by Nina Lane
“Mmm.” Preston ran his finger down the cleft of her full bottom. “Were you wearing panties?”
Lydia nodded, her flush deepening.
“What kind?”
“Bikini panties.”
“And how long did it take that boy to get into them?”
Lydia tried to turn her face into the pillow again, but he grasped the side of her face and forced her to look at him.
“How long?” he repeated, jealousy seething inside him at the thought of any other man, let alone a disgusting frat boy, touching Lydia’s sweet pussy.
“A few minutes.”
“Did he take them off or did you?”
“He… he did.”
“And then what did he do?”
Lydia’s breath expelled on a sigh of resignation, and then Preston saw her eyes go languid, almost reminiscent, and he knew she would confess every last sordid detail. And that, loath though she would be to admit it, she would enjoy telling him.
“He touched me,” Lydia whispered. “Put his fingers inside me. Kissed me.”
“On your cunt?”
“No. My mouth. My breasts. We were… He’d gotten us both back up against the pillows, and he’d taken off his shirt. We were kind of rubbing against each other, you know, fooling around, when the bedroom door opened and his friend Riley came in. I was startled at first and grabbed for my clothes. They both started apologizing, all embarrassment and concern, and Riley said he’d just come in to get something and would leave. Of course, he didn’t.”
“Of course,” Preston repeated. “And how did they convince you to agree to both of them fucking you?”
“Um… well, Sam said they’d talked about it, that it had always been a fantasy of theirs, and I admitted that it… it had been one of mine too. I knew them both, trusted them as much as I could given our acquaintance, and so when they asked if I’d… Well, I knew it was something I’d wanted to try. So I did.”
Preston laughed without humor. He spanked her again, enjoying the way his palm warmed when it made sharp contact with her plump buttocks.
“Oh no,” he said softly. “I’ll need more than that. What happened next?”
“They said they’d stop any time I wanted. I wasn’t so naïve as to believe them, but I had no reason to fear them. They were just young, horny college boys. We… There was no great seduction or anything. We all took off our clothes. I was nervous, but wanted to do it. They both started… started touching me.”
“Where?”
Lydia bit down on her lower lip, creating a little red mark. “Sam rubbed my breasts. Riley kissed me. Squeezed my ass. Put his hand between my legs.”
“Were you wet?” Preston eased his finger down to her moist slit.
“Yes.” The admission escaped on a long, slow hiss. “Oh, Preston, don’t…”
“Go on.”
He moved away from her and off the bed. Lydia twisted to see what he was doing. Preston unzipped a small black bag resting beside the door and removed a leather paddle, the sight of which made Lydia gasp.
“Preston, please.”
“No need to worry, my dear. Just a little reminder of our arrangement.” He smiled and slapped the paddle against his other hand, the resounding smack sparking fear in Lydia’s dark eyes.
Preston unfastened the ropes binding Lydia’s luscious legs to the bed and bade her position herself on her knees and arch her body upward. With a groan of impending despair, Lydia did.
Preston moved around to the foot of the bed and gazed with sheer pleasure at the taut, round pillows of Lydia’s buttocks pushed up and out, her thighs parted to allow him a view of her glistening pink pussy. A trickle of feminine liquid ran down her thigh, and the evidence of her arousal only served to increase Preston’s amusement and pleasure.
He couldn’t resist a few more spanks, this time with the paddle, and the sound of the leather hitting Lydia’s firm skin made his erection throb wildly.
Lydia moaned at the impact, her body jerking forward, her breasts swaying beneath her curved body. A delightful, reddish warmth painted her pale skin as Preston landed the paddle again.
“Preston!” Lydia twisted to try and look at him over her shoulder, her glossy hair falling across her face. “I… I was telling you…”
“I know, my dear.” He climbed back onto the bed beside her. “Just getting us both warmed up.”
Her groan made him smile. He ran his hand down her back again and patted her reddened rear. “Go on, then. You were on the bed with two horny boys. I’ll bet they were ready to come the instant they touched your pussy. I can’t imagine they had much stamina. What did their cocks look like?”
