by Eliza Lloyd
She gasped as he pushed the phallus deep. Deeper. The need to squeeze at the rigid piece, the need to capture it and crush it, required all of her strength.
Mark stopped licking at her. He glanced up, his eyes hard black points.
He let the phallus slip from her body. She lay gasping.
“You’ll do as I say? Anything I say?”
“Yes. Yes! Just say it.” She arched up, trying to find relief from the frustrating and unfulfilled build up.
“You aren’t leaving this bed today.”
“I don’t want to.”
He held the diletto, slick and shiny with her fluids and the lavender oil. He stroked it along her puffy feminine lips before he pushed it into her body again. “You won’t be able to very soon.”
She arched a little, accepting the hard erection. “Mmm, yes.”
“Anything, Katrina?”
“Yes. Is it going to be wonderful?”
“Let’s just call it decadent. And unforgettable. And you will be very, very tired at the end of the day. Now, no talking until I say you can. And no sexual fulfillment unless I allow it.”
“Then hurry.”
“No talking.” From within the bedcovers, he plucked up a riding crop with a leather flap smaller than her palm and brushed it along her bare thigh. “You wanted everything.”
Where did he get that, she wondered, forbidden from asking aloud.
She pressed her lips together, but watched him brush the strap back up her leg before he braced his hand against her hip and rolled her slightly. He flicked the crop against her bottom. She gasped. Shocked more than hurt, she stared at him, waiting for him to explain.
“If you say my name, I will stop. Only my name.”
She nodded. Fear was a strange inducement for sexual tension. Her body was tight with need, but Mark’s orders left her strangely wary and alert.
“Now, lift your legs. Keep the diletto inside your body.”
Clenching aroused her, but she lifted her legs, holding her knees with her hands. The scent of lavender was strong in the air.
“I’m going to go downstairs in a few minutes and collect our breakfast tray. I want you to remain here, ready for me. But I have something for you first. Do you remember how much you enjoyed this?”
He held up another of the diletto, shorter and slimmer than the one inside. Her womb and bottom clenched. He positioned one of her legs, opening her wide.
“Don’t let it fall out.”
The first touch against her sphincter caused her eyes to roll back and her head to loll. She moaned. Mark eased the molded phallus into her—warring against her body’s natural instincts. She fought against the fullness. Resisting. Pulsing. New pleasures coursed through her body. Decadent and wicked. Her tormentor—that was how she saw him—guided her to dark pleasures she had not known existed.
Pleasures that were well beyond once-a-week couplings with her husband and the few escapades she’d had so far with Mark. Pleasures that required discipline and determination. What else did he have in store? Could she endure? Would she find exquisite gratification? Or embarrassment and shame? Pain?
What he did then caused her breath to begin an aroused gallop. And burning shame heated her body. Shame that she allowed it. And wanted it.
Shame that she was so wicked.
The diletto was deep inside her, but Mark used his fingers, touching her intimately at the tight ring of her anus. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
Her body gripped and pulled at the intrusion and then his fingers were inside, making sure it was fully embedded. And then he circled the rim, stretching her a bit, exciting her and shocking her. “What a pretty little ass you have.”
Only the thudding sound of her heartbeat seemed normal. She bit at her lips, unwilling to look at him.
Controlling the surging pleasure seemed impossible. Her body clenched and spasmed.
Teacher. Lover. Debaucher. Mark.
“Put your legs down but leave them spread,” he said, standing and walking toward the dresser at the side of the room where a pitcher and a basin were centered. He poured a draught into the basin well and washed his hands. He flung them dry before he picked up another piece of leather. “Have you ever seen one of these?”
She was barely able to concentrate on his words. Keeping the diletto inside took effort.
“Supposedly when knights went off to the Crusades, they strapped their wives into a chastity belt so they had no choice but to remain faithful.” He set the cool leather over her mons. “I don’t see how it was possible in the long term, necessities and all. But for a few hours? A day? I think that would be possible.
“I hope this isn’t uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want you too excited before I get back.” He rolled her, wrapping leather strips about her legs, fastening buckles until she felt the tight but pleasant strain about her lower body.
He tapped the leather where it covered her sheath, where the diletto protruded slightly, sending hot pulses through her.
“There. How do you like that?” Mark sat beside her, staring down at her.
How did she look? Wild-eyed? Panting? Very near release but trying to hold back? Ready to curse him?
Ready for him to take her further down this path toward discovery and dark pleasure?
She ran her hand over his thigh and brushed over the distended fullness hidden inside his trousers.
“Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” There was a slight mocking in his tone, but she also saw the intake of breath and that his own arousal goaded him. Still he seemed in full control. “Would you like to suck my cock before I leave?”
She shook her head no. Of course, she meant yes, but this was a game with two people. A game she wanted to learn.
“I could make you,” he said.
Again, she shook her head.
He looped his finger over her nipple and areola, working outward in ever widening circles. He leaned over her and sucked the hard nub into his mouth.
She gasped, while running her hand through his hair, trying to keep him there and allow her satisfaction.
