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~ Serenity Everton ~
Copyright 2012 by Serenity Everton (firstname.lastname@example.org).
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, etc) without the prior permission of the author, above.
“Take your clothes off,” Harry had said stubbornly. He’d been exhausted by the time they’d gotten around to napping, but had refused to lie down in the bed unless she was with him. “All of them.”
So she’d stripped and curled up beside him and they’d slept. When bedtime had arrived, he’d said it again, just as insistently. He’d positioned her head on his upper arm, gripped the back of her hair in his hand and had proceeded to explore her body with his other hand until she’d been arched and tried desperately to push his hand against the throbbing pearl of flesh at the head of her vulva.
“No,” he’d said huskily, capturing her wrist. He tucked it beneath his thigh, then very deliberately and with his eyes on hers, had lifted her other wrist to rest on the back of her head, where his hand could hold it in place.
“Harry,” Shannon had pled, but he’d only whispered the hated word again, this time with his lips directly against hers.
And then he’d gone back to touching, holding her firmly in place while he explored her bare skin with his fingertips, never more firmly than a soft grazing of skin to skin.
She’d sobbed against his cheek forever later, not daring to struggle for fear she’d hurt him and unable to hold in the burgeoning desperation. ”Please. Harry, please.”
And then he’d said the words that she couldn’t forget, that had made her burn and shudder at the simple memory of them. “You’re mine, Shannon. All of you, especially your sexuality, your orgasms. You’ll come when I want you to, and not before.”
At the time he’d said it, her gut had clenched and she’d felt the roaring in her ears as her spine tingled. Amazingly, even though the orgasm had threatened to overwhelm her, she’d fought it off in an absurd attempt to obey him.
“Good girl,” he’d praised her when she’d finally stilled. “My girl.”
“You need to know you belong to me. It starts right here. You’ll come when I say, Shannon, and not before. Do you understand me?”
She’d groaned but he’d held her firmly in place, her naked form at his side. It felt deliciously decadent to be naked next to his t-shirt and boxers, to have her hand trapped beneath him, to have her wrist held against the back of her head as though she were a wanton, to have his fingers tugging at her hair as he tilted her face up so that he could see her eyes.
Shannon had whimpered but he hadn’t broken. He’d kept her trapped, even her eyes caught by his. He’d kept her there until she had been the one who’d submitted. She’d whimpered again and finally whispered, “Yes, Harry.”
At the time it had felt like defeat, but his pleased smile and repeated praises and kisses had made it seem more like a victory. “That’s my girl, my good girl,” he’d rasped, his free hand moving to cup her swollen breast and tight nipple in his palm.
He’d done the same thing the next night – last night – tormenting her with seemingly infinite patience, his jaw clenched as he’d listened to her increasingly desperate whispers pleading for relief. And then he’d cupped her breast firmly in his hand and asked quietly, “Why are you letting me do this, sweetheart? I know you haven’t snuck off with your vibrator, and I know you could have come already, without waiting for me to say that you could. So why are you, for want of a better description, suddenly so obedient?”
Shannon had caught her breath, her body still tingling and aching. She’d felt him release her breast and trail his fingers down her abdomen and brush the wet juices decorating the long muscle there. She’d swallowed hard, and felt the tears well up in her throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him.
“Try for me, sweetheart. Say it out loud.” He’d trailed his fingers through the moisture and waited.
And again, she’d whimpered in defeat and closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she finally cried.
“Then I’m not ready for you to come, yet.”
She’d cried on his shoulder, but he hadn’t let her go and he hadn’t tried to hush her. He’d whispered lovely words against her hair and held her until she slept. She knew he’d said pretty and silly thing. There had been most beautiful creature and my dearest.
But now, in the cold, very early light of day, when she wasn’t on the verge of an explosion, Shannon thought she knew the answer. “Do you still want to know why?” she asked him, trailing her fingers over his mouth as she rolled on her side to face him.
Unlike her, he wore a plaid pajama set. He’d gotten out of bed earlier and made her coffee, bringing mugs for both of them to the bed. She still thought it odd to sleep in nothing but her skin, but was ready to admit there were compensations. Wherever their bodies brushed against one another – wherever his hand roamed – he inevitably found skin. Not an old t-shirt, soft as it was, or flannel shorts, or the silk of a negligee, but her skin.
“Mmm. Yes,” he said, capturing her finger and biting the tip gently. She tugged but his teeth persisted.
“Because you didn’t ask me not to come. You expected I wouldn’t, as if I was, in fact, yours.”
“You are,” Harry said simply.
“And because you said I was your good girl. I wanted to be.”
“You are,” Harry repeated, still calm. “You are my good girl.”
Shannon shivered, and so Harry bent forward and tasted her mouth, licking the coffee flavor from her teeth and teasing the top of her mouth with his tongue. “Good morning,” he murmured.
“Good morning,” she answered, and wound her fingers in his hair as she returned the kiss.
End of Sample
~ Serenity Everton ~
“Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together.” Sylvia Plath
Copyright 2012 by Serenity Everton (email@example.com).
