| |
––––––––
VALE FOLLOWED HARRIETTA as she made her way to Madame Botreaux’s. Upon her arrival, she wore her customary mask but did not undress before proceeding down into the Cavern. After he had shed his garments for a simple pair of breeches and his mask of silver and black, Vale walked out onto the balcony where Penelope and Lance were already lounging.
“Your wife has returned,” Lance informed him.
“I know it,” Vale said with a small smile.
Penelope studied him through her looking glass. “You seem less perturbed by it this evening.”
“Ah, Penelope, I regret to inform you—nay, I have no regrets and am pleased to inform you that Lord Elroy will no longer be a patron of yours.”
Penelope frowned but received the news better than he expected. “Ah, well, you may have been right about him.”
“I was at Brooks’s today,” Lance informed him. “Simmons told me that it was Lord Elroy who wrote the bet about your becoming a cuckold.”
“After tonight, he will have won his bet,” Vale replied.
Anxious to attend to Harrietta, Vale did not elucidate and left Lance and Penelope to exchange quizzical glances with each other. He headed down into the Cavern toward the last corner alcove where Harrietta would be waiting.
She stood with her gaze trained to the back. She was wearing a caraco of cotton chintz with elbow-length sleeves, a flounced skirt, and a neck handkerchief—entirely too much clothing, Vale thought to himself. The only part of her that was bare beneath her neck were her forearms. That would change soon enough, he determined.
“You are late, ma petite,” he told her.
“Yes, my lord,” Harrietta acknowledged, her gaze as straight and direct as that of a soldier.
“Why are you clothed?”
“Henceforth, I will no longer be a patron of Madame Botreaux’s, my lord.”
“Why not?”
“I have my reasons, my lord. I came only to bid you adieu.”
He circled around her while lightly tapping his crop against his outer thigh. “I think I can persuade you to stay.”
Her gaze dropped in puzzlement, but only for a second. “I thought my lord preferred I did not?”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Standing behind her, he brushed aside a tendril of her hair with his crop. “There is far more for you to explore here.”
“Be that as it may, I am done, my lord.”
She stepped away from him to take her leave, but he barred her path with his crop.
“I have not granted you permission to leave.”
“I am no longer your submissive, my lord.”
Vale smiled broadly at her. When she realized the contradiction of her words, she flushed.
“You have said that I am free to choose whether I stay or leave.”
“But I have no desire for you to go.”
Pressing her lips in a grim line, she pushed aside his crop, but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back into the alcove. Beneath the eyeholes of her mask, her eyes flared with indignation. Pinning her to his body with one arm, he circled his other hand to cup her chin. His cock was lengthening against his breeches. He wished there were not the layers of petticoats to separate her rump from resting alongside his thigh.
“Unhand me or I shall scream,” she threatened.
“Here in the Cavern, your screams would only indicate the pleasure you are experiencing.”
Realizing he was right, she began to struggle against him.
“My husband will see you hanged,” she said.
“You would admit to him that you are a patron here?”
Her body sagged as she considered the prospect, and Vale wondered if he should reveal the truth of his identity at that moment, but he had no time to decide. Harrietta had picked up her foot and brought the heel of her shoe down on his foot. Vale cursed but quickly recovered his grasp of her before she slipped away. Grabbing her, he flung her back against the wall and pinned her in place with his body. He thought of how delicious her body had felt under his earlier that day.
“You did not think highly of your husband before,” he whispered near her ear. “What makes you think he would come to your aid?”
“He has far too much honor and courage not to,” she responded.
Vale felt his chest swell at the pride in her voice. “And are you so sure you wish to be rescued, ma petite?”
“Yes,” she hissed as she renewed her efforts to free herself.
He bent his head toward hers. She jerked her face away as far as she could, but he ran his tongue along her neck, taking a playful mouthful of her earring and earlobe.
“Prove it.”
