by Kane, Lacey
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Duchess, Bound
Copyright © 2012 by Lacey Kane
Cover Design by Adrienne Thorne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
For more information: [email protected]
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit material and adult language, and might offend some readers. This is for adults only.
Disclaimer: The sexual practices contained herein are of a fantasy BDSM nature. Do not try any new sexual practice, or any of those described within this book, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Many of the acts described within this book are figments of the author’s rather abundant imagination and might, therefore, not be possible, legal, and/or advisable. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, injury, harm, or death resulting from the use of the information found within this or any other title.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Lacey Kane Titles
She stood trembling before him, her eyes—the shade of a clear summer sky—boring holes in the black marble floor of his private chamber at Blackthorne Manor. Gabriel simply stared at her for long moments. How had providence finally seen fit to grant him such favor?
Sweet, shy Jocelyn, nee Culpepper but now Kingston, object of his fantasies for several years was now his—and now his Duchess of Rochester, to boot.
Only days ago, Gabriel had learned of his uncle’s passing. Only then had he been informed that he’d inherited the duchy at long last. Then, too, he’d become acquainted with all the possessions and responsibilities he had acquired.
Including Jocelyn.
Oh, how he’d lusted after her for so long. Nearly four years, truth be told, though she was still only nineteen today.
He’d begged his uncle to allow him to marry the girl. She was a penniless ward of the duchy, after all—the daughter of one of Uncle Sebastian’s deceased servants. How would she ever expect a better prospect to come along and offer for her than Gabriel, a man who would one day be a duke?
But his uncle had refused him, and then kept the girl as his own mistress all these years as an added form of torment to Gabriel’s black, lustful soul.
But now—now, the bastard was dead and gone, and Jocelyn had become Gabriel’s ward, and he’d informed her she would be his wife.
In short order, he’d obtained a special license and married her, then hastily brought her back to Blackthorne Manor where he could have her as he wanted her, with no worry over how the servants might react to his unorthodox requirements. His servants here, at Blackthorne, were well versed in his preferences. The staff at Blackthorne had been carefully selected for their unique expertise, after all, and they each exercised the precise degree of discretion he demanded. The fact that there were three manservants for every maid was also a well thought-out decision.
He’d refrained from bedding Jocelyn the entire two-day journey from London, but he would not have to wait much longer.
They were not due to have guests for Gabriel’s annual house party for several weeks yet (though, admittedly, house party was not quite the appropriate term for what took place here each summer). This would allow him ample time to familiarize his bride with her new lifestyle.
“Look at me,” Gabriel commanded her. He kept his tone gentle, but left no room for her to misunderstand him.
Those timid, blue eyes flitted up to meet him. She didn’t cower away from him. But neither did she cease shaking. With a single finger, he brushed a stray tendril of her sleek, black hair away from her shoulder. She jumped at his light touch but held her gaze steady—resolute, even.
“Tell me,” he said slowly, circling her by the foot of his massive bed like a wild animal contemplating how best to pounce its prey, “how my uncle fucked you.”
“Your Grace?”
Her cheeks almost matched the red of his silk bedding from the fierceness of her blush, in sharp contrast to her porcelain skin. How utterly charming. Gabriel made up his mind in an instant to cause her to blush as often as possible. It did wonders for his cock.
“I want to know how my uncle fucked you.” He smiled at her. With the back of his knuckle, he grazed over the line of her jaw. “Did the lecherous, old codger only put his prick in your cunny, or was he more adventurous in his lustful adventures with you than that?”
Jocelyn’s jaw dropped open, and he had to force away the suddenly very visual thought of sinking his tool all the way back to her throat, lest he even for a mere moment forget his plans for how this should go.
“Only—only in my private place, Your Grace,” she finally stammered, her voice hardly above a whisper.
“Your cunny, you mean.” Gabriel leaned his head in close to her ear, tracing the tip of his finger down the length of her partially exposed arm. “Your cunny. Your twat. Your gash. Your crack.” Everywhere he touched, a series of trembles burst forth, and a trail of gooseflesh followed in the wake of his fingers. “Or should I say my cunny?”
Her breaths came in short, sharp bursts, lifting and pushing forward her pert breasts with each inhalation. “My c—my cunny,” she whispered.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes slightly. He’d let her believe that for now. She would learn soon enough. “So, he never buggered you? He never rammed his rod in your tight little hinder parts?”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head.
He had no qualms about being the first to pick that lock. Soon. Very soon. “And he never crammed it in your sweet mouth?” Gabriel inquired.
Jocelyn’s eyes shot open again. “No, Your Grace.”
“Pity.” He moved behind her and reached one hand around to her front, tracing the top of her bodice over her breasts. Her pulse pounded a rapid beat beneath his fingers at the gentle touch. The cut was entirely too modest, too high. This gown would end up in his hearth tonight. Any others like it she’d brought with her would follow soon behind.