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, transmitted by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, etc) without the prior permission of the author, above.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This text was previously self-published, with free excerpts still available online at Out of My Mind (http://fiction.kinkyfirehouse.com). The full text is available in e-format only through the Amazon Kindle program.
ABOUT BROKEN TOGETHER
Thank you so much for your interest in this story. The novella is approximately 30,000 words in length, and follows a couple (Harry & Shannon) whose relationship has mysteriously fallen apart in so many little moments in the months since their sons have gone away to college. It is primarily a love story, but there are moments of erotic intensity, lovemaking, and a bit of kink. The characters have an active sex life, and one of them might be a tad stubborn. Expect romance, anger, passion, pain, and life events that force them to reassess all they know and expect.
This novella was furiously and frantically written after a moment I wondered if I would ever write anything longer than a blog entry again.
The premise is painful and the characters fictional, but it is still possible to think that these souls might be my neighbors, my friends, or even members of my family.
Harry: may you live long and love fiercely.
Shannon: may you fly strong, inside the birdcage or beyond its wiry confines.
Sometimes, my husband lets me stay up late at night even though he’d prefer I did not.
Chris: Thank you, always. I love you.
So many wonderful people followed this story from its very beginning to a point well past its conclusion. I never would have imagined or told this story in full or without their enthusiastic, gracious encouragement and kind words.
Friends: I am honored by your presence, your voices and your liveliness.
THE END AND THE BEGINNING
Shannon was still in the bed. She didn’t know what she had done wrong, again, and she was through asking. She’d thrown herself at his feet too many times, only to have him dismiss her.
It might have been simple exhaustion or some physical malady, but if he wouldn’t talk to her, how could she know? It’d happened too many times in recent months for her to think nothing of it; they’d laughed and loved and enjoyed each other’s comfort during the day, but when it came time for that closeness to pass through the bedroom door, he turned off the light, rolled over and developed a relationship with his pillow.
There had been a time, even nine months earlier, when the opportunity of a quiet hour at home together would have ended in hot, wild sex. Now that the boys were away, the intimacy that had sustained them for years had fallen away.
The truth, Shannon thought miserably, was that she wasn’t attractive to him anymore. She was too old, her figure not firm enough. His desire for her, so strong for twenty years, had finally waned. Perhaps the constant barrage of pretty young things he was exposed to at work and elsewhere had finally taken its toll. She knew he saw them, had even watched his eyes follow a pretty black-haired girl’s ass in the restaurant last night. She’d never look like that, never again, no matter if she did lose that twenty-five pounds or worked out seven days a week.
Sometime in the middle of the night, she’d awoken. On her side, facing away from him, she’d tried to identify what seemed out of place. He’d been facing away from her, too – that wasn’t unusual. But the noise? It had taken her two minutes to work out what it was. The man who’d spent two decades delighting in her was masturbating in the dark, in secret, clearly without wishing her to participate. How many nights now had he told her goodnight and then waited patiently until her breathing slowed and her body relaxed into limpness, only to humiliate her like that?
Shannon hadn’t slept after that. He’d gotten out of bed and cleaned himself up, then sighed as he climbed back into the blankets and settled down, not touching her. Definitely not touching her. She’d not slept, of course, but laid in the dark blackness as the foundation of her entire world crumbled like sand within her clenched fists.
She wouldn’t – she couldn’t – try anymore. Her final attempt to reach him through romance and intimacy were over. Killing her own expectations and hopes would break her heart, but if she didn’t? Well, her heart was being crushed under the weight of her disappointment and his rejection anyway.
Silent, so as not to disturb him, she slipped from the bed and shrugged on her robe. Maybe she hadn’t done everything she could have over the last few years to keep in shape. Maybe age was exacerbating ––
Shannon stopped herself, the misery welling and the tears forming behind her eyelids. He mustn’t see her cry. Not now. Not over this. Not ever again.
The door to the bedroom closed silently behind her, leaving him to himself, snoring.
Shannon locked herself in the downstairs bathroom and cried, large tears dripping down her cheeks until they ran down and wet the old t-shirt of his that she’d worn to bed. How could she go on sharing that bed with him, night after night? She raged inside, the anger palpable in the bright, cold light of the impersonal cell.
Of course, she wouldn’t leave him, not unless he asked her to. Such a thing was impossible, for her. But from now on, she’d be different. There would be no pathetic attempts at luring him into intimacy. She’d wear start wearing pajama shorts to bed again; clearly there was no reason for her body to welcome him without barrier. She’d stop suggesting they spend time together.
He’d never see her cry over him again.
If she was wrong, he’d eventually notice.
What was she to do, anyway?
Shannon stayed on the sofa in the sunroom, staring blindly out into the backyard. She’d gotten up early and made her way there. He’d once again come to bed hours later than her. She’d woken to him in the shower – unusual for that time of night – and it had taken him an exceptionally long time.
She suspected what he’d been doing, but instead of confronting him and creating a scene at midnight, she’d rolled over and pretended to be soundly asleep when he finally slid into the bed beside her.