*****
HARRIETTA FELT HER heart throb. She had not expected this from his lordship, and she wished she had simply sent him a note—or not showed at all. But in their time together, she had felt a strange closeness to him, one that merited at least a goodbye in person. Had she made her second terrible mistake of the day?
“Prove it,” her lordship repeated. “Prove that if I were to lift your skirts, I would not find you wet with desire?”
Oh dear, Harrietta thought, trying not to dwell on how his body felt pressed against her, as hard as the wall at her back. She had made love to her husband but a few hours ago. How could she find herself warming to another? Better to escape than to probe the answer to that question.
She struggled against him, but he held her firm. The exertion made her breaths full, and her bosom heaved into his chest. Her legs were trapped tightly between his and hampered by her own petticoats. Was that a sneer upon his lips?
“Admit that you want to be mine,” he said. “Admit that no man can pleasure you as well as I. Certainly not your husband.”
She looked him in the eye. “My husband fulfills me like no other. But if you think you can do better, you are welcome to prove it.”
Ceasing her struggles, she watched him furrow his brow.
“Very well, ma petite,” he accepted.
When he relaxed his body against hers and bent his head down to her décolletage, she picked up her foot and stomped him on his other foot.
He roared. “Bloody hell.”
She ran past him, but he shot out an arm and caught a hold of her skirts, causing her to fall forward onto the ground.
“You will be the death of me,” he murmured, grabbing her by the wrists and, reaching for a rope, bound them behind her back.
“Help me! Someone help!” Harrietta screamed as she kicked and flailed.
He ripped her neckerchief off and stuffed it into her mouth, covering her mouth with a hand to hold the fabric in place. Then he bent her over the table and straddled her legs. With his free hand he pulled up her skirts and threw them over her, baring her bottom.
“Now, my dear, what sort of punishment do you think you merit for having nearly broken a bone in each of my feet?” he asked, caressing her arse.
Harrietta could only groan. Bound as she was, she was at his mercy. There was naught she could do now but brace herself for the onslaught upon her body.
It began with a smack to her derriere. His hand circled around, and he buried his fingers into the hair at her mons, gently tugging. A finger slid towards her clitoris. She attempted to think about the most mundane matters—what she would wear to Vauxhall, where she might take Adia, what dishes she would request of the cook for dinner tomorrow—but her thoughts could not overcome the sensations pooling between her legs.
Several more blows fell on her buttocks. Her flesh was smarting, but the pain could not eclipse the dread she felt when he slid his hand between her legs and found her wet. Clamping her thighs together as tightly as she could made no difference. He forced his way to her cunnie and drove his fingers into her. Her traitorous body melted into his caresses, yearning for more. He pulled her hips higher, and she knew her pussy lips were in plain view to him. Her petticoats over her head blocked her view, but she sensed he was unbuttoning his breeches. Her body tensed in desire and dismay. She had no way to protest. She did not know that she would if she could.
The head of his cock stroked her slit. She moaned and inadvertently arched her arse higher to allow him better access to her quim. Then he was inside of her, and her legs threatened to buckle completely. Her wetness took him easily. Slowly his hips thrust at her arse. His cock filled her with delicious familiarity. As if it was meant to join with her quim. He took his time. Was it to prolong her defeat and prove his point?
She closed her eyes and bit down on the cloth in her mouth. She flexed the muscles of her cunnie and felt a surge of delight through her loins. He responded by thrusting deeper and harder, causing the pleasant agitation deep inside her to vibrate more intensely. Soon he was pounding her fast and furious. She spent in a whirl of sensations, body seizing against the table, her muffled cries drowned by his grunting.
He pulled her to her feet by her hair. With barely a moment to savor her orgasm, she was dragged to the center of the alcove. He removed the neckerchief from her mouth, and she took a much needed gulp of air. It had been suffocating under her dress. She stood in a daze, wondering what sort of wife she was to have spent at the hand of another man but hours after she had lain with her husband.
As if reading her mind, he said, “There is no shame in giving in to the natural urges of your body. It makes you no less moral, simply more human.”
Odd that she should be reassured by his words, but perhaps because she wanted to believe him?
