“Oh, I like jewels,” I said as I snuggled into the dip of his shoulder. “I intend to have boatloads. What I do not like are presumptuous gifts that are not gifts at all, but bait with hooks secreted within, from a man who doesn’t know me and who doesn’t care to. What of true flattery, based upon true understanding?”
“Hmm. Will you send his diamonds back to him?”
I chuckled. “Heavens, no. I gave them away. The Chelsea Orphanage will have an outstanding year or three, due to Lord Malcolm’s generosity. When I left they were thinking of hanging his portrait in the front hall.”
Sir was silent for a long moment. Then a low chuckle began as a rumble deep in his chest. “All hail Lord Malcolm!”
Smiling, I twined my arms about his neck and closed my eyes. I hoped he would stay until I woke.
He did not.
* * *
The night that followed was a blur of wicked, exquisite pleasure. Under Sir’s capable tutelage I studied the Sin of Idleness, which revealed itself to be the art of erotic massage and slow, leisurely joining. Time stretched out our senses as we slipped into another dreamlike world of unhurried pleasure. I was stunned when such delicious, easy sweetness abruptly whirled me into an intense and prolonged orgasm!
I suspect Sir was equally surprised, for his subsequent powerful release left him trembling in my arms for several moments.
The entire session left me with shaky knees and a tendency to giggle.
Sir did not seem to find it so amusing for some reason.
* * *
When I appeared the next night, the Swan met me at her door.
“He is not here,” she told me.
I’m quite sure my expression fell like that of a child told that Christmas had been canceled. “Where is he?”
The Swan raised a golden brow. “I do not keep him on a leash, Ophelia.”
I wanted to, I realized. Appalled at my own lack of maturity, I instantly drew up and gave the Swan a haughty nod. “Of course. Please tell him I shall await his message regarding our next meeting to finish my lessons.”
She smirked at me. “Not bad. Very queenly. But you needn’t worry. He wishes to see you tomorrow night. He instructs you to get a good night’s sleep.” She folded her arms and looked wise. “You’re going to need it.”
Refusing to acknowledge the way my mood rose at the news that he wished to see me soon, I bade the Swan good-bye and stole back to my relatives’ house. As I slid between my Sylla-warmed covers, I had to admit that I would be grateful for sleep not stolen in fitful naps.
And the Swan was quite correct. I would need every moment of rest for the night ahead.
* * *
Instead of stroking my skin as they should be, Sir’s hands were clasped behind his back. He stood clad in his dark dressing gown and breeches, while I remained in the black chambermaid dress in which I had escaped.
I swallowed. “I don’t understand. You wish me to make love … to myself?”
He seemed taller for some reason, or perhaps larger. He seemed colder as well, more like the first night we spent together. I had grown accustomed to the warm and adventurous lover and had nearly forgotten the darkly wicked taskmaster of before.
In answer, he opened one hand toward the bed. “The Fifth Sin is Covetousness. It is the art of creating desire without a single touch.”
I had wondered how the sin of envy might be turned to a courtesan’s advantage. Now I frowned. “You are not to touch me?”
He put his hand back behind him. “I will not. I have placed items on the bed. You will use them to perform for me, to make me want you.”
I licked my lips and eyed the things on the bed. I saw my old friend, the peacock feather. That was easily understood. Next to it lay a small corked flask of Venetian glass filled with a golden liquid. There was a short, thick ivory rod intricately carved in a rather familiar shape.
Feather. Oil. I stroked one finger down the ivory rod and glanced inquiringly at Sir.
The dark consideration in his eyes made me shiver. “It is an olisbos,” he said in his husky murmur.
I had a perfectly excellent education in the classics. “From the Greek verb ‘to glide,’” I whispered. Well, that explained things a bit.
I looked again at Sir. He waited with a sardonic glint in his eyes and his lips set beneath his mask. This, then, was a test. Did he think me unimaginative or lacking in initiative? Goodness, that was a mistake.