He couldn’t have taken even a second to look at her, and he was sleeping as far from her as possible. The covers had dipped between them, as if sealing the separation.
Shannon burned with resentment, but it was a state of affairs that seemed to define her nights now, so she had closed her eyes and tried to ignore it.
Of course she hadn’t slept well after that. She rarely did these days. After curling up on the sofa with the thick afghan they’d brought back from a magical cruise in Scandinavia, Shannon had slept an hour. It was a weekend morning, so the house remained quiet and still. The coffee pot didn’t automatically click on, there was no alarm upstairs. He wasn’t showering. Outside, dark clouds lowered, threatening, and soon the rain would beat down on glass around her.
Shannon thought she might be happy for the noise. The silence screamed at her, encouraged her to cry again, reminded her of loss and emptiness. Had it always been this way – had they always been half-empty – and the presence of their two teenage boys just a mask?
She swallowed and pondered, but couldn’t believe it. He’d attended to her too solicitously, loved her too thoroughly, seen to her pleasure and her fulfillment regularly, even denying himself at times to bring her to a state of wanton desperation.
Lately, though only in the last months and not in response to her new policy of not offering anything she didn’t want rejected, it seemed as though he’d been more tired in the evenings. He’d brought work home three weeknights – not so unusual now that she’d thought about it – but lately he’d been shutting himself in the study with it instead of spreading it over the coffee table and taking his laptop to the recliner, where she could join him. The tears welled up and she pushed them back.
A defeated sigh left her lips. It was Saturday, and she’d not asked him what he wanted, but she planned to explore the farmer’s market by the wharf and then maybe dip her feet in the ocean if it was raining. She loved the beach in the rain and there was no reason to deny herself, just because he wasn’t at her side.
Shannon folded the afghan and left it on the end of the couch. No doubt she’d need it again. The sunroom wasn’t heated, though it warmed over the course of the day, even in the winter. But it was her retreat – her place. He and the twins had always treated it as her space, and she’d grown used to the idea.
She stepped into the kitchen, then, and her eyes flew open wide. He was there, leaning against the counter.
“Harry?” she whispered, and watched his fingers grip the granite convulsively. “Harry!”
His lips were dry, but he opened them and smacked them shut again. “D-doctor,” he whispered. “L-l-love you.”
And then he closed his eyes and she screamed as he slid to the floor.
Harry blinked, then closed his eyes against the dim light. There was a strange man’s voice – a younger man’s voice – but Shannon’s hand clutched his almost compulsively.
He could hardly breathe, and tried to suck in air, struggled, only to suddenly realize his throat was open ––
Harry lunged up, intending to pull the uncomfortable, choking thing from his mouth, but he did no more than fight against fabric straps.
Panic welled, the man’s soothing cadence broke off, and Harry heard – actually heard – Shannon speak to him, beg him, the words thick with tears. “Please,” she said, “Please lie still, Harry. Please.”
It had been too long since he’d heard that warm, pleading voice. He acquiesced immediately, as much to comfort her overt anxiety as anything else, and then realized how disconnected he felt. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t control his breathing.
Harry focused on her low, intimate cadence, and felt the warmth of her breath against his ear. How he’d ached to hear that husky whisper again. Harry had gotten out of bed and gone in search of her, at a loss to explain her behavior in recent weeks. He’d been half-angry, frustrated and hurt over her sudden penchant to leave their bed at first light and the distant way she’d treated him and them, and he’d had enough.
He had to know.
Shannon hadn’t been in the living room. He’d walked through it and into the kitchen, and rather than find her there, it had been dark and cold. Shannon always made coffee first. He’d leaned against the counter, ready to howl with defeat and call out loud to her when the odd exhaustion he’d felt for weeks now washed over him again and he stumbled backward, struggling to stay on his feet.
She’d been there, then, the light glow of her skin shining through the dimness. Shannon said his name and he thought he’d said goodbye, or was that hello?
Either way, she’d screamed but he was fading before the pain in his shoulder and couldn’t respond.
It was a damned hospital bed.
He gripped her hand harder and concentrated on making his fingers squeeze hers.
She gasped and clasped her second hand around their intertwined fingers. “Lie still, please,” she repeated more clearly. “There are tubes and monitors everywhere and you’re drugged. It’s going to be hard for awhile, but you’ll be fine, Harry.”
Harry tried to nod but it was more like a shrug.
“Dad is driving in with the twins; they’ll be here tonight. You know they’ll be a ruckus if you’re not walking around and able to put them in their place by then.”
Her voice was trembling, and his brain hurt from trying to follow her but she rushed on, seemingly determined to reach him.
“Your parents have been in the waiting room all day, Harry. I think your mom’s going to end up in the next bed if they have to wait much longer for good news.”
In desperation, he squeezed her fingers, hard this time, and then let go. Her fingers slid from his and she made to take his hand again but he was lifting it, ever so slowly, watching to make sure it acted as he thought his brain was telling it. Shaking, he laid it on her cheek and squeezed gently, then concentrated on setting his palm against her heart. She was still wearing the ridiculous old law school t-shirt of his that she slept in. Her face was pale, and the dark smudges under her eyes meant she hadn’t slept.
