Episode 7

 

 

AS CHARLES HOVERED OVER the glistening body of Miss Greta, who still breathed heavily from having spent, he had to hold back the surging desire to ram his cock into her. He could hardly believe his fortune. He had wanted this moment for years, to have Miss Greta tethered to the bed, completely at his mercy. She had misbehaved, had defied and resisted him, but in the end, her body had succumbed. But he did not wallow in victory—not yet. There were many more orgasms to wring from her. And he wanted her complete and everlasting submission.

He palmed a breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple. She whimpered. Her nipples had proved extraordinarily sensitive. They would be a form of divertissemente. With a firm hand, he caressed her ribcage, her waist, and her thigh. How beautiful was her body. He would have to allow Mistress Scarlet a temporary appearance for she seemed more confident of her body when in the role of the dominant. Placing his hand upon her pelvis, he gently agitated the silver balls still within her. She moaned.

“Is that pleasant, Miss Greta?” he asked.

She met his gaze, her eyes possessed of a liquid quality. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Depending upon your intentions, Master Gallant. Will you permit me to spend or do you simply mean to provoke me?”

“Do you wish to spend once more?”

“Perhaps.”

“I have allowed you to spend once already. Before I.”

He dipped his thumb beneath her mound and fondled her clitoris. She shivered and moaned louder. He pinched her there. She gasped sharply.

“And you have neglected to thank me, Miss Greta.”

“Thank you, Master Gallant!”

He climbed off the bed and went to the sideboard to fetch a pair of small metal clamps joined by a chain.

“For that omission, you will wear these the remainder of the evening,” he said and affixed the clamps to her nipples.

She cried out, but he had spared her the worst of the implements by attaching them to the bases rather than the tips of the nipples.

“Thank you, Master,” she mumbled.

He tugged lightly at the chain on the clamps. “You look ravishing, Miss Greta.”

“Thank you, Master Gallant. How may I bring you to satisfaction?”

Perhaps she hoped the sooner he spent, the sooner he would remove the clamps. He untied the ropes about her ankles, giving the limbs a much needed respite.

“I want you to bend your legs and move your hips up and down,” he instructed.

She let out a haggard groan, perhaps from feeling the balls move inside of her.

He put his thumb to her clitoris. “Faster, Miss Greta.”

As she moved, he held his hand in place so that she could only graze his thumb if she lifted her hips high enough. The blush from her earlier arousal had faded, but a new one began to blossom. Seeing her desire made the blood churn in his own loins. He had told himself, before the evening began, that he would have her if she would have him. He put a hand upon her belly once more and pressed her into the bed. Positioning himself once more between her legs, he pushed his cock parallel to her folds. He had to brace himself upon feeling the heat and moisture along his member. He wanted nothing more than to change the angle of his cock and aim its head to her most intimate spot.

“Resume,” he told her when he had control of his impulses.

Slowly, she began grinding herself against him. With patience, he watched as she built her lust, her grunting and gasping a melody to his ears. He tugged at the chain and her brow furrowed, but the discomfort at her nipples did nothing to diminish her lust.

“Permission to spend,” she whispered, forgetting that he had yet to have his turn.

“Not yet,” he replied.

Needing a reprieve for himself, he sat back and inserted a finger, then two, into her hot, wet slit. His fingers bumped against one the balls. Her body undulated upon the bed. She gasped strongly as he began to caress her.

“Please, Master,” she begged.

“Not yet,” he reiterated, quickening his stroke, occasionally bumping the heel of his hand against her.

She squirmed and whined. Withdrawing his hand, he placed his hand at her mouth. Eagerly, she sucked on the damp fingers. He rewarded her by replacing his cock along her cunnie.

“You may proceed, Miss Greta.”

She pushed her cunnie against his shaft. “Please, Master Gallant.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, I would have your cock.”

These were the words he had wanted to hear all evening, for he had told himself he would not take her until she asked.

“Not yet.”

She continued to rub herself against his erection. The blush in her cheeks deepened as her desperation grew. She angled her hips, and his cock nearly slid into her. He slapped her breast to gain her attention.

“Take care, Miss Greta.”

Foiled, she resumed her previous movements. “Pray, give me your cock, Master Gallant.”

He wanted to do nothing more than she requested, but he asked, “Are you certain of your desire, Miss Greta?”

She nodded.

“How certain?”

“I desire your cock. I hunger for your cock.”

