by Alison Tyler
Unlike the tedious nights to come, on that first night, their wedding night, all had been bliss. Jenna had indeed climaxed profoundly on her husband’s cock. For more than three years, since Lewis had first invited the eighteen-year-old heiress to a party on his yacht, she had anticipated the moment of first sex with her husband—not because she found him particularly attractive, but because she knew it would cement her life in the gentry, a life of leisure as the treasured wife of a nobleman. From the first, his sexual interest in her was plain, but when it became clear—that first night, no less—that he was marriage-minded, she had resolved to delay her gratification in order to win his respect—and, she admitted only to herself, ignorance of her true nature. Their long courtship had involved nothing more than deep kisses and an occasional straying hand, always met with perfectly acted offense on Jenna’s part. The one feel she gave him was two weeks before their wedding, and she ensured even that bit of innocent stroking remained above the waist. Lewis Partridge had soaked the front of his pants with one hand molded on his fiancée’s left breast, and Jenna had pretended offense, a lie that Lewis believed with an urgency that astounded even Jenna. After she’d made him leave, she licked her hand, sticky with her fiancée’s seed, and immediately called Gustav, who did much more to her petite breasts than merely touch them.
But when it was time, Jenna’s eagerness to consummate her new contract combined with so many other factors to drive her into the heights of passion, making it difficult for her to play the part of the blushing bride. Oh, she managed, but only with great effort, forcing her hands not to roam over her new husband’s body, making them rest tangled in her bridal skirts as he plumbed her depths until Lewis—quite to Jenna’s surprise—suggested that he enter her from behind. She made him convince her, which he did with such tentative want that Jenna finally lost patience and put her ass in the air, abandoning her show of reluctance.
Jenna found herself intoxicated not only from the half dozen or so glasses of champagne she’d consumed, but from all the attention she’d received and, most importantly, the envelopes stuffed with money. Glorious in her lovely dress, the new Lady Jennifer Partridge had enjoyed herself quite vigorously, before she could even remove her dress and show off the lovely corset and garters—sans panties—she had worn through the entire reception, its tight embrace reminding her of the many ways in which Gustav had restrained her over their seventeen months of illicit meetings. Lewis had thrilled to find his new wife shaved—a trait Gustav had always required of her—and if he had noticed that his lovely young bride was not a virgin, he did not mention it.
She would vividly remember that first orgasm Lewis gave her, as if it were to be her last. She remembered it not only because of its intensity, but because at the moment of her climax she was bent forward, ass in the air, knees spread wide—exactly the way she had been fucked by Gustav the previous night. She was gripping the headboard with her hands, and when she looked down at her wrists she saw that the diamond bracelets she wore—wedding gifts from her husband to provide her with “something new”—had slipped forward, their clasps askew, revealing the red marks that Gustav’s ropes had left on her wrists not eighteen hours before. It was that moment of pride and arousal at seeing the rope marks—and, perhaps, the thrill of knowing that at any moment Lewis might notice them, too—that drove Jenna to an unparalleled climax, one that brought the image into her mind, unbidden, of Gustav Braeburn, his face twisted in a cruel smile as he punished her bound and gagged body with his cock.
Jenna feigned virtue throughout her first weeks of marriage, thrilling at the ease with which she managed to make her first blow job, given only at Lewis’s insistence, seem awkward and inexpert. In fact, Lady Jennifer was an expert cocksucker, having been trained extensively by Gustav, who liked his head deep and rough before he blessed her with a mouthful of his seed. Jenna had already been orally skilled before she ever met Lewis or Gustav, having made several trips—in complicated disguises—to the waterfront, to thrill at learning the marital trade, both before and after Lewis proposed. It was there, from rough men who took her orally one after another, that she learned what she liked and, more importantly, how much she liked and resolved to get it only when its achievement could not damage her social standing. She had done exactly that, and by the time Gustav had met her there—a wealthy man who also haunted the docks for his thrills—she was ready for him.