But she was silent, until one of her hands came back and covered his.
“I love you too,” she whispered and Harry’s eyes closed in relief.
End of Sample
Copyright 2009 by firstname.lastname@example.org. All rights reserved. No republishing (except for short excerpts) permitted without prior permission of the author.
The first three parts to this story can be found here:
“She did quite well, then?” Al asked, surprised by Liesel’s report.
“After that first bit,” Liesel confirmed.
Al smiled. “Very good.” He spoke quietly, for Georgianna – soon to be renamed, he had decided – was deeply asleep. “I don’t think I’ll need you again until tomorrow, then. She’ll need a bath, first off.”
Liesel nodded crisply and excused herself.
Al locked the door behind her. He had a feeling that Georgianna was more affected by the afternoon’s ordeal than Liesel suspected: the waterman and Mrs. Quincy both must have been a shock to her system.
He wanted her to sleep as long as she needed, but he couldn’t resist the urge to draw back the sheet. Her shoulders had to be feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable by now, he thought, and her bottom was splotchy with welts, with the bruising just beginning to rise.
He couldn’t – and didn’t wish – to do anything about those marks, but neither did he want to damage her joints. Working silently he untied the ribbon that held her wrists together, and eased her arms down to rest against her sides.
She didn’t move.
Smiling, he drew the sheet back up to her waist and retreated to the fireplace. The evening would bring a chill, and Al didn’t want even a hint of coldness in the room. The servants had laid the fire and cleaned up from Georgianna’s lunch before he had returned; after John delivered some essentials Al requested, he lit the wood and built it to a cheery blaze before removing his boots and jacket.
Clad in trousers and shirt, he settled beside her on the bed. She had rolled onto her back and was wiggling against the sheet, but in a dream, he thought. Her hands had wandered – one to cup her breast in her sleep, which he found quite charming. The other wrapped around her waist, almost protectively.
He sat and watched her. And planned.
It didn’t take all that long before she rolled onto her side, facing him, and groaned. He reached out and combed his fingers through her silky hair, then brushed the pads of those digits over her jaw.
“Al,” she mumbled sleepily. He felt a rush of adrenaline at the simple admission. She knew him, recognized him, even only half-awake. “Yes, sweetling.” he whispered, not truly expecting an answer.
To his surprise, she murmured, “Will you stay awhile?”
“All night, little one,” he assured her, sliding down in the bed so that he could see her face. Her eyes were still closed but her lips were full and lush and welcoming; he attached his to them and gently woke her, sliding his tongue between her teeth once her hand came up to consciously clasp his face.
When he drew away, her eyes were blinking. She looked marvelously sleepy and aroused; his hand slipped down between her thighs and stroked curiously. Yes, she was liquid and hot and sweetly ready for his attentions.
“Welcome back, sir,” she whispered. He blinked in surprise, and looked closely at her eyes.
They weren’t confused or anxious or even frightened, as he might have thought. Instead, she seemed astonishingly calm and expectant. He slid a hand under her head and into her hair, clasping her scalp, and removing his wet fingers from her twat, cupped her breast firmly. The nipple budded between his index and middle fingers. “How are you, sweetling?” he asked quietly.
She considered. He could see a number of answers swirling through her mind, but she had little room to maneuver physically, and he was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to lie convincingly while staring him in the face.
“Lying isn’t a good idea,” he warned gently anyway.
She licked her lips. It was a touching gesture. “I ache,” she confessed. “My shoulders are very sore.” She paused. “And my thighs. And my, my, my backside.”
He leaned his forehead to hers. “Your derriere is very adorable in its current state, sweetling, and quite pert and smackable even when you sleep. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to accustom yourself to feeling an ache there because I fully expect and intend to keep it sore and tender.” He kissed her nose. “As for your shoulders, I knew they would hurt, but you will be punished when you disobey me, even if it’s impossible to do otherwise. But rest assured that, though your chastisements will be painful and thorough, I will nonetheless enjoy them thoroughly.” Al’s mouth met hers for a long, warm kiss and then he added, “As for your shoulders, I will train you to manage being bound all day without hurting, but it will take some time.”
Georgianna swallowed. Nervously, Al thought, newly pleased. “Tra-train?” she stuttered.
His lips caressed her brows. “Yes, sweetling, train. It will take me quite awhile – a year, or perhaps two – but training you to complete depravity is my present project. And once that’s finished,” he paused, “Well, after that I’ll think up a new way to amuse myself with you.”
Georgianna’s exhale was uneven.
“How does that make you feel?” he prompted.
She blushed. “Excited,” she confessed. “Do, do you think that…” she began, then bit her lip and blurted out, “I’m very nervous.”
“Good,” Al chuckled huskily, fondling the nipple in his fingers. “I want you nervous and wet and focused on your body from now on. This is your role now, understand?”