“And why should I award you with my cock? You have been nothing but defiant and insubordinate.”

Her eyes pleaded with him. “Have I not rectified my behavior? I promise, Master Gallant, I will be good. I could be the best submissive you have ever had.”

His cock throbbed at her words, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “Indeed?”

Her body thrashed about. Having lost her concentration, she slipped against him with imprecision. “I would have you use my body as it was intended. For your pleasure, your desire. Pray, use me. Drive your cock into my cunnie.”

The tension at his groin flared. If he did not spear her soon, he might explode.

“I beg of you, Master Gallant.”

Unable to resist the desperation in her voice, he took up the condom he had also retrieved from the sideboard and tied the sheath about his erection.

“The best submissive,” he asked.

“I promise.”

His cock swelled. He could not have dreamt of hearing better. In a single thrust, he sank into her, closing his eyes at the blinding beauty encasing his member. She grunted at first, and he worried that if it had been some time since she had lain with a man, despite her wetness, the intrusion might prove painful, but then she emitted a satisfied moan. Cautious not to be overwhelmed himself, he had not pushed much past the crown of his shaft. Opening his eyes, he drank in the sight of her, the blush in her countenance, her lashes resting upon her cheeks as she seemed to savor the feel of him inside of her. He was inside Miss Greta. Miss Margaret Barlow. And it was as wonderful as he had always imagined it would be.

Gradually, he pushed himself deeper. He felt his tip bump into one of the silver balls. There was no sensation more glorious than the feel of her heat wrapped about his throbbing cock. He lowered himself and kissed her neck. She moaned and her eyes fluttered open. He took mouthfuls of her neck, tongued the area beneath her ear, and pressed his lips to the soft spot below her chin. She sighed softly. Slowly, he began rocking his hips, drawing his cock in and out. He lifted his head and met her luminous gaze. By God, she was lovely.

He held her gaze for several minutes as he thrust and ground as much of him against her as he could. Soft lustful pants escaped her parted lips. Leaning down, he took those delicious lips with his. Lips locked to hers, he intensified his motions. He could tell she was a little out of practice and knew not to return his kiss or his thrust. He required no collaboration from her, only her reception of his cock into her most intimate space. Plunging his tongue into her mouth as he shoved his hips at her, he took possession of both her orifices. He reached between her breasts and tugged at the chain. She gasped then ground her pelvis to his. He responded by thrusting faster and harder. Together they worked until the climax was in sight for her. Thinking she might peak before asking permission, he slowed his rhythm and pulled harder upon the clamps.

Called to attention, she quickly asked, “Please, may I spend? Master.”

“You wish to spend upon my cock, do you?”

“Yes! Please, I wish to spend upon your cock. May I, Master Gallant?”

He was glad he was done with her punishment for he could not deny the pleading in her voice and eyes. He shoved himself into her with enough force to shake the bed, burying himself as far as he could, his cods slapping against her derriere. She began ascending her peak once more, her cries escalating, her hands grasping at the ropes binding her wrists. Pushing himself onto his knees, he grabbed her legs and drove his hips at her, rocking the bed beneath him and waggling her breasts and the clamps and chain.

“Master! Master!” she cried.

“Spend, Miss Greta!” he ordered. “Spend upon my cock!”

With a wail, she seemed to shatter. Violent shudders rolled through her body. He held onto her legs to refrain them from jerking in abandon and keep his cock inside of her. He could feel her flex about his erection, enticing him to join her rapture, but he held back, wanting to soak in her paroxysm. When it had finished consuming her she lay, her breath ragged, her brow still furrowed, an occasional tremor rippling through her body.

“Satisfied, Miss Greta?”

It was several seconds before she responded. “Yes.”

“Good. But we’re not done.”

 

* * * * *

 

Master Gallant’s words floated to her from another place, another time. Greta wanted only to lie upon the bed. She needed time to recover. Her cunnie still throbbed, and her feet tingled. But he was still hard inside of her, and he would wish to spend, especially as she had done so—twice. The second of the orgasms had been unlike any she had experienced before. Perhaps it was the anticipation, the desperation preceding the climax that had contributed to its intensity. Or perhaps it was those silver balls. Coupled with the fullness of his cock, the balls had wreaked havoc inside of her. She had never before begged as she had. With Damien, she had rarely reached the point where she needed to plead for permission to spend. He took his own pleasure first.

