek that made him smile broadly.

  Perfect.

  Mary

  That bloody hurt!

  So much more than the two he had laid down when she’d questioned him. Those had stung almost pleasurably, making her cheeks and insides feel a little warm. By contrast, the short, crisp swats he was now peppering her bottom with were biting, painful, burning slaps. Was his hand made of wood?

  “Ow! Ow! Stop, please!”

  To her shock, the spanking immediately ceased. Hanging over his lap, panting for breath, tears stung the backs of her eyes. How many swats had that been? Five? Six? And he wanted to do twenty to each side of her poor bottom?

  Yet the moment he stopped, a feeling of emptiness opened up inside her, as though she had been promised some delicious treat only to have it taken away after one small nibble. But a spanking was not a delicious treat. It hurt! So why did she feel so denied?

  “I can stop now,” Hartford said, his hand coming to rest on her bottom again, his palm even warmer. He rubbed the spot he had been spanking, and a sho
cking ripple of warmth spread through her core, making her insides clench. “I can stop, escort you to the door, and send you off… and you will never know more.”

  Never know more.

  Never be invited back. Never know what put that expression of contentedness on so many faces she had seen tonight. Never feel his hands on her again.

  Something clogged her throat, but she could not possibly tell him to continue… could she?

  “Be brave, petal.” His voice was a whisper, fingers gliding over the skin of her bottom, promising pleasure. The sting had already receded. Surely, she could withstand one spanking in return for… more. “Be brave, and you will have everything you need.”

  Mary’s insides quivered, and her bottom tilted up, silently begging for his hand again.

  “I need to hear the words, petal.” There was a note of sternness that did not entirely cancel out the gentle quality of his tone. “Tell me to continue.”

  She whimpered, but she could not fault his reasoning. Her voice came out as a breathy whisper, barely audible with its plea.

  “Continue, please.”

  “Good girl.” Another caress of his hand across her bottom as a reward, then his palm lifted again, only to return with a vengeance. Mary cried out as he spanked her, just as hard as before, giving her no quarter.

  Wetness spread across her cheeks, tears sliding down her face, and her legs began to kick. She was not counting the swats landing on her burning cheeks—she could not have concentrated, even if she wanted to. It was all she could do to hold back from begging him to stop again.

  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!

  She wailed, a wordless cry that did nothing to stop the assault on her increasingly tender nates, but a strange thing was happening. Even as the pain of the spanking increased, so did an odd sense of gratification, almost pride, at accepting the punishment rather than begging for it to stop again. She had to bite back the pleas, but she managed it.