To my delight and horror, I felt something much larger than a finger pressing at my womanly opening. I knew this was Lord Henry’s cock. It felt enormous to me, far larger than Basil’s. I held my breath as the tip slid up and down my cunny lips, stimulating my clit, pressing for admittance at my pulsing opening.
“What is your name?” Lord Henry asked.
“Dorianne,” I said immediately. I would have answered any questions he asked quickly, for to please him seemed urgent to me then.
“Dorianne, do you wish me to break your hymen?”
The directness of the question left me embarrassed and shy. I did not know that my answer mattered. As if reading my thoughts again, Lord Henry said, “Tell me your desires.”
My poor pussy throbbed insanely, the sensation so loud that it blocked out all reasonable thoughts. I only knew that I wanted this man to take me, to fill me, to use me for his pleasure, and in that confinement I would be free to experience my own passions to the extent I was capable of feeling them. Heat soared through my body, a heat that would incinerate me unless something were done, and quickly.
And that is why no one was more startled than me when I screamed out, “No!”
Chapter Three
Lord Henry, as good as his word, instantly pulled his cockhead from my cunny. The emptiness that invaded me made me cry out again, this time in emotional agony. How had I been so stupid to answer that way when all I wanted was this man inside me?
My body shook from the tension. I had never felt so stupid, so vulnerable, lying bare assed, bottom blistered no doubt, pussy hot and slick…and empty.
Suddenly I heard galloping and turned my head. My tear-stained eyes beheld Lord Wotton riding swiftly away. The humiliation overwhelmed me utterly then, and I laid there bawling my eyes out like a child. I had been abandoned! Unfulfilled! I knew that it was my own doing, and yet I blamed him completely.
It wasn’t until the sun set that I gathered my wits about me and, with much discomfort, mounted Nettie. The hard leather against my screaming behind was almost impossible to endure. The ride back to the stables proved long and painful, and by the time I dismounted, my ass was the entire focus of my attention. I barely heard the stableboy as he asked me if I’d enjoyed myself.
In a stupor, I glanced around. Lord Henry was not to be found, and his carriage was gone. “Lord Wotton said to tell you he’ll return, but not ’till morning. You’re to stay here the night,” the stableboy said. The words depressed me. Helplessly, I followed the boy into the stable and stood watching him brush Nettie down.
He was a handsome youth, of the lower class, brawny, with no brain to speak of, but his brain was not what attracted me at that moment. As I watched him brushing the mare, he removed his shirt. The sweep of his arm, the ripple of the muscles of his back at his movements, all of it seemed to be the most sensuous movement; he might as well have been a ballet dancer!
At some point, he caught me watching. A knowing glint overtook those strong brown eyes. “You’ve exhausted yourself, gov’nor,” he said.
I nodded, feeling the exhaustion mingle with the lust he was inspiring.
“Have a rest in the hay, why doncha? No one’ll be the wiser. The cock crow will wake you at sunrise.”
He nodded at a ladder leading to a loft above the horses where hay for the winter was stored. I found myself climbing it.
Up above it was dark. The sun was not only well set, but the dark sky had not yet produced enough moon for light. The only light at all came from the one oil lamp below, which aided the boy in his work.
I lay on my stomach on the soft hay, inhaling the earthy scent, pushing at the odd sharp-edge that poked me.
My body throbbed. My mind was confused. My emotions in turmoil. I felt again like crying, but knew that if I made noise, I would attract attention. I felt I’d attracted more than enough attention already, and had used it poorly.
As I laid there, feeling sorry for myself, feeling my dear puss throb and my bottom howl, I heard a creaking sound—someone was coming up the ladder. Suddenly I realized there was no light whatsoever.
It was the stableboy, though. He found me as if by instinct. I knew I should protest, but as he knelt behind me, undoing my breeches, pulling them to my ankles, I could only submit, grateful that whatever would occur would be more than Lord Wotton had left me with.
