Instead, I use my other hand to stroke the velvety lips of her quim, drawing comfort from the welcoming moisture I find there. Not for the first time, Lady Natalia’s mouth is saying no, but the rest of her body is screaming yes.
I slide the head of my cock into her hot, wet entrance, taking the time to look down at that spot where our bodies are soon to be joined. The pink velvet of her sweet cunt, the lips stretching around the glistening, swollen rod soon to be buried inside her. So sweet. So adorable.
I press forward, keeping a harsh rein on my lust. It would be easy, much too easy, to rush this and to hurt her. She’s so tight, I know she’ll struggle to accept what is happening, at least at first. But soon, provided I take plenty of time over her, and can manage not to terrify the poor woman half to death…
Not that I’ve enjoyed too much success on that front so far. I fear that last spanking may have been one too many, especially for her wedding night. I will be more patient with her, more tolerant. I will.
Or maybe not. Her peachy little bottom is altogether too much of a temptation. Better that I strive to awaken the appetites I now know with certainty lurk beneath that innocent demeanour. My own beautiful whore, delighting in the same desires that drive me.
I ease further inside her, taking care to stop each time she gasps in pain. This is tight, so deliciously snug, the walls of her cunt gripping my cock like a glove. She’s hot and wet, very ready, but so tiny. She is not fragile though, I am certain of that. I will not break her, nor will I harm her.
I would not do that, not for the world.
Another half inch, then an inch. I sink the head of my cock deeper, bury it between her soft folds. I let out a sigh of pure contentment, pressing forward, easing my way inside. I want to thrust, the urge near overwhelming, but I maintain a savage grip on my own desires.
Another half inch, and…
God’s sweet bones, what is this?
I press again, a tentative, experimental nudge. This time there is no mistaking it, that thin, quivering barrier guarding her quim and blocking my way.
Twice married, twice widowed. She has said herself she is not a virgin. But the proof of it is here.
My first wife was pure when we wed. I took her maidenhead, and I recall the sensation most vividly. I am not wrong. I am confused, astonished, but not wrong.
Tally’s eyes remain tightly shut, her face screwed up in a grimace of pure concentration, of steely determination to face and conquer the inevitable. She has courage, this little bride of mine. She will need it.
I contemplate stopping at this point, pulling out. I might attempt to talk to her, seek to understand this conundrum. But to what end. She is my wife, this is to happen between us. She will not leave my bed a virgin.
There is but one way, really, and I see no merit in drawing out the agony. I lean forward, plant my hands on the mattress on either side of her head. I tilt my hips back, position myself with care for a smooth, strong thrust, and I do it.
Tally lets out a high-pitched scream, a shriek of pain, fear, shock. I expect all of that, even if she does not. My rod drives home, I am fully embedded, balls deep inside her. The first part of my mission accomplished, I hold still, my weight supported on my hands and my knees as she arches under me, writhing on the bed.
“Please, please stop. What have you done? Hurts…” Her moans and cries are pitiful, her desperation near palpable. She believes I have injured her, and not without reason. I lower my upper body to hers to trail my lips across her chin, her face, finally settling on her neck.
Incredibly, she goes still beneath me, though her chest is heaving and I can feel her rapid pulse under my lips.
“Easy, sweetheart. You are safe, No more pain, I swear that to you.”
“What have you done? It has never felt like this, never hurt like this…”
“I know, little one, I know that. Trust me, I will make it good from here.”
“I cannot. You cannot, this is wrong. You have injured me.”
“Not injured. I hurt you, ‘tis all. Just for a moment, but no more. Am I hurting you still?”
She hesitates, her eyes opening a fraction. She frowns, as though contemplating my question. Then, she shakes her head.
Thank God. Thank you, God.
“You were a virgin, sweetheart. I have no notion how or why, but that is the truth.”
“That is not possible.”
I shift a little to brush my lips across hers. There will be no further merit in debating this now. We—I—have weightier matters to attend to. Like fucking my wife and doing a good job of it.
“Hush, love. We will talk later. After.”
I withdraw my cock, almost pulling out of her. Tally’s face is a gorgeous mix of arousal—despite everything, her body is already responding—and pure shock. Disbelief. I share her bewilderment, though I can also discern some comic irony in our situation. Twice widowed and still a maid. She might have made a nun after all.
Not now though. Now, she is mine. All mine.
I slide my cock back into her in one long, smooth stroke, filling her to the hilt. Her body stretches around me, her grip fierce and clinging. She lets out a low moan, and this time I do not think it to be one of discomfort. I wait for a moment, then repeat the action.
More moans, and the walls of her quim quiver around me. Women may feign much, but not that, never that. My little Tally is loving this, and she is not alone in her bliss.
It is a snug fit. She is hot, and so slick my cock glides in and out with ease as I set up a steady rhythm. Slow at first, each stroke full length, allowing her a moment between each thrust to adjust, to accept. I contemplate releasing her hands, but decide against that when her inner walls start to convulse around me. She is here, in this moment with me and I see no cause to distract her.
“Stefan? I, I… oh!” Her long moan is one of utter contentment now as she lifts her hips to thrust back against me.
