by Golden Angel
She moaned as he pulled away and then thrust deep again, his stroke long and firm but gentle enough that his body didn't slap too painfully against her bottom. Of course, she knew that would change eventually, but for now he began taking deep, sure strokes that kindled a new kind of flame deep within her. With every thrust she could feel the head of his manhood rubbing against a spot deep inside of her that made her gasp and spasm; every time he pressed home, the hanging sack would slap pleasurably against her splayed folds and little pleasure nub.
Excitement built within her, even as his strokes came faster, harder. Her body thrilled to the connection of their bodies, even as her bottom began to burn again whenever his thrusts rocked against it.
Pushing back against him, Irene could feel her body tightening around his rampant cock, her breathing coming fast and hot as the chaotic mix of pain and pleasure began to build up towards ecstasy. She moaned, loudly, gasping Hugh's name as his thrusts became rougher, wilder. It was exactly what she needed to take her over the edge.
The rapture bubbled upwards and over, peaking in a glorious burst of light and tingling satisfaction that spread throughout her entire body. It blossomed and rebounded, like a wave sloshing against sides of a bowl and she was the bowl. Nearly mindless with the astonishing climax, Irene vented her overstimulated nerves with a scream into the cushion in front of her, spasming as Hugh roughly thrust hard and deep and his cock surged inside of her.
The hot clasp of Irene's rippling cunt, the fiery skin of her bottom pressed against his groin, contributed to what was possibly one of the most intense orgasms of Hugh's life. It felt like his cock was bursting, swollen to the point of being almost painful, until the pleasure splintered and he flooded his wife's womb with his seed. Her pussy sucked and squeezed, he was only dimly aware of her screams of pleasure as he struggled to remain upright behind her while the pleasure drained him.
"Bloody hell..." he grunted, his body bowing forward. Planting his hands on the opposite arm rest, he arched over Irene.
The red puffy eyes and tear tracks down her face didn't detract from the glowing, satiated expression and satisfied smile that curved her lips.
Reality slowly brought itself back together as he softened inside of her body, reluctant to leave the welcoming confines of her quim. Hugh stayed over her, panting as he got his breath back and just enjoyed feeling her body against his. Especially her hot little bottom. With a groan, he forced himself back upright and disengaged.
Between her pale thighs, her pussy was swollen pink and very wet, just beginning to seep the white cream of his seed. Hugh twitched her drawers shut and pulled her skirts down before lifting her into his arms. She seemed to be almost dreamy as he settled them both down on the chair, cradling her in his lap with his arms tightly around her and her head pillowed on his shoulder.
Long moments passed as they just sat there, contentedly soaking in the other's warmth and company. Irene shifted occasionally, easing the pressure on her sore bottom against Hugh's hard thighs as he stroked her shoulders, back and neck with light fingers.
"You know," she murmured eventually, "I don't enjoy the punishment, but I have no complaints about the aftermath."
Hugh chuckled, the vibrations traveling through his chest and rumbling against her cheek.
"And I don't enjoy the necessity of punishing you, but I'm rather fond of the aftermath myself."
"Just don't think to punish me when I don't deserve it just because you like what comes next," Irene warned, although she couldn't quite manage to sound severe. She poked him in the chest with her finger, but kept her cheek pressed against his shoulder so that he couldn't glare at her. "I don't care what my response is afterwards, I do not enjoy being spanked."
"You're not supposed to, sweet."
There was another long moment of silence. Despite the throbbing ache that lingered in her bottom, Irene felt strangely content. Almost kittenish; she rather thought she could purr and rub herself all over her husband and be very happy. The soreness between her legs was a good kind of soreness and it helped to ease the worst of the pain leftover from the tawse.
"I'll be civil with Lady Grace, but I won't tolerate her flirting with you. I don't care how she used to treat you, you're married to me now."
Her husband chuckled again, tightening his arms around her. Lips pressed against her forehead, which was all he could reach with the way she was cuddled against him. "You have no need to feel jealous, wife. I have no eyes for any woman but you."
Tears sparked in her own green eyes as she snuggled closer to him. "I do love you, so very much, Hugh."
"And I you."
Chapter 9
Watching over his ward with an eye towards marrying her himself, rather than marrying her off to someone else, felt very strange. And, at the same time, Wesley was fending off his mother's attempts at "practicing" finding him a suitable wife. Although, of course, he didn't tell her the direction of his thoughts; he had no idea how she would feel about Cynthia as a daughter-in-law when she'd been having such trouble with the young woman, but if she did approve then he'd find himself leg-shackled by his next breath.
His physical attraction to Cynthia aside, he began to mentally list the reasons she might make a suitable wife. For one, she could behave when she felt like it. Perhaps it was all the time spent with his mother, but when she was quite adept at being haughtily proper when the situation called for it. For another, she was already learning the responsibilities of the post since she was spending most of her time at his mother's side. She was smart, she didn't hesitate to speak her mind when they were in private, and she could make him laugh.