Swallowing heavily, Georgianna nodded. She whimpered when he rolled her to her back, but he followed and knelt astride her thighs regardless, opening her arms and spreading them straight out.
Al stared at her breasts. For a very long time. Until finally Georgianna blurted out, “Are-are they all right?”
He looked up and blinked. “You know, I’ve been thinking, my naughty little girl,” he murmured. “About your breasts. I’ve actually thought about them quite a bit. They are magnificent, you know.” From the surprise on her face, Al realized that Georgianna didn’t know. He smiled. “They are.”
He leaned down and tongued the nipple he had fondled, then gently sucked on it.
Georgianna moaned. Al released it and slid backward, leaning down again to lick her navel while he opened her legs and moved between them.
“Leave your hands out to the sides,” he said softly. “Clutch the sheets if you need to.”
“Yes, yes sir,” Georgianna gasped. He slid lower and moved his mouth against her inner thigh and upward, gently grazing her warm pussy with his mouth.
She moaned. His tongue ran along the fine edge of pink flesh that framed her nest of oozing juices, warm, pink tissues and tiny black curls. He frowned at the latter, adding a shave to a mental list of items to bring up to Liesel.
Shrugging, Al decided once or twice wouldn’t make an ultimate difference to him. He touched a tongue to the hood that covered her clitoris.
Georgianna gasped and arched, trying to press herself against his mouth. Al drew back and smiled. “No, not yet,” he murmured, appreciating her eager body. “Although I do love your wanton moans.” He looked up, noting that Georgianna’s eyes were glazed over, her fingers clutched compulsively and obediently in the sheets. He slid off the end of the bed, keeping a hand on Georgianna’s thigh.
On the floor at its foot he had left a tray of useful gadgets, one being a narrow Italian squash his gardeners had carefully cultivated in the hothouses, not necessarily for size, and one of the kitchen maids had thoroughly scrubbed with soap and water. Georgianna was generously juicy already, but he unscrewed a jar of honey and dipped the squash into that treat.
Georgianna had recovered enough to have lifted her head. She stared at him, and the vegetable, when he knelt again on the mattress and, with one hand, spread a cloth on the bed between her legs.
He was pleased to see that her eyes had widened.
“Clutch the sheets, Georgianna,” he ordered quietly. Her fingers dug into the fabric instantly. “Do you remember what I told you this morning? That you would lose your virginity today?”
She swallowed, hard. “Ye-yes.”
He pinched the inside of her thigh. She gasped.
“Yes, sir,” she sputtered, her eyes still looking at the vegetable instead of him.
It was by no means the longest or the widest squash he had grown. Italian squash grew narrow and long by nature, and this one was smaller than most of the specimens he had to choose from. Georgianna was new to the game, after all, and her passage had contracted tightly around only his finger. Still, he had every intention of sliding it inside of her. And she knew it.
He chuckled. “Close your eyes if it will help, sweetling.”
She did, and he lowered a hand to her pussy. He slid a long finger in first, and drove it in and out, stretching the membrane that guarded her innocence as far as he could.
And then, when she was gasping and stretching, he lowered the squash and fitted it to her entrance.
Georgianna moaned with sudden awareness, her eyes flying wide.
Al laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was such a fantastic contradiction of eagerness and nerves that he was simply enthralled.
“Nature,” he murmured appreciatively, “Provides us with everything we need to enjoy our bodies.” He slid the tip of the squash inside the opening, then slowly pushed it deeper, all the while speaking in that husky, soothing voice that dulled Georgianna’s senses. “Now, my pet, you see the honey will make it easier to slide this instrument in and out again and again, but nothing will actually ease the tearing of your hymen.” His hands worked as he spoke, pulling back the squash and then pushing a bit deeper with each small thrust. “There are other special delights from the great outdoors that we can use to soothe and torment you, as well as protect you.”
And with the word torment the thing was done. Al doubted Georgianna had heard the remainder of the sentence, because she gave a small, valiantly swallowed cry and stiffened abruptly. His hand stilled, leaving the squash almost fully inserted, though not nearly as deep as his cock would have been at that moment.
His free hand gripped that hard member through his trousers and rubbed, easing some of the instantly frantic desire he experienced while watching Georgianna struggle to conquer her pain and fear. Al could hardly resist the urge to push down his pants and climb on top of her. Thrusting his own body into that hot cavern seemed suddenly necessary, and why shouldn’t he?
She was there to indulge his dearest wishes, wasn’t she?
But, no. He reminded himself of the higher goal, the deeper satisfaction, and his fingers twisted the squash in a rolling motion, stimulating Georgianna’s relaxing vaginal walls. She groaned. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy watching her transform from suffering angel to wanton whore if he was busy fucking her heated, fleshy blossom.
Already she was responding again to the friction of the squash inside her. “From now on,” he murmured, beginning to thrust the vegetable in and out again, a little more intensely this time, “You are no longer a maiden, no longer virginal. Any chance of a noble marriage is gone. Miss Georgianna Cavendish is gone.” He watched her arch a little, the shifting of her bottom and back not to ease the pressure of the squash but to accommodate it further, to welcome it. “And really, you don’t want to be that upright, respectable, distant ice maiden anymore, do you?” he continued.