And now, after six months of marriage and twenty-four anorgasmic trysts with her husband, Jenna was ready for Gustav again.
“You’ve a new divan,” said Jenna, swirling brandy around her snifter as she entered the parlor of Gustav’s mansion. “Oriental, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I’m afraid it’s a copy, my dear,” said Gustav, his lips twisting in a smile as he toyed with the tie of his silk robe. It was just like Gustav to receive her as if he were ready for bed—but not for sleep. In fact, she had expected it, and it had not caused her discomfort. After all, she had seen him naked quite often enough, so the sight of him in a robe should cause no reaction.
Jenna gave him a tight smile that was half frown, and both knew what it meant. This, along with Gustav’s low social standing, was why she would never have married him, why he was fit only for the kind of illicit tryst that had satisfied her for a time, before her marriage. “You’re quite right, however, it’s ancient Chinese in style. It’s a copy of a piece that sat in the emperor’s palace, with a few modern touches. I dare say it’s worth more than the original.”
“I doubt that,” said Jenna with an unmistakable sneer.
“Oh, it’s worth very much to me,” said Gustav. “Try it out.”
“All right,” said Jenna, seating herself on the divan. It was quite comfortable. She wore a long red dress with a rather daring slit up the middle, well past her knees. She was wearing nothing underneath, a further risk that she took in coming to Gustav’s place. The knowledge of it intoxicated her. Still, it would not do to show her hand too early, and Jenna crossed her legs quite daintily as she reclined into the soft cushions.
“Hardly a decent copy,” said Jenna. “I’m sure the emperor did not have polyurethane foam.”
“Nor did he have titanium,” said Gustav, taking a seat in his overstuffed armchair. “But we’ll discuss that later. Get comfortable, Lady Partridge. You’ve been comfortable here many times before, haven’t you? Take off your shoes.”
The suggestion was given almost like a command, and Jenna’s instincts took over. She obeyed, kicking off her high-heeled pumps and relaxing into the divan. She reddened as she realized the ease with which she’d followed Gustav’s suggestion—but if he had planned to tease her about it, he thought better. Instead, he spoke softly to her, the rumble of his voice as seductive as she remembered it from the first time it had graced her ears, from far above her as she knelt on the docks, his sailor’s pants opened and his cock in her mouth. “So, Jen, I hear the esteemed Lord Partridge is on a business trip in Germany. When the cat’s away, the mouse will play?”
“I’m known as Lady Jennifer, now, and you’d do well to remember it.” This was not strictly true; Lewis, her friends, and her family still called her “Jenna”—and only Gustav had ever called her “Jen.” “And,” she continued, “I’m hardly here to play. You called me, remember? What was so important that you simply had to discuss it with me?” She laughed, derisive. “You can’t be pregnant.”
“Nor can you,” said Gustav. “I understand he barely fucks you.”
“There’s more to marriage than fucking,” said Jenna. “But then, I wouldn’t expect you to know that. Besides, Lewis fucks me just fine. He’s quite a tender lover. You wouldn’t understand that, either.”
“No,” said Gustav. “I wouldn’t. And that’s why you agreed to see me, isn’t it?”
Jenna felt her pulse pounding, the heat starting in earnest between her thighs. She had shaved in anticipation of this meeting, and every movement she made drew her freshly shorn lips against each othe
r, sending a tingle through her body. She had been wet since the moment she’d shimmied into her slinky dress, a dress she had never worn for Lewis—what would be the point? But now the hunger started in earnest, and she could feel her clitoris swelling in a way it hadn’t since her first night with Lewis, the tiny bud’s fullness nestled snugly between the smooth lips of her sex.
“Not at all. I agreed to see you out of pity. You seem quite hung up on me. You haven’t accepted that I’m married.”
“Oh, I’ve accepted it,” said Gustav. “If anything, it makes you more desirable. And if there’s any pity to be had, it belongs to you, my dear.”
“You’re as callous as you are arrogant,” said Jenna, the growing hardness of her nipples bringing a hint of discomfort as they began to show through the thin fabric of her dress.