In that respect, Master Gallant was merciful and generous.

He was fondling her breast as if to relax the flesh. When her body had at last calmed, she opened her eyes and found herself in his stare. Gently, he removed the clamps from her nipples.

“Thank you, Master. Will you not spend, too?” she asked.

“I will wrest another paroxysm from your body first,” he replied as he caressed her from her ribs to the length of her thighs.

She inhaled sharply. “Thank you, Master, I am satiated and would see you similarly situated. I have no need to spend again.”

He passed his knuckles softly over her belly. “It is not a decision for you to make, Miss Greta.”

“But I am...spent.”

Lowering his mouth, he took in a nipple and sucked. She had enjoyed the state of rest her body was in, but there was little he did that she did not respond to.

“Allow me to attend to you, Master Gallant.”

“I will brook no protest, Miss Greta. You promised me perfect submission.”

Had she? Recalling her words, she remembered her state of distress in saying them, but she was too proud to equivocate.

Reaching over, he untied the rope about her wrists and rubbed her arms, sore from being bound to the bedpost. When he chanced to glance into her eyes, she thought she beheld a tenderness there.

“Now turn over and place your arms behind your back,” he instructed as he gathered the cords of rope.

“Yes, Master Gallant,” she responded, doing as he bid to prove that she could be the perfect submissive.

He bent her arms and tied her forearms together. It was quite uncomfortable, for her shoulders were forced back with the arms.

“Up on your knees, Miss Greta.”

She wriggled onto her knees and felt the roll of the balls still inside of her. Her arse was presented to him.

“As lovely an arse as could be had,” he murmured as he palmed a buttock.

She liked the feel of his warm, firm hand and remembered how he had not touched her during her spanking with Master Troy, Isabella and the baroness. Why had he taken so long before caressing her?

And then she felt his cock gliding deliciously along her folds. Despite her weariness and the discomfort of having her neck and shoulders serve as a fulcrum, her body began to warm once more with that familiar aggravation. He had an aptitude for attending to her most sensitive and responsive spots, a skill Master Damien lacked or chose not to acquire. With his stroking, Master Gallant soon stoked her desire to spend again. She wondered how he would feel against her without the sheath. Flesh to flesh, his cock would undoubtedly slide more smoothly.

He stopped and pulled away from her, allowing the realization to sink in that she did, notwithstanding her earlier protestations to the contrary, wish to spend. He replaced his thumb at her clitoris and worked his enchantment. She felt his fingers push inside her slit and she let out a ragged groan when he stroked the front wall of her cunnie. The sensations, not unlike the pleasure that fanned from her clitoris, made her shudder. She wanted to writhe, to pull at her hair, or fist her hands into the bedclothes, but she dared not move without his permission.

Heavens. She shut her eyes as his thumb found her clitoris. The stroking—inside and outside of her—how divine—how blissful—

“Master...” she murmured, feeling ecstasy’s peak rising. “Master...”

He slowed his fondling and removed his hand. A small part of her rejoiced for she almost feared the intensity built by such pleasure. But as the respite lengthened, her aggravation grew. He had brought her close to the brink and retreated.

“What is it you desire, Miss Greta?”

“I desire to spend. I desire for you to spend, Master Gallant.”

“How do you wish to spend?”

“In any manner you deem fit, Master.”

“And how do you wish for me to spend?”

“Deep inside my cunnie, Master.”

The words were out of her mouth before she had time to consider them. It was of no consequence. It was the truth. She felt his thighs against the back of hers.

“What of this delightful orifice?”

She felt his thumb near her anus. Her heart skipped a beat. She shifted herself away.

“Has no one plumbed its charming depths?” he asked.

“No, Master Gallant.”

“Your submission must need be flawless for me to reward you with my cock there.”

Conflicted, she said nothing. She knew some women to prefer penetration in the rectum, but she feared the pain of introduction would prove too akin to the loss of her maidenhead.

Relieved to feel his cock sinking into her quim, she purred her approval, then moaned as he pushed the silver balls deeper inside of her. Grabbing a hold of her hips, he began to move, dragging his cock out, then shoving himself inside to make the balls bounce, dragging and shoving, dragging and shoving. Holding onto the ropes about her arms with one hand, he rolled his hips at her. Her neck and shoulders were pushed into the bed, but she felt no discomfort. Instead, she thought she would go delirious with pleasure.

“M-May I spend, Master?”