Trailing his fingers down the center of her body over the muslin of her garment, he followed the path to her pussy. Her breaths came out ragged, tattered. He rested his palm lightly over her mound with the thin material between them. “And did he ever use anything else here? His fingers or hand? His lips and tongue? A dildo? Another man’s cock?”
She shook her head, holding her body as completely stiff as possible.
The poor girl. She hardly knew what pleasures she might have experienced these last few years. She would know soon enough, however. They’d make up for lost time.
He pressed his hand more fully into her then, digging through the layers of fabric to separate her nether lips and grind a finger against her button. With his other hand, Gabriel massaged her breast.
“Did he ever tell you that I’d offered for you? That I wanted to make you mine many years ago and that, if he’d allowed it, you would not have been forced to suffer his loathsome touch?”
“I did not loathe your uncle’s touch, Your Grace,” she stammered, squirming against him. Each of her movements pressed her bum more tightly against his painfully hard tool.
“Do you loathe mine?” he breathed against her ear.
&
nbsp; For several long moments, she didn’t answer. He squeezed harder against her tit, rubbed faster against her nubbin, pulled her tighter against him, and ground his hips against her arse. Already, a tell-tale wetness was making itself known through the fabric of her gown.
Jocelyn took in a gasping breath. “I don’t yet know, Your Grace.”
Gabriel chuckled. “You’ll know soon enough, my pet.” He gentled his movements until his touch was hardly more than a tease over her furrow and a whisper over her teat. “Tell me, did my uncle ever bring you to a screaming release? Did he ever have you begging for his touch? Did you ever feel you might die if he didn’t plant his stick in your cunt and thump you until you could take no more, then still thump you again?”
A soft, little moan came from deep in her throat, though she tried to muffle it. “No, Your Grace,” she whispered.
Dropping his hands, he moved in front of her again and tipped her chin up so she was forced to look in his eyes. “You can have all of that and more, now that you’re my bride. Do you want to experience such things with me?”
She tried to turn her head away, but Gabriel kept an iron grip on her chin. It quivered in his hand. “Yes,” Jocelyn mouthed, though no sound came from her lips.
He crushed his mouth down upon hers in a carnal kiss. At the same time, he slid his hands down her back to settle on her firm rump. When she didn’t immediately open her mouth to his questing tongue, he slapped her arse sharply. She squeaked in shock, which was all he needed to gain entrance. It didn’t take long for her to lean into him and put her arms up about his neck for support. For several long minutes, he allowed himself the pleasure of kissing her and kneading her cheeks.
But that was all the time he could grant himself for such sweetness, such intimacies. With sincere regret, Gabriel broke off the kiss and set her away from him. There would be little tenderness between them…at least not at first. He couldn’t allow it until she’d learned.
Jocelyn stared up at him with confusion clouding her eyes.
“You can have all of those things and more with me, my pet,” he began, “but in order to obtain them, I have certain…requirements, shall we say, which must be met.”
“Requirements?” she murmured. “What sort of requirements, Your Grace?”
“To start, you must no longer call me Your Grace. Nor may you call me Gabriel. Instead, I am from this point to be called only Master.”
Her eyes widened somewhat, but she remained quiet.
He fought to control his chuckle. This was by far the easiest of his requirements.
“Your body,” he continued, “will no longer belong to you. Essentially, as you are my wife, it already belongs to me. However, I insist on taking it further than most husbands require of their wives. Your mouth is now my mouth. Your tits are now my tits. Your cunny is now my cunny. Your unused backside is now mine to do with as I please.”
With each word, her breathing grew more labored.
“You will be not only my wife, but my plaything. My pet. A toy to be used for my sexual gratification. Your entire purpose in life, your only reason for existence, will be to please me. You’ll do so by wearing what I wish for you to wear—or not wear, as the case may be. You’ll comply with my commands at once. You’ll fuck when, where, how, and whom I decree.”
Gabriel intentionally left the whom hanging in the air between them. He might never choose to share her with another living soul, but she needed to understand that he could, perhaps, someday require such a thing of her. Although, now that he thought of it, offering her to some of his guests this summer might be a rather enjoyable prospect. For that matter, merely envisioning himself buggering his sweet, delicate Jocelyn while Montfort punished her pert body caused Gabriel’s prick to twitch.
Montfort was a perverse, brutal bastard. Any disobedience on her part would meet with swift justice…which would only make their pleasure more intense.
At least five minutes passed in silence as she alternately stared, open-mouthed, up at him and studied the floor. “And if I should choose not to accept your requirements?” she finally asked.
Her little streak of independence had finally reared its head. Gabriel had wondered how long it would take for it to come to the surface. She was bound to recoil at least slightly at first. After all, Jocelyn had no earthly idea what she was up against.