Georgianna moaned, shaking her head. Her hair shook back and forth with her head, and long strands of it spread over the pillows is wild disarray. She lifted her hips, her body begging for the culmination he’d denied it since that first wicked initiation.
“Tell me, then,” he insisted roughly, removing his hand from his cock to loosen his trousers. When his dick sprang free, he tugged on it impatiently, then released it to lean over Georgianna and pinch her earlobe.
“I-I-I want to be yours,” she breathed, arching anxiously.
“My what?” he pushed.
“Your-your mistress,” she moaned, finally thrusting her hips insistently against the squash.
“My slut, my whore, that’s what you are now,” he whispered against her mouth. “Say it, tell me.”
“I-I-I don’t want to be Georgianna Cavendish anymore,” she gasped, releasing one of her hands from the sheets to clasp his head. “I-I-I want to be, to be –“
“Say the words,” he repeated, adjusting his thumb so that it was over her clitoral hood, tempting her. And still the squash pushed harder, and her hips were open and welcoming it.
“Your slut,” she cried, desperate now. “Your houri, your harlot, your whore.”
“Good pussy,” he approved, pushing down his thumb and thrusting the squash hard against her arching cunny. “Good little cunny,” he smiled, watching the climax take her. He released her earlobe and comforted his own cock, still straining in his hand.
Moving quickly, he swung over her, kneeling across her stomach while she recovered. Eagerly he cupped her breasts in his hands, watching his cock disappear between them as he pushed the trembling bulbs together.
Georgianna’s fingers were suddenly there, clutching his thighs, but Al didn’t mind that eagerness at all. “I love hearing those dirty words come out of these fine rosy lips,” he grunted. “Say them again.”
Now in post-orgasmic bliss, Georgianna was clearly going to struggle with the command. Her cheeks turned red, and her tongue came out to dart along her lower lip.
“Now,” he growled, squeezing painfully with his hands until she gave a sob.
“Slut,” she gasped.
And then Al had her repeat an entire litany of words, thrusting his cock through that hollow between her orbs with each piece of humiliation that spilled out of her. Trollop. Strumpet. Wench. Hussy. Pet. Tart. Lightskirt. Houri. Harem girl. Whore.
Finally, he gripped painfully and she cried out in pain. But the agony only made him come more violently, and the jism shot out over her neck and under her chin.
Composing his face as quickly as possible, Al rose to his knees and moved forward a bit. “Use your mouth, clean me off,” he ordered softly, waiting only a moment until her wide eyes closed and she moved her lips to obey.
The warm rasping feel of her tongue made him feel somewhat generous, especially since her hands were still clasping his hips now, encouraging him. “Good girl,” he praised, his hands – still with traces of honey on them – tangling in her hair. By the morning she’d be a mess, but a lovelier one he hadn’t ever seen.
“How you remained an innocent this long is a mystery,” Al finally grunted. “But I’ll be damned if I ever let you go back to high society and pretend to be one of those frigid females that grace the ballrooms every night. You’re mine now, and that entails a certain amount of pain and degradation, but also plenty of pleasure.”
Georgianna didn’t answer, except to nuzzle her lips against his scrotum in an extremely charming gesture.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Al said softly, swinging off the bed and dropping his trousers to the floor. “Georgianna Cavendish no longer exists.” He retrieved the jar of honey from the end of the bed, while the blinking, soft lover in his bed lifted up on one elbow to watch him. Approaching her, he sat down on the edge and calmly dripped the honey down on her breasts, covering her nipples so that the nectar ran in rivulets over the curve of her stomach.
He set the jar aside and leaned over, his tongue lapping up the nectar near her navel and traveling higher. He used his teeth to nibble on the underside of her breast, all the while sucking and tonguing her skin. She was making small, eager noises now, and her hands were tangled in his hair, and Al backed up enough only to see her nipples were hard and pointed before his mouth closed around one of them, sucking on it deliberately.
When he lifted his eyes, Georgianna’s eyes were glazed over again. “From now, on, you answer to the name Honey Anne,” he told her.
Her eyes opened wide, wider as his mouth descended to her, smearing the remains of the nectar over her lips and mouth as his tongue entered met hers. Al lifted his head, and Georgianna, who was clearly out of her depth but still completely responsive, stared at him.
“Do you understand me, Honey Anne?” he said, eyebrows up, one hand pinching the honey-coated nipple he had ignored.
“Yes, yes, sir,” she stammered, then licked her lips.
“Good,” he returned, more tenderly, leaning down and touching foreheads and noses with her. “Very good.”
Copyright 2009 by email@example.com. All rights reserved. No republishing (except brief excerpts) without prior permission of the author.
The preceding piece to this entry can be found here: Hush
Al descended the main stairs smartly, glad he had responded to Haversham’s missive and finished the business with the iron-works so quickly. It was best, for now, to leave her with only the servants when she was oblivious.
