by Josie Litton
Tempting Gemma
Part One
Josie Litton
Contents
About this Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Appendix A
Appendix B
Appendix C
Appendix D
My Gift to You!
Sneak Peeks
About this Book
This is a very naughty story! Some no doubt would go further and call it a good deal worse. Set in the present day, it depicts a fantasy world inspired by Jane Austen (abject apologies to that dear lady).
Instead of vanishing into the romantic mists of literary history, here Miss Austen’s England has endured in all its unfettered glory into modern times with some decidedly unintended consequences. Among these is the existence of a ruling class of men whom centuries of power and wealth have accustomed to indulging their appetites and having their own way without restraint.
TEMPTING GEMMA is purely--impurely might be more correct--a work of escapist entertainment. It is intended as a secret, even guilty pleasure to be indulged in privately, perhaps with a nice glass of wine or the beverage of your choice. Although M/F, monogamous and HEA, it in no way depicts events that I would ever wish to occur in the world as we know it.
If you are not mortally offended within the first few pages, I hope that you will find this story both arousing and amusing. On the other hand, if you do take offense, I humbly apologize although I feel compelled to point out that you have been duly warned. Kindly proceed at your own discretion.
Don’t miss the free gift offer for you at the end of this book!
Chapter One
Poor, lovely Gemma. She dreamed of going to university, then on to study law and a career as a women’s rights attorney. Instead, she had barely turned eighteen and graduated from convent school before being sold into marriage to settle her father’s debt to an old aristocratic family.
Her husband, The Most Honorable Charles George David Bonville, Marquess of Ardsley was young, handsome and astonishingly virile. He liked nothing better than dreaming up new and creative ways to tease and torment poor, lovely Gemma.
On their wedding day, Gemma was looking forward with innocent excitement to the moment when her husband would kneel before her to remove her garter. Instead, in an excess of enthusiasm, Charles bent her over the head table.
To the cheers of his groomsmen, her bridesmaids and the hundreds of guests, he pulled up her lovely wedding gown, tore off her white lace panties and plunged into her embarrassingly wet cunny, taking her virginity there and then.
As Charles was hung like the proverbial bull, this was quite a shock for poor, lovely Gemma. Everything afterward became a bit fuzzy, although she did remember her sister catching the bridal bouquet.
Matters did not improve on their honeymoon. Charles had chosen a private tropical paradise with every amenity a romantic couple could want. But instead of indulging her with spa treatments and the like, he insisted on taking Gemma out into the wilderness beyond the resort.
There he amused himself flogging every inch of her skin with palm fronds until she had an all-over rosy glow, staking her out at the water line so that the incoming tide lapped maddeningly at her swollen pussy, and fucking her in all sorts of shocking ways.
In between, he enjoyed watching her run up and down the beach at his behest, her lovely breasts and bottom bouncing with every bound until she was quite breathless.
When they did mingle with the other guests at the resort, Charles insisted that Gemma wear a tiny string bikini that barely covered her naughty bits. Privately, this made her very self-conscious. However, thanks to the excellent education she had received at the Mary Magdalene School for Young Females, the mere idea of questioning her husband on the matter--or any other--caused Gemma such discomfort that she could not conceive of actually doing it.
(Details of the unique curriculum, code of conduct, training and disciplinary policies of the Mary Magdalene School for Young Females can be found here in Appendix A).
Charles did take full advantage of the resort’s clothing optional policy for himself. As he was extremely fit and significantly larger--in every sense--than the other men, he drew considerable attention from the females present. However, Gemma continued to be the recipient of his exclusive and highly vigorous attentions night and day in every possible way.
In particular, he delighted in tormenting his innocent young wife, arousing her right to the point of orgasm without allowing her to come. Of course, such restraint did not apply to himself. He was torn deciding which he liked better, watching her struggle to swallow his copious ejaculations or seeing his cum dripping out of her ass or cunt.
Self-gratification being strictly forbidden at Mary Magdalene, Gemma had no idea why marital life left her so embarrassingly engorged and constantly wet. She simply resolved to endure. Finally, while engaging in sexual congress on their patio before an appreciative audience of passing guests, Charles relented and let his little wife come.
The sensation of her ass being slammed up and down on his massive cock while he was vigorously slapping her clit only made Gemma’s first orgasm all the more intense. Her screams were so loud that she entirely missed the enthusiastic applause of their audience who particularly appreciated her vigorous leg flailing and arm flinging.
Once Gemma had started coming, she couldn’t seem to stop. Wherever, whenever and however Charles availed himself of his husbandly rights, the results were always the same. Tied spread-eagle between palm trees, on the dance floor swaying to the beat of steel drums, bobbing up and down on a sailboat, snorkeling, even, to her shame, while touring an historic church, Gemma found herself with a throbbing clit, a drenched cunt, a throat hoarse from her ecstatic screams and a smugly pleased husband.