“You are clothed far too much,” he noted. “Remove the caraco.”
She obeyed but continued to wonder if she should be resisting. Dissatisfied with her pace, he stood in front of her, grabbed the lapels and ripped the garment open, sending buttons flying to the floor. After tossing the caraco, he stared down at her corset and grazed his knuckles over the swell of her bosom. Her heart hammered against her ribs as his languid caress made her cunnie throb.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
She did as told, as if it was the most natural order of things for her to comply. She even felt a sense of comfort in his commands.
His firm hands began unlacing her petticoats and corset with practiced swiftness. The petticoats pooled at her feet, and then the corset. Her breasts relaxed from their artificial placement. He reached around her and pinched her nipples through her chemise, eliciting a shooting sensation that went from the tips of her breasts to her clitoris. Just as she was settling into the pleasurable pain of having her nipples roughly fondled, he jerked her chemise down her shoulders and pressed his mouth to the exposed skin.
Have mercy, she silently begged him. He molded his body to the back of her, and his erection pressed itself into the small of her back. Her wetness slid down her thighs, and she was sure he could sense her arousal intensifying.
Abruptly, he grabbed her chemise with both hands and ripped it from her. The garment tore down the middle, baring her breasts, her belly, her legs. She stood in naked glory before him. As she wondered how she would explain the torn chemise to her maid, his lordship walked over to the wall and took the leash and collar from its hook.
This is madness, she thought to herself. How could her heart belong entirely to one man, but her body be in love with the touch of two different men?
He clicked the collar in place about her neck. She followed him as he led her from their alcove and out onto the assembly floor. Leaving her to stand where she had stood to present on her first day at Madame Botreaux’s, he went to ring the bell. Her pulse began to quicken as men and women began to filter into the common area. There must have been dozens of patrons—all with their gazes fixed upon her. She felt like a prized horse at an auction. One man sitting near the front grinned at her as he fondled his cock. A compulsion to flee filled her even as she felt an arousal mounting in her body.
His lordship stood behind her and whispered, “You asked for punishment. And now you shall receive it, ma petit.”
The sound of his voice made her groan. Her mind began to clear itself of all thoughts save what was about to happen.
“My submissive wishes to taste the nectar of another’s quim,” he announced to the onlookers.
“I will offer my submissive,” responded a man with a naked woman collared and kneeling at his feet.
His lordship nodded, and the other woman rose to her feet to stand next to Harrietta. Harrietta eyed the woman, a tall one with long dark hair and curved figure. How am I to do this? she wondered. She had never been with another woman before.
The woman had smooth alabaster skin, Harrietta observed. As she recalled the few dreams she had had of kissing or fondling another woman, she warmed to the idea of touching another woman.
“Lie down,” he instructed the other submissive. Then he turned to Harrietta. “Kiss her.”
Awkwardly at first but not wanting to embarrass her master, Harrietta knelt down, straddled the brunette and lowered her face. Their mouths touched. Harrietta noted how much softer and more supple the lips of the brunette’s were in comparison to those of a man. It was a strange feeling kissing a woman, but not unpleasant. The brunette parted her mouth and Harrietta slipped her tongue into it dark moistness. Murmurs of approval sounded around them.
“Caress her breasts,” his lordship ordered.
With both hands, Harrietta took hold of the fleshy orbs. She kneaded them, and the brunette purred. His lordship placed a boot on her back and pushed her body down into the brunette’s. Harrietta could feel the points of the other woman’s hardened nipples against her own breasts. She continued to dart her tongue in and out of the other woman’s mouth while fondling the breasts below her.
“Suckle the teats.”
Harrietta bent over the woman’s large areolas and engulfed one nipple. The brunette moaned. Encouraged, Harrietta sucked harder as she continued to caress the other breast.
“Permission to touch her, my lord?” the brunette asked his lordship.
“Permission granted.”