She should have asked sooner for now she had to resist the wave that she knew would crash down upon her at any moment.

“Please,” she begged through gritted teeth.

“Spend, Miss Greta,” he answered mercifully and thrust into her quick and sure.

The ricochet of the balls, the fullness of his cock, all conspired to make the tension implode inside her body. With a wail, she succumbed to the blinding fury of her orgasm. Her body jerked and shuddered as if needing to flee from itself. She wanted to collapse, but Master Gallant held her aloft. When the majority of the violence had subsided, he thrust in earnest, seeking his own end. His pelvis smacking her buttocks, his cods slapping her folds, he rammed himself into her until he groaned long and low. His legs trembled beside hers. With a final quake, he eased himself out of her and they both fell into the bed. Lifting himself, he reached between her legs to remove the silver balls. He then untied the rope from her and scooped her into his arms. She nestled into him and found she enjoyed feeling his breath upon her. With her head against his chest, she could hear his heart hammering. His arms felt strong about her, safe about her. For some time, they lay together, and she found this to be surprisingly blissful.

 

* * * * *

 

“I should see you on your way,” Charles murmured against her hair. He was reluctant to part with Miss Greta. Holding her in his arms was finer than indulging in a feast of his favorite foods. But the lateness had exceeded his plans, and they both required rest for their days’ duties.

She stirred, and he tried not to mind her nakedness beside his. Surely another half hour would not be so terrible? Recalling that he was to meet in the early morning with John Anthony, a former Chinese sailor, now a man of great wealth and influence, Charles kissed her on her temple and pulled himself up and out of bed. At the sideboard, he poured a pitcher of water into the basin and dampened some linen. Returning to Miss Greta, he had her stand and gently wiped the remaining oil from her skin. His cock began to harden as he dragged the linen over her breasts. After rinsing the linen, he returned to cleanse her legs and her rump. Perhaps he would be able to claim her arse before the conclusion of their sennight. She said nothing as he brought the linen between her legs and wiped away the moisture there. With new linen, he dried her, then attended to his own body.

She had undressed in the room this time, and her garments lay upon the settee. She had put on her shift, stockings, and garters, but required assistance with her stays. Half dressed in his shirt, trousers and braces, he walked over to her and assumed the duties of a dressing maid. As he laced her stays, he wondered what thoughts ran through her head. Had she enjoyed every moment of her submission? Did she regret submitting to him?

“I will have the truth always,” he said. “You will not be punished for your honesty. Did you enjoy the Ben Wa balls?”

A lovely flush crept up her cheeks. “Yes, Master Gallant.”

“They are yours. I will have you bear them inside you before our next appointment. With practice, you can hold heavier balls and for longer periods of time. The result will be pleasure made more intense.”

Her eyes seemed to brighten at the prospect.

“Did you enjoy the clamps about your nipples?” he asked.

“They were painful at first, but I am not certain that I did not enjoy them.”

“Neither are you certain that you did enjoy them,” he chuckled at her ambiguous response. “Would you have me affix them to you again?”

“Perhaps.”

He accepted the answer as an affirmative for now. “If you dislike them, you know to employ the safety word.”

She nodded.

He had finished her stays and hesitated before asking a more difficult question. “Did you enjoy my caress?”

She said nothing at first as he tied her petticoats, then she replied, “I did, Master Gallant.”

He turned around and looked her in the eyes. “Truly? I will punish dishonesty.”

Her voice quivered a little. “Truly.”

His heart swelled. His mouth descended upon hers. Cupping her face in both hands, he kissed her fiercely, unable to take her more gently. When he felt her relax, he delved his tongue between her lips. She responded favorably by tilting her head and angling her mouth to allow him better access.

“And my cock?” he murmured against her mouth. “Did it please you, Miss Greta?”

“Yes,” she mumbled beneath his kiss.

“It pleased you to have it pressed to your cunnie?”

“Yes.”

“And buried deep inside of you?”

“Yes, yes.”

He claimed her mouth, relentlessly, till they were both breathless. When at last he pulled back, he saw a blush about her lips and lust in her eyes.

He brushed his lips softly over hers. “I am tempted to undo all the garments I have just laced.”

“We do have tomorrow night, Master Gallant.”

“Yes, and if your father is ill, he will require more of you. I will not have you fatigued on my account.”

She made no reply but seemed disappointed. Gathering his forbearance, he reached for her gown.