And then the front door crashed open below him.
Al stopped abruptly on the steps, staring down into the foyer. The identity of the furious, florid man who filled the doorway was not lost on him. Al deliberately tightened his mouth, losing all pretense of a smile.
“Where is that bastard?” he heard his lordship hiss as the butler ran down the hall in response to the chaos.
“Sir?” Haversham frowned, “Are you asking for Mr. Davies?”
“Of course, you idiot,” Lord Devonshire shouted.
“Never mind, I’ll find him myself,” he snarled, then set foot to the main step.
Haversham, wise to the ways of temperamental English nobility, had already set himself between the lord and Haversham’s own master by the time Devonshire identified the gentlemen again descending the stairs. “Where is she, you bloody bas -”
“Haversham, thank you for trying to hold Lord Devonshire back, but I believe his lordship is simply worried about someone.”
Haversham nodded, accepting the implicit dismissal. He retreated behind the staircase as the two men returned to the foyer, but Al knew the loyal butler would not go far. “Now then, you know precisely where Olivia is. Who else from your family do you think I’ve absconded with?” he asked directly.
Olivia was Mrs. Davies, of course, and Lord Devonshire knew precisely where she and the Davies boys lived. Olivia was Lord Devonshire’s niece by his older sister. It really was quite amusing, Al thought inwardly, that the submissive Georgianna was a much younger first cousin to his wife. Like Georgianna, Olivia was a pure hedonist, but she needed to control her world as much as Al did his. The power struggle between them had been spectacular before they had agreed to live apart.
Georgianna’s situation wasn’t nearly as perilous as Al had made it out to be, of course. It was true that her father was an uptight prig, and her mother of the same stiff nature, but most of the Cavendish clan was much less concerned about morality. If she had been unsuitable as his mistress or did manage to find a reason and way to return home, Lord Devonshire was more likely to dump her at a relative’s country house to live in disgrace than to turn her out in the street.
In fact, retiring to the country was probably the very story his lordship had put about town. While Al had definitely played smitten, he hadn’t publicly humiliated Olivia or Georgianna by making a spectacle of their departure. In the back of his mind, Al had pondered who Devonshire would have tapped to house the girl if Georgianna had turned coward on him in the last minutes and thrown herself on her father’s mercy. Chances were that she would have been sent to Al’s own house in Devon. Inconvenient it would have been, then, given he’d have had to bargain with Olivia to take physical custody of the miss, with her cooperation or not.
“My daughter, you fool. Where is she?” Devonshire roared.
Al narrowed his eyes. All of society’s mores aside, he had no intention of returning the girl. “Not here,” he replied quite truthfully. “Although if you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to look around the house.”
“What?” the man thundered. “Then where is she?”
Al frowned. “Really, George, do you think I’d seduce my wife’s own cousin? How desperate do you think I am for a mistress, anyway?” Yet another reason to change her name, Al reminded himself. He didn’t want any reminders of this creature before him, nor the mad king on the throne.
Perhaps Beth – no, too Elizabethan. Georgianna shouldn’t have any illusions about remaining modestly virginal. Molly might be good, if not for the unfortunate allusion to the amusing social development of mollyhouses in London. He didn’t want to be reminded of that perversion every time he beckoned her, either.
“I’m going to beat that girl for a week,” Lord Devonshire grunted. “And lock her in a room after.” He glared at Al. “I know you’ve been making up to her – and I know all about your depraved habits, too. Don’t think I won’t find out if you’re hiding her.”
Al sighed impatiently, frankly not caring if Devonshire knew he had beaten the occasional recalcitrant whore. “Christ, George, for all my sins, Olivia is still the lady of this house. She’d rip me up one side and down another and burn what was left of me if I installed another woman in her own home. Now if you don’t mind?” He gestured to the door, indicating his horse at the door, being held by the groom. “I’ve an appointment in the village.”
With a dressmaker, he added silently. He wanted a very specific garment for his little nymph. A very shocking and humiliating garment, but old Madelyn had never before turned away cold, hard sovereigns, and she had provided such debauched costumes before.
George had calmed somewhat. “If you see her or hear from her,” he growled, “Send her home. Or lock her up and send for me.”
Al raised a brow. He did fully intend to keep her locked up, as it happened. “As you say. I’ll ask Olivia to keep an eye for her when I write today as well.”
“Thank you,” George sighed. Al felt a sliver of doubt. Did the man actually possess even an ounce of affection for his daughter? But, no. “I can’t have her shaming the family name, you know. Better for her to keep out of sight, I suppose, than have her turn up and have it come out she’s behaved like a common tavern wench.” He grunted. “Damn fool girl, doesn’t think of anyone save herself. Should have sold her off to a country squire years ago.”
A fine way to talk about your daughter, Al said silently, walking out of the house with George at his side. He saw the man off in his carriage, obviously brought in expectation of forcing his daughter home against her will, then climbed onto his horse and set off on his errand.
He didn’t quite trust George not to turn around and try to follow him, after all.