I couldn’t see him, but the boy stank of sweat and greasy meat and horse. His hands were calloused and strong, and he ran them roughly over my hot ass. “You’ve had a good hiding,” he said matter-of-factly, as though this was not unusual. “Lord knows how to use a crop, that’s a fact.”
“It wasn’t a crop,” I felt compelled to say, “but switches, from a Willow.”
Suddenly one of those dirty, calloused hands smacked my left ass cheek hard. I howled and my body jolted. This seemed to give him pleasure, for his other hand smacked my other cheek. Again, I jolted. Suddenly, both hands came down simultaneously on both cheeks.
All the torment of the whipping was revived. Tears filled my eyes. My behind throbbed anew. Roughly the stableboy shoved his cock along the crack in my ass. His member was extremely long and thick, and enormously hard. This was no gentleman, respectful of limits, eager to please. I knew the fucking I was about to receive would not be delicate, but rough. I was not wrong.
In a moment, again by instinct, his cockhead jabbed into my anus. The flesh that tore deep into me made my walls burn, and stretch to incorporate him. I howled, and that made him laugh. Suddenly, he pushed my legs up under me and, while he still impaled me, turned my body until I was flipped onto my back. He was far stronger than I, and I was too busy struggling to protest this. All I could do was use my hands to cover my vulva, hoping that he would not reach for a cock that was not there.
Fortunately, he seemed satisfied with the opening he had already taken possession of. He held my legs up and apart, and fucked my rectum in a position as if he were fucking my cunny. I could do little but lie on my back, the coarse hay abrading my swollen ass, my bottom hole receiving a royal pumping from this ignorant fellow.
He stoked my ass all that night, not needing long to rest.
Once or twice, for diversion, he had me take his cock in my mouth and suck him until wads of thick hot cum shot out of him, which I swallowed. It dawned on me that he did not once try to touch me and my secret was safe. For I knew, should he discover my virgin cunny, I would not long remain intact. But I did.
The sensations spearing me that night were intense. I realized that the whipping had added to them. The stableboy, ignorant though he was, managed to understand that a slap to the derriere now and again would inflame my passions, and he was only too eager to oblige.
By morning, as the sun peeked through the boards of the barn roof, my anus was raw, but I felt immensely satisfied. While the boy snored next to me, naked, his hand gripping his yet-again hard cock, I snuck down the ladder. Nettie seemed glad to see me, and surreptitiously I saddled her and walked her out of the barn and well down the road to avoid discovery.
I mounted her with the most delicious agony and rode her into London. Along the way I saw Lord Henry’s coach approaching, but when it passed, I notice that it was empty. Apparently he did not think highly enough of me to bother coming himself!
By the time I reached my home, I was more tender of backside and bottom hole than I had ever imagined possible. I dismounted and left Nettie tied near the coach house, with instructions to our groom to see that she was returned to the stables. Then I snuck into the house. Unfortunately for me, my governess, Miss Pruit, was waiting, hairbrush in hand.
Chapter Four
“Where have you been, Miss?” she demanded.
“I’ve been out for a morning ride, Miss Pruit. Don’t you recall I mentioned that to you last night.”
The old woman stood ram-rod straight. A frown creased her brow briefly. Her steely hair and eyes tried to fathom whether or not this was true. Fortunately for me, her bad memory was
only superseded by her poor hearing and dim eyesight. She squinted a bit, then decided that whatever the truth of the matter, I was in need of a lesson nonetheless.
She found her way to a straight-backed chair and, in her stern voice, said, “Over the knee, Miss!”
I sighed heavily. I was in no mood for this type of treatment. Since she had been employed, she had threatened to spank me on several occasions. The odd smack to the derriere had left me most unimpressed. That she should even entertain the notion of spanking an adult woman as punishment, struck me as absurd.
Her spankings, I knew, would be feeble. Why bother? I would have argued, talked my way out of it as I always did, but I was simply too tired. Instead, I thought that getting it over with would be the best recourse.
With another sigh, I walked to Miss Pruit, about to lie across her knee.
“You’re wearing pants!” she exclaimed, shocked.
