Chaos in Paradise

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Mariel pays half attention to her crotch and half to my words, her eyes not quite focused anymore tell me she’s building toward a cum. She smiles with delicate lips that lure me toward them. I keep my distance.

  “I would have two men,” she finally says.

  “I would like to see that,” I find myself replying, though I know I shouldn’t comment on anything so sinful.

  “And then he lashed your ass?” she asks.

  “Not then, but a week or two later when I became, as he would say, “ungracious.”

  She looks at me puzzled.

  “I can’t defend myself,” I tell her. “Perhaps I was just feeling restless and too controlled. After the farmer came, he came again, and so did other men. As much as I enjoyed the debauchery, I missed the quiet I once shared with Monsieur alone. My mouthy retorts made him angry. Days of it and he became enraged one afternoon. That first farmer was in the room, hoping for another fuck, and I snarled some filthy language and Monsieur charged me. Taking my wrist in his hand—I had no idea he was so strong—we glared eye to eye for some seconds. When I saw his free hand go for the belt at his waist, I knew I’d stepped over the line of good etiquette. He was pissed. Flinging me over the back of a chair, he lay the belt against my ass until it was burning hot and my feet were dancing beneath me. My thighs, my butt, even places higher on the my shoulders took swift blows that cut hard into my skin. All the sassy spit in me died and soon the smacks bred a sexual release. I moved into them luridly, and was finally fucked by both men—not simultaneously this time, but the farmer first and then Monsieur. I never saw another man in his studio after that day, never fucked another cock but his while I was in his house. We returned to making love with tenderness as though he was apologizing for having brutalized me with the other men. I believe he thought my irritation was because I hated those bawdy sessions. I suppose in some ways it was.”

  I turn to see Mariel’s dress open wide now, both breasts hanging provocatively against her chest, swaying barely inside the thin flower-covered fabric. Both hands play, one at her chest the other remaining down below.

  “You want to know about his tying me? That happened soon after he first punished my ass—but only after we’d restored some tranquility between us. One day I walked into his studio to see him fooling with two struts he’d raised in the middle of the room. There were leather cuffs fixed high and low, two sets, one for my feet the other for my wrists. “You’re going to restrain me?” I asked, my voice almost breathless, I was so in shock.

  “‘Yes. I want to see you sweat, see your limbs quiver, see how you change substantially when you’re bound,’ he replied.

  “‘But why now?’ I asked.

  “‘I’ve wanted this for some time and so have you.’ I think he was tapping some inner demon in himself, that rose up to take over his sanity. Like he was when he had the other men fucking me, this was another aberration that consumed him. I could tell that my only choice was to relent.

  “Ah, and that I did. My pussy dripped happily even while I was filled with a fear that tingled down my back and caused my thighs to tremble. He slapped them angrily, hating my apprehensiveness, though the scowl on his face only added sexual fuel to the hot flame at my center. Once he had me cuffed at the four corners of his rack, he took pictures of me spread wide, my ass clenched frightfully tight, and then my front side. I couldn’t keep my crotch from moving as though it wanted to be hurt. I was petrified of the crop that lay on the table nearby. I wasn’t sure why I’d feel so fearful of my masochistic needs with him—after all the time I spent with Cabot. My fear seemed to have its foundation in tenderness. He made love to me so sweetly when he was sane. For him to come on me like a night wind whipping fall leaves into a frenzy altered my perceptions of him and our relationship. Once he picked up the crop, I was as scared as I’d ever been, knowing that his exploits on my body would far surpass the day he used the belt. That was in anger, this was solely to satisfy his darker desires and to enlist my surrender. I knew it was wise to give in without a protest, but I found that hard to do. My body kept resisting the way this gentle man was turning so vilely cruel. I thought perhaps it was my fault. That my lust drove him to it, that he could read my desires so clearly, and those desires found his weakness and his darkness, and so he was consumed. Perhaps I deserved a severe beating.”