With their marriage off to such a sinful start, was it any wonder that Gemma viewed their return to Charles’ family estate with concern? Not only would she be living there with him, but his mother, sister, and brother were also in residence. None of them had impressed her as particularly kind or even necessarily sane. Sadly, this assessment was to prove all too correct.
From her first day back, Brother Harold, Sister Ismay and Mother made her life miserable. They never missed an opportunity to taunt Gemma, distressing and humiliating her at every turn. Despite the vastness of the estate, all her efforts to avoid them failed. (Details of Ardsley Manor, its unique collections and its exceedingly peculiar history are contained here in Appendix B).
Meals were always together but even worse Mother and Sister Ismay insisted that Gemma attend on them constantly, fetching, carrying, nodding at their endless complaints and bearing their insults with a smile.
Meanwhile, every night and on weekends during the day as well, she could look forward to Charles fucking her in every possible way until she was often so exhausted from coming that she could hardly stay awake for a soak in her favorite bubble bath.
It was all very discouraging.
Poor, lovely Gemma. Her trials have barely begun.
Chapter Two
After yet another day of being unable to please her demanding in-laws, Gemma was in the drawing room where the family gathered for pre-dinner drinks. Charles had been delayed in the city but was expected shortly. Meanwhile, she was endeavoring to make a sloe gin fizz to Sister Ismay’s exacting specifications.
When her third attempt was rejected, Gemma’s shoulders slumped. She was weary from her husband’s rigorous attentions and discouraged by the family’s hostility.
Without thinking, she said, “Perhaps you should make it yourself.”
Shocked silence descended on the room. Bro
ther Harold stared at her in leering disbelief. Mother cracked her knuckles. It was left to Sister Ismay to respond more fully.
“What did you say?”
Like Charles, Sister Ismay was tall and broad-shouldered. With her helmet of gleaming black hair, porcelain skin, and toned biceps, she struck an impressive figure. She disliked long walks on the beach and despised cuddling. Her hobbies were pony training, German literature and the bull whip.
Gemma gulped nervously. She knew she has overstepped herself but she wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.
“I just meant that since I can’t make the drink to your satisfaction, you might like to make it for yourself.”
Ismay sneered. “Really? That’s what you meant? It sounded to me that you were saying I should do it myself because you can’t be bothered to get it right.”
“Well…” Gemma couldn’t help feeling just a little resentful. The truth was that while she had bent over backwards to please the family, Sister Ismay and the others had done nothing whatsoever to welcome her into it. Anyone might have thought that they had not wanted Charles to marry at all.
“Get over here,” Ismay ordered.
With a sudden spurt of perfectly reasonable concern, Gemma glanced toward the door, trying to gauge her chances of reaching it.
Sister Ismay laughed, crossed the distance between them in a handful of strides, and jerked Gemma out of her seat. Taking her place in it, she pulled the misbehaving chit face down over her knee.
“Clearly, you are in need of proper instruction.”
Yanking up Gemma’s skirt, she bared her pert bottom, naked but for a lacy white thong. Just then, Gemma would have given almost anything to be wearing the plain white cotton underpants that were part of the uniform at dear old Mary Magdalene. That is when students were permitted any such garment.
On windy days in the fall or winter, girls were often required to go panty-less. As chill gusts blasted up under their short plaid skirts, they could be seen scampering hastily to and fro between the school’s Gothic-style buildings or attempting to defrost themselves bare bottomed beside the pot-bellied stoves in the classrooms.
Although this simple exercise did provide much amusement for the staff, its true purpose was to serve as a beneficial reminder to the girls of Mary Magdalene that their well-being was entirely dependent on the whim of those in authority over them. In the fullness of time, that would mean one of those lordly and superior beings, a man, whom they would be wise to bend their every effort to the single goal of pleasing.
It was a lesson that Gemma had absorbed very well and yet one that she still, deep down inside resisted.
With a firm arm holding her in place, Sister Ismay pulled the thong aside and observed her bare, pink pussy, as usual swollen from Charles’ recent attentions and her own perpetual arousal.
Gleefully, she said, “Harold, I swear this bitch is in heat. Be a good boy and fetch me a newspaper.”
Brother Harold leapt up, seized the afternoon Times and wound it into a tight roll before handing it to his sister. He dragged a chair closer for a better view.
“Don’t go easy,” Mother urged. “Make her howl.”
Ismay was about to do just that when Charles, having finally arrived home from the city, entered the room.