The brunette wound her fingers into Harrietta’s hair and pressed Harrietta’s face harder into the breasts until her nose was buried in the ample flesh. Fighting for a breath, Harrietta bit down on the nipple. The brunette squealed in delight and pulled at Harrietta’s hair. Harrietta knew to cease her attentions would merit his lordship’s anger, but she was not enjoying the current state of affairs. Every time she bit down harder, the woman would wrench her hair so fiercely Harrietta worried her mask would fly loose. There was naught to do but to succumb to the brunette’s ministrations.
“Enough,” his lordship said finally. “Attend to her quim.”
The brunette wore a smug smile as she parted her thighs. Harrietta settled herself on all fours and positioned her face between the woman’s legs. Praying that the woman would spend soon, Harrietta dove in. She licked the nub of flesh protruding from its hood. The bushel of hair at the woman’s mons tickled her nose, but Harrietta lapped at the quim, which was fast becoming slippery with wetness.
“For arriving fully clothed, you will merit twenty lashes,” his lordship told her.
The crop descended quickly onto her rump. Harrietta yelped into the other woman’s cunnie.
“As you are occupied, I will have your other submissive count for you.”
“One, my lord,” the brunette said.
A second blow fell on her other buttock, but Harrietta remained on task.
“Two...three...four...”
Harrietta rolled her tongue over the clitoris, wishing the woman had trimmed her hairy mons. But she could not deny that her own body was responding quite favorably to what was happening. Her own cunnie ached for the same attention.
“Five...six..seven...six...”
Eight! The count is at eight!
But his lordship continued without a word. The brunette miscounted several times. Harrietta felt like biting her, but she refrained. She had been trained better.
Her arse smarted from the extra lashes. The brunette was grinding her cunnie into Harrietta’s face. She could sense the woman’s orgasm looming. The brunette clamped her thighs about Harrietta’s ears, blocking out the sounds of the other patrons mating around them. Her mouth felt sore, but Harrietta wiggled her tongue into the brunette and finally the woman broke into spasms, knocking Harrietta’s head about. Harrietta milked the orgasm until the cries and the tremors subsided. Her own cunnie throbbed, wanting the same.
“Well done,” his lordship praised, but when she tried to rise to her feet, he pushed her back down onto her knees. “My turn.”
The brunette was dismissed, and his lordship unbuttoned his breeches and pulled out his cock. The light in the Cavern was still dim, but she thought the cock was not unlike that of Vale’s in shape and size. But before she could examine it further, he had pushed her face at his crotch and stuffed the whole of his erection into her mouth. She began to gag instantly.
“Relax, ma petite,” he urged gently.
She complied, but it was no easy task taking in his length. She was still surprised that he had finally allowed her to take his cock in such a manner. With the flavor of the brunette still in her mouth, Harrietta tasted the faint saltiness of him. The wiry hairs of his crotch tickled her nose as well, but she minded it less. With his hand fisted into her hair, he guided her mouth up and down his shaft. She unfurled her tongue so that its whole surface could envelope him. Up and down she went, trying to suppress the reflex to gag every time his cock forced itself deeper into her throat.
His grunting came faster. His hips thrust into her face as he pushed her down harder onto his shaft. Then his thighs began to quiver, and she felt hot liquid filling her mouth. She fought to swallow as much as she could, but some of it spilled past her lips and trickled down her chin.
“An adequate effort for your first time,” he praised as he wiped the drops from her chin with his thumb.
The distinctive saltiness of his seed remained in her mouth. She glanced around herself but half the patrons were engaged in their own lustful activities. She eyed a woman bounding up and down her master’s cock with envy. Her own body trembled with agitation. She had serviced the damn brunette and his lordship. Surely she would merit a reward? In her current state of need, she would have no trouble spending before the entire Cavern. The shyness she thought she would experience before all these witnesses could not dull her desire. Indeed, the thought of spending before so many onlookers thrilled her now.
