He replaced his erection in her mouth. When she wrapped her lips about him and sucked, shivers went down his legs. He did his best to take her mouth gently, but she felt too delightful. His ardor had waited long enough. He began thrusting more vigorously, more deeply. She gagged when his tip hit the back of her throat. He tried his best to more gently, though it was no easy feat when he was but a hair’s length from rapture.
He erupted. With a roar, he bucked his hips. Unable to keep pace, she pushed herself away. He released her and stumbled back, quakes ravaging his body. As this was her first time taking cock, she could not best his mistress, but the fact that it was Trudie and the wicked satisfaction he received from compelling his unfaithful wife into an act of such wantonness was surprisingly titillating.
Letting out a haggard breath, he knelt before her. With his seed glistening upon her lips and chin, she was a lovely sight. He kissed the top of her brow. “Well done, my dear. You have a fortunate husband.”
She surprised him with a small smile. He returned it with his own. He was not finished with her. She had shown great promise, and there was much he had in store for her. Hers was going to be a long night, but one that would be worth her while.
Chapter Nine
NEVER BEFORE COULD TRUDIE have imagined finding herself in such degradation. She half knelt, half lay with her face down upon the bed and her derrière propped in the air. Her ankles were spread and tied to opposing bedposts, and her arms were pinned beneath her body. A stocking of hers had been used to tie her wrists between her knees. In this position, with not a shred of clothing upon her, she was exposed in a most lewd and wanton fashion. As if to call attention to this, he blew upon her there. She felt his warm breath between her buttocks, upon the intimate folds and hairs just below her rump.
She shut her eyes, as if doing so could transport her to a different actuality. Had she truly agreed to this? Half of her wished her friend, Diana, would return and rescue her from this lewd position. The other half would be mortified for anyone to find her so displayed.
A warm and firm hand palmed her buttock. Her body nearly catapulted off the bed. Till tonight, no one had ever purposefully lain a hand upon her backside. Not even Leopold.
“Such a lovely arse,” he murmured. “There is much more we can do with its potential.”
Her face flushed to recall the spanking she had received at his hand. It was folly. Every bit of it. And yet, she found herself acquiescing.
Gently, he caressed the curve of a cheek before giving it a light slap. Her mind raced at what she ought to expect next from him. At times he had seemed vexed with her, and this unsettled her for she knew not why. He had seduced her with seeming deliberation. But perhaps he had hoped to find a better partner for his time here at Château Follet and was disgruntled that she was all that remained.
“Dear God,” she cried, shuddering, for he had touched the flesh between her thighs.
“The sensitivity of your body is unparalleled,” he remarked.
Her breath caught, and she could not speak, not even to plead that he be gentle with her.
She felt the bed lift with the removal of his weight. With the side of her head pressed into the bed, she could not see the part of the room he roamed.
Dread filled her as a giggle escaped her lips. Softness, perhaps that of a feather, brushed the bottom of her right foot.
“I had forgotten how ticklish you can be,” he murmured to himself.
She found the statement odd for they had not been in each other’s company for long, but she did not dwell upon for it for she was far too anxious at what he might do.
“This should prove amusing sport,” he said before grazing the plume against the bottom of her other foot.
She could not suppress the giggling and squirmed against her bonds. There was a reprieve. She curled her toes.
“The arch of the foot is among the most sensitive of body parts,” he explained and demonstrated with more tickling.
“Oh! G—!”
Her words were swallowed by her own laughs. She could not contain herself. It was not possible to brace her feet against the onslaught. She wriggled and strained to get away. Just when she thought she could take no more, he withdrew. She took in several ragged breaths.
“Did you know a mere ostrich plume could prove so lethal a weapon?” he asked.
When she did not respond, he brushed the plume along a buttock. Though it was not as awful as the bottoms of her feet, she cried out.
“Yes! No!” she replied. “No, I did not.”
“I thank your bonnet for providing the implement, but worry not, I shall return the plume to the headdress when we are finished.”
She would have preferred that he did not. She needed no reminders of her time here and certainly no reminders of how he had used the plume upon her. He brushed the feather next over the curve of her back, making her gasp for breath. When he returned to stroking the plume across the arch of her foot, tears pressed against her eyes.
“Pl—Please!” she cried. “Enough!”
Pausing, he allowed her space to draw in much needed air. “Do you require your safety word?”
Her breath haggard, she considered the option.
“Perhaps we should stop altogether,” he said. “I had not intended a feather to prove such a punishment more exquisite lessons.”
Not wanting to appear ridiculous if tickling should prove too much abuse for her to take, she replied, “No. Please continue.”
The plume moved up her inner thigh, and she bore this better than upon the soles of her feet. Slowly, the plume neared her quim, teasingly close. She whimpered, remembering how it had felt to be pleasured by him there. She was mindful once more of how exposed she felt, her most intimate parts accessible by view and touch.
As if reading her thoughts, he followed the plume with his hand, grazing her thigh lightly. She quivered. Would he touch her intimately? As he had done in the piano room and several times after? She hoped not. Or did she?
