Punishing His Ward

by Golden Angel

  "There's one much, which is even larger, but I don't see the need for that one," the Earl said, shifting so that he was standing directly behind her. Even though she couldn't see him, she could feel his movement and the heat of his body as it came closer to her beaten bottom. Cynthia started to nod her agreement, deciding that she was relieved the ordeal was over, and then she shuddered as something new poked her newly stretched rear entrance.

  It was hot and thick, softer than the things he'd been putting inside of her, and yet rigidly hard. When both of this hands grasped her hips, Cynthia realized it was his cock - he was putting his cock into her arse! Thicker than the prods he'd been using, hotter in temperature, and so much more frighteningly intimate, Cynthia shuddered and moaned as the long shaft sank deeper and deeper.

  If she'd thought she felt full before, it was nothing compared to now.

  When his body pressed against her hot, battered cheeks, flames ignited across the sensitive surface of her skin, even as her hole clenched tightly around him. He groaned and twitched inside of her, rocking hard against her bottom and causing her to writhe for all new reasons. Of all the outcomes she might have expected when she'd dared to enter his room this evening, none of this had crossed her mind.

  She felt him lean forward, bending over her, as one of his hands slipped around her hip and down to the front of her mound, the pads of his fingers pressing knowingly against her pleasure nub. The little swollen bud sparked to life, eagerly. The Earl shifted his hips, withdrawing slightly and then pushing back in; the same way he'd worked her tight hole with the hard prods, but somehow this felt completely different.

  Despite the flare of fiery pain in her bottom as his body pressed against the beaten surface, Cynthia found herself rocking back against him, encouraged by the circular rubbing of his fingers over her clit. The wetness of her pussy was coating his fingers and it felt so delicious to be so very full in her backside while he played with her little pleasure nubbin. Delicious and yet also as though lightening was striking through her with every short hard thrust of his cock into her fundament.

  This wasn't the marriage act; it was something depraved, something meant to punish but which also pleasured, a way of enforcing his dominance over her. Cynthia hadn't asked for this, wouldn't have wanted it if she'd been given a choice, felt rather embarrassed by her ardent response to it, and yet the Earl was forcing her to pleasure anyway, even as he ravaged her most intimate area.

  And it felt wonderful.

  Terrible.

  Life altering.

  Cynthia cried out, her back arching upwards as the Earl's fingers rubbed out an intense orgasm from her. The pleasure felt doubly intense for the amount of pain it had to overcome, making her feel almost floaty as the rapture trembled through her limbs. It was a strange climax, involving her rear channel as much as any other part of her body, which made the pleasure feel much fuller, much more rounded and complete, like she was being fully satisfied for the first time.

  Almost. The channel of her womanhood still felt empty, but it didn't diminish her ecstasy at all. She was wild with it, her body trembling and spasming, riding his fingers for all she was worth.

  Then the Earl's fingers pulled away, his body did as well, and Cynthia was suddenly being pounded into his bed with long, forceful strokes. Now that she’d gotten her pleasure, the Earl was taking his. Both of his hands gripped her hips, and now that he was no longer hunched over her body, the Earl was able to withdraw much more of his cock before slamming it back into her. She shrieked at the intense sensations, especially as his body slapped against her reddened buttocks, as if spanking her all over again.

  Something smacked into her wet pussy lips with every thrust, her flesh jiggling, her abused hole protesting; and yet the pleasure went on and on. It was as if she couldn't stop cumming now that she had started, no matter what he did to her. Cynthia bucked beneath him, clenching and twisting in her passion. Pressing her mouth against the bed, she screamed his name as she felt her entire body begin to curl, from her toes, to her arching back, to her gripping fingers.

  ******

  Bloody hell...

  His fiancés' tight arsehole was like a bloody vise... and the vision of his slick cock disappearing between those beautifully reddened cheeks only inflamed Wesley further. He was going to fill her backside with his seed in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Having wrung Cynthia's reluctant pleasure from her sopping wetness, he felt no compunction about taking his own, as roughly as he desired.