“How’s your drink?” smiled Gustav. “Ready for a refill?”
“Almost,” she said, swirling the remaining finger of brandy as her hand rested on the divan’s comfortable arm.
“Good,” said Gustav, and it all happened at once.
Had she been watching her ex-lover more closely, Jenna Partridge would have seen his hand creeping skillfully beneath the arm of his own chair. It had been toying with something there for several long minutes. She would not have chosen that moment to relax into the softness of the divan, stretching and letting her legs come apart, spreading them slightly as if in seductive invitation. Her eyes were blinded by hunger, but in the instant before he pushed one of three barely-hidden buttons, she did begin to understand what was to happen to her.
Any other woman would have been foolish to make herself comfortable in Gustav’s house. But Jenna would have been foolish not to, for as the sound of compressed air hissed at four points around her, she felt the familiar sensation of being placed expertly into bondage against her will—and yet, her will was to be placed in bondage—before she could protest. Never had she been restrained so fast—usually Gustav had savored her captivity, undressing her slowly, wrestling her feebly squirming body into position, binding her wrists and ankles to the bed or the sofa or the legs of a table with slow, methodical torment.
Now, he had no time for such games.
The arms of the divan had burst with the speed of explosive bolts. Flexible metal bands had closed around her wrists and locked into place, holding her immobile. Each leg of the divan had four similar devices—for she now saw that the divan was split down the middle, into two separate legs. She saw this from the way the metal bands around her ankles and lower thighs drove firmly into locks placed with sharp edges that ripped into the upholstery. A matching band had gone around her waist, padded, fitting her smoothly as if she’d been built for it. The last restraint had been placed at the back of the headrest, and formed a stiff collar around Jenna’s throat, holding her head in place. As she struggled, she felt fear heightening her arousal.
The divan was indeed a copy of a Chinese piece. In fact, Jenna now remembered, in a rush, having read about it in one of the tawdry paperbacks she had found moist and discarded in the trash near the waterfront. A paperback that purported to be “a serious academic study of restraint.” The name it gave this particular style of chair was too horrible for Jenna to say, even now, with her humiliation at Gustav’s hands once again imminent. But that was not because it frightened her, but because of the thunderbolt it sent through her body, electrifying her between her thighs as the brandy snifter went spinning out of her hand and shattered on the hardwood floor.
And in any event, Gustav said it for her.
“It’s known as a rape chair,” he said with pleasure, fingering the second of three buttons underneath the arm of his chair. “Quite a handy piece to have. But I dare say you’re the first married woman who’ll have the pleasure of experiencing it.”
“Release me,” said Jenna, her breath coming short not from fear but from sudden arousal. “Please.” She had planned to toy with Gustav, to tease him, perhaps not even to sleep with him on this trip. She wanted to see him on his knees, to hear him begging for the chance to fuck her again. But now, the only begging was to be hers, and hearing the words come from her lips did nothing to dispel the heat that flared anew, now scalding, terrifying, between her slightly spread thighs.
“Please,” she said, her nipples hardening even further as she said it.
“I don’t think so,” said Gustav. “You planned this when you came over here, though I imagine there was more cajolery on my part.” Jenna reddened as she realized how well Gustav knew her. “There’ll be no cajolery this time, Jenna,” said Gustav. “It’ll be just like the old days. You spread your legs, and I fuck you.”
Gustav depressed the second button, and with the swift hum of an electric motor, the legs and arms of the divan slowly separated. The arms moved quickly, forcing her own arms up over her head in a smoothly-described arc. The legs, however, took their time, as Gustav had doubtless designed them to do—so that he could savor Jenna’s slow, torturous humiliation. Jenna struggled against the tightness of her ankle restraints, her cunt throbbing with each strained twist of her leg muscles. Her thighs, too, were forced wide by the bands, forbidding even the slightest gesture of resistance on her part. She was trapped—imprisoned. There would be no seduction, no flattery, no inveiglement. Gustav would not attempt to get her drunk. He would not tease her about her need for him; she would not get to flirt with her ex-lover in the hopes that he would take her fiercely, as he had so many times before. There would be only a cruel fate Jenna had hungered for these past six months, with her husband’s every halfhearted thrust into her.