“My God, Preston you… Ouch!” She stiffened as he landed the paddle on her rump again. “They were… if I remember correctly, Riley’s was long and thin, and Sam’s was shorter but big around.”
“Which one of them fucked you first?”
“Sam. I… I lay on my back so he could get between my legs, and… and Riley was rubbing my clit at the same time.”
“Mmm.” Preston ran the paddle over her thighs, his own cock so stiff it ached. He reached down to pull it from the confines of his trousers, tightening his fist around the pulsing shaft. “You liked that.”
“Yes.” Her breathing came in little pants, her eyes heavy-lidded and half closed.
“What did you like about it?” Preston asked.
“I… I liked being… I don’t know. Taken. Overwhelmed. After Sam pushed into me, Riley straddled my chest and put his cock in my mouth. I sucked him while Sam fucked me.”
Though the raw admission in Lydia’s throaty voice flooded Preston with heat, he could not prevent another bolt of jealousy. He gave the nasty feeling a release by unleashing another series of spanks on Lydia’s bruised buttocks. She yelped with dismay.
“Go on,” he ordered through gritted teeth, his fist tightening on his erection as he imagined pushing it past Lydia’s full ruby lips while her body bounced beneath him with the force of another man’s thrusts. “Which one of them came first?”
“Riley,” Lydia breathed, arching against the confines of the ropes still lashing her arms to the bed. “He pulled out of my mouth and masturbated, coming over my breasts and throat.”
Preston’s brain flashed with images of a young Lydia splayed out naked on the bed, her bow-shaped lips parted and her breasts quivering as a disgusting frat boy grunted over her and jerked his cock. Preston imagined Lydia’s gasp of shock when the boy spurted onto her breasts, long trails of semen trickling over her pale skin, his groan of satisfaction echoing in the thick air.
Goddammit.
“What about the other bastard?” Preston brought the paddle down against the backs of Lydia’s luscious, bare thighs.
“He… oh, Preston, that hurts!”
“It’s supposed to.” He spanked her again, harder. “Punishment for being such a lewd, naughty slut. Did you let the other boy sully your pretty skin with his filth as well?”
“Not… not at first.”
“What did he do?”
A new blush fired Lydia’s skin, and she lowered her face into the pillow. The movement hid her face from him, but caused her lower body to arch up farther into a delicious, lovely curve of surrender.
Unable to help himself, Preston moved around behind her. He placed his hands gently upon her upturned bottom and spread her cheeks apart to reveal the shadowy cleft and the dusky button of her anus. In that instant, he knew what had provoked her sudden, intense embarrassment.
With a chuckle of glee, he pressed the tip of his finger against the closed little hole. Lydia gave a choked gasp, jerking forward to escape the invasion.
“Preston, no…”
“He tried to do this, didn’t he?” Preston wiggled his finger a little more, easing it just past the tight ring of muscle. “That’s why you were so reluctant to allow me to take you here, isn’t it? Did that little fucker make it so bad for you?”
Lydia groaned, her hea
d twisting back and forth against the pillow. She murmured something Preston couldn’t hear, and he scooted up closer to her head.
“Say that again,” he prompted.
Lydia turned her face toward him, her eyes dark as midnight and suffused with heat. Tendrils of hair clung to her perspiration-damp skin, and a fiery heat burned her skin.
“He asked me if I wanted to try it. I said yes. I’d… I’d never done it before, and… I wanted to try everything while I could.”
“What did he do?”
“Told me to turn around. There was… a lot of fumbling. Awkwardness. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it right. Neither did I. I just knew that it hurt when he tried to push it in, and I wanted him to stop.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. I think he was relieved when I said that because it wasn’t going well.”
“What did you do then?”
“I masturbated him. Let him come on my breasts. I had the sense that they liked that.”
“Liked what? Seeing you covered in their semen?”
