A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3)

by Eva Nightingale

  He placed two fingers beneath Marnie's chin, tilting it upwards. Without thinking, Marnie shot out her own hand and gripped his wrist to stop it.

  "Now, now. Is that wise?" The major's voice had dropped so low that it was barely above a whisper.

  Marnie could only hold his gaze for a moment before she looked away.

  "I like it when you resist me, Miss Stowe. I am not a man who seeks out easy quarry. But know this. You will bend to me. Here, in this room, and every time we meet, henceforth. Not because I would force you, though we both know that I could. But because you want to. You need to resist—but the need to submit is greater. You've only been waiting for someone worthy of your submission."

  He spun Marnie back around and finished unbuttoning her dress. He pulled it from her shoulders and let it slip to the floor. He made surprisingly short work of unlacing her corset. He cast it to the floor, where it was soon joined by her petticoats and her drawers. Soon, Marnie was before him in nothing except her white silk stockings, held up by white silk ribbons, and her soft leather slippers.

  Marnie's face burned with shame when she felt the major's eyes roving over her unclothed form. Her nipples stood erect, a dark cherry-red. Major Chance took one of the pert, petite breasts in his hand and grazed his thumb across the top of her nipple. Marnie shivered.

  "Lovely," the major said. "You are even more lovely than I had imagined. Now. Assume second position."

  Marnie felt a wave of both fear and rebellion. She had been trained in the range of positions, which Miss Robin's girls learned to hold—from first to fifth—and knew that second position meant she would be expected to use her mouth. And she had been trained with what Miss Robin's academy called lollies—oral training devices—since the beginning of her time as a Privette. But she only had the vaguest idea of what the major would expect or of what she should do. Her racing thoughts were disrupted by a sharp pain; Major Chance had twisted her nipple between his fingers.

  "Kneel," he said. Any trace of humour from his demeanour was quite gone.

  Marnie obeyed, sinking to her knees on the pale carpet and folding her arms behind her back so that her breasts were pushed forward. Her knees were parted so that her nude cunny was completely accessible and on display.

  Marnie's heart fluttered in fear and excitement. She could only glance up at him for a second before looking away. His dark stare bored into her, and from where she knelt, he looked huge and imposing, his face as immutable and imposing as a statue's.

  Her eyes were level with the crotch of his trousers. She watched as he unbuttoned the trousers, reached inside, and freed his sex.

  Major Chance's cock was nothing like the trainers they used at Miss Robin's—she had not expected the details she could now see, the network of veins straining beneath the skin that was darker than the skin on his body. She had not realised how raw it would look, how huge. A bead of pearly fluid had gathered at its tip.

  Major Chance wrapped his hand around his shaft and drew it slowly back and forth, his gaze still boring into Marnie, waiting. When Marnie breathed, she found the air thick with his scent—the smell of cut grass and saddle leather, with the hints of cedar beneath. Over it all, there was the musk of his sex.

  "Allow me to be clear about what is going to happen next, Miss Marnie. You are well overdue for a punishment—for running from me, for attacking me, for your persistent defiance. That misbehaving mouth of yours will now endure the consequences of your actions. It will be neither pleasurable nor comfortable, understood? Now, open your mouth."

  Marnie, reluctant, opened her mouth a little way. The major, without a word, reached down with one hand to press into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open wider. He then pressed the broad head of his cock past Marnie's rosy lips and into her mouth. He continued, pushing in further and further, ignoring the sharp inhale Marnie took through her nostrils, until her lips were stretched around his thick, rigid shaft, her tongue pressed to the bottom of her mouth.

  "Look at me," Major Chance said.

  Marnie looked up at him with her clear blue eyes but almost immediately looked away again. She felt her cheeks, already rosy from the effort of trying to accommodate his cock in her small, inexperienced mouth, redden. She felt the confusing, intense sensations the major always aroused in her body. The pulse in her quim grew stronger and more urgent with every domineering gesture he made, moving his hips forward, inching his cock further into her straining mouth, reaching down to take her breast in his hand and tweak one of her stiff, aching nipples.