  I turn silent in my monologue, so engrossed with my speculations that I haven’t noticed how Mariel responds. Letting my eyes focus on her again, I see her head back against the top of the chair, both breasts bare to the ceiling as though she’s teasing me to come suck the malleable fruit. Both her hands are at her crotch. With her dress pulled to her waist I can see her ass rock against the chair seat, the beautiful white squashed demandingly into the wood as if it gives her pleasure to writhe against it. Her fingers dive between the curly blush of hair that’s matted to her skin. So much juice, I see it glisten finding my own hand strays to my thighs.

  “He took the crop and laid in strong against my tits, both breasts turning bright pink seconds after he struck them each a half dozen times.”

  Another shudder runs the length of Mariel’s body. She drives her fingers more deeply within the sopping canyons.

  “He flails the thing on my thighs. The burn makes me beg him to stop, but he only gets more excited, suddenly rapping the leather head against my pubis hard.”

  Hearing me speak, Mariel tears at her pubic hair and winces from pain.

  “He goes to my ass side, punishing me hard on the buttocks. Then on my shoulders. Then on my thighs. Then in a frenzy until, with little other choice, I rise above the pain to avoid it.”

  Mariel sighs from somewhere inside her own mind where my words connect with her spasming crotch. Her juice flows about her hands, her back rises against the chair, breasts quivering, and then she bucks, once, twice, a third time on her fingers. Moments later, I’m between her thighs parting them to press my face into her hairy snatch where the smell of cum wafts into my nostrils, where I can slip my tongue into the pulsing brew of sweat and stench and delicious froth, and feel her entire body give in to me as another spasm builds to a climaxing end and she tightens one more time.

  I lift my head from her wet center and bring my mouth to hers and we kiss, a slow female kiss, with our small female lips tentatively caressing the tongue and lips.

  “I’ll bring you off,” she says.

  I shake my head “no” and she looks as though she’s about to cry. But I know better about what I need. I know what she needs even though I realize how hard it will be for her when she fulfills her fantasy. She’s such a gentle creature, I wonder if she will survive her dreams.

  “Why did you leave, Monsieur?” she asks me as I take my seat again, and pour another cup of hot water into our china cups. I pour honey into hers and mine, letting my longing for her be expressed in these tiny gestures of affection.

  “I fled him the day after he bound me to his rack. I feared we’d take what fond love we had for each other and destroy even the pleasant memory of it. Monsieur had a dark streak he would not have been able to contain if I remained with him. That would have destroyed us both. When I left him, I traveled north to this place, thinking that perhaps I could escape my sexual passions for a while. Anarchy is exhausting. This order gives me some relief.”

  “That is why you won’t make love to me?” Mariel asks.

  “I’m afraid I’m doing to you what I did to Monsieur,” I say.

  “Ah, no, Teagan,” she shakes her head. “You give me some reprieve from the relentless urges I cannot control otherwise.” She looks sad and I wonder why. When she looks up at me there’s a bashful grin on her small lips. She’s embarrassed realizing that her dress is still unbuttoned and she clutches it to her before hurriedly restoring herself like a prim schoolgirl. “But I’ve already failed myself and my husband to be.”

  “You think our being together like this … I never should have come to you.” I’m almost frantic thinking I’ve
totally failed her.

  “Not you, Teagan,” she replies sweetly. “I had a farmer too.”

  She scares me.

  “I met the boy in the village and was instantly wooed. He gave me no real cause to pursue him, but I followed him to his home and when I found myself inside his barn, he alone with me, I dropped my dress. He was shocked, but that didn’t stop him from making love to me.”

  “Damn! I’ve done this to you.”

  “Oh no! You give me hope,” she’s actually looking happy.

  “And what will you say at your confession to the priest before your wedding day?” That day is just a week away.

  “I’ll tell him the truth.”

  “And the penance you’ll pay?” I remind her.

  Her eyes seem to glaze over and this worries me. “Don’t you know that this is what I’ve been waiting for?”

  “I think you mistake lust and punishment,” I tell her.

  “Are they not the same?”