“Is this good?”
“Yes, I think… Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
She is writhing around now, her cunt squeezing me hard as she seems to seek more friction. I quicken the pace, thrusting harder in response to her unspoken demand. Still it is not enough. She locks her ankles in the small of my back as though she would never let me go.
Could she find her release just from my penetration alone? Perhaps, I am aware many women can and do, and I trust my little Tally may be one of those. But now, this first time, she needs more from me. And in truth, if I am to outlast her, I need to conclude this with some alacrity. I slide my hand between our bodies to find her sweet, throbbing clitoris and lay the pad of my thumb over it. I circle, the pressure even, just enough to focus all her senses in that one spot.
“Stefan, please… harder. I need more…”
“You shall have it. You shall have all of it. Come for me again, sweetheart.” I increase the pressure, rubbing the sensitive button at the same time as I fuck her hard.
Her response is all I could have hoped for and more besides. Her head rolls back, her eyes closing on a breathy, guttural moan as her entire body spasms. For long, luscious seconds she is locked in the throes of her climax, shuddering with the effort, her muscles clamping hard around me as I bury my cock in one last, driving thrust. I never let up the firm caress on her clit as I hold that position and savour the moments until her passion spends itself. Tally’s cries of delight are still echoing around the tiny room as I withdraw and plunge deep one last time, this one for me as I empty my aching balls into her.
Later, I hold her small, trembling body in my arms. She is draped over my chest, her breasts pressing against me and one slender leg slung across my hips. I am sure she has no idea of the alluring picture she makes in our newfound intimacy. I am not certain how much time has elapsed, a few minutes perhaps though it may be longer. My own breathing and heartbeat have returned to normal, but Tally is still shivering. I suspect she is still experiencing the residual effects of her first coupling rather than reacting
to any chill in the room, but even so I reach to draw the blanket over us as she snuggles closer. Only when her breathing is steady and the shivering has subsided do I attempt to talk to her.
“That was unexpected, my little one.” I nuzzle the hair on the top of her head, inhaling the delicate fragrance that is unique to her.
She does not reply at once. I smooth my palm across her naked back in large circles, waiting, reassuring I hope.
“I am sorry. Truly I am, my lord. I had no idea… You must think me a fool. A ninny.”
“My lord? I had thought we were past that now…” I lower my palm to her bottom and pat the soft flesh by way of a gentle reminder. “And just to avoid any doubt, let me make it clear what I think of you. I find you to be a beautiful woman, a sensual and responsive bride, and a unique, precious gift.”
“But, I, I mean, you expected. When we first met, you said that my experience would be valued by my next husband. Yet when it comes to it, I am, I am…”
“A virgin?” I do try to be helpful, when I can.
She nods, her face buried against my chest.
“Not any more. How do you feel? Any soreness?”
“No, my lor… Stefan. You were very kind, considering.”
“Considering?”
“Your disappointment. You must feel cheated.”
“Must I?”
“Of course. This is not the wedding night you planned or expected. I have ruined it.”
I’ve heard enough. I’m tempted to spank her again, but that really would be too much for her. Instead I haul her up my body in order to plant a quick kiss on her mouth, then I toss her onto the bed at my side, on her back. I pin her hands in place with mine as I lean over her, my face just inches from hers.
“Let me make my position clear, my lady. You are my wife, my bride. You are beautiful, obedient, courageous, and you are blessed with the tightest, hottest, wettest cunt it has been my good fortune to sink my cock into in many a long year. Fucking you was my absolute pleasure, and will be again. And again. I did not care whether you were a virgin or not, and in any case that is all behind us now. You are mine, all mine, and I expect we will do very well together.”
“You do not mind?”
“I do not. But I would like to understand how this state of affairs came about.”
Her face flushes, her embarrassment obvious.
“I thought, I mean, my first husband was just a boy and not well enough to, to… I knew my first marriage was not consummated. Everyone knew that.”
“Okay. And the second one?”
“I thought he did, I mean…”
“He never hurt you? As I did, at first?” I know he did not, he could not have. But Tally needs to understand the difference in order to make sense of this.
“No, never.”
“What did you feel?”
“Rubbing. A lot of rubbing, and his fingers—inside me.”
“It felt good?”
“It… did not feel bad exactly.”
I suppress the urge to chuckle, though I sense Tally would not see the funny side right now. Even so, some comment is called for.
“Madam, I would have a promise from you if you please. If, on any occasion after my lovemaking, you feel moved to describe the experience in those terms—it did not feel bad exactly—you are to make that sorry state of affairs known to Karl at the earliest opportunity. He will have instructions upon hearing this to take me down to the moat surrounding my keep at Richtenholst and drown me.”
“Drown you? Why? I do not understand.”
“You will, in time. So, when I fucked you just now, did that feel bad? Exactly?”
Her eyes widen, her expression incredulous. “No, not bad, not at all. It was glorious. Oh, not at first, but very soon.” She pauses, appears to be considering something. Then, “I should thank you for your kindness. For being gentle when I did not deserve it.”
“What is this about deserving? You are precious to me. I will always be gentle with you.”
“Except when you spank me?”