  She hated herself for responding in the way she did. It made an urge to rebel rise up inside her. She broke position and pulled away, letting his cock slip from her mouth. She felt relief flood her aching jaws.

  But Major Chance reacted swiftly. He reached around and seized a handful of the hair at the nape of her neck. "Going somewhere, Miss Stowe?"

  She felt her rebellion spill over. "You are a beast," she spat. "How can you ask me t-to—"

  Her eyes flashed. She tried to move away but his grip on her hair was far too strong.

  "Ah, I see there has been a misunderstanding," said the major. "You see, Miss Stowe, I am not asking you to do anything."

  His eyes were dark, glossy and full of his soldier's aggression. Using the hand in her hair to guide her back into position, Major Chance once again placed his cock at her lips. She glanced up at him, her eyes full of rebellion and a desire she did not understand.

  "Let's try this again. Only, this time, there will be no quarter from me, Miss Stowe, and perhaps next time, you will think twice before trying my patience. Arms behind your back. Now."

  He tightened his grip on her hair, and Marnie waited only a moment before acquiescing to his command and folding her arms behind her back. Her nipples were so hardened with arousal that they had ruched into tight peaks. Her sex felt slick, and as his cock pushed, hot and hard, into her now-sore mouth, it only made the need between her legs grow.

  Marnie felt her lips stretch and her jaws widen. He was so thick and so forceful and gave her no time whatever to adjust. When the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, she gagged reflexively, her throat constricting. She coughed, and while he paused, he did not withdraw entirely.

  He merely slid back, giving Marnie a glimpse of the defined muscle where his hips dipped in a V-shape towards his sex, and then pressed forward once more. This time, he pushed past the point where Marnie gagged and groaned in satisfaction as he felt the head of his cock nudge into her throat.

  Marnie's evident difficulty in negotiating his size and girth did not perturb the major. He merely slid back and forth, picking up a rhythm, feeling the warm wetness of her mouth and throat tight and yielding around his sex.

  He pushed in further still, and Marnie felt her nose pressed into the flat muscular plane of his abdomen as he forced the final part of his length inside her and her mouth and throat were filled with him completely.

  "If only you could see how beautiful you look," he said, sliding back enough to regard her.

  Marnie's face was a mess. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes were watering, and saliva was running from her mouth. Her skin glowed with a light sheen of perspiration, and a flush had spread down her throat and to her chest. Her hair was dishevelled from his grip. He smiled.

  "You love this, don't you, my girl?"

  Marnie looked at him as if to refuse, but she couldn't speak. He pulled a little more on her hair, tilting her face back until her eyes met his. He then reached down with his free hand and took her breast in his hand, squeezing it firmly before taking her nipple between his finger and thumb and tugging it—at first, lightly, in a way that sent sparks of pleasure to Marnie's swollen pearl, but then harder, until the caress became a pinch and Marnie made a low groaning sound which was muffled by his cock still filling and stretching her mouth.

  "That's right," he said, not releasing her nipple, but twisting it a little and heightening the searing sensation even further. "I've seen your sor
t of subordination before. You don't make trouble because you hate the rules. You make it because you crave discipline. Punishment. You like to cede control."

  He drew back and pushed in once more.

  No, Marnie thought. You are wrong—you could not be more wrong! How could he believe that she was enjoying having her mouth used in such a manner and her nipples tweaked and teased and pinched until they were dark and sore and having his strong hand grip her hair at the roots, holding her in place?

  And yet, between her spread knees, her quim was becoming more and more slick. She could feel her arousal spreading onto her inner thighs. Her pearl was a hardened, swollen nub peeking out from under its hood. Part of her, a part she did not particularly wish to acknowledge, wanted him to reach down further and use those rough, strong fingers to rub her there, to press firmly into her until her need was relieved.

  Without thinking about it, without even really meaning to, Marnie found herself working with the major's rhythm rather than against it. She started to accommodate him more openly into her mouth and throat, started to move her little pink tongue along the underside of his shaft, until he groaned and reached his free hand around to the back of her head and pulled her back and forth with both hands, plunging his cock into her throat over and over.