  “They may have the same result, but not the same end. I’m sure the Brannoch priest, by what I’ve heard of him, will not be thinking lust when he condemns you for your crimes and decrees the nature of your purification.”

  “I swear I’ll welcome it.”

  “Then I think you’re mad, Mariel.”

  In her innocence, she takes this all so lightly. I know her fantasies will be ripped asunder and can only pray she’ll find what she seeks.

  Chapter Six

  He’s in my house when I arrive there. Looking through the window I gaze on his soft face and see his soulful eyes peer about the room as though he’s saying good-bye—seeing the walls, the tapestries and the prints that cover them for the last time. Why so sad? I wonder. He carries a length of leather in his hand—a fine one I’ve never seen before, nothing crude like the ones I know he’s made for himself. For the first time, I truly wonder where he lives and how he lives when he’s not with me. This curiosity is very rich. But I can’t entertain the thought for too long, I’m afraid to leave him waiting for me.

  It’s late morning. She walks into the house surprised to see me. Perhaps even more surprised that I’m holding a punishment strap in my hand. She won’t know this is the official model meant to purify the condemned woman. I’ve been thinking so much about using it on her, I couldn’t stop myself. I stood there at the closet in the chamber staring at it for nearly twenty minutes before I finally had the guts to take it. Knowland found me there, staring at the canes and leathers with itchy fingers.

  “Why don’t you just use one on her, that’s what you want to do.”

  “I haven’t used one of these in almost three years.”

  “And why’s that?” he asked the penetrating question, putting all that Provincial Lord command into his voice. He already knows the answer. “You got scared of yourself, didn’t you?”

  I stared at him.

  “Scared, no,” I finally replied. “Not scared. I’m not suppose to love it the way I do.”

  “So, you’re a sadistic bastard?” Knowland laughed at me.

  I didn’t answer him, but I did swipe the closest leather from the cabinet and slammed the door, while Knowland chuckled at me in his usually disparaging manner. Sometimes I wish we were still thirteen and we could just go at it again with fists flying until we were so worn out and bloody our mothers would threaten to cane us. Those were easier times.

  Teagan looks at me now, humbly wondering.

  “I’ve had this a while, and finally had the courage to bring it to you.”

  I smile at him, a little coyly because I’m frightened. It’s not unusual for him to appear so dark to me, but there almost seems to be something unholy about his look.

  “You want to beat me?” I ask.

  “Is that not what you want?” he asks.

  I titter a little nervously. “Is something wrong? You seem occupied by something…”

  “Ah, so now you want to know what’s in my mind?”

  “I always want to know what’s in your mind.”

  “You want too much from me,” he says.

  “Then I’ll ask for less,” I tell him. I feel there is some finale between us brewing and I’m terribly scared.

  “I’d like you to lie face down on the bed,” he instructs me.

  She moves as though she’s only half inside her body, like she’s floating or disappearing. I’ve never seen her so scared. It doesn’t even bother me. When did I become so cold?

  She wears a blue skirt that reaches to her ankles, the fabric’s thin because it’s summer and I suppose it’s cool. As she move towards the bed, her body catches the light and I can see right through the thing. What curves this woman has! Lying on the bed, she casts me this childlike look, her green eyes drooping sadly, but then, they are so seductive when they’re like that. She reaches back and begins to draw the skirt over her legs. I stand there not flinching, letting the excitement of this build in my punishment arm. The strap is just an extension of my hand, and I feel as though they are fused together.

  Her white thighs must already be hot with a wicked sun glaring through the windowpanes beating down on the bed and the flesh she exposes for me. Her ass cheeks tremble as nervously as her pouting lips, while the loveliest dimples appear and disappear as I stare at them. Still, she looks at me pleadingly, as though hoping that look will change my mind. But even as she tucks the skirt under her belly so it won’t fall back, she knows I’m serious. What a perfectly surrendering woman she is—like she was made to be a Utopian female, even though she wears the guise of the South.

  “Give me your hands,” I order her.