Lydia nodded. “I knew it was a fantasy for them. That I was a fantasy.”
Preston’s jealousy eased a bit. It was true, Lydia would have been a fantasy come to life for two pathetic, oversexed frat boys. But for him, Preston, she was so much more than a mere fantasy, more than a figment of his dreams. She was his real, living, flesh-and-blood Lydia who quivered at his touch, shrieked at the impact of his paddle, spread her legs apart for him time and again.
She was his.
He stroked his hand over her behind and into the damp folds of her slit. Lydia started, her eyes lowering as her breath grew fast. Preston worked his fingers, squeezing her slick flesh, dipping his fingers into the opening of her body, massaging her swollen clit. Lydia trembled and moaned.
“Did those boys get you off?” Preston whispered, his voice thick with arousal.
“I…” Lydia arched her back, as if to impale herself on his thrusting fingers. “Y-yes. One of them… I can’t remember which… rubbed my clit until I came.”
“Was it good?” Preston asked, using his other hand to stroke his own stiff flesh.
“Not as good as when you do it,” Lydia murmured, and Preston almost laughed with delight at the sheer perfection of her remark. His Lydia did learn well.
He worked her harder, feeling the tension lacing through her supple muscles, the strain toward release that she fought so hard to contain. When he whispered his consent for her orgasm, Lydia let out a cry of relief as her body vibrated like a released bowstring. Her taut channel rippled against his pressing fingers. She twitched and moaned with pleasure.
As the sensations eased from her, Preston moved to unlash her wrists from the bedposts. He grasped the length of her hair, nudging her closer so he could push his erection into her mouth. He groaned when her lips closed around his shaft and she began to obediently suck him in the exact manner he desired.
And when the pressure built to the breaking point and he could bear it no longer, he pulled his wet cock from Lydia’s warm mouth and stroked it, release ripping through him as his semen spurted over his captive’s lovely lips.
Preston woke from a light doze and let Lydia sleep awhile longer as he called a restaurant to order a food delivery. He sat at the scarred table beside the window and pondered the bustle of raucous chaos on the street below, men and women lurching from bar to bar, the heavy scent of spilled beer rising, the noise of a jazz band filtering into the air. Several people dressed in Carnival costumes—a jester, a woman in an elaborate feathered headdress, a man wearing a Venetian mask—meandered down the street amidst the crowd.
Though Preston wouldn’t have chosen to reside in such a squalid setting, he supposed he could make this situation work for quite some time, especially as no one would think to find him here. At least he could continue to entertain Lydia here until he determined a way to get her away from her goddamned father again.
Anger tightened his chest. He hated that fucking Edward Worthington, with his proprietary air, issuing commands and expecting Lydia to obey without question. Though Preston didn’t think Edward was either powerful or clever enough to discover the true nature of life at La Nouvelle Vie, beyond the fact that Edward had taken Lydia away, Preston was still upset by the fact the man had actually discovered the house’s location.
Nestled in the crevices of the bayou, La Nouvelle Vie was remote and isolated enough that even invited guests were brought to the plantation in town cars with curtains drawn over the side windows so they wouldn’t be tempted to follow the road signs or directions. Sometimes Preston insisted that the guests were blindfolded to ensure extra security, especially if it was their first time paying a visit to the plantation. It was never really needed, as the guests were often prominent people who desperately wished to maintain their own anonymity while also unleashing their darkest carnal desires.
However, that didn’t mean that he, Gabriel, and Kruin weren’t vigilant about their security. And it irked him to no end that Edward Worthington, the bastard, had somehow infiltrated the secrecy Preston and the other two men had worked so hard to construct.
He frowned, staring at a neon sign blinking across the street. The door to the bar below it opened, disgorging a crowd of disheveled, drunken patrons. A knock came at the door to the room, and Preston pushed away from the table to answer it. He took the bags of food from the delivery boy, thrusting cash at him and waving him quickly away before shutting and locking the door.