When he drew away, he placed his hand where his mouth had been and used his finger and thumb to pinch at her. “Do you want your pleasure?” he asked, all sweetness.
She nodded when she wanted to scream yes. Not talking was the hardest of all his tortures.
“Not yet,” he said before pushing up from the bed.
“Yes,” she said.
“Did you say yes? Oh, my dear Baroness, you broke the rules.” He grabbed the crop, rolled her quickly and swatted her bottom twice in quick succession.
She bit at her lips. The pain was real, but so was the shock of mounting tension in her body. It would take nothing at all to feel the sharp ascent of pleasure and the breaking crashes when she came back to earth. Nothing at all, if only Mark would help her.
He threw the crop aside, rubbed his hand over her ass and said, “Obey me.” He cupped the back of her neck and forced her gaze to his. “I can see the fire in your eyes. The battle between getting what you want and discovering if you are missing something. You won’t know unless you do as I say.”
He kissed her lips. Softly, as if it weren’t a game at all.
His hand was at her ass again, kneading, forcing movement of the diletto deep within her. Against her lips he whispered, “When I come back, you are going to suck my cock and then I’m going to put my cock in your ass. You are going to scream. You are going to beg. But first on all fours. I want you to give me a small taste of your skills. Show me what you can do with your luscious mouth.”
He encircled her waist, helping her up. Her middle was on fire, every movement causing sparks that could ignite the tinder of her arousal. His hand smoothed over her bottom again then kneaded the palmful of ass cheek.
“Oh God, Mark,” she pled. She couldn’t control herself another moment. Clenching didn’t help, only exacerbating the problem. “Ah. Ah.” Her middle—her stomach, her ass, her
sheath—all clenched in one heaving spasm. She screamed and went to all fours. She arched, then held her breath before she began jerking. Each sharp pleasure spread through her limbs, tremors weakened her until she collapsed upon the bed.
She was aware that Mark watched her, and that added an element of embarrassment at her wanton behavior. He soothed her neck and brushed back her hair. At last, she breathed normally, but she was still susceptible to all the same arousal pressures.
Then he stood, what tenderness he displayed gone. He tore at the falls of his trousers. His erection was already full, hard and jumping with vigor. “Open your mouth.”
And she was as eager as a Vauxhall trollop. She turned her face and opened her mouth, taking what he would give her, staying her with his hand at the back of her head. She lapped at the swollen, purple tip.
“Enthusiastic. Good girl,” he said, taking away her only opportunity to excite him. He smiled at her while he tucked away his cock, still hard. He left his shirt out, covered to his thighs, but threw on a robe, which he tied about his waist. “I don’t want to frighten the downstairs maid,” he said. “Oh, one more thing before I go.”
Katrina knew he was enjoying himself.
“Stay exactly where you are and think about what I will do to you when I get back.”
Then he threw a blindfold over her eyes and tied it securely. His hands caressed her bottom again and then she felt his lips touch one of the tender places where he had applied the strap.
She heard his footsteps across the floor and then the opening and closing of their bedroom door.
Should she disobey him? Yes. “Damn you, Mark,” she said in a whisper, because she had to get the words out before she exploded.
How long would he be gone? She endured for long, long minutes but her impatience grew. What else could he do to her? She’d always thought she had a high level of curiosity. She was discovering that she had no imagination whatsoever.
Without him in the room, she had nothing to think about except her vulnerable state—naked on all fours with a chastity belt, a relic of the past that Mark had all but rendered useless by fastening it to her while she was impaled with diletto.
Time dragged. A clock somewhere in the room ticked with deliberate slowness.
He wouldn’t know if she pleasured herself while he was gone. She pushed slowly to her knees, testing the limits of her vulnerability. The leather between her legs was pliable, the protrusion of the phallus very noticeable and moved with a gentle push of her hand.
Should she take off the blinds? Or would it give her away if she reknotted the cloth incorrectly?
She traced over the leather bindings, holding back a smile as she felt her way along her bottom and up to her waist. She was thoroughly exposed from behind, except for the straps where they wound around her thighs and then around the mounds of her ass. The contraption was secure and her mind couldn’t quite figure out the brackets that her fingers traced.
Lastly, she touched at her bottom—touched it the way Mark had. The diletto was firmly inside her, which gave rise to a wave of sexual anxiety.
She went to her haunches, wondering how long she would be required to wait. The sensations were myriad—pressure, fullness, want and the achiness that proceeded release. Mark had only to help her along with a little nudge. Maybe his mouth at her breast. Maybe his cock in her bottom, as he promised.
She growled in frustration. “Mark,” she said again, not because she wanted it to stop but because she wanted the sweet anguish to continue. Whatever was next, she needed it. Hanging from a precipice and unable to save herself was maddening torment.
She squirmed, unable to stay immobile, as he’d ordered.
Again, she thought of removing the blinds. She wanted to straddle Mark, rub his cock and find her release. She reached for her blindfold.
Behind her she heard the “Tsk, tsk, tsk” of correction.
A slap on her bottom followed. She gasped and fell forward on her hands, leaving her in the position Mark had wanted.