A few days after the Assembly he'd attended with her and his mother, he'd happened upon her while she was practicing the pianoforte. Well, he'd heard the haunting sounds trickling down the hall and he'd followed them, completely entranced by the beauty of the sound. She wasn't just technically good, she played with emotion, imbuing her playing with a quality that went far beyond enjoyable. He didn't know how long he'd stood in the doorway, not wanting to enter and break the spell of her music.
Sitting upright on the bench with her back to him, she'd gently swayed back and forth as her fingers danced over the keys. It had surprised him that she was playing a rather melancholy piece, when she was so very often the very picture of amiable cheerfulness. But it was incredibly beautiful and he'd become as lost in the music as she obviously was.
Eventually he realized that he'd been standing there for far too long and he'd crept away, back the way he'd come. If he did marry the chit, he'd make it his business to take her to the opera. And the theater.
He also realized that playing the pianoforte was one of the few things that Cynthia was willing to do that involved sitting down and staying still. Any other time that she was required to do so, she quickly became rather squirmy. When he asked his mother about it, she said that Cynthia did much better out on the estates where she could ride and walk about outside rather than have to concentrate on things like embroidery.
And, of course, the overwhelming reason he might marry her was her response to discipline. Add that to her natural sensuality, and she might just be able to satisfy him on all fronts. He realized, with some chagrin, that even when he thought about other women, none of them held the temptations that Cynthia did. Sure, there were women in London that he could return to, sate his appetite with, but he'd rather be here torturing himself with a young miss that was out of bounds for seduction. It was as appalling as it was entertaining.
It was a rainy Tuesday when he'd realized just how much she hated being cooped up indoors. He was sitting in the library, reading through some of his letters, when she came wandering in. When he looked up, they nodded acknowledgement at each other and then he went back to his letters while Cynthia wandered around the room.
And wandered.
And wandered.
"I know this library isn't as big as the one on the estate, but it has plenty of books to choose from," he
said finally, without looking up. "Surely there must be one that catches your eye."
Cynthia sighed and he heard her wandering back in his direction. A moment later she was plopping down in the seat across from him, slumping back into the cushy chair. Hardly proper for a young lady. She'd looked more like a sulky school girl, if it wasn't for her luscious curves which were snugly cupped by the dark green fabric of her day dress.
"I've read all the ones I'm interested in."
Wesley raised his eyebrow. "There can't be very many you were interested in then."
"There aren't."
He laughed and looked up to see her smiling at him, eyes twinkling merrily. "Then why did you come in here?"
"There wasn't anything else to do. I played the piano for hours this morning and then your mother tried to make me practice embroidering. She's in bed now with a megrim, by the way," Cynthia said, waving her hand with exasperation. The Countess was probably laid low just from the effort of dealing with a bored Cynthia. Although Wesley was starting to worry about his mother's megrims; she had them quite often and he wondered if they were occurring even more often than she admitted. It seemed as though she only relinquished her watch over Cynthia when she was sure that Wesley was there to take over. "There's nothing to do in the house and no one to leave the house with me." She smiled brightly at him. "Unless you'd like to?"
"No thank you." Wesley had absolutely no desire to take a bored Cynthia out in a closed carriage in the rain. He wasn't such a fool as to enclose the two of them in such a situation when he had enough trouble keeping his hands off of her while there were witnesses around.
"Blast."
She slumped again as Wesley looked up, glaring at her. "Watch your language."
For a moment he thought she was going to argue or say something else, and his pulse began to pick up at the thought of having an excuse to punish her - what better way to spend a rainy afternoon? - but then she subsided again. He went back to his letters.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Wesley looked up. She was sitting back far enough in the chair that she could swing her feet, but her shoes were scraping over the carpet as she did so. With her head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling, she couldn't be very comfortable. She would stop soon.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
"Isn't there another room you could go to?"
"There's no one in the other rooms to entertain me."
"No one's entertaining you here." Although he could think of several ways he'd like to entertain her. But not with his mother and the upright Manfred lurking the halls, not to mention the various maids and footmen who would all report him to the Countess if they caught him doing... well, what he'd like to be doing. He might be the Earl but he had no illusions about where the household staff's loyalties lay. Not that he blamed them; hell, he'd be tempted to tell on himself. Even if he hadn't definitively decided to marry the chit yet.
"But you're here so there's at least the possibility of entertainment."
Scrape.
Wesley put his letters down, feeling quite in sympathy with his mother and her megrims. "Fine. What do you want to do?"
"I want to go out."
"Not going to happen." Wesley looked over her impassively, trying not to let his gaze linger on the hint of cleavage at the neckline of her dress or the way it clung to her curves. "We could play cards."
"Oh yes please!" Cynthia came abruptly upright. "I'm completely out of practice. Do you know how to play poker?"
"Do you know how to play poker?" Wesley asked, staring at her. The game had become quite popular with gentlemen, but it was not at all a proper game for ladies to play. Especially not young, unmarried ladies.
"Oh yes."
"I should spank you just for that," he muttered under his breath. Standing, he offered his hand to Cynthia and she placed hers in his as he helped her up from the chair.
