by Mirah Shell
CONTENTS
Title Page
Chapter One - Serving the Countess
Chapter Two - Cult Initiation
Chapter Three - More By Mirah Shell
Chapter Four - More about Mirah Shell
Serving the Countess;
Dominated by my Husband’s Lover
Mirah Shell
Copyright © 2016 Mirah Shell
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
Serving the Countess
There were three of us in the marriage, and I knew which was the most expendable. I was married to a duke, living on a manor the size of a county, and not as pretty as I should have been, or as well bred, for the title I was given, which should have been my first clue that something was wrong. When James Morely, Duke of Somerset, wooed and married me, I was astonished, and couldn’t believe my incredible fortune that someone as handsome, as noble, and as charming as James could fall in love with me. I was right to be suspicious. The duke was in love already, to someone who wasn’t me, to someone with whom I could never compete with. To someone who would change my life in a way I could have never predicted.
The Countess Eleanor of Darby, the only daughter of the Earl of Darby, was known for being independent, wild, beautiful beyond compare, and completely unattainable. She would inherit her father’s estate if she never married, and she refused all offers, including those of my husband. None of that stopped her from having her fun with whomever she pleased, including other women’s husbands. Rumors of her… predilections were whispered about, and some even trickled to me, an outsider. She had perversions, it was explained, liked to play sexual games of pleasure and pain, dominance and submission, sadism and humiliation.
My husband had to be married, had a strong need to be traditional, to satisfy his family’s expectations, but also to be free to consort with the Countess of Darby whenever he pleased. He had to find a proper English girl who wouldn’t say a word no matter how obvious his dalliances were, a girl who would bite her tongue when he came home smelling of cognac and her expensive French perfume, a girl who was far too overwhelmed by her own new station, new position as a duchess, to ever challenge him in any way. He found me.
I met Eleanor, who went by the nickname Elle, at a party at our home close to Christmas the first year of my marriage. She was tall, taller than me by four or five inches, with long, thick, dark hair that she wore in a braided crown over her stately head. She wore a black velvet dress that showed off her incredible figure, deep red lipstick. Her eyes were golden and sparkled when she spoke. When she insisted James introduced us, she appraised me with a glance, a quick once over, as though making certain that I was nothing for her to compete with.
I felt self conscious, suddenly, in my pink dress, girlish and too youthful compared to her’s, and my mousy blond hair in a simple French twist. Elle reached over, her hand in a thin, black silk glove, and raised my hand to look at the diamond James had given me upon our engagement.
“What a precious little ring, Abbey” she said, smiling. I couldn’t help but notice her own huge diamond, sparkling on her finger the size of a marble.
“Yours is spectacular,” I admired, smiling politely.
“It was a gift,” she said, glancing at my husband, “one of my favorite pieces.”
Something, I was quite sure, passed between Elle and James, but I couldn’t be sure, and I assured myself I was imagining things.
That night I had too many glasses of champagne too early in the evening, and stumbled off to bed before midnight, falling asleep sprawled across my bed still wearing my pink dress. A few hours later, I woke with a start, still in my dress, realizing that I was still all alone in bed. I checked the time on the clock by my bed, and realized it was four in the morning and my husband was nowhere to be seen. I stood up, straightened my dress out, and crept out of my room, tiptoeing down the hallway, listening and hearing the hushed sounds of people still at my enormous house, having drunken conversations on the lawn by the pool, or dancing sloppily in our ballroom, beautiful people in gorgeous clothes, rumpled and messy after a night of drinking. My husband was nowhere to be found.
A feeling grew in my belly, a feeling of horror that I didn’t quite understand. I knew for certain I would find my husband sleeping in one of our guest bedrooms, still in his tuxedo. I wandered the halls, looking in different rooms, finding people in various states of undress, passed out or making love in the dark. None of them were my husband.
I went down to my husband’s study, a room I rarely entered, and saw a glow emerging from beneath the door. I put my ear hesitantly to the heavy wood and heard a muffled, unrecognizable sound. My heartbeat, thudding like a drum, was louder than any noise coming from the study. My hand shook as I grabbed the doorknob, telling myself that I wouldn’t find anything if I opened the door, and that I also shouldn’t open it, that I should turn around, go back to bed.
I twisted the knob slowly, not wanting to make a sound, and pushed the door open just an inch at a time. When it was halfway open, I stepped around the corner and looked into the room, and what I saw didn’t make sense to me at first.
My husband stood with his back to me, barechested, his pants pulled down past his hips, and the Countess laid across the huge wooden desk in front of him. Her dress was tossed over a chair, and she was naked, her perfect body glowing in the firelight that warmed the room. Her tits, as large as grapefruits, shifted each time my husband thrust, and he was definitely fucking her, I realized, in slow, steady movements. She was wearing her long, black gloves, silk stockings, and a black satin garter belt, and looked incredible, her dark hair loosened and hanging off of the desk, her red lips parted as she looked up at my husband with glassy eyes, flickering in the firelight.