  Although it did seem as though she was still enjoying herself anyway.

  Wesley lost himself in the intimate, depraved act, and his fiancés' wanton response to it. Her hot, tight hole was gripping him over and over again, the flesh of her welted bottom jiggling and rippling every time he slapped against it. As her moans and whimpers filled his ears, he reveled in his choice for bride. If this was any indication of what their love life would be like, it would be no hardship to cleave to his wife and no other.

  Gripping her hips even more tightly, he shouted something... he didn't even know what... and nearly felt his knees buckle as his cock began to throb inside of her. He covered her body with his own, burying himself as deeply in her ass as he could, shuddering as she clenched his cock and milked the seed from his balls straight into her dark channel. Every jet of cum into her backside had him jerking and rocking against her hot buttocks until he lay, spent, atop her, lazy with sensual satisfaction.

  Eventually her soft whimpers and small movements recalled him to himself.

  "Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked, softly into her ear, concerned that he’d perhaps become too rough at the end. While it had been perfection for him, he didn’t want to scare her off from such relations and now that he was more in control of himself he worried that he’d pushed her too far.

  Cynthia shuddered beneath him, clenching again and Wesley moaned as he rocked against her. The spasms made his sensitive cock jerk and he pulled away, gasping. The air felt cool against his groin, no longer nestled in the warmth of her body. Her face was turned to the side, but he could see enough of her expression to realize that she was in a bit of a daze - unsurprising considering everything he'd just put her through.

  Not that she hadn't deserved it.

  Quickly cleaning himself off with a cloth, he then cleaned the seed which was beginning to leak from the tiny crinkled hole, which had tightened back to its original proportions, and her thighs of her juices. To his satisfaction, he saw that her little rosebud anus was quite pink but otherwise quite unscathed. The dilators had done their work very well in preparing her for his cock.

  Donning his own dressing gown, Wesley dressed Cynthia back in her wrapper, handling her like a life-size doll. She smiled up at him, rather dreamily, and then shivered. When he pulled her up into his arms, she snuggled right into him with her head on his shoulder. Sighing rather regretfully, as he would have preferred to keep her with him for the rest of the night (a rather surprising sentiment, but at least he knew Hugh and Edwin were the same way so he wasn’t alone), Wesley opened his door, made sure no one was in the hall, and began carrying his burden back to her own room.

  He looked forward to after their wedding, when he could keep her beside him in bed, within easy reach whenever he wished. No wonder his friends preferred to share a room with their wives. Wesley would be following their example.

  Chapter 14

  Eleanor's tapping fingers couldn't completely distract her from the nausea that had been threatening all morning. She felt distinctly green. Even the tea that the Countess of Spencer had given her wasn't helping very much. The Countess' sharp eyes had seen more than Eleanor would have wanted; she only hoped that the Countess didn't share her suspicions with Eleanor's husband.

  Although Edwin had been most attentive lately, Eleanor still hadn't told him of her condition. Every day it became a little harder to admit it, as if by waiting she was risking more, although eventually she knew it would become obvious even if
she said nothing. Especially since they shared the same bed every night and his passion for her hadn't diminished. The small changes in her body were becoming more and more noticeable, and while they could be hidden by clothes, there was no way to hide them from his hands or his eyes when they were in their marital bed.

  "I think Wesley's done something to Cynthia," Edwin murmured into her ear, jerking her out of her thoughts. Eleanor blinked and refocused. She had been invited over for tea with Cynthia and the Countess, and Edwin had insisted on accompanying her. She was rather grateful for his presence, because she was having trouble concentrating and he'd been remarkably adept at dropping hints along the conversation to help her. Still, it had been rather unexpected, and it meant that Wesley had joined them as well.