“May I assist you, Master?” she asked when she was completely dressed.

“You may,” he replied as he slipped on his waistcoat.

She buttoned his waistcoat.

“I will see you safely home,” he said.

“That will be unnecessary,” she said as she helped him with his collar next, though she must have had no or little experience with dressing a man, but he liked having her close to him. “I have not had any troubles in all the years that I have frequented the Red Chrysanthemum, although...”

“What is it?”

She shook her head. “I thought a stranger to follow me here tonight, but my apprehensions are unfounded.”

“It might have been Nathaniel.”

She looked at him. “Nathaniel?”

“A runner I hired. It is unsafe for a woman to walk the streets at night alone.”

Her gaze continued to hold surprise. “I did not ask for this. Did Madame—?”

“It is my decision. You risk your person to satisfy your obligation. I will not have you harmed.”

“I am grateful, but—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I will hear no protest. A perfect submissive would not argue with her Master.”

“Such expectations do not extend outside the walls of the Red Chrysanthemum.”

“Perhaps they ought.”

“Being overbearing in one setting is insufficient for you?” she teased as she attempted to arrange his neckcloth.

Her playfulness made him smile. He caught her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Admit you enjoy my insufferableness, Miss Greta.”

“Ha! I am as like to want to punish you for your impudence.”

He seared her wrist with another kiss and held her gaze, mere inches separating their faces. “I should welcome your punishment when your trial is done.”

Her bottom lip dropped, and he was satisfied that she did not recoil at the prospect of spending more time with him. With a blush gracing her cheeks, she withdrew her hand from him.

“Do not let my submission prejudice you against the force of Mistress Scarlet,” she murmured.

He arranged his neckcloth simply and tucked it into his waistcoat. He had been sincere in stating his reception of Mistress Scarlet. He would suffer anything from her to have the opportunity of Miss Greta more.

“Mistress Scarlet is free to attempt her best,” he said. “I can endure that which I dispense.”

She raised her brows, intrigued. He sat down on the settee to pull on his boots, then went to the sideboard and retrieved the silver balls he had replaced in their case. He presented it to her. She accepted the small case without word and tucked it into her reticule.

“And take this,” he said, holding out a small satchel. “It is an herb very much like the root of ginger. The Chinese call it ‘gin-seng.’ It will aid your father’s health.”

Her eyes shone at him. “Thank you, Mr.—Master Gallant. It is...very kind of you to think of my father.”

He nodded and, taking up her bonnet, placed it over her head. She looked far too charming in it. He wanted to kiss her again, but he feared if he did so, he would not be able to retreat this time; he would want a return of her cunnie pulsing about his cock. Being buried inside her was the most marvelous feeling. Hearing her beg for permission to spend and providing her the rapture she sought had been more than satisfying.

There were few clouds in the night sky when they stepped outside the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, and the moon, near full, lit their path. He offered his arm, and she took it without any hesitation. He considered this a triumph, too. They did not speak for some time, but the silence was not uncomfortable. Listening to the sounds of their footsteps was rather calming.

“Tell me more of China, Mast—Mr. Gallant,” she said.

He spent the remainder of their walk describing the landscape, the shape of Chinese ships, and of the heavy rains and ensuing dampness in the air that clung to the body. He told her of the Chinese, their slender build, their darker complexions, save for the northern Chinese, who could be as pale or more than an Englishman; their foods, the quantities of rice they consumed, the impressive varieties of tea, and the strangeness of some of their fruits; their language, how they wrote their sentences vertically and from right to left, the complexity of their written words—he suspected their letters must take twice as long to write. She listened enraptured and asked a great many questions. When they had reached the apothecary, he found their walk had ended far too quickly for him.

“Thank you,” Miss Greta said as they stood before her door. “You are a man of chivalry, Mr. Gallant.”

“When I am not binding and flogging the fair sex,” he allowed.

“And forcing them to spend.”

He felt the muscle along his jaw twinge. He held her gaze, wanting her to see how much he desired her, how he would have taken her if they were not standing before her residence with her father and grandmother sleeping inside.

“I admit that is an instance wherein I have few qualms being a brute,” he said.

“How fortunate,” she murmured.

A current went through both his legs. He had better bid her adieu before he decided to find an alley to ravish her in.

He kissed her hand. “Good night, Miss Greta.”

“Till tomorrow then. Master Gallant.”

