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HER BODY GLEAMED WITH the salve, which would offer her skin an amount of protection from the welts produced by the whip. Montague felt a stab of jealousy, having liked to apply the salve himself to the Baroness, but it had been scintillating in a different form watching Jonathan. His valet handed him the whip with its nine leather belts. He took the instrument and slapped it into the palm of his other hand.
“What do you like best about the tails, Baroness?” he inquired.
“Its breadth, Sir. The strike covers a larger area.”
“Do you favor it over the crop?”
“I do, Sir.”
“Do you revere it?”
“Aye, Sir.”
He stepped up to her.
“Kiss it for me.”
He held the whip to her lips. She pressed her mouth to it, then looked expectantly at him. He detected a touch of fear still in her eyes and decided upon a different approach before applying the nine-tails.
“Close your eyes,” he directed softly.
Her eyes fluttered but she did as he bid.
“Recall the most exquisite touch upon your body. How it felt upon your body. Was it the tails kissing your skin?”
“No, Sir.”
“The crop?”
“A man’s hand, Sir.”
“Where did he touch?”
“My cunnie, Sir.”
He pushed away the rising jealousy he felt and continued. “Did he bring you to climax?”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Imagine what else you would have him do to your body.”
He observed the flare of her nostrils.
“What acts of lust would you engage with him? Would you venture into the wicked and depraved?”
She purred. He slipped the tails between her thighs and brushed it against her clitoris.
“Do you enjoy spending, Baroness?”
“Who does not?”
He moved the whip back and forth against her.
“Would you wish to spend over and over?”
“Indeed, Sir.”
“You will spend – often – here if I am pleased with your performance. Your deepest, darkest desires will find their fulfillment here.”
He removed the whip and saw with satisfaction that it glistened with her wetness. Now she was ready.
“First you must earn the right to spend,” he informed her.
He stepped back and landed the lash across her side. She grunted. He laid it across her thigh. The straps glided over her slick skin.
“Thank you, Sir.”
He rewarded her with a blow to her breasts. She cried out as one of the belts struck her across the nipple. He put the whip to her other breast. She strained against her bindings. Over and over he showered her body with the tails. A person witnessing the spectacle and hearing her cries might conclude it was pure torture. But when he cupped her quim, he found her even more wet. He circled his thumb over her clitoris. She shivered.
“Do you believe you deserve to spend?” he inquired.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then beg for it.”
“Please, Sir, allow me to spend.”
“I said beg, not state.”
She groaned. “I beg of you, Sir, allow me to spend. I would be most grateful.”
He flicked at her clitoris with his forefinger.
“What would you do to earn such an opportunity?”
“Anything you wish, Sir.”
He agitated the nub of flesh with quicker ministrations. Her eyes rolled towards the back of her hand and she moaned.
“Anything?”
“What do you please, Sir?”
He removed his hand, and it was as if the air was taken from her. She looked at him in astonishment.
“It would not be proper for the submissive to come before her masters, would it?”
Realizing the truth of what he said, she hung her head briefly. “It would not, Sir.”
“I think my valet must need relief.”
She sucked in her breath and glanced at Jonathan.
“I shall release your bonds, and you will apply yourself to him.”
He untied her wrists and ankles, then pushed her down to her knees. God help him. He had never invited Jonathan into his liaisons before, but this was no ordinary situation.
“Take him into your mouth,” he instructed.
Jonathan eagerly unbuttoned his breeches. His cock sprang out without ceremony. Lady Debarlow regarded his length. She did not appear repulsed by it. Without word, she took his length between her supple lips.
Montague nearly let out an oath. Oddly the feelings of jealousy fueled his arousal. The blood rushed to his groin. He looked to his valet. The man had better be loyal unto death after this.
The Baroness moved her mouth up and down Jonathan’s shaft with a comfort that indicated she was no neophyte when it came to fellatio. Jonathan grabbed the back of her head and pushed her further onto his cock. She gagged a little but relaxed and was able to accommodate his length. Fisting his hand in her hair, Jonathan bucked his hips at her face. With each thrust, Montague felt his own cock tightening.
“Pleasure yourself,” he ordered her, “but do not spend till you have been granted permission to do so.”
She reached a hand between her legs and fondled herself. Montague stroked the swell at his crotch. What a magnificent woman. To take the cock of a man while tending to herself.