“I’ve been riding,” I reminded her.
“A lady does not wear gophers! That shall earn you more,” she said knowingly. “Take them off, this minute!”
After yet another sigh, I lowered the pants and lay myself across her knee for my just desserts. A person with normal eyesight would have seen my blistered bottom right off, but I knew Miss Pruit would miss the details. Her hairbrush, though, did not miss its mark.
She lay it on me with the unusual frailty with which she did everything. I expected a modest half dozen. That morning, however, I did not know what possessed her. The flat of the brush struck each cheek in turn several dozen times, until my arms and legs were flailing and tears filled my eyes. If I’d not already had two thorough hidings in the previous twenty four hours, I’m sure I would have fallen asleep in this position. As it was, the hard wood stimulated what needed no stimulation.
Lying there, so naked and vulnerable, my raw bottom receiving this third punishment, caused excitement to fill my cunny once again. Miss Pruit was old, but her arm was strong enough on a more than sensitive bottom. All I knew was that her hairbrush paddled me harder than I’d anticipated it would, and the juices poured from my cunny and ran down my thighs.
When she finally finished attacking my behind, I could hardly stand, I trembled so. Most of it was with excitement, however. “There!” she said with finality, pleased with herself and the job she’d done. “You will go to your room now, Miss, and stay there the day. Tonight you have a visitor, a friend of your parents, and you will receive him like a proper lady. Hopefully my chastisement has taught you a thing or two about being a lady.”
“I’m sure it has, Miss Pruit,” I said humbly, sniffing, for my bottom was in a state of exquisite pain. “May I ask the name of this visitor?”
Why was I not surprised when she said, “Lord Henry Wotton.”
My surprise, however, turned to shock when she added, “The man your parents intend for you to marry.”
Chapter Five
After a sleep and a warm bath, I had the maid, Matilda, lay out a yellow silk with lacy appliqués and tiny seed pearls scattered over the bodice. While Matilda laced the stays of my corset, she examined my bottom—there was nothing wrong with her eyesight.
“I’m surprised Miss Pruit had the energy for all this,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Don’t be impertinent,” I told her, and turned a bit. In the mirror my behind was littered with tiny dark welts. The skin was certainly in a state of shock, numb in fact, until touched. I found that out as Matilda ‘accidently’ ran her hand across my nether cheeks. How I would sit at dinner, I did not know, but that was the least of my concerns at the moment. The most important thing on my mind was Lord Henry’s visit, and the grim news that my parents had been about the business of arranging a match for me with this odious man!
Once Matilda had helped me slide into the dress and matching slippers, she went about fastening a pendant about my throat, and tiny matching pearl earrings at my ears. My fair hair she pulled back at the sides but kept long in the back, as befitting a young woman. I checked my appearance before leaving my boudoir. I seemed presentable enough, but I was nervous, and that nervousness showed on my face.
Miss Pruit was in the parlor, seated on a couch near the fireplace. I began pacing the floor in anticipation.
“Sit, please,” she said.
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind. After all, having a matter brought to one’s attention so forthrightly wants consideration,” I said.
Miss Pruit, despite herself, smiled. “Indeed. You’ve always had a way with words, Dorianne. I would hate for that to be drummed out of you, although I suspect most men would find it unbecoming in a wife.”
The notion of being anyone’s wife upset my stomach. I felt as if insects crawled in there, and that image brought a sense of nausea to the fore. How I would be able to consume dinner, I knew not.
Promptly at 6:30 the doorbell chimed. I heard Matilda answer, and a familiar voice say with much confidence, “I am here to visit Miss Dorianne Gray. Sir Henry Wotton. Please announce me.”
Matilda led him into the parlor. The moment I set eyes on him, a fury raged in me that I could barely control. While Matilda introduced both myself, then Miss Pruit, I watched Lord Henry the way, no doubt, a mouse watches a cat. I did not trust the man one inch. That this embarrassing and humiliation situation should be added onto our previous embarrassing and humiliating encounter left me nearly speechless with fury.