“Say my name.”
She couldn’t. She had come this far with him and she couldn’t be found lacking as a mistress at this point.
Another swat was applied, landing on her thigh. The sting went deep and she felt a start of tears.
“Say my name.”
When she said nothing, she heard the swish of material as he removed his clothing. “What did I promise?”
He settled on the bed near her hands. “You may have your release now, Katrina.” A finger traced up her arm and then cupped one of her breasts. Slow kneading turned the ache into a swell the consumed her body. He cupped her other breast. “Come closer.”
He used his hands to guide her, tugging at both nipples, one than the other. She must look like a milk cow in the barn and he tenderly working her udders. When his cock touched her chin, she opened her mouth and took him deep. He twirled her nipples and kneaded her breasts, turning them with deliberate slowness, all while she sucked at his cock.
Blindfolded, on her hands and knees, forced to wear such a demoralizing contraption.
When he reached between her legs, touching the diletto through the leather, she squeezed against the fullness. The tightness spread through her body like the light at dawn. His hand pressed harder between her legs.
Groaning, she pulled away from his cock and shuddered. The violence caused tremors in her sheath and bottom, her limbs went weak and her release pounded through her in hard beats that went on until she died. She moaned loudly, pressing her open mouth into the bedcovers to still an urgent scream and a final paroxysm.
Katrina jerked and convulsed until she could do nothing but fall to the bed in surrender and submission. He fell over her, and his hand slapped her thigh then dug under her where he pushed against the leather, causing the diletto to work in and out of her.
With each pulse, increasing in hard pleasure and surprising pain, she screamed his name into a pillow.
Sweet, sweet death.
Just when she thought she could take no more, he removed the leathers and the thin phallus protruding from her ass. Mark, slicked with oil, eased into her from behind and started the torture anew, thrusting in urgent movements, his cock feeling obscenely large, and the phallus in her sheath crushed with contractions until she thought it would break.
She, a slave to the pleasure, rode through peaks and valleys until her body could take no more. Until her body wept with his fluids, and tears streamed from her eyes.
* * * * *
Mark should have taken greater joy in such a consummation.
Watching her while she thought she was alone in the room—merde! No honorable man could resist such sights, let alone one whose honor was in question.
Wasn’t it what he obsessed about when he could not persuade his wife for the smallest affection? In the secret recesses of his mind and heart, where dark things lurked, did he not wish to fuck himself into mindless oblivion with beautiful women?
He rolled the Baroness to her back and straddled her, leaning over and allowing his cock to dip into the valley between her breasts. There he stroked to his final, exhausting release, and watched the pearly fluid pool at her throat and then dribble down her neck.
Her delicate fingers lay against his thighs.
He did not want to call it sordid. It was his idea to partake of such debaucheries and she had heartily joined in. What should have been a feast of pleasures had turned out to be…slightly disconcerting.
Katrina did not move, but he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
The blindfold had come loose at some point. He tossed it aside. The chastity belt, where it was still attached, chafed against her flesh, so he removed the last buckles. He pressed a kiss against her skin, where he’d inflicted red welts as he assailed her. And this was all under the guise of play?
The second diletto slid from her body with ease. He placed his hand against her thigh gently, as if she were fragile and he a big clumsy oaf, and turned he
r to her side. She drew her leg upward. He had to admire her again. Blemishes such as he had made against her flesh were akin to slashing a knife across a masterpiece.
“I’m sorry, Katrina. I won’t—I can’t do that to you again.”
“It was just play.”
“No, it was more than that.”
When he finished the slow caress of her body, she reached for a corner of the sheet and used it to wipe away the fluid on her chest and neck.
He leaned and pressed a kiss to her forehead, closing this strange chapter of sexual exploration, or at least this dangerous and hurtful portion.
“When you finish dressing, we will enjoy more of Le Carre’s food,” he said. “Meet me on the veranda.”
He actually needed some air. Mark was surprised to find his acceptance level of unbridled debauchery wasn’t where he’d thought. Did it have something to do with his growing affection for Katrina? Or were dark pursuits more thoroughly enjoyed in anonymity?
He left instructions for service and then walked through the library to the veranda, facing the river. The homey outdoor area was peppered with marble benches and wrought iron tables and chairs along with lovely flowering plants and newly planted shrubs.
He plucked up a perfect blooming flower and brought it to his nose. Katrina had probably been such a bloom to her husband—flawless, feminine and devoted.
He twirled the flower between his fingers, staring out to the river before finding a seat.
Character wasn’t something he had ever questioned in himself. At least he hadn’t until Christina had proposed the scheme that had saved the family. Where was his honor, where was his virtue and wisdom?
He’d seen it others: the speck in a friend’s eye, the mote to blur one’s vision.
And all the while he had a log in his own eye.
He’d seen plenty of fools part with their money. Father had lost nearly everything, his vices numerous. Gambling, horses, daring investments.
Others Mark knew were drawn to the darkness of sexual exploits. Reading between the lines, his sister Christina’s few words about Dane drew a picture of a man haunted and driven to extremes. Did Mark want to be that man?