Jonathan grunted, then became red in the face. Body twitching, he let out a howl as he bucked his climax into her mouth. Montague watched her swallow the seed of his valet. Jonathan stumbled backwards, his cock pulling out of her mouth. Drops of his seed fell from the corner of her lips. She coughed a little but recovered quickly.
“Surely that merits a reward, Sir?” she asserted. “I would wager a common strumpet could not have done much better.”
“It were an impressive performance,” Montague conceded.
“I wish to spend then, Sir.”
“Not quite yet.”
Her brows rose. “Was that not pleasurable, Sir? How many can claim to witness a woman of title performing fellatio upon a servant.”
“There is more, Baroness.”
Her eyes flashed. “I have never before degraded myself in such a manner.”
“Never? That would be disappointing given your reputation.”
She pressed her lips together tightly. He had spoken too hastily.
“What know you of my reputation, Sir?”
“I know your family to be of bourgeois origins, but do not misunderstand me. I render no judgment. That you landed yourself a Baron is quite commendable.”
“You think I made myself a whore to gain his hand in matrimony.”
“A man such as the Baron Debarlow has access to whores enough without having to marry one, but given your station, I doubt the marriage to have been an agreement to solidify fiduciary interests. And I am not such a romantic to believe that the two of you had fallen in love.”
“Because you do not believe in love, Sir?”
“I believe it exists, but it is a rare species, especially in matrimony. Do you profess that you loved the Baron or he you?”
“I am less a romantic than you,” she returned, surprised at their topic of discussion and that she had an interest in speaking with him about it. “What I had with the Baron might approximate love, but Love between a man and a woman, in its truest form, is but a flight of fancy. It does not exist.”
“You have never been in love? Even as a young woman?”
“I have lusted after men. Baron Debarlow was a friend and a lover. But no, I have never felt that which might be dubbed Love.”
Her response, as well as her dispassionate tone, stunned and impressed him. Most of the women he knew harbored some sentimentality when it came to Love. They may have disdained Love, quite often because they had had their hearts broken at Her hand, but none had denied its very existence. He believed her when she said that Debarlow was a friend. The Debarlow maidservants had told Jonathan that they observed affection between the two. Perhaps the Baron had been in love with her.
“You are an extraordinary woman, Lady Debarlow,” he thought aloud.
Her expression softened at his surprising statement.
“But I will not grant you permission to spend – yet.”
Recalling her earlier anger, she blurted, “Why? Sir.”
“It will prove more powerful after a period of forestalling. I know you to be quite aware of this as you have employed the art of deprivation on others.”
“Have you been sent to avenge my actions? Sir.”
“I recommend a less combative posture, Baroness, if you are to enjoy your time here. But if you will persist in being at loggerheads with me, I fear you will not avail yourself of the bounty of pleasure that awaits you.”
She lowered her lashes and considered the merit of his statement.
“I will do as you say, Sir,” she said when she looked up.
“Much better.”
He looked over at Jonathan, who had recovered and stood at attention for the next command. He walked over to a large wooden board fixed at an incline.
“Mount her upon it,” he instructed Jonathan.
The Baroness had her wrists tied above head and secured to the iron ring attached to the plank. Her legs were bent at the knee and tied apart, exposing her quim. Montague walked up to her. Her cunnie was at the perfect height for his cock. He rubbed his thumb along the length of her clitoris. She moaned her pleasure. He took some of the salve into his hand and rubbed it upon her, then quickened his motions. She squealed in delight. He sank a finger into the warm, wet folds of her womanhood. The sound of her grunting and groaning renewed his ardor. It took all of him not to tear off his breeches and fuck her then and there.
Jonathan approached him with a bowl of clothespins. She saw them and took an audible breath, knowing what was to come. But Penelope had told him that a woman could tolerate an exceptional level of pain, perhaps more so then men. Montague did not doubt the possibility as women had to be made strong enough for the pains of labor. And the Baroness was no weakling.
He pinched the side of her breast and affixed a pin.
“Thank you, Sir,” she grunted.
He clipped more below the breast and had three in a row along her rib. He laced all the pins together with rope, then did the same on her other side. She took in her breaths carefully, her eyes moist with possible tears. Penelope had fastened such pins to him to provide him an appreciation of how it felt. He remembered how forcefully the pins had dug into his flesh. Stepping back, he examined his work. If he were a painter, he might seek to capture the vision of the Baroness bound and splayed before him, her sides decorated with the pins.