He gave her a pitying smile. “My pet, you are my wife, and therefore mine to do with as I please. In the eyes of the law, you are essentially my property. Even if I had not granted you the honor of my name, you would be my ward and still at my mercy. And, ruined as you already are thanks to my uncle, no other man would have married you. Your options would have been to become my mistress or sell your wares in whatever other way you could. I intend to have what I wish from you. You may either grant your cooperation freely, or I will take it by force. The choice is yours.”
Jocelyn snapped her jaw closed, looking at him like he was a madman. If only she knew how mad with lust he was for her—had been for longer than he cared to admit. Indeed, his rapid fall into the perversions and debaucheries he’d chosen had only intensified tenfold after he’d fallen into lust with the naïve, innocent Jocelyn. Rather ironic, he thought, that she was to be the cause of her own torment.
After several more minutes passed in silence, he said, “Well, my pet? Will you willingly submit yourself to my seductions, or must we do things the hard way?”
“I will submit,” she mumbled.
Her answer pleased him more than she could know, but her manner of answer left quite a bit to be desired. Gabriel reached across and pinched her teats between his thumbs and forefingers, squeezing tightly and twisting them through the fabric of her gown until she sucked in a breath and tears shot to her eyes.
“You will submit, what?” he ground out, pulling her body ever closer to him. When her answer did not come swiftly enough, he pressed harder on her tight little nubs.
Her jaw fell open, and twin streams fell down her cheeks. “I will submit, Master,” Jocelyn rushed out. She was a fast learner. That would prove to serve her well in the coming days.
“Excellent, my pet.” He released her tits, and she drew her hands up to ease the pressure in what must be exceedingly pained nipples. Gabriel slapped her hands away sharply. “You are not to touch yourself in any way unless I order you to do so, is that clear?”
His duchess nodded, biting down on her lip. He imagined she was attempting to refrain from sobbing full out.
Yet he hadn’t even given her anything to cry over yet. “Is that clear?” Gabriel repeated slowly.
“Yes, Master,” she forced out.
“Good girl. Now, I’m going to send up some servants. They’ll bathe you and dress you for supper. You are to do exactly as they instruct you immediately. If you disobey in any way, you can be assured I’ll learn of it and will be forced to punish you accordingly. I’ll expect to see you in the dining room at precisely six o’clock.”
Without waiting for her reaction, Gabriel turned and left the chamber, pulling the door closed behind him.
Jocelyn’s husband hadn’t been gone for more than a few seconds before the door opened and a flurry of servants bustled in. Two footmen carried in a tub, and a series of them followed with buckets of water.
She backed herself into a corner of the room. Surely maids would come to assist her with her bath, wouldn’t they? But so far, not a single female servant came into the room. Good God, what had she gotten herself into? What had she agreed to?
But what choice had she been left? Her new master was right—it was either this, whatever this may turn out to be, or selling her body on the streets. Of course, at the moment, she had difficulty seeing much difference between the two.
She couldn’t deny that the duke, that black-haired, devilishly handsome man, left her wanting to be touched by him. His massive frame dwarfed her by a wide margin, intimidating her to no end, but his jointly rough and gentle touch had left her a heated, tingling m
ass of nerves.
When the tub was almost full and only three large footmen remained, finally, a maid entered the chamber, pulling the door closed behind her and turning a key in the lock. A very buxom maid, in a very revealing gown of some pink, diaphanous material. She wore nothing beneath it—no stays, no chemise, no drawers. The dark circles of her areolas were plainly visible through the fabric, which barely came high enough to cover them anyway. Likewise, Jocelyn could plainly see every bit of the triangle of curls at the join of the maid’s thighs. She handed the key over to one of the footmen and then headed Jocelyn’s way.
“My name is Clarisse. Off with your clothes, then, pet,” the girl said to her.
Jocelyn gaped. Again. Heavens, every little thing in this place was indecent and shocking and scandalous. The maid hadn’t even called her by her name or by ma’am, let alone ‘Your Grace’. She’d called her ‘pet’. Was Jocelyn to be a duchess in name only? Was she to be ordered about by servants and treated as hardly more than an animal? It appeared so.
“But the footmen haven’t left yet,” she stammered, backing away.
“His Grace has given strict instructions, pet. I’m to strip you, then Haines will bathe you, Palmer will towel you dry, and Smyth will rub you with oils before I dress you again.”
When Jocelyn didn’t immediately respond, Clarisse reached over and turned her around, quickly unfastening the buttons along her back. Within moments, the gown fell to her feet. The maid’s hands pulled at the ties of her stays, and in no time all of her undergarments lay in a pile on the floor.
“All right, off you go then. You don’t want to keep Haines waiting.” Clarisse smacked Jocelyn on the bum hard enough that it stung. She could only imagine the bright red imprint that must have been left upon her skin.
She could hardly force herself to turn around. Heat flooded her cheeks as ever-so-slowly, she moved toward the center of the room, unable to look up. It was impossible to miss, however, that all three footmen had undone the flaps of their breeches and were stroking their engorged members.