She had spoken the last two words low and husky. Deliberately. To incite him. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes before she turned to quietly unlock the door. He watched her disappear into the shop before adjusting his crotch. Tomorrow night could not come soon enough.

 

* * * * *

 

Having arrived early, Greta, with Tippy’s help, undressed in the chamber she and Master Gallant used for their purposes. When the maid left, Greta opened the small case containing the silver balls and gently inserted them inside of her cunnie. She walked about the room. The movement of the balls reminded her in an instant of the magnificent paroxysms she had experienced with Master Gallant yester night. She hoped she would be allowed the same, their fifth, night together. Two nights remained afterward, and she greeted this prospect with a little sadness.

She knelt in the center of the room and awaited him, eager to see his reaction when he beheld her, ready and waiting for him. But this time it was he who was late. The balls had worked their magic, and her body simmered with arousal. To pass the time, she played with herself, rocking her body to make the balls move. At one point, they slid from her when she had relaxed too much. She replaced them, feeling extraordinarily wanton putting foreign objects in her body. She fondled herself. Did she dare disobey him again and bring herself to spend without his knowledge?

Hearing footsteps, she shoved her hands behind her. Master Gallant entered, and the look upon his face was one of surprise, then approval. She lowered her gaze but not before noting how handsome he looked in his cloak and dark blue coat.

“Lovely,” he murmured as he approached her.

She took in a happy breath at his nearness. He need not call for a valet. She would assist in undressing him. If she had comprehended the look in his eyes last night when he walked her home, he ought to be as eager as she.

Kneeling before her, he took her hand and kissed it. He paused, then brought his nose closer to her fingers. “Have you been caressing yourself, Miss Greta?”

She blushed. “Only a little. You were late, Master Gallant.”

“My apologies. I tried to quit the dinner as early as I could. My tardiness, however, does not grant you leave to do as you wish.”

“Your pardon, Master Gallant.”

He reached a hand between her thighs and felt the copious amount of moisture there.

“But it pleases me that you are wet.”

“And the Wen Ba balls are in place, as you wish.”

He smiled. “Ben Wa.”

“Ah.”

“Well done, Miss Greta. I am pleased.”

His agreement pleased her. He palmed a breast, and she gasped, thrilling at his touch. Lightly, he tugged the nipple. She groaned as the sensitivity went all the way to her toes. He teased the bud till her cunnie pulsed. It was worse than being tickled. She lost her concentration, and the balls slid from her.

“Leave them be for now,” he said. “I have another implement to try for tonight.”

He rose to his feet, cupped her chin and seemed to drink in the sight of her physiognomy. To her disappointment—she thought he might have kissed her—he proceeded to the sideboard, untying his cloak. He hung the cloak and began removing his gloves. She wanted him to touch her again. She wanted him to kiss her and manhandle her as he had done.

“May I assist in your wardrobe, Master Gallant?”

“You may.”

He waited for her to approach and turned to allow her to aid in the removal of his coat. She hung the coat beside his cloak and went to unbutton his waistcoat. To her surprise, he did not touch her. She was standing entirely naked before him. How could he not want to grab her and press her to him? After she had undone all the buttons, she dropped a hand to his crotch. At least his cock had hardened.

“Miss Greta,” he admonished in a low voice.

“May I please you some more?” she asked, giving him her most sultry look.

“Are we quite eager tonight?”

“Eager to please you, Master Gallant.”

She reached for the buttons of his fall.

“Not yet.”

“Why not?” she pouted.

He titled her chin with a finger. “Cock must be earned, Miss Greta.”

She furrowed her brow. Master Damien gave it freely. How different these two men were! Disappointed and a little more desperate, she watched as he shed the waistcoat and took his favorite length of rope. If he meant to bind her, she would be at his mercy, and she had thought to use all the charms of her hands to coax him into offering his cock, but she was curious to see what he would do with the rope. He looped the middle of the rope around her neck and began to wind the rope over her chest and beneath her breasts.

When he was done with the rope, he removed his neckcloth and tied her wrists behind her back. He turned her to the mirror so that she could see how the rope crossed her naked body, forming diamond shapes down her midsection. It was truly beautiful, and she forgave the leisurely pace he had taken to create the artwork, especially as every brush of his fingers upon her skin enflamed her. She had wanted to scream at him, beg for him to grab her. As if sensing her need, he finally laid a hand on her. Standing close to her, he palmed her arse beneath the length of linen trailing from her wrists. He pressed his fingers into her flesh. When he met her gaze in the mirror, she saw the smolder in his eyes and hoped that he would soon take her. Her arms pulled back made her chest protrude forward, and he turned his attention next to her bosom. He circled his forefinger around an areola and tugged at the rope cleaving her breasts.