I turned and walked to the fire, where there sat a wing-back chair. Without a word I began to maneuver the heavy thing across the floor. Although he could have lifted it easily, Sir merely watched me. With a few unladylike grunts and a bit of screeching across the floor, I placed the chair perhaps five feet from the bed, facing the side of it squarely.
“Sit,” I commanded him.
After regarding me silently for a long moment, he sat with as much dignity as a king upon his throne. I decided at that moment that I was going to make him leap from that chair with lust.
I had never considered that a chambermaid’s costume could be an erotic stimulus, but when I stood before him and dropped the cloak there was no mistaking the flash of heat in his black eyes. I made a note to myself. Sir had chambermaid fancies even as I had horsegroom fancies.
That was the last time I met his gaze. It seemed to me that I should behave as if I were alone. So I lifted my hands to the tiny buttons down the front of the dress and began to slowly undo them. When I slid my arms from the sleeves and let the black gown slip down off my hips to puddle about my feet, I heard the chair creak as Sir shifted his weight slightly.
Emboldened, I stood there in my chemise and underskirt and silently declared war upon Sir’s self-restraint. As gracefully as the Swan, I reached up to remove the pins from my hair, allowing it to tumble over my shoulders. Sweeping it off to one side so that he could easily see my face, I then lifted one foot and placed it on the bed. Bending, I removed my kid leather slipper and dropped it to the floor. Then I smoothed both hands up my calf to my knee, rucking up the underskirt as I went so that it crumpled over my thigh, hopefully revealing a flash of bare flesh.
I heard threads pop. I knew without looking that Sir’s fingers had tightened on the chair arms. Without showing a shred of my satisfaction, I began to untie the ribbon garter that held my stocking just above my knee. Slowly I rolled the stocking down, over my knee, smoothing it down my calf, revealing my skin inch by leisurely inch. I drew it off entirely and tossed it aside.
It landed on Sir, draping insolently across his thigh. Oops. Teasing had just become taunting. I tore my gaze from the scrap of white silk on black and began to repeat the process with the other stocking.
My rebellious hand repeated the careless toss. From the corner of my eye I saw Sir carefully remove the second stocking from his shoulder and wad it slowly in his fist. I lifted my chin in defiance, though I did not look directly at him.
It was time to remove the underskirt. The tie at the back of my waist gave me no trouble and it was only a moment before the fluffy muslin piled at my feet. Wearing only a fine batiste chemise, which was mine instead of Sylla’s, I brought my hands up to the small ribbon bow that gathered the neckline of the chemise just between my breasts. I slowly pulled the ribbon tie until the neckline began to sag dangerously low. At that moment, I paused to stretch my arms above my head and twist myself a bit to and fro. I was a hardworking chambermaid getting ready for bed, after all. And the movement greatly accentuated the jiggling of my bosom within the thin chemise.
Sir shifted his position again. I thought of his cock swelling in his trousers. Most satisfying.
I reached for the hem of the chemise and pulled it over my head, ready for the next step in my plan.
The oil.
* * *
There was a moment when I began to despair of driving Sir to losing control. After all, I had seductively stripped, oiled myself from eyebrows to ankles, tantalized my own flesh with the feather, and finally brought my
self to a small but satisfying orgasm with the carved olisbos.
I do believe the arms of the chair might never be the same, yet he did not rise from it until I fell back panting upon the pillows, setting aside the carving with a last shivering gasp.
Then he was upon me. His large hands came down to wrap about my wrists and he easily pulled me upright to stand next to the bed. I stumbled, my knees still trembling, and sagged against him.
Sir drove one hand deep into my tumbled hair and pulled my head back for a single hot, ravaging kiss that stole the last of the strength from my legs. As he plundered my mouth with his other hand caressing my bottom, I could feel his trapped erection pressing into my bare belly. I clung to the lapels of his dressing gown and kissed him back, grateful to feel his hot hands upon me once more.
Yet after only that mind-altering kiss, he set me away from him, holding my shoulders steady until I found my feet.
Then he dropped his hands and stepped back. He cleared his throat. “I believe you have some natural talent in that direction.”