Jenna’s legs continued to part, forced open by the divan until the upholstery, strained to its limit, tore, revealing that the divan’s padded frame was metal underneath, and its pivot point was at the small of Jenna’s back, the padding underneath folding smoothly away so that both her sex and her ass would soon be fully exposed.
The divan’s legs bent at the point of her knees, forcing her legs up into the air and allowing them to be spread still wider. So wide were her legs, in fact, that Jenna began to feel the strain of her muscles, the grind of her hip joints—she had become decidedly less flexible in recent months, having abandoned the Eastern disciplines that Gustav had instructed her in.
Gustav toyed with the second button as Jenna’s legs were forced still wider, until the dress’s slit, placed so suggestively between her thighs, was tormented to its limit. The thin fabric ripped to her navel, revealing the shaved slit of her sex between wide-open legs. Her legs were now open so far that she could barely move, her body twisted in an agonizing posture as she fought to thwart the cruel machine.
The divan hummed to a stop, and Gustav looked disappointed.
“That’s as far as it goes,” he said, his eyes roving hungrily over Jenna’s exposed inner thighs. “I would have given it another six inches or so, but apparently the mechanical demands of the design forbid it. Luckily, I’ve more tricks up my sleeve.”
Jenna gasped as Gustav depressed the third button, and the center of the divan began to rise, forcing Jenna’s ass up high, bending her at the waist. Her upper half was now pointed down at a slight angle as the whole device rose to a predetermined height—a height Jenna could well imagine put her sex and mouth at the level of Gustav’s cock.
Gustav stood and stroked the arm of his chair.
“Three buttons on the right,” he said with glee. “And one on the left. I can release you all at once, you see.”
“Please,” whimpered Jenna, her ruined red dress all but falling off her. “Please, Gustav, press the button. You mustn’t have me like this.” Even as she said it, she knew he would not—and she prayed that he had not changed in the six months since he’d taken her. “I’m a married woman, now.” Her cunt was pulsing with heat, hungry for his cock.
Gustav stood beside the divan, reaching between her forced-open legs. His hand slid smoothly under the tattered remains of her dress, touching her cunt. Jenna gasped at the pressure be
tween her lips, and despite her show of resistance, found herself pressing against him. Two fingers disappeared inside her, and Jenna let out a low moan. Due to the infrequent plumbings she’d experienced since her marriage, Jenna’s entry was quite snug, and the two fingers stretched her deliciously, causing the slightest hint of discomfort as Gustav penetrated her—not unlike the pain she’d felt when first being fathomed by his unusually large cock.
“Wet as an ocean, my dear,” said Gustav, bringing his hand to her face and forcing his fingers between Jenna’s full, lipstick-reddened lips. She fought not to accept his fingers, but she found she could not close her mouth. She tasted her own tang, ripe with fresh hunger, the familiar taste—so often experienced on the freshly-withdrawn shaft of Gustav’s cock—sending a warmth through her body. Gustav withdrew his fingers and smeared her moistened lipstick over her face, making a tsking sound.
“Cocksucker red,” he sighed. “How well I remember it. You don’t wear that shade for your husband, do you?”
“You’re horrible,” said Jenna feebly, fighting to keep her throbbing hunger from showing. She knew that if Gustav had any doubt that his treatment of her was deserved and desired, her gushing cunt had dispelled it. Nonetheless, she fought to maintain her resistance—if only because a torrent of guilt had just taken her over.
Gustav bent over and fished in the remains of the shattered brandy glass for a big enough shard. He plucked it delicately from the mass of splinters by what had been the rim, and brought the sharp fragment to the low V of Jenna’s plunging neckline. Jenna quivered in fear as she felt the cold glass touching her skin, the sharp end nestling between her apple-sized breasts.