“You are divinely beautiful embraced in rope, Miss Greta,” he murmured near her ear.

Her chest swelled. She did feel beautiful in the unusual adornment. Her cunnie pulsed. It had waited patiently. But he showed no signs that he would attend to her yet. Stepping from her, he went to pour himself a glass of Madeira at the sideboard. He sat down in the settee with the wine and drank in the sight of her.

“Are you fatigued from the day’s work, Master Gallant?” she asked.

“Any weariness I might have felt dispersed the instant I set eyes upon you, Miss Greta.”

He spoke with such earnestness she could not doubt his sincerity. He sipped his wine in silence.

“Then is this act of stalling a form of discipline?” she asked.

“You feel you are being punished, Miss Greta?”

The color rose in her cheeks. “Then why the delay?”

“I am enjoying the view. Turn around.”

She did as told, presenting her arse to his enjoyment.

“There is much to appreciate in both vistas,” he said.

She heard him rise from the settee and saunter to where she stood. She felt his finger between her buttocks.

“Do you think you would enjoy my cock wedged here?”

She inhaled sharply. “I suspect not, Master Gallant.”

“Why so pessimistic? Have you not seen other women receive pleasure here? Or provided it yourself?”

She had applied various objects to her submissives and seen a number of women enjoy the penetration of their backsides as much as they seemed to enjoy any other form of carnal pleasure, perhaps more. But she had no experience in this respect. She doubted the anus could expand as much as the vagina.

“I fear it to be painful,” she answered.

“I would exercise caution, and you have but to use your safety word to cease any action that displeased you.”

To her surprise, she believed him. She trusted him. If she were to entrust the virginity of her arse to anyone, it would be Master Gallant.

“What is your safety word, Miss Greta?”

“Red.”

“Good.”

He finished his glass of Madeira and returned it to the sideboard. Taking her by the rope, he pulled her over to the bed. She found the movement promising. He untied her wrists and instructed her to prop herself against the headboard. He re-tied her wrists above her head. Procuring more rope, he wrapped a cord about each thigh and tied the ends to the bedposts of the headboard. Her knees were pulled to her ears, exposing her cunnie. He slid his fingers through the patch of down at her mound before lowering his caress to the folds beneath.

At last! She thrilled to his fondling. His hand was able to elicit more pleasure than her own. He coated her blushing bud with the ample moisture from her own body. She could feel the growing wetness dripping down her crack. She twisted in the ropes as delicious tension bloomed between her legs, and it was not long before she found herself requesting his permission to spend.

“Not yet,” he replied, languidly swirling desire’s nectar around her clitoris.

She moaned, her body straining to meet more of his fingers, not knowing whether to thank him or curse him for rousing such ardent lust in her. She had thought herself perfectly content in the absence of ardor these last years, but perhaps it was a dormant concupiscence longing to be awakened that led her to continue at the Red Chrysanthemum and funnel her passions through Mistress Scarlet when, in truth, what she sought was a return of that desire, that exhilaration she had once known with Master Damien.

Taking up a tinderbox, Master Gallant lit a candle he took from the bedside table.

“You made mention of a new implement,” she recalled. “What is it?”

“This,” he replied, holding a small cup made from bamboo in his other hand.

She wondered if he intended to make her ingest an Oriental aphrodisiac.

He held it over the candle. “Since ancient times, the Chinese have made use of cups to improve the flow of blood and to treat influenza, tenderness of the muscle, and back pain.”

He tested the small cylinder against the wrist of his other hand, then replaced it over the flame as he explained, “The hot air, when cooled, constricts.”

He lowered the candle and the cup toward her cunnie. She tensed, fearing hot candlewax might fall upon her. With a quick motion he transferred the cup from the candle to her flesh, encasing her clitoris inside the cup. She felt the bud, swollen from his earlier ministrations, being pulled inside the cylinder, which adhered to her body. He withdrew his hand and replaced the candle on the table. She stared at the small bamboo cup protruding from her.