******
Her guardian was watching her with a gimlet eye as he dealt out the cards, so Cynthia smiled back at him as sunnily as she knew how. Over the past week she'd learned that the Earl's stern mien often covered his true emotions; she enjoyed surprising a smile from his mobile lips and occasionally even startling a burst of laughter from him. When Lord and Lady Hyde came to visit he would unwind even more. It was only when they were alone that he would take on the persona of a hidebound bore. And sometimes she could tease him out of that into acting more naturally with her.
Why it mattered so much to her she wasn't quite sure. Perhaps because he constituted something that most men didn't: a challenge.
Besides which, she often found herself drawn to him. Like today, for instance. If she'd truly set her mind to it, she probably could have found some activity to entertain herself. But she hadn't wanted to; she'd wanted his specific company. And so she'd sought it out.
It was also risky, seeking the Earl's company. A hint of danger for her own person, a way of tempting herself. She wanted another spanking and yet she didn't. Sometimes she just wondered if she wanted him to touch her. He had very big hands and she was quite certain they would fit perfectly over certain parts of her anatomy. Such long fingers... much longer and thicker than her own.
Shaking her head, Cynthia concentrated on her cards. They were playing for pennies, of course.
"So who taught you how to play poker?" the Earl asked, discarding two of his cards.
"Your footmen on the estate," she said, sliding one card out of her hand to be replaced. "And some of the gentlemen here in Bath have been willing to play with me on occasion."
The Earl started. "My mother allowed that?"
"I didn't say your mother knew."
Those expressive lips tightened, his eyes darkening as he glared at her across the table. Silence reigned for the rest of the hand, which he won. Shuffling the cards, he gave her a long look.
"Have you been losing your pin money to these men?"
"Of course not," Cynthia said calmly, picking up the cards he'd laid down for her. She smiled brightly at him. "This is the first time I've played for money."
"What did you play for before?"
"Matchsticks with your footmen while they were teaching me. And the gentlemen of Bath seem to prefer kisses."
The slamming of his palm down on the table made Cynthia jump. "You will not be playing Poker outside of this house again."
"There seems to be a lot I can't do outside of this house," she said, rather crossly, glaring at him.
"Count your blessings that I don't blister your bottom for playing poker with rogues and... wagering... kisses."
Cynthia snorted. "You can't spank me for something I did in the past."
"I can spank you for whatever I want and you'd do well to remember that, baggage." Something about the way he said that made her look at him suspiciously; his mood had suddenly changed to almost cheery again.
"But you won't?" Blast, she sounded almost wistful. She didn’t truly want him to spank her again. They were rather enjoying themselves right now.
The little look that he gave her made her blush hotly and she looked down at her cards again to avoid his gaze. What was it about him that set her so off kilter? With other men it was easy to be flirtatious, to tease and tempt; with him, it seemed that things she wasn't sure she wanted to show always leaked through.
"Not this time."
Ominous enough to make her shiver. Cynthia changed the subject to the awful weather, putting on her protective social mask and taking refuge in the conversational subjects deemed acceptable for a young lady and a man. This seemed to amuse the Earl, but he followed her line.
As they played, she started to wonder if she was avoiding a spanking because she truly didn't want to be spanked, or because she was beginning to worry about her reactions to the Earl. Her emotions seemed to get rather tangled around him. Although he was somet
imes stiff and starchy, at other times he was the most exciting man she'd ever met. But he was also trying to marry her off to someone else, and so she shouldn't be thinking of his hands or his fingers or lips. She would eventually explore all the pleasures and forbidden things that she wanted to, but not with him.
The amount of disappointment that she had at that thought only confirmed to her that she needed to stop titillating herself with the Earl. Which meant no more spankings. Because eventually she'd be someone else's wife and he would never be hers.
Even though she suddenly felt like crying, Cynthia covered it with a bright smile. And then she took him for all the pennies he was worth.
******
Over the next few days, Wesley noted a change in Cynthia’s behavior. Perhaps it was because the weather had returned to normal, but he found himself unusually disgruntled by the fact that she was rarely to be found on her own. Even in the house, she was most often found with his mother.
He found himself missing her company; her conversation, her quick mind, and especially her outrageous little comments. Most especially, he missed being able to look at her as much as he wanted to without his sharp-eyed mother there. The only time he saw her on her own was when he heard the playing of the pianoforte, and he would often sneak in the room to watch and listen, but he never interrupted. It would break the spell.
Besides, he didn’t think that being completely alone with her was a very good idea. He still hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to marry her. Although he was having the devil of a time learning more about her when he couldn’t spend any actual time with her.
They were on their way to attend another Assembly, Cynthia and his mother chattering as if nothing was odd about the fact that his ward wouldn't look at him. Not the easiest thing to do when he was sitting across from her in a closed carriage. When he helped her out, she caught his eye, blushed, and looked away again. So at least he knew he still had some effect on her. He wondered what was going through the chit’s mind, that she had so suddenly absented herself from his presence, almost immediately after telling him that she preferred company to entertain her.