  Nothing about the process got easier. Major Chance had said he would give Marnie no quarter, and he kept his word, not slowing the pace or the force with which he took her mouth. But Marnie found that she, despite herself, responded to his sternness in a way she had never responded to anything else.

  The pace continued to quicken. Marnie thought she could feel the major's cock swelling even more as it thrust back and forth in her mouth.

  "Good girl," he said through gritted teeth, and Marnie's quim clenched in response.

  "I'm going to spend in this troublesome mouth of yours," he said. "If you know what's good for you, you will swallow every drop. Do you hear? Every drop."

  He pulled her hair again, and she glanced up at him.

  "Do you understand?"

  She nodded.

  With a low grunt, he thrust even deeper. Her nose was pressed into the thick thatch of almost-black hair at the base of his sex, his testicles against her chin, as his cock slid down her tender throat over and over again. Finally, with a sound that was almost an animal growl, he made a final jerking thrust; she felt a tremor through his cock and then a jet of warmth spurt down her throat.

  Major Chance then pulled his cock back, and further ropes of warm, salty, viscous liquid coated her mouth.

  The major slid his still-hard cock from her mouth, panting. "Swallow."

  Marnie did as she was told, and when his sex was once again presented to her lips, she understood what was being asked and used her tongue to clean the seed from him.

  "You see?" he said in a quiet, softer voice. "You want to obey. How would you be so good at it, otherwise?"

  He helped her to her feet, then lifted her, carrying her over to the bed. He set her down on it and lay down beside her. He kissed her bruised mouth; this time, a softer and more languid kiss, but one which stirred Marnie at the centre nonetheless.

  She found she was happy to lie there in near silence, listening to the fire, the distant murmur of people at the academy going about their business—someone was raking leaves outside, someone's foot landed on a creaky step. Her body, she realised, had relaxed—she didn't feel that usual need to jump up, to pace, to stretch, crack her knuckles—anything, in order to move.

  He held her against the taut muscle of his chest. After a time, she peeled back his open shirt to look more closely at his tattoos.

  "What are they?" she asked. One was older, blurred, and looked like a crown above a wreath. The other was newer—she saw a whirl of curved lines.

  "These?"

  He smiled. His voice was back to being cordial and cheerful. The darkness vanished back beneath the surface.

  Major Chance indicated the tattoo on the left side of his chest. "This is my regimental crest—you see? A crown, a wreath, and that's supposed to be a lion rampant. Not a particularly convincing lion—it looks more like a squirrel to me—but the sentiment is there. A lot of soldiers have these. Not so much the officers. But for soldiers, they can be useful—we tend to be the ones who die on the battlefield, and if someone steals our things—as they typically do—this is one way to tell who we are."

  "That's terrible," said Marnie.

  "Not terrible. Practical. It's a dangerous business," Major Chance said, and Marnie realised how little she knew of his life, of what he had seen or done.

  She reached out and traced the tattoo with her fingers.

  "And this—well, I'm sure you can guess who this is."

  Marnie looked at the newer, darker tattoo. She could now clearly see it was a horse, rearing on its hind legs, the tail curling around its body. She felt a strange stab of jealousy, then chided herself for being ridiculous. Surely, she wasn't jealous of a horse?

  Marnie was full of questions, full of curiosity. She found herself still thinking about the tattoo, days later. She began to see her fiancé not only as the man who riled her, but as someone who had a rich and fascinating life. Someone who wanted to share that life with her. And someone who could make her feel things she had not known herself capable of feeling.

  That night, if she had not been cuffed to her bed, it would have been impossible to resist breaking yet another of Miss Robin's rules and slipping a hand between her legs to relieve the desire that burned there.

  Chapter 8

  "We are commencing a new phase of your training today," said Mrs. Jones, parting the curtains. "I am rousing you early in order to prepare you for it. Go to the bathroom at once and make use of the necessary."