As provocative as what he did to her body was the manner in which he took in her reactions, and the sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes when she responded in the way he desired. He wiggled the cup to test the suction. She groaned. He reached for one of her nipples and began to pinch and play with it. The interaction between the two buds—the torment of the upper seemed to magnify the sensation of the lower—made her gasp and writhe.

“Please, Master,” she uttered with a haggard breath, though she knew not what to plead for. Did she want him to stop or did she want more?

Ceasing, he went to the chest of drawers and retrieved a glass dildo, but instead of the shape of a cock, this one bore the shape of three bulbs, which grew in size from top to bottom. He tugged at the bamboo cylinder affixed to her clitoris. Gently, he broke the seal and placed the cup on the table.

“You should see how engorged this nub of flesh is,” he remarked, “how deeply it blushes.”

He pressed his thumb to it, and she cried out. The cup had indeed drawn the blood to its target, and the sensation there had increased tenfold. He rubbed the dildo along her, the coldness of the glass contrasting sharply with the heat of her body. She squirmed and moaned as he ran the dildo over her clitoris.

“May I spend?” she murmured, doubting she could hold back if he continued to assault her clitoris in such fashion.

“First you must take this dildo into your nether hole.”

She stared into his eyes, then meekly nodded. She had, into her submissives, jammed dildos of greater girth than what he held, but anything wider than a pea made her balk. But she had to spend. She had to release the tension raging in her loins. She had to spend. At any cost.

“Speak that I may be certain of what you wish.”

“Please, fuck me in the arse,” she grumbled.

“As you wish, Miss Greta.”

He slid the dildo into her slit to coat it further. She relished the feel of something hard inside her quim. He pulled the dildo out and placed its tip at her anus. When she tensed, he put a thumb to her clitoris and caressed her until she moaned, until she was desperate, then he pushed the first and smallest bulb of the dildo into her rectum. She felt herself stretched but a few seconds, then her body closed in upon the intrusion. She had a dildo lodged in her arse.

He continued to ply her clitoris as he gazed intently upon her physiognomy. Having a foreign object there was unnatural but not displeasing. There were many nerves there, and, certainly, the wantoness of it played with her mind.

“Thank you, Master,” she murmured.

He smiled and rewarded her by taking her most sensitive nub into his mouth. She thought she would go mad from the pleasure of it. The cupping had had an extraordinary effect, and her climax loomed near and large. He stopped sucking upon her clitoris and pushed the second bulb into her. She grunted but now welcomed the fullness, enjoying the new sensations percolating down there.

“Please, Master, let me spend.”

He licked her as he sank the third and final bulb into her. She closed her eyes, unable to believe how full she felt. The dildo pressed upon her in places she did not know existed. It even seemed to press upon her clitoris somehow—the back of it, inside of it.

“I think you have earned your cock,” he said as he came up to his knees and unbuttoned his fall.

Propping one knee beside her, he pointed his stiff erection at her mouth. She took it eagerly, hungrily, for she knew the closer she brought him to spending, the better her own chances. Grabbing onto the headboard, he slowly moved his hips. She took in as much cockmeat as she could and sucked as if she could bring about her own release in doing so. He moaned, a musical sound to her ears. It gratified her to know that she could have as good an effect upon him as he did on her. She swallowed as much of him as she could, nearly gagging in her effort. She sucked until her cheeks hurt.

“Enough,” he said at last, withdrawing his hardness with a shudder.

After pulling his trousers down to his knees, he rubbed the head of his shaft upon her neglected cunnie, then slowly sank himself into her. She was filled in both holes. Her mind reeled from the heavenly fullness. The richness of it was too much.

“Master...” she implored when he began to move inside of her.

“Spend, Greta. Spend for me.”

A few thrusts later and she was thrown into the sea of ecstasy. The ropes held her to the bed, but her body was carried aloft by wave after wave of the most divine paroxysms. She knew not how loudly she cried or how fiercely she grunted. She had no control of her own voice, her own body. All was awash in corporal bliss. When at last the tide receded, her body continued to pulse from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes. Her heart hammered loud and sonorous, and it seemed some time before she could breathe smoothly.

At her peak, Gallant had shoved himself into her, slamming her into the headboard, before quickly withdrawing his cock. With a howl, his body mirroring her convulsions, he spilled his seed upon her abdomen. He stroked his shaft and shuddered, his eyes closed, his breath deep.

When he recovered, he leaned over her, and whispered into her ear, “Mine, Greta. You—are—mine.”

She did not dispute him. She could not. She wanted not.