His hand was warm and gentle upon her, but she was still unaccustomed to his caresses. Moreover, it was wrong. Despite having the word of safety, her bonds made her feel helpless. What if he chose not to honor the word of safety? He could do to her whatever he wished. It was foolish of her to have exposed herself thusly. He might discover her true identity.
She groaned when he moved his hand to the top of her thigh and over to her folds. He found that nub of pleasure without a second to spare. What did he intend? For a moment she wished he would return to tickling her instead. Her breath hitched as he toyed with that bud, stoking those agonizing ripples in her loins. How was it her body should be so responsive to his touch? Her body would betray her even if every ounce of forbearance cautioned against that sweet torture. His caresses were simply too exquisite. Despite herself, she found herself craving more, as if she had not already found satiation and spent. Or perhaps it was because she had. Was it possible that spending primed her body to want more? Like a single bite of confection was not enough.
His languid and attentive strokes had her panting and grunting. What a weakling she was! How could she be so devoid of character of a sudden? Lust soon overcame her disappointment as his fondling brought her higher toward rapture. This time she did not fear the strange yet enthralling agitation building inside her. She knew it was well worth the ecstasy that awaited on the other side of the precipice.
But to her surprise, he withdrew his hand. He wiped her wetness on a buttock. The area between her thighs ached and throbbed in his absence. The discomfort of being bereft permeated her to her core. In that moment, she preferred the tickling.
“You know that I could do anything to you right now?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you feel about that—do you think your husband would like to see you thus?” She swallowed. “And you, would you like him to pleasure you, and himself, in this way?”
Now would be an opening to reconsider this path she had ventured dow
n, but no words came to her.
He called her attention by swatting a buttock.
She gasped. “Y-yes.”
He rewarded her by touching her between the legs, his caresses easily reawakening her arousal. She gave herself into the beautiful sensations welling in her lower body.
“Ah, my dear, not yet. You may not spend until I say. Delay immediate gratification and you shall find the pleasure you seek more exquisite.”
She panted and moaned lightly. Her body teetered on the precipice, but she nodded and focused on him. He returned to fondling her quim. Her climactic euphoria could wash away all other sensations, all thoughts.
“Your husband must want to see you thus, in the throes of pleasure, vital and waiting.”
“Please, I...”
His ministrations, his teasing of her flesh, brought her to again to the precipice and tumbled her over into the sea of ecstasy. Her body erupted in shivers. For several seconds, she knew nothing but pleasure.
After wringing the last of the tremors from her body, he remained still and quiet while she basked in the glow of carnal satiation.
"Thank you, sir."
STANDING BEHIND HER, he returned to stroking her flesh. She groaned, in relief, in desire, in frustration that she could not utter the words that would end this. His fingers caused a new heat to burn. She pressed herself into his hand, desperate for the release that would diminish the aching in her chest. He sank two digits into the seat of her wetness and touched a part of her that sent her reeling. The discomfort of her position began to fade in favor of the delicious sensations lancing through her. Her cries now were of a different nature. He coaxed her toward the plateau she sought with surprising swiftness. Her body gloried in his abilities, though a small part of her wished she had never known his touch for she worried that nothing else could ever match its potency and beauty. With a devastating cry, she fell into paroxysm, her body jerking and bucking against his hand and into the bed. This was the most delightful of experiences. It was certain her body would know no finer pleasure.
She lay, relishing the sweet hum in her body. The blood still pulsed between her legs, down her legs, and even in her toes. She had asked for lessons, but he had gifted her pleasure along with them. But, when she felt him rubbing her foot, she knew he was not yet done. His thumb caressed the arch of her foot. He employed the plume again. Her body, already in a heightened state of pure sensation, could not stand even this light touch. She laughed in agony and jerked against her bonds, but he held her foot fast. He tickled her till fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. She would have preferred in that instant to have been a paraplegic. Just as she thought she could not catch her breath amidst her laughs, he stopped.
“You have a delightful laugh.”
Her face pressed into the bed. She could barely move enough to speak, even if she could. He seemed to sense her thoughts and untied her hands. Rubbing her wrists gently, he then retied them to the bed posts, so that her arms stretched on either side. He assisted her to move her legs up as well, so she could lift her head more easily.
"Is that better?"
"Yes. Thank you," she answered.
"You are to be commended, my dear. Indeed, you are doing as well as many a veteran of Château Follett."
"Thank you, sir."
"I shall repeat: You have a delightful laugh.”
“Thank you.”
“Good. A gentleman likes his compliments acknowledged. Do you like compliments? I believe you are that rare woman who does not.”
“Yes, I mean, no.” She let her body relax into the bed again, her head a muddle from the storm brewing in her body.
The bed sank for he had climbed atop it. She felt his fingers strum her bud of pleasure. Through the aching of head and the trembling of her body, beautiful sensations managed to blossom between her legs. She was all confusion. A part of her wanted to curl in a corner and sob till her tears emptied. Another wanted only to exalt in the pleasure he was able to command. She moaned as the tension in her womanhood began to build.