  Looking over at Wesley, she couldn't imagine what Edwin was referring to and she looked up at her husband, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  He nodded at Wesley, and then at Cynthia. Wesley was standing next to the mantle, one elbow casually resting on its surface, watching his bride who had been wandering around the room and recently come to a stop beside the window which looked out over the street. The Countess had been in and out of the room as various details for the upcoming wedding required her attention, and was currently speaking with the housekeeper about the menu.

  Eleanor realized that the entirety of the noise level in the room was that conversation; neither Wesley nor Cynthia had said a word in ages. Besides which, they’d barely seemed to interact at all. Not at all what she might have expected between an affianced couple, no matter what Cynthia had told her about Wesley’s current hands-off approach.

  "He looks far too satisfied, when just yesterday he was rather on edge, and now she looks anxious and she hasn't sat down once since we've been here," Edwin said, sounding rather amused. Eleanor found it more worrying than amusing, although as she looked at Cynthia it didn't seem as though the young woman was afraid of her fiancé.

  Just nervous.

  Which was odd enough, considering that it was Cynthia and so far Eleanor hadn't seen anything that fazed the young woman. Not even being spanked. So what had Wesley done to her? Or, rather, what had Cynthia done and how had Wesley reacted? Yesterday she hadn’t worried when Cynthia had said she was going to do something to prod Wesley, now she wondered if she should have questioned the other woman more closely.

  Eleanor was going to have to get her alone and ask. It would be impossible to do so today, she couldn’t get Cynthia alone without being rude. Perhaps after Irene arrived; then Cynthia would have more than one well-disciplined wife to speak with. And Irene and Hugh seemed to have resolved their differences, going by the letters Eleanor and Edwin had received since arriving in Bath. So perhaps Irene would also have some advice. Although neither she nor Eleanor courted their husbands’ displeasure the way that Cynthia did with Wesley.

  She couldn’t imagine Irene deliberately misbehaving. But at least she would be able to add another perspective to the situation.

  ******

  "Irene!"

  "I'm coming," she called, hurrying down the hall. Hugh's demanding tones didn't cause quite the same reaction as her mother's always had, but she still couldn't help the little knot of anxiety that coiled in her stomach.

  It disappeared the moment she reached the top of the stairs and looked down to see him smiling up at her. No matter his impatience, he didn’t scold or chide her the way her mother would have if she’d been kept waiting. He was fashionably but comfortably dressed for traveling. They were going to be arriving in Bath a few days before the wedding so that they could meet Wesley's fiancé and spend some time with Eleanor and Edwin. Irene was wildly curious about Miss Bryant, as well as eager to see her sister-in-law again.

  She was wearing her riding habit, although she wouldn't be able to ride until they were out of London. But Hugh had promised her that once they reached the country he would allow her to ride her horse rather than be stuck in the carriage, even though it was rather out of the bounds of propriety. It was something her parents had never permitted and she was extremely grateful that her husband wasn't so bound up in the rules of Society as they were.

  Indeed, marriage to Hugh had turned out to be much more satisfying than she could have ever imagined. A thought which he confirmed when he caught her up in his arms and gave her a very thorough kiss, ignoring the titters of the staff in the hall. When he released her, Irene was bright red but beaming with happiness.

  Offering her his arm, he walked her out to the carriage which was waiting for them. Seating herself facing forward, she settled her skirts around her legs, already eager for when she could quit the confines of the carriage. She looked at her husband in surprise when he climbed in after her, seating himself across from her.

  "Aren't you going to ride?" she asked, curiously.

  Hugh smiled at her, the sunlight trickling in through the window and making his golden hair look even brighter. "Once you can, I will as well. Before that I thought I might keep you company if you have no objection."

  “No objection at all,” she replied, smiling brilliantly.