Confused and fully aroused once more, I could only blink at him in astonishment. He turned to stride across the room. He removed some items from a chest there and returned to stand before me. From his hands hung crimson silk cords as thick as ropes.
“The Sixth Sin is Wrath.”
Ten
Although I had been an eager student thus far, I must admit to a small shiver of apprehension when Sir began to bind my wrists behind my back. He did it slowly, winding the soft leather strap in a figure eight about one wrist, then the other. I twisted my hands but the straps did not give, though they were neither painful nor numbing.
The pose forced my breasts to jut forward. I felt my nipples crinkle in response. I could see Sir’s eyes begin to gleam with appreciation behind the shadow of his mask.
“Your nipples are begging for my mouth,” he whispered into my ear. The heat of his breath on my neck made me tremble.
When I opened my mouth to answer him, he quickly slipped a smooth, hard ball into my mouth. I realized it had cords emerging from each side as he deftly tied them behind my head. I could not close my lips, nor speak intelligibly. Muted by his toy, I could only raise my startled gaze to his.
“You are mine to play with tonight, in any way I please,” he growled into my hair. “Since I shall not be requiring permission of any kind, there is naught for your mouth to do until my cock needs servicing. Fortunately, you will still be able to moan in ecstasy.” He pushed me against the bedpost most firmly and ground his erection into my quivering belly. “And pain,” he whispered. “Sweet, torturous pain that will soak your cunte with desire. Like this…”
He held me by my shoulders and lowered his mouth to my nipples, sucking them fiercely into rising for him. Then he rolled each between his sharp teeth until I squeaked with dismay. At my protesting sound, he removed one restraining hand and began to twist the opposite nipple with equal force. The pain was not unbearable, but I was used to more tender treatment. I writhed in rebellion, yet I could not escape my bonds, nor spit out my gag. He easily held me pressed to the chill, hard post with his one hand while he continued to torture my sensitive nipples. He was so much stronger than I.
I was completely helpless.
I was his creature now, just as he’d said. His plaything. His power over me was complete. I could neither protest nor escape his hot, wicked mouth and his sharp, teasing teeth. A feeling came over me then, a vulnerable, feminine flash of desire. The powerful male animal who controlled me sounded a chord within the female animal that was buried so deep beneath my civilized layers that I had never known it existed.
Yes. I trembled with the strength of my acquiescence. My cunte moistened instantly and completely, just as he’d promised.
He knew it at once. His pinioning hand left my shoulder and slid down between my thighs, catching the dew of my lust and spreading it over my labia in teasing circles. His fingers dipped and played but did not penetrate me as I would have liked. I tried to press into his touch, moaning, but he would not allow it.
He pulled his mouth from my nipple. “You have not fully succumbed, sweet student.” He cupped my pubis in his palm for a long moment, then stepped away.
I let out a sigh, but I need not have worried. He was soon back and this time he had two small devices in his hands. I watched in alarm as he raised one to my right nipple. It was a hoop of gold wire, but it was not a complete circle. A small portion of the diameter had been cut away and gold balls the size of pearls had been soldered on, leaving a slight empty place between. The entire item was no larger than a shilling. I watched as he carefully spread the opening wider with the pressure of his fingers, then pressed my hardened nipple into the space between the balls. When he released the wire, the circle sprang together again, pinching my nipple tightly between.
I let out a small scream, for the pressure was intense. It was sharp, like the feeling of his teeth on me, like a long, continuous bite that did not end! Then I felt the other gold circle close upon my other nipple and I could no longer bear it! I flung myself away from him, only to discover that at some point he’d attached my bound wrists to the bedpost itself.
I became quite wild then, twisting and fighting my bonds, making noises more animal than human. I felt his large, hot hands close over my shoulders again, pressing me still.
“You are not harmed,” he murmured. “When I remove the rings, you will be as you were before. See?”
He released me long enough to demonstrate, slipping the gold ring open enough to let my nipple slip out. It was rosy and rigid and the tingling sensation was intense, but he was quite right. I was unharmed.