Lydia pulled herself out of her slumber when the aroma of food began to penetrate the air, a medley of scents that roused hunger in her dark eyes.
Preston set the food at the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Come and eat, my dear.”
He gestured to the chair with a flick of his hand. Lydia fumbled to pull the sheet around herself like a toga before she crossed the room to sit. In an acknowledgement of their time together at the plantation, Preston took a plate and filled it with a selection of food before placing it in front of her.
He nodded toward the plate to indicate that she was welcome to begin. “Please.”
Lydia ate like she was starving. She sank her teeth into a thick oyster po’boy, slurped up a bowl of spicy jambalaya, bit into crispy French fries, spooned up red beans and rice. She drank two lagers, the bubbly froth slipping down her chin, and asked for more. Preston popped the cap off another bottle and passed it to her.
He sat on the other side of the table, sipping a cup of strong chicory coffee and watching his Lydia with indulgent pleasure. He liked the pout of her mouth as she ate, the murmurs of pleasure rising unbidden from her throat, the way she didn’t bother wiping sauce from her full lips, the adorably eager look on her face when he added more food to her plate and told her she could eat as much as she liked.
She was devouring a bowl of bourbon-laced, bread pudding when she glanced up and met his gaze.
“Where are Kruin and Gabriel?” she asked suddenly around a mouthful of gooey pudding.
Preston experienced a stab of irritation at the mention of the other two men. He especially disliked the way Lydia’s husky voice wrapped around the name Gabriel, as if it were another tempting dish she wanted to taste.
He shrugged. “Busy.”
“Do they know you’re here?” Lydia wiped a crumb from her lip with the back of her hand. “That you… um, followed me?”
Preston frowned. “It’s none of their goddamned business what I do. They’re both indebted to me. Kruin is a big, stupid dog on a leash, and Gabriel is an utter milksop who doesn’t know the first thing about duplicity. They both owe me their godforsaken lives.”
Lydia’s eyes widened a little at the vehemence of his tone. She ducked her head to eat another bite of pudding.
“But are they still at the plantation?” she asked tentatively.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” But not even the light tone of her voice could conceal the lie. “I’m just curious.”
Jealousy tightened in Preston’s gut, intensifying his irritation. He reached across the table to grasp her chin, forcing her to look at him. A smear of spiced cream decorated her upper lip. He tightened his grip.
“Listen to me, Lydia,” Preston said coldly. “You are not to ask about Kruin or Gabriel. Do you understand? We had an agreement to share you at the plantation, but we are no longer bound by those rules. Now you are mine. Only mine. You will not even think of them again.” He gave her a shake. “Do you understand?”
Still wide-eyed, Lydia nodded. Preston narrowed his gaze in warning. He released her and sat back. Anger crawled up his throat.
He had spent years… years… waiting and wanting to have Lydia under his control. To turn the tables on the proud, noble girl who had once laughed at him and scoffed at his poverty. He had longed to see her debased, begging, submissive.
And he was furious at the thought that she still didn’t view him as the center of her world, the orchestrator of her future, the only man she should please and obey. He wondered if Lydia’s curiosity about Kruin and Gabriel extended to her fantasies, if she thought about them while she fingered herself at night in bed.
A red mist of anger coated Preston’s vision at the image of his Lydia behaving in such a manner. He swept his arm across the table, sending the dishes and bottles crashing to the floor.
Lydia gasped and jerked backward, her hand coming up as if he were about to strike her.
The gesture infuriated him further, for though he would punish Lydia for her infractions and take great delight in doing so, he would never raise a hand to her in anger. Moreover, he would destroy any man who did—as well she knew.
Preston got to his feet, his breathing rapid as he approached her. Sweat dripped down his temples. Lydia watched him with a shocked expression, her lips parted.
He took her face in his hands, brushing the cream on her lip away with his thumb.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he asked softly.
When she hesitated, his jaw clenched.
“Are you?” he repeated.
“I’m… I’m always a bit afraid of you,” Lydia stammered. “I thought you liked it that way.”