  Love surged in her heart for her caring, generous and all-too-wonderful husband. Irene didn't know how she'd gotten so lucky. While Hugh might discipline her when he thought she required it, he was also the most thoughtful, giving man she'd ever met - and that included when compared to Alex. The way that Hugh had forgiven her transgressions, the way he continued to care for her, the happiness that he'd brought to her life on a daily basis, when she'd thought she'd have to hoard and snatch small bits for herself... it was more than she could have ever imagined or asked for.

  Thank goodness she hadn't married Alex. While she loved her friend, she also knew that if Alex wanted to ride, he would do so, even if Irene was stuck alone in a carriage. She had never expected to feel sorry for Lady Grace, but right now she did. How awful to be trapped in a marriage with a man one didn't love when she obviously craved that; Irene could no longer imagine it.

  And yet Alex was supposedly determined to reconcile. Irene no longer knew what might be best for the estranged couple, but she could only wish that they found even a fraction of the happiness that she had with Hugh.

  Epilogue

  Peters showed Alex into the drawing room. He looked around, noting the bright colors and feminine touches that his own house lacked. Compared to Grace's rooms, his own residence was downright dismal and had been that way for as long as he could remember.

  "May I say that it's good to see you again, my Lord?"

  "Thank you, Peters, it's good to see you as well," Alex said. The man hadn't changed much over the years, and he was still one of the most trusted servants the Brooke family had ever had. Peters' father had served Alex's, his grandfather, all the way back at least four generations. He was the only man Alex had trusted to send with Grace when she'd left. "Will her ladyship be down soon, do you think?"

  The butler hesitated. "Lord Conyngham has yet to depart the premises this morning, my Lord, but Lady Brooke has summoned her maid and I believe they should be coming down to breakfast shortly."

  "Thank you, Peters." Alex ignored the disapproval in the other man's face, knowing that it was for himself and not for his wife or her lover.

  After all, Peters knew that it was his fault. It was Peters who had informed him that the rumors surrounding Grace and her 'lovers' were untrue when she'd first left him; she'd been having flirtations but she hadn’t betrayed him. And Alex, proud idiot that he was, had retaliated by initiating his own flirtation. But Grace had had no way of knowing that it was only a flirtation, unlike him who had Peters to inform him of the truth of the matter, that the rumors that he'd acquired a mistress were false. It was only after she thought Alex had taken a mistress that her lovers had become so in truth, and he blamed his own prideful folly for that.

  At first he'd been furious that she'd taken the final step and retaliated by going through a veritable gauntlet of women, rather than thinking through what she must
have been feeling. Then he'd started hating himself for his behavior, as he had never been one to enjoy multiple partners, and he kept his affairs to one woman at a time, becoming more circumspect and choosing the ones that would be discreet, that wouldn't flaunt the affair in front of his wife. But the damage was already done. By the time he'd swallowed his pride and recognized his own fault in their current situation, by the time he’d finally tried to approach Grace again, she'd hated him and he couldn't honestly blame her.

  If only he hadn't let his pride and temper get the best of him, if only he'd gone after her when she'd first left, when she'd started her first flirtation... or even if he hadn't compounded the problem by beginning his own.

  The only thing he'd been able to do for her was ensure that she maintained a place in the ton rather than being driven away from it completely. A quiet word here, a word there, and only the highest sticklers wouldn’t have anything to do with her. The others knew they would court his displeasure by openly shunning her.

  And he kept her accounts at the various shops open, so that she could buy whatever she needed. At least this way she remained in London rather than disappearing to who knows where and with whom; she would never be driven to desperate straights or end up relying on another man for her livelihood. He'd hoped that eventually her fury would cool, that she might see how he was still providing for her, and she might come back to him, be willing to talk about why she'd left him in the first place, but she never had.

  For a while he'd even forgone his mistresses, although that hadn't seemed to help and after a year he'd stopped denying himself when she obviously wasn't. Even though he never had to see her, he still heard about her lovers and it grated. At least she only had one at a time and they always lasted for a long period. Truthfully, Alex preferred it that way, he didn’t like to think that she wouldn’t be constant once their relationship was finally repaired.