“What’s this?” he inquired, observing his tearful, bare bottomed wife laid out over his sister’s knee.
Gemma blinked damply. Despite her present circumstances, she could not fail to notice that her husband looked splendid as always. Elegantly garbed in a charcoal gray three-piece suit, he exuded the strength and confidence that were his birthright. No wonder only a very few questioned the natural fitness of such men to order the lives of everyone else.
“Your little wifey needs disciplining,” Ismay declared. “You’ve been far too soft on her.”
Charles went over to a liquor cabinet and poured himself an inch of whiskey. Taking a sip, he regarded his family thoughtfully.
“What did she do?”
“Talked back to me,” Ismay snarled.
“Was unpardonably rude,” Harold chimed in.
“Forgot her place,” Mother said.
Charles threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass aside. “Let her up.”
When Ismay failed to obey at once, he walked over, grabbed his wife, and set her on her feet. She was shaking all over and could barely smooth her skirt down.
Still holding her arm, he said, “I’ll take care of this.”
Without further ado, he marched Gemma out of the parlor, across the main hall and into his study. This room was one of her favorites. The furnishings were at once elegant and masculine, being comprised mainly of dark wood and leather.
High windows looked out over the rolling lawns that surrounded Ardsley Manor. Secretly, she loved to sneak in during the day when Charles was away and curl up in his chair, inhaling the lingering scent of manliness that never failed to make her quiver.
Only the previous day, she had--at Charles’ behest--visited him in his study garbed solely in black fishnet stockings and a red lace and silk demi-corset. The stockings were minus a crotch, leaving her smooth, bare cunt fully exposed while the demi-corset both clenched her waist tightly and displayed her bare breasts to their full advantage.
Evidently, her husband had found the outfit quite pleasing for he wasted no time laying waste to her.
To be sure, breathing had been a bit difficult constricted as she was while bent over the arm of the wine red Chesterfield couch whilst being vigorously fucked. Fortunately, dear old Mary Magdalene’s training came to the rescue yet again. The stoic acceptance of discomfort was a skill for which its graduates could be ever grateful.
In a mischievous frame of mind, Charles had delayed his orgasm while at the same time denying hers. Every time she was close, he withdrew with a chiding little laugh only to promptly pound back into her again. She could only conclude that the intensity of his release, when it did finally come, was heightened by her writhing frustration.
But virtue was its own reward if only in the sense that it prompted a burst of generosity on the part of her husband. In the aftermath of having used his wife so pleasurably, Charles directed her to sit on the couch, her legs bent and spread wide, and make herself come while he watched. It took her very little time to do so but scarcely had she finished than she realized her efforts had restored him to full, rampant hardness.
The afternoon had turned into a bit of a marathon. On balance, Gemma recalled it pleasantly through the haze of orgasmic bliss.
But now he clearly had something altogether less enjoyable in mind.
Leaving her trembling in the center of the rug, Charles went back to shut the doors, then returned to stand in front of Gemma.
Sternly, he said, “I come home from a hard day in the city and what do I find? You know better than to annoy that lot.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m very disappointed in you.”
Gemma sniffed and looks up at him meekly. Her husband was a foot taller than her and a good eighty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. A natural athlete, he was ruggedly handsome with a square jaw, guileless blue eyes and a smile that could be downright boyish. But just then he looked so intimidating that she couldn’t help but tremble.
In a small voice, she said, “I truly am most sorry.”
Charles ran a hand through his thick auburn hair and frowned. “Yes, well, I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. You will have to be disciplined.”
A shiver moved through Gemma. She squeezed her thighs together, only to realize that she had become even more swollen and wet.
With a long suffering sigh, he said, “Strip.”
Hoping to mollify him and thereby ease her punishment at least somewhat, Gemma obeyed without the slightest hesitation. Quickly, she toed off her shoes and unbuttoned her dress.
The fabric of flowered chiffon silk was so thin that the rosy hue of her skin was visible beneath it. Slipping it off her shoulders, below the crests of her
breasts and finally over her hips, she could feel herself blushing all over.
Prior to their wedding, Charles had insisted on choosing an entire wardrobe for his bride. Required to submit to endless fittings, Gemma was taken aback when she realized that almost every garment was either outrightly transparent or topless.
When she mustered the courage to ask her husband-to-be why this was so, he informed her that her body was to be on display at all times for his enjoyment. Whenever the mood struck him, he would touch, stroke, squeeze, and fuck any part of her he chose. Nothing since then had led her to have any hope of this changing.
As the little dress fell onto the rug, he smiled faintly. Before she could remove the thong that was her only remaining garment, he stopped her.
“Kneel on the floor in front of the couch. Lean over and rest your arms and head on it.”