Helping her to her feet, his lordship walked Harrietta over to a beam that stretched above her head. He tied her wrists to the beam and locked her ankles to the shackles on the floor. But the shackles were a few feet behind the beam, forcing her to bend at the waist with legs akimbo. When he came to stand in front of her, she noticed that he had switched his crop for the nine-tails. She stared at his crotch. Regretfully, he had buttoned his breeches. The taste of him lingered in her mouth, and she hoped to have another opportunity at that cock of his.
What a shameless wanton she had become to crave two different cocks! She wondered if Vale would ever consider a visit to Madame Botreaux’s. Even as she desired the cock of his lordship, she missed her husband. How thrilling it would be to face her husband in the manner she faced his lordship. To have Vale wielding the lash or the crop. But as she had no notion of whether or not Vale would be receptive to the practices of the Cavern, should she not cast aside her feelings of guilt and enjoy her final night here?
Braving a glance at his lordship, she saw him smile. A knowing smile—as if he read and understood her thoughts. She shivered.
Running the ribbons through his hand, he backhanded the lash against a breast.
“Ahhh!” Harrietta gasped.
His aim was amazing for he had landed all the ribbons on one breast. He did the same to her other orb.
Her cunnie clenched at the pleasurable pain. She kept her eyes to the ground to please him, both dreading and hoping that he would reward her if she should perform to his satisfaction. Another lash at her breasts had her writhing in her bonds. The spectators—some fondling themselves or fondling others—blurred before her.
“Would you consider sharing her quim?” a man from the crowd asked.
“No,” his lordship replied to Harrietta’s relief.
Aside from Vale and his lordship, she wanted no other man. His lordship delivered a few more blows to her quivering breasts. God, how she wished he would suck on her smarting nipples. Her wetness was sliding down her inner thigh for all to see. She strained for release. The lashing was not nearly as torturous as the pressure building inside of her, hot and agonizing, a kettle roiling with steam.
“Please, my lord...permission to speak?” she moaned in between lashes to her reddened orbs.
“Granted,” he said.
“Please fuck me, my lord.”
*****
VALE THOUGHT HE HAD never heard such delicious words. He might have been jealous of himself once again, but knowing that, as her husband, he had her heart was enough. He would possess her body and soul soon enough.
She had performed well. Both his heart and his cock had swelled in pride. There would be time to refine her skill in taking his cock into her mouth, and he relished the prospect of teaching her. His cock perked once more at the sight of her naked and bound, arousing the men and women around them. The image of her between the legs of the other submissive would surely stay with him for some time. He wondered if he could ever have enough of Harrietta.
“Fuck me, my lord.”
This was no longer a plea but a demand. And he was happy to oblige.
Stepping behind her, he unleashed his cock. They had made love earlier, sweet and affectionate, tender and adoring. As husband and wife. Now he would take her. Ravish her. Forceful and unforgiving. As master and submissive.
He reached around her and teased the swollen nub of flesh beneath her mons. She moaned in delight and rubbed herself into his palm. Sliding his hand further, he was amazed at the gush of wetness he met. Without a doubt, his Hetty was ripe for the picking. He smoothed her fluids over his anxious cock, then rammed himself into her.
She cried out in surprise. Though her wetness allowed his cock to glide into her cunnie with ease, she still felt delectably tight. Her rump curved nicely into his groin and he recalled how they had glowed red for him before. He savored how her hot damp flesh encased his equally hot member, how she flexed and pulsated about him. He could have shot his load then and there. But a practiced master would never allow himself such a luxury without seeing to the needs of his charge first.
Languidly, he withdrew from her, then shoved himself back in. She would have flown free of her bonds had they not been tightly secured. He proceeded to pound her flesh, thrusting his hips in rapid succession. The beam behind her creaked with the force of his motions. Her cries rose high and loud above the din of carnal activity among the other patrons. Her hair came undone. Grabbing her hips, he pushed himself deeper, his cock diving into her womb.