Is that a hint of mischief I discern in her pretty eyes? Is my little bride teasing me? Now this is promising.
I lean down to rub the tip of my nose against hers. “Especially then, if you did but know.”
She is silent for a few moments, and squirming against the bed as though testing the remaining soreness in her derriere. Her face brightens into a soft smile.
“I do know, Stefan.”
“I am forgiven then?”
“You might be. First, I will require that you make love to me again. And maybe another time after that.”
“This sounds fair. I will not tie your hands this time, nor will I spank you, probably. Though I do expect you to scream.”
Her lips curl in a sensual grin, her eyes alight in a way I have not observed before. “Make me, my lord.”
Chapter Nine
The journey to Richtenholst passes quickly. The duke and I have established a comfortable rapport. We chat, we ride in companionable silence, we eat together beside the campfires that Karl produces with little effort. He seems to just click his fingers and the flames burst forth to lick beneath a rabbit or duck or some other such fare collected on our route.
Often Karl and Berthe share our meal, the four of us at ease together while the rest of our entourage arrange themselves around us in protective circle to ward off predators of the four- or two-legged varieties. That said, Stefan does not appear unduly cautious, and his confidence has increased as we have neared his own lands.
We have made good time and Stefan tells me he expects to see the turrets of his mighty keep before sunset this evening. We will arrive after dark, but that is preferred to remaining on the road for a further night.
I have shared my husband’s bed, rolled up with him in his blankets to ward off the cold, covered only by a rough canvas. I have been warm enough, but Stefan is irritated by the lack of privacy. His caresses within the confines of our bedding are intimate, his kiss sweet and sensual, but he has not made love to me since we emerged from Mistress Lars’ cottage into the thin light of a wintry dawn, the morning after our wedding. My body was sore in places I had only just begun to discover, and even now, after two days on the road, the memories of that night are no less vivid.
Stefan has made no mention of my ridiculous naivety in believing myself to be anything other than an innocent virgin. In truth, I can hardly credit it myself. How could I have possibly imagined that my previous husband’s furtive, peremptory fumblings were anything more than that? I lacked experience, I never questioned, even though the gossip among ladies which I was privy to as a married woman bore no comparison to my own reality. I simply accepted my passionless, unfulfilled existence as my lot in life.
There is nothing of the passionless or unfulfilled about my new husband. He is, quite simply, magnificent. He is demanding, dominant, a man to be obeyed. But the reward for obedience is his dazzling company, his witty conversation, his ready smile. His touch is exquisite, promising infinite pleasure. But above all that, he is kind to me. He seems ready to like me. Perhaps to even love me.
I have been so incredibly lucky I should be offering up prayers to sweet Mother Mary and all the saints to thank the heavens for my good fortune. Why, instead, am I burdened by such despair, such bleak, confused misery? Why can I not give myself over to my new life, to my new husband, and look forward to a rosy future as duchess of Richtenholst? Why, I might even be blessed with my own babies soon, to make my life complete.
I had assumed myself to be barren, but now I know the reason I never conceived. All that has changed, there is now every chance.
But my life is not complete. Will never be complete. I miss Sophia. I long for her, I worry and fret over her. I imagine her alone now, a small, bewildered, abandoned child among strangers. I hope the imperial court will be kind to her, for she needs a lot of love. She is now beyond my influence and my help, and perhaps has been since her father’s death. But whilst w
e remained at Hohenzollern I was close to her, I was a familiar presence. And if I am honest with myself, she gave me a sense of purpose. I felt needed.
Stefan enjoys me, but I doubt he needs anyone.
My plans to join a convent were driven by a pressing desire to remain close to Sophia, as well as a need for stability, for security. My life has always been aligned to that of a man, first my father, then each of my husbands, and my fortunes were dictated by theirs. I have been a daughter, a wife, then a widow, cast into the uncertain purgatory of relying on the charity and goodwill of others. No more of that. I want, need, the security of knowing that my future is my own, and not subject to the vagaries of fate. The cloister offered me that, and within the church I could envision some way of maintaining my precious connection to the little girl I have come to adore.
But no longer. Stefan offers me the security I crave and much besides, though the price is high. I have lost Sophia. There is nothing I can do to cling to her, our future was always out of my hands. I can only pray that she is safe and happy. She is not mine, she never was. My head knows that, the laws of this land tell me that. But my heart is not listening.
I no longer fear that Stefan would exact retribution against Sophia for her father’s actions. She is in Vienna, miles from us, but not beyond his reach were he so inclined. My husband is stern, but he is also a fair man. He would never hurt an innocent child. But neither could I expect him to sympathise, nor to help me to maintain contact with the daughter of his old enemy. In accepting me without the burden of my previous marriage as a spectre between us, we agreed to set the past aside. He has done that, and somehow I must do likewise. But it is so hard. I miss Sophia. I long for her. I always will.
“When we crest yonder hill, if the light holds, we should be able to see the castle. From there it is perhaps a two-hour ride.” Stefan’s low tone interrupts my private grieving, his warm breath feathering across my cheek as he leans down from his position in the saddle behind me.
The Conquered Brides Collection Page 30