I calmed then and stood still, my breasts rising and falling as I fought to catch my breath.
When he reattached the ring, I closed my eyes and shuddered against the intensity of the sensation, but I did not protest again.
Unfortunately, it seemed my acquiescence had come too late.
“Now I must punish you for such disobedience.” His voice was low and dark, full of wicked threat and promise. I shivered again. I wanted to tell him I would not fight him again, that I would be a dutiful student and bow to his strength, but the gag that muffled my protest also muted my apology. He only shook his head in mock regret. “You are a willful creature,” he told me. “Tonight, my will is the only one that matters.”
Reaching behind me, he released my tied hands from the bedpost, though I was still bound. He turned me until I faced the side of the bed. Then I felt him untie my hands. Before I could celebrate this freedom, he wrapped his big hands about my wrists and raised them high. I had not realized that there were loops of leather tied to the curtain rail of the bed until I found myself strapped by them. My arms rose straight up and I was bound quite tightly, though not enough to make me rise to my toes.
Sir came close behind me and I realized that he was now as naked as I. His hot, hard palms came about to cup my breasts. He toyed with the rings dangling from my throbbing nipples. I gasped as the pain sharpened, just a little, just enough to remind me.
I am his plaything. I am his creature.
I am his.
My cunte became wet once more. What was this mad reaction? How could I, who had fought so for my independence, be so aroused by a man reducing me to such a state of submission?
Yet, this was Sir. I had trusted him to show me lust and appetite and indolence. He had pleasured and empowered me, teaching me new and astounding things about myself over and over again. I trusted Sir. I could not truly come to harm at his hands. I resolved to ride this strange, outrageous ride to its completion.
He lightly twisted the curious rings and pinched the tips of my wildly sensitive nipples themselves. The sensations shot through me like needles of torturous ecstasy.
I began to see that the pain/pleasure was not the truly arousing thing. The erotic hum throughout my body was not so much because he did these things to me, but because he could do these things to me. I wa
s helpless before his power.
In a blinding flash it came to me. I was helpless. I was not responsible for my reaction. When he reached down to slip his fingers between my soaking labia and teased at my swollen clitoris, it was not my doing when I gasped and trembled and pressed closer to his hand. Freed by his dominance, released by his authority, I was without shame, without blame, without any thoughts of modesty or disgrace.
In that moment I traveled to a place I had never known. Transformed by Sir’s overwhelming strength into a being without power or responsibility, I slipped beneath the surface of my mind and drowned in the trust I held for him.
When he began to spank my buttocks with his open hand even as he continued to slide the fingers of his other hand up and down my slick, throbbing slit, I took the sweet, hot punishment as well as the teasing, slippery pleasure. The two sensations swirled around me and through me. The hot, sharp slap of his open palm on my reddening flesh. The dip and tease and swirl of his fingers rubbing at the sensitive swollen tip of my clitoris. I whimpered in pain. I moaned in ecstasy. I could not tell the sounds apart.
He smoothed my tingling buttocks with his open hand. “Do you feel it now, sweet rebel? You belong to me tonight. I am your master. I am your air, your water, your sustenance. If you wish to come at my hands, it will be when I decide and only when I decide.”
I sighed in agreement. It crossed some faint corner of my mind that if I gave in too soon then the lesson might end, but there was no danger of that. The flat of his hand came down upon my sensitized buttocks again, harder than before. Then, harder still. I was being tested. I remained relaxed and submissive, taking the punishing spanking without protest or even a shiver of withdrawal.
When he brought me to orgasm while the spanking intensified, I went willingly, panting and moaning and, in the end, screaming my release around the ball gag even as the tears of pain rolled down my cheeks.
My submission, strangely, did not seem to satisfy Sir. As I panted, moaning, hanging from my bonds weak from my release, he growled something harsh and ripped my bonds from my wrists. I fell forward onto the mattress, bent at the waist, my hands still above my head as if bound there.
A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man Page 11