  Marnie's first impulse was to roll over and go back to sleep, but she saw the flinty look in Mrs. Jones' eye and thought better of it. She knew that her engagement would mean the beginning of a new and more intense phase of her training, and that Mrs. Jones would relish the opportunity to thoroughly punish any disobedience. Besides, the memory of her near-expulsion was still fresh in her mind. Marnie rose and went to the bathroom.

  It was a Sunday, and the girls had a scheduled training session in the Redbreast Room. This was a grand room adjoining the parlour, used for events such as weddings and formal assemblies. But it was also a space where the girls received specialised training from their chaperones.

  Marnie had long since grown tired of her basic training. Holding the positions, first to fifth, which each girl had to know by heart. Curtseying. Keeping her nose to the corner and her hands above her head. Learning to accept the various implements that dangled from Mrs. Jones' chaperone belt—paddle, martinet, tawse. Most of the time, these were reserved for punishments, but in the Redbreast Room, they were also used for training purposes. Marnie spent many Sunday afternoons with her drawers around her knees, learning to hold her bottom in the correct position, counting the strokes as Mrs. Jones applied an instrument of discipline, and kissing the instrument once the session was complete.

  But she did not particularly relish the thought of new and unfamiliar forms of training. Marnie felt a new mood of unease set in.

  Once she had used the necessary, she expected the attendants to arrive with water for her bath, and for Mrs. Jones to bathe her as she typically would.

  Instead, Mrs. Jones pointed to the table that stood against one wall. It was broad and padded and covered with leather. Above it was a hook from which dangled a bag and hose.

  Marnie felt her insides cramp in anticipation.

  "Nightgown off and then up on the table. And don't dally," said Mrs. Jones.

  Marnie swallowed. "Yes, Mrs. Jones," she said.

  Marnie had undergone plenty of enemas since arriving at Miss Robin's. She had come to dread the blunt intrusion of the nozzles Miss Robin had specially made in ivory or rubber—they were broader than typical enema nozzles and made to stay lodged in place. Marnie dreaded the feel of the nozzle
sliding inside her, dreaded the click as the valve opened, dreaded the feel of the first rush of warm water into her bowels.

  It was unpleasant, but Marnie knew it was more humiliating than painful, and this was the experience she braced herself against. She climbed onto the table, assumed fourth position—leaning forward on her forearms with her bottom high in the air—and tried not to clench her cringing bottom hole closed, as Mrs. Jones took this as a form of insubordination and was inclined to punish her for it.

  Soon enough, Marnie heard the series of sounds she dreaded. She heard the unhooking of the bag. She heard Mrs. Jones attach the hose and fill the bag, then rehang the bag on the shining brass hook. She heard the jar of lubricating salve being opened.

  There was then the familiar feeling of Mrs. Jones' hand spreading her cheeks and one finger circling her small, pink pucker, inside and out, to spread the salve. The scent of the salve reached Marnie's nostrils, and though it was a pleasant one—it reminded Marnie of tomato leaves—it always increased her sense of trepidation.

  The next thing Marnie felt was the blunt tip of the nozzle placed at her tight entrance. Mrs. Jones did not spend any time easing it in. Marnie had been through the process many times and knew that she was expected by now to easily accept the enema nozzle into her back passage. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax.

  Mrs. Jones pushed firmly.

  "Still clenching, I see," said Mrs. Jones. "A bad habit you should have outgrown by now!"

  The chains of her chatelaine jingled, and Marnie soon felt the bite of the martinet—a miniature many-tongued whip used on naughty children in France and which every chaperone carried—applied to her bottom. Shocked by the pain, she stopped clenching, and Mrs. Jones was able to give the large nozzle one firm push and lodge it securely inside Marnie's bottom.

  Marnie took a deep breath, waiting for the inevitable click.

  Mrs. Jones never switched it on immediately if Marnie had shown resistance. Instead, she liked to wait for a few long, excruciating moments with everything in place, knowing her charge was listening out for the sound that meant the uncomfortable process of having her bowels filled was about to begin.