Finally, Lord Henry got to the point. “As you understand, Miss Gray,” and with these words, that audacious smile played on his cynical lips, “your parents have bid me to visit you, with the intention of a match.”
“So I’ve been given to understand,” I said cooly.
He raised one eyebrow. “The notion does not sit well with you?”
“An interesting choice of words, Lord Henry.”
“Oh, she’s pleased enough,” Miss Pruit interjected, gazing up from her tatting. “But you young people must sit down and get acquainted with one another. Don’t mind me.” With that, she took on her duties as chaperon, which meant she turned toward the fireplace and continued her fine work, all done by feel. The occasional glace at the mirror above the mantel would have given her a good view of the room. Of course, Lord Henry did not know of her cataracts, but I did. I wasn’t about to mention this handicap to him.
Lord Henry took possession of the house almost instantly, which caused me further annoyance. He seated himself on the loveseat as if he owned it, and patted the cushion next to him. I sat, gingerly, on the Queen Anne chair nearby.
That he noticed me wince as my bottom made contact with the padded seat gave him no small amount of pleasure, I could see. Likely he thought the whole of it his doing, which was far from the truth. Had there been a way to discretely enlighten him to the fact that he was not the center of my universe, I should have done so promptly. One could not count on Miss Pruit’s hearing as one could her eyesight.
“I’ve taken the liberty,” he proceeded, “of inviting a friend to dine with us.”
“That is a liberty!” I said, shocked.
“Oh, I suppose it might appear to be unromantic, coming from a suitor.”
The notion of him as my suitor left a distaste in my mouth, and caused me to laugh aloud. “The worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic.”
That brought another smile to his lips. “Tell me, Dorianne, that I might know the playing field. Is there another who has won your heart?”
How I longed to say yes. But, in truth, there was none about whom I entertained the notion of matrimony. My greatest desire was to lead the life of a male, roaming London free and clear, sating my desires as best I could. The last thing I would enjoy was being restrained by the demands of one man. Instead of the entire truth, I said this: “My heart is my own, not for winning or losing, especially as a stake in a competition.”
“Ah, but you sound like someone I met recently, someone who may be a relative. Who enjoys competition.”
&nbs
p; “You are referring to Dorian Gray,” I said, before he had the chance to expose me. “My cousin. From the country.”
“Yes, of course. Your cousin seems driven by whim.”
“Dorian’s whims are laws, to everybody except himself.”
“Then he is narcissistic in the extreme.”
“To the contrary, he simply knows his mind. I admire him. He has a larger purpose than what society’s narrow views deem acceptable.”
“Are you saying his penchant for caprice is superior to a lifetime of passion?”
“The only difference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is that a caprice lasts a little longer.”
This brought another smile to his lips. I could tell that my tongue pleased him, but I did not care much about pleasing him. I cared only that I could dissuade him of the idea of marrying me. Once he was out of the picture, I felt certain that my parents would not force another prospective match on me soon. I simply needed to either displease him enough, or find a fatal flaw in him, which my parents would accept. Both were within reach. The defect in this plan was that Lord Henry could effectively unveil me at any moment.
Just then the doorbell rang. I waited expectantly until this unknown visitor entered. Oddly enough, it was Basil, carrying with him a framed canvas, covered in burlap.
Once the pretence of introductions had been made, Lord Henry unwrapped the portrait of Dorian Gray and presented it to me. “I have purchased this from Basil. A pre-nuptial gift.”
“Presuming there are nuptials in your future,” I said acidly, examining the canvas. Basil had, apparently, finished it from memory, since my Dorian personality had not arrived at his studio that morning.
Lord Henry stood staring at me, waiting for my reaction. I know I was frowning. The painting was gorgeous, of that there was no question. But that Lord Henry should know my game and continue to play it perplexed me. I could not fathom what he was about, only that he was toying with me, but to what end?
“Youth,” he said, glancing at the portrait, “is the one thing worth having.”
Darker Passions: The Picture of Dorian Gray Page 3