The muscles in his arse clenched tightly as he plunged relentlessly into her until an almost agonizing cry escaped her and her body shuddered violently against him. Her long awaited and well deserved orgasm had come. The boiling heat in his own body surged from deep in his abdomen and rushed up his cock, filling her with his seed. He let loose his own roar but continued to thrust into her, wanting to prolong her spending, wanting her to enjoy her release and feel fulfilled. His head spun and his legs trembled with the force of his own climax. It was as if a star had exploded inside of him.
As her tremors subsided, he finally staggered back and took in a deep breath. Many of the other patrons had spent or were on their way to spending as well—a chorus of desires being met. After pulling up his breeches, he released Harrietta from her bonds, and she collapsed into his arms. He held her tight. If he could have nothing else in the world but this, he would be satisfied. Fate had indeed been kind to him. He had married Harrietta to assuage his guilt—a self-serving motivation. And had found that which had been missing from his life.
But perhaps Fate had also been aware that he had loved Harrietta all this time. Had known from the day he met her, though she was but a babe, that she would be special to him. Only his title, his own prejudices and lack of purpose had obscured the truth.
Closing his eyes, Vale thanked Harold. He owed her brother twice. Once for saving his life. And now for providing him a new one. He wished he could tell Harold how much the young Delaney had blessed his life.
Vale picked Harrietta up in his arms and carried her back to their private alcove. Sitting down, he placed her on his lap and unhooked the collar from her, wondering if she would ever wear such a thing for him again. Madam Botreaux’s would hold no interest for him now without her.
She placed a hand against his chest. “I should go.”
He watched her as she rose to her feet and went to collect her clothing.
“Can your husband compare with that?” he asked, smugly folding his arms.
“He has no need to,” she replied.
“Then you intend to return to him?”
“Most certainly. I will cherish my time here at Madame Botreaux’s and the guidance you have been so kind to share with me, my lord. But it is my husband I long to be with. I desire him more than ever.”
Gathering her items, she turned to leave.
He paused, his heart beaming. “Tell your husband that he is a fortunate man, Harrietta. I admit I shall miss the pleasure of seeing you again. Are you certain you will not visit us at Madame Botreaux’s?”
“Not unless my husband...” She whirled around, the blood draining from her. “How do you know my name?”
His lips curled, but he ignored her question, saying instead. “Would you take with you a token of your time here?”
Retrieving his riding crop, he held it out to her. Harrietta stared at the object. He could see her mind reeling. Her gaze drifted from the crop to his hand, a thin strip of bandage wrapped about it. Her eyes widened.
Gasping, she looked at him, her stare penetrating the dim alcove, seeking the contours of his face. He had noticed that she had never tried to glimpse too much of him, perhaps for fear he would see too much of her. But recognition dawned in her eyes as they stared at his mouth, then trailed to his crotch. “It can’t be!” she thought aloud with growing horror. Realizing there was only one way to be sure, she pulled her mask off and threw it aside.
He bowed his head. Reaching up, he untied his mask to reveal the face of her husband.
“All this time?” she cried. “It was you all this time?”
He spoke without the hoarseness he used to disguise his voice. “Forgive me, ma petite.”
As if needing a place to sit, she looked around her, but all she saw was the bench where she had first spent for him.
“Good God,” she moaned. “What must you have thought...? Oh! How could you...? Why did you...?”
“I grant you permission to be angry with me,” he said.
“I don’t need your permission!” she fired back. “I think I might think you an abominable wretch! I do think you an abominable wretch!”
He smiled and presented the riding crop once more. “Then you may have a privilege that no one has ever had here in the Cavern: permission to punish me.”
She stared at the crop and hesitated. He could tell she wanted to be furious with him, but could not stay cross with him. He gave her a tantalizing smile. She took the crop.
“You will pay dearly for this,” she told him.
He took her in his arms and gazed down at her with a warmth that made her heart leap into her eyes. “I hope for the rest of my life.”
His mouth claimed hers. Commanding. Dominating. There would be no question, privilege or no, who the true master was. She sighed into the kiss. He felt a thrill beyond words as he held her. She was his now. All his. His wife. His marchioness to master.