James moved his hands up to her breasts, squeezing them tight as he sped up his thrusts, tilting his head back and moving his hips faster, sinking his cock into her faster and faster. I was stone still, frozen, knowing I should shut the door and forget I’d seen anything, but unable to look away. I felt a warmth in my belly, a heat that I didn’t recognize, and a wetness flood me between the legs. I imagined how my husband felt inside of Elle, how free she seemed to enjoy herself, pleasure washing over her. I felt a blush move up my neck to my face, and my breathing slow down, and I realized that I didn’t want to stop watching them.
My husband groaned and, just then, Elle looked over at the door and saw me. I startled, sure I’d been caught watching them, but she said nothing, only looked me in the eyes as my husband pumped hard, coming inside of her, running his hands on her hips. Elle smiled at me, a sly, knowing smile, teasing me, knowing I wouldn’t say a word. She was right. As my husband leaned down to kiss her, I shut the door, turned on my heel, and ran as fast as I could back to my room, my dress gathered in my hands.
I passed in and out of sleep, the image of my husband and Countess Eleanor passing through my mind on a loop that I couldn’t break. When I was honest with myself, I knew I wasn’t ever going to leave my husband. He had chosen wisely- a girl with few options, nowhere to go, if I left I’d lose my title, my wealth, everything, and would have to return to my family’s provencial estate, with its crumbling tudor house, unused, dilapidated equestrian stables, my spinster sister, and widowed mother. I’d have nothing to fall back on but my second-rate education at an antiquated girl’s school that had been out-of-fashion for decades.
Maids and servants cleaned up all of the next day while James and his closest friends, including the countess, and I drank champagne and fresh tangerine juice as we laid out by the pool. I didn’t speak to James and, of course,
I couldn’t even look at Elle, but I don’t think anyone noticed or care that I was lost in thought, my mind swirling with confusion and miserable, obsessive doubt. Elle caught my eye a few times and even winked at me, but I didn’t know what it was that she wanted and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to find out. I drank champagne and avoided everyone, went for a long walk by myself around the manor, and then, when I went inside, Elle found me outside of my bedroom.
“Hello, Abbey,” the Countess purred, crossing her arms and smiling at me as I tried to go into my room.
“Oh, Eleanor, hello,” I said nervously, my cheeks lighting up with blush.
“Please, I know I’ve asked you to call me Elle,” she said, smiling at me, stepping closer to me, into my way.
“Eleanor… Elle… I… I’m tired,” I managed to say, glancing around, “really, I don’t mean to be rude.”
Elle opened the door and gestured for me to go ahead, smirking. I hurried in and, to my surprise, she followed me.
“Elle,” I said, “I’m sorry… I don’t know what you want, but…”
“I’m not going to steal your husband, Abbey,” Elle said, shutting the door behind her.
“Oh, well…” I turned away and pretended to busy myself with my bedsheets.
“I could if I wanted to,” Elle said, narrowing her eyes, “but I’m not going to.”
“Thank you,” I choked, feeling pathetic for not standing up for myself.
“Are you going to tell him you know?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Don’t,” Elle said, “enjoy it.”
“Enjoy it?”
“I could tell that you liked watching,” Elle stepped forward to me, getting very close.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, and my mouth hung partially opened.
“You did, didn’t you?” Elle stepped closer to me, close enough that I could smell her sweet breath. I felt a shiver run up my spine as I recognized that what she said was true. I looked down at the floor, my eyelashes fluttering, and tried to think of something to say that would make her leave me alone.
“You’re a very pretty girl, Abbey,” Elle said, her face close to mine.
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.
“When you watched me with your husband, did you fantasize that you were me, or your husband?”
I looked up at her, shocked by what she was saying.
“I… I don’t know, I didn’t fantasize that I was either of you,” I admitted.
“You just liked watching? That’s ok, too,” she said, “it’s called being a voyeur.”
“I don’t think I’m a voyeur,” I whispered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Elle said, “but I think you’re something… there’s something perverse about you. There’s a reason you didn’t scream, didn’t turn and run, didn't become hysterical.”
“Have other women?”
“I elicit a lot of negative reactions,” Elle said, smirking again.
“Not from me,” I said, wishing I could tell her to leave, to cause me no more pain at my own inability to stand up for myself.
Instead she leaned in and kissed me gently on the mouth.
At my girl’s school, we’d played games, teased each other, practiced kissing and petting, but nothing had warmed me the way Elle’s kiss suddenly did. I felt a heat, the same heat I’d felt while watching her, fill my belly, the same wetness form, against my will, in my panties. I tried to stay stone still, deny the intense pleasure I was beginning to feel, but as she opened her mouth and slipped her tongue past my own lips, I sighed, giving myself away entirely. She ran her hands up my sides to my breasts, feeling them beneath my clothes.
“You have a lovely body, Abbey,” she said, whispering into my ear as she gently tugged the buttons of my blouse and pulled my lacy little bra down so that she could play with my nipples.