  I know where to find the jute, and enjoy making it cut into her wrists as I tie them. The end of the rope goes over the head of her bed, and I pull it tight watching her body clench as I stretch it taut. I’ll let her ass end flail like mad, but I won’t let those beautiful hands get in the way.

  Taking a towel off the rack in the bathroom, I stuff it between her teeth so she can’t cry too loudly. What if someone passes by and hears her? I’m reluctant to close the blinds on the windows and close out the light that bathes her white skin and makes it almost glaring to my eye. I do shut the blinds at the front of the room, but not the ones that allow the sun to bake her ass with heat. I couldn’t have planned this any better if I’d tried.

  He’s never been quite so forceful with me. I suppose that’s why I’m so afraid now. He usually takes me darkly at my instigation, but not this time. I almost see the mad Monsieur in his face, but no, his domination of me is much too controlled. I can’t get over the idea that this is some familiar ritual for him, he does it with such ease. I am subdued and my pussy quakes, pressing into the sheets beneath it for comfort and arousal both. Oh, my labia do ache with my skirt just barely between them tickling my clit. I wonder if Keven would be happy knowing that.

  He strikes the leather with such force, I squirm aroused, though the burn on my ass gets raw as he moves from one dozen to the next. He pauses and the burning sting subsides, but then not the heat. That blasted fire on my ass feels far worse because of the sun blaring through the window. As he strikes again the pain begins to move in a wave and I find my ass rising to meet the leather—just a little. He’ll go on for nearly a half hour—I can tell by his pace—until there’s not a white space from my waist to my knees, until I’m frothing at this gag and staining my sheets with cum. Ah, the hot, peppery heat, the blisters, the fright, my fears turn silly. I think of him as my inquisitor and my warden in this prison of rules—with this whipping my liberator.

  She’s breathing hard. After gradually building her sexual heat, I lay in for a long biting rash of strikes that she thinks won’t end. I’m enjoying the frenzy of her movements. Perhaps I should have made her undress altogether so I could see the flesh of her breasts grind into the bed. I see enough though. With her arms tied above her, her sleeveless shirt shows the full half breast. If I imagine hard enough, I think I can see her nipple when the crack cuts deeply and her body
momentarily lifts from the bed. She must nearly be orgasmic. I can sense her vagina contract like she’s riding a cock. Her juice dampens her entire mound. And the red, flushed skin looks more angry every time I give it another blast of leather. She sobs frantically. I wonder if she isn’t as desperate because I’ve gagged her and all that noisy reply is muffled by the damp towel down her throat.

  Dropping the belt, I go down on her ass, pushing her knees up on the bed, spreading them widely so her crack parts and every glistening thing between them shines with sexual beauty. I move back admiring the look as the sun adds its warmth to her miserably beautiful flesh.

  Moving down between her thighs, the sun’s on my back. Pressing my face into her snatch my tongues darts from her anus to her vagina, lapping like it’s cream and peaches, the syrup clinging sticky to my face. She sighs with “ooooo’s” and tender “yeses”, then jerks when my mouth encircles her swollen clitoris and begins to suck the cum from her. Her ass and my face rock together frantically until I feel the pulsing in her begin to die away. Every few seconds there is another wrenching shudder and planting my tongue inside her opening, I still feel the pulse, but it is less frequent.

  Greasing her rear entrance with her own juice, I climb on the bed behind her and watch the purple head of my erection as it slides slowly into her second home. Such a small opening and yet it blossoms wide to allow my entrance. My fuck takes little time, which is probably good for her. The hard one between my legs beats her ass savagely and she struggles until I finish.

  Keven has his hand in my sweaty hair as we lie in the steamy heat of the hot room. Suddenly, I’ve found myself stripped of clothes and naked next to his nakedness. His smile blooms all around me with sad tenderness that could make me cry. He kisses my eyes and nose, and I’m giggling by the time he reaches my mouth, and the two are joined for a long while. I’m still cumming as his kisses feed these mild spasms that skip lightly through my groin. I’d love to take him in my mouth now, take that cock and bury it deeply down my throat. I’m sure I could open that widely for him.