She heard the rustle of clothing, then felt his velvet hardness at her folds. His rod slid along her wetness. Her sensations heightened in both alarm and desire. She yearned for and feared his penetration. As he drew his length between her nether lips, she tilted toward the former. Her mind desperately cautioned her against wanting this. It was wrong. She would undo all the penance she had suffered by breaching her marital vows again. To want this was madness.
But her body had partaken of the poisoned apple and craved the forbidden fruit. The temptation between her legs was too great. She wanted that euphoric rush, wanted it to wipe away her doubts and fears.
"Do you wish to spend again?"
"Yes," she moaned.
"Do you wish me to ravish you?"
She groaned. She did not want to risk it, but his stroking had ignited a fire that needed to be doused.
"Yes."
"You deserve to be ravished well, my dear."
That said, he sank himself into her. She groaned at the unfamiliar stretching inside her. A slight rawness remained from being taken earlier, but the discomfort soon faded, replaced by a most delicious tension. She wanted him to fuel the aggravation in her loins. He obliged with a slow and steady thrusting.
She sniffed then groaned. "Oh..."
"Does it please you, my dear?"
Most assuredly. Aloud, she said, "Yes."
"You enjoy being fucked."
With each thrust of his, she felt the heavens descend closer toward her. Nothing mattered but the euphoria awaiting her.
"Do you enjoy being taken by a man not your husband?"
This jolted her, interrupting her journey through carnal paradise.
"Answer me. Do you enjoy being taken by a man not your husband?"
"N-No."
He pulled out. She gasped at the emptiness. Her body rioted at the withdrawal.
"Are you quite certain of that?" he asked as his tip toyed with her opening.
"No... I am not certain."
"Then you do wish me to take you?"
She whimpered. "Yes. Please... Take me."
"And ravish you?"
"Please ravish me," she whispered.
She tried to feel his shaft grazing her between her thighs.
"You wish me to ravish you."
Had that not already been established? she wanted to retort, but she wallowed too much in misery to accomplish a rejoinder. Perhaps there was still hope that she had enough forbearance to overcome her venereal cravings.
But when he plunged himself back inside her, she was lost. He varied the rhythm and intensity of his thrusting.
"Is this how you wish to be ravished?"
"Yes," she uttered between grunting and groaning. Her climax emerged upon the horizon.
He held onto her hips, his motions purposeful as he stroked the lovely frenzy.
"Tell me, have he always enjoyed being taken in such lewd fashion?"
His words burned her ears, but she had to admit, as degrading as the position was, it felt marvelous. His penetration deepened, his pelvis slapping into her derrière.
"Answer me."
"Yes."
"And why is it you enjoy this manner?"
She braced herself against the tide of pleasure, a part of her still afraid of the force of sensations threatening to overwhelm her body.
"Because I am a wanton harlot." She knew not where the words had come from, and he, too, seemed surprised for he paused.
"Well, well. That you are. And it is my pleasure to oblige a harlot such as yourself."
He resumed bucking against her. She cried out she began to ascend the waves.
"You are quite the delightful harlot. One that needs and desires to be ravished all night long."
She peaked. He drilled deeper and harder as ecstasy crashed into her, drowning her in divine paroxysm. She was not conscious of his tightening grip upon her hips or the increased force of his pounding. She felt herself so
aring to heights she had never before known. The intensity of it was otherworldly.
He slammed himself into her. He roared and pulled from her. Liquid heat rained on her legs. A small voice cautioned that she played a dangerous gamble. But that did not matter in the moment. She had been catapulted into the heavens, and she knew not that she would return.
Chapter Ten
TRUDIE LAY UPON HER side, still in a daze. Moments ago, she had been floating, her body brought to heights she had never before known existed.
The bonds had been removed from her wrists and ankles. Though she was free to move, she remained where she was upon the bed, drawing in a deep breath as she tried to put together a coherent thought. The throbbing between her thighs and the pulsing in her limbs had faded. After the euphoria had ebbed, a hollowness emerged.
He had ravished her. At her own behest. Though she had found more pleasure than she had ever thought possible, what price had it come at?
She sat up, pulled away from him and sat up. She had agreed to suffer penance for her crimes, in the hopes that her guilt would be lessened. But he had made her spend, had taken her once more, and made her guilty of adultery anew. She felt the viscous evidence of her infidelity between her legs. Anger and shame quaked inside her.
“You will want refreshment after what you have endured,” he said, standing before her. “I will procure for you drink and sustenance. After you have partaken of some refreshments, we shall continue with your lesson.”
He kissed her on the brow before departing. It was an odd gesture and seemed almost affectionate, but Trudie would grant him no allowances. She failed to understand how her body could respond so favorably to him but that the carnal must be wholly separate from the mind.
Surrendering to the Baron (A Steamy Regency Romance Book 7) Page 7