“What are you doing?” I asked, turned on a terrified, as she leaned down and suckled my nippels one by one, and then pushed me onto my bed.
“I’m making things even,” she said, her voice heavy as she undressed me, my whole body, especially my hands, trembling.
“There’s no need,” I protested, “I won’t say anything to James, I swear it.”
Out of my top and wearing only my shorts and panties, Elle pulled a long silk scarf from her pocket and reached up to tie my hands and wrists together over my head at the iron-barred headboard.
“I can’t move,” I said, biting my lip, looking up at her pleadingly as she seemed to take all control away from me.
“That’s the idea,” she said, “I don’t want you to move. I want you to let me do everything.”
“What would James say?” I asked nervously, as Elle pulled off my little shorts and lace panties, sliding them over my slim hips and thighs, down my legs. She parted my thighs and I looked away, deeply embarrassed, as she parted my pussy lips with her fingers and seemed to examine me at first, running her finger along the soft slit to the fleshy little nub, my clit, teasing me.
“Elle,” I said insistently, not sure what I meant by it.
“Shh,” she said, before pressing her tongue against me, swirling it around my clit and then pressing it into my hole, making me shudder and cry out, pleasure pulsing through me in a way I never could have imagined, anticipation giving way to release.
She slid two fingers into me as she licked me, pulsing them in and out, making me shudder and rock my hips, unable to deny that wanted her to keep going, to never stop.
“Please, please,” I moaned desperately, humiliated by my submission to her, she could do anything she wanted to me and I wouldn’t fight it, her power over me was absolute. Did she have the same types of power over my husband?
She licked me and fingered me until I felt a tension build and break, a powerful release that made me cry out like I never had before, my voice unrecognizable.
“Good girl,” Elle said, looking down at me with bright, shining eyes, delighted at her conquest, “now me?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking, inviting her to do anything she wanted to me.
Elle climbed on top of me and lowered her pussy onto my mouth, forcing me to like her. I didn’t need to be forced, but being tied up and made to lick her was strangely exhilarating, making me feel like I was being used, a toy for her to play with. I didn’t care.
Elle rocked her hips and held herself up on the headboard, her voice bursting out in soft moans as I did my best to please her, knowing I wasn’t nearly as talented or experienced. She didn’t seem to mind, or I was better at licking her than I thought, trying to replicate the swirling motions, tongue to clit, that she had used on me.
“Make me come you sweet little slut,” Elle said, reaching down an tangling her fingers in my hair, pulling my face right against my cunt.
Elle began to come, her pussy gushing against my mouth. I lapped her up, moaning as I shut my eyes and enjoyed her taste, enjoyed the quivering of her cunt against my lips and tongue.
“Very good,” she said, climbing slowly down off of me, untying me, and collapsing beside me, “we should get back.”
“I really did want to rest,” I insisted, “it’s been a long weekend.”
“Alright,” Elle said, sitting up, reaching for her blouse, “leave me alone with your husband again, sounds good to me.”
She got dressed slowly and winked at me as she sashayed out of my bedroom door, leaving me lying naked in bed, rolling over to look out of the window, the sun set low in the sky, imagining all of the things that Elle might do with my husband if I didn’t intervene. Thinking about them didn’t make me angry, they made me hot.
“Come with me,” Elle whispers, drawing me close to her, fingering the hem of my nightgown. It’s the night after the party, an Elle has stayed. My husband mentioned it to me in passing, sure that I suspected nothing.
I followed her down our long hallway, to one of our guest bedrooms, where she lead me into the closet. Elle stripped me slowly out of my
nightgown, tracing her fingers along my skin and my breasts, pinching my nipples gently as she raised the nightgown over them, one at a time. Once again, I was naked in front of her.
“Turn around,” she whispered gently into my ear, and I did, completely submissive to her.
I felt a silk scarf slipped around my wrists and tied, nice and snug, and then I felt her hand as she turned me around again and pushed me onto my knees in front of her, grabbing my hair as she lifted her skirt, pulling me towards her. Elle forced me to lick her pussy, moaning as she pressed herself against my mouth, my tongue lapping against her.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” she groaned, “make me come, my little whore.”
I sucked on her cunt like it was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted, like pleasing her was the only thing in the world that mattered to me.
“I want you to get me ready for your husband’s cock,” Elle groaned, and I paused.
“Don’t stop,” she commanded, slapping me across the face with a quick pop.
I kept licking, pressing my tongue against her, feeling her clit swell as she got closer to coming, her voice becoming heavy as she got closer to coming. Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“Stand back up,” Elle said, stepping back, pulling down her dress. I struggled to my feet, and she pushed me back into the closet, shutting the door. She looked at me through the slats- I could see out, the whole bedroom, and she was looking back at me her eyes glittering. She lifted a single finger to her lips, quieting me. I nodded, even though I knew she couldn’t see me.
“Come in,” she called.
I knew what was going to happen, but it still shocked me when my husband walked through the door.
“Has your wife gone to bed?” Elle asked, raising an eyebrow.