After giving the ends of the ropes to Jonathan, he returned to stroking the nub of flesh protruding impishly from her folds. He teased it until he had her panting and writhing.
“Please, Sir, may I spend?” she whispered.
“Before your master has spent himself?”
“How may I please you then, Sir?”
He glanced down at her cunnie and the rosy hole of her anus. The latter he would save for latter. He unbuttoned his breeches and freed his cock. The shaft sprang eagerly from its confines. His whole body was fit to burst if he did not attend to his erection.
She stared at the long thickness pointed at her. Licking her lips, she said, “Would you fuck me with your cock, Sir?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. His ears had never been graced with sweeter words. Positioning his cock near her quim, he rubbed it first along her folds to coat it with the salve. He slapped at her clitoris with his cock. She wiggled in her bindings and moaned. He rubbed himself more vigorously against her.
“Yes, yes,” she encouraged.
Although her thighs were spread wide, it seemed she attempted to open her legs more to improve the area of exposure. When he sensed her agitated frenzy approaching a peak, he stepped away. He had not given her permission to spend.
“Please,” she gasped. “Please fuck me, Sir.”
Montague attempted to calm the rapid beating of his heart. How glorious that she enjoyed her own body and had no reservations asking – nay, demanding – her desires. Her boldness heated an already scalding desire pounding within him.
As if their roles were reversed and she had become the mistress, she stared him in the eyes and said, “Sink your cock into my cunnie, Sir. I wish to feel you hard and thick inside me.”
How warm and airless these quarters felt! He could not restrain himself after hearing such words or he would die of suffocation. He pushed his cock into her cunnie. She cried out in gratification. Encased by her hot, wet womanhood, he could have shot his load within seconds. He remained motionless, taking in several breaths, as he forced back the wave of his climax. She wickedly flexed her muscles about his cock and squirmed. He gasped and dug his grip into the wooden board. He intended she should climax before him, and spending quickly would cede the balance of power to her. Gritting his teeth, he envisioned the Earl of Frotham and the loss of Chelton. Twenty thousand pounds was at stake, he reminded himself. As well as his manhood.
When he had regained control, he slowly slid his cock back. Holding onto the wooden board behind her, his chest a hair’s length from her breasts, he returned her stare. Time for a little set down. He pushed his cock into her.
“Ohhh...” she moaned.
He slid out until only the head remained inside of her, then slammed into her, burying himself deep inside her cunnie. She cried out in surprise. He thrust more deliberately, ensuring that he rubbed along her clitoris with every motion. She groaned her delight. Constrained by the bindings, she had little mobility in her hips, but there was little she could do under the force of his movements and was content to receive his assaults. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the chamber, interspersed with her cries.
He grunted a reminder in her ear. “Not yet, Baroness.”
She gave a despairing moan. Remembering how cool she had been to him at the park, he inserted his hand between them and fondled her clitoris. She gasped and thrashed against her bonds. He fell into a rhythm that had her straining and grinding her teeth. She dug her fingers into her palms in her attempt to stave off her climax.
“Please, Sir,” she gasped hoarsely.
“No,” he replied sternly.
Perspiration dotted her forehead. She made all manner of sounds and writhed with such intensity that the ropes about her wrists were sure to chafe her skin. He could not wager as to who would be more successful in holding back their climax. Her cunnie felt far too wonderful. The sweat trickled down from his temple as he held back his release. Now she struggled to get away from him as he continued to buck himself between her legs. Her grunts became increasingly guttural, and he sensed her peak nearing. He shortened his strokes and pounded into her at a rapid pace to push her over the edge.
A slow wail tore from her throat. Her body convulsed. Jonathan yanked the pins off her body. Her scream pierced the air. He felt her spasming about his cock. Pulling out of her, he allowed himself his long desired release, spilling his seed upon her leg. He shuddered and turned around so that he could throw back his mask to drink in much needed air. He unclenched the muscles that he had been tensing. Replacing his mask, he turned back to look at her. Her chest heaved heavily from the exertion. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested upon her arm.
He was glad that she had spent. He wanted fulfillment for her. But now he would have to punish her.