Georgianna was sitting up in bed, the sheet drawn over her breasts, when Al stepped into the room. He stopped, looked at her and raised a brow.
She blushed and let the sheet slide down to reveal her pink and white skin. “Good,” Al murmured. He sat on the edge of that bedstead smiled gently as his eyes dropped down her body. “Have you eaten?”
Breathless, Georgianna murmured, “No, no I haven’t gotten up at all. I didn’t know…”
Al loved how her voice caught with her nervousness. “You didn’t know if I’d permit it, hmmm?” he finished for her, pinching a nipple and twisting it firmly. How perfect it was to already be hard and aroused, he thought, watching as Georgianna’s head tilted back. Her breathing was ragged already. His fingers traced down over her ribs and stomach and tangled in her curls. “Tell me Georgianna,” he whispered, “Are you wet with arousal already?”
A dull red flush spread down her neck, over her ears, and up to her forehead. Shamefully, she nodded. He tugged a little, warningly. “Yes,” she spit out gasping, “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent, sweetling. Now describe to me how your lovely pink cunny feels.” He released his grip and let his fingers wander further down. Her thighs parted obediently when he tapped on one.
Some redness remained, particularly on the outer folds of her honeypot, which was visibly juicy. He raised his brows, looked at her directly and waited for an answer. “It’s, it’s hot,” she mumbled. “And it is sore.”
“Just on the outside. You are still a virgin, you know,” he teased, pinching one of those sore thighs lightly. She squealed a little and tried to jump back, but of course she was already against the headboard. “Don’t you worry about that, little one, we’ll take care of that encumbrance today,” he promised.
Georgianna’s eyes opened wide.
“Now,” he glanced at the room, “I suppose you’ll want breakfast?”
She nodded shyly, but still looked nervous. She was probably aware, he thought, that he had every intention of keeping her nude.
“You should feel free to pull the bell if you need something and I’m not here, darling.”
Georgianna bit her lip, glancing fretfully at the dressing room door.
Al answered her unspoken question. “No, you may not get dressed,” he answered in amusement. “Nor may you dress just because I happen to be gone for a few hours.” He tapped her chin. “You won’t find any clothes in there for a gentlewoman anyway, even if you did get in. The door is kept locked for a reason.”
“No, that’s not what I -” Georgianna began to object, then stopped abruptly, blushing furiously.
Al thought, creasing his eyebrows until he was certain he understood. “Oh, there’s a chamberpot in the room,” he assured her. “In the cabinet below the basin. You just need to pull the bell when you’ve finished.”
Georgianna stared at him anxiously. There was no screen to conceal her, as most bedchambers had. It was an interesting opportunity, Al thought, but shrugged it away. She wasn’t yet ready to shed those last vestiges of pride, and the day would be difficult for her as it was.
He chuckled. “I’ll go and speak to Cook about breakfast,” he kissed her softly, “But when I return…” But what? How did he want her? Doubtless both John and Quincy, the house’s butler, would see her thus – it had to be revealing and yet comfortable for her to remain in indefinitely.
“Yes?” she whimpered, clearly getting anxious. It would be even more difficult for her to wait as she was with her legs spread apart. How amusing, Al thought. He would keep that in mind for another morning.
“I want you in the corner by the tallboy,” he said quickly. “Hands behind your back, nose to the corner, and your feet shoulder-width. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she slid to the edge of the bed as he stood.
“Don’t disappoint me, pet,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again. “Punishments always seem harsher in the cool light of the morning.”
She shuddered visibly.
Al smiled and departed the room.
As he expected, Georgianna was pressed into the corner when Al re-entered the room, followed by John and Quincy with the trays. He didn’t speak to her, but heard her muffled exclamation.
Instead, he spoke to the two others, watching as they arranged the small table near the fireplace to his satisfaction. It had a large comfortable chair beside it – for him – and a cane-bottomed stool underneath it. Al intended that Georgianna would be able to use it – when she had earned the privilege, or when her bottom was sore enough to make it quite uncomfortable.
Neither qualification had been yet met this day.
Al dismissed the two men, smiling in amusement when they shot final, hopeful glances at the squirming Georgianna. She was obviously struggling, not realizing that her inability to stay still had attracted their attention more than she would have otherwise.
He settled into the leather chair, and propped his feet up on the stool. “You may come here now, sweetling,” he invited gently.
She turned hesitantly and released her hands from behind her, bringing them forward to awkwardly cover – “No, no,” he shook his head. “Leave them behind your back.”
She was visibly confused, at least until she clasped them in the small of her back and moved forward again. And then his reasoning was obvious (boobvious, he thought evilly, though it wasn’t a word) even to her.
Her round curved bulbs bounced. She was even more conscious of their bareness in their thrust-out position, but bravely came forward to stand before him.
Al glanced at the floor. There was a rug beneath the stool, but bare hard floorboards at his right side. He let his eyes glide over her creamy skin. “Are you going to be a good girl, today?” he asked directly.
Georgianna bit her lip. “I – I’ll try,” she whispered.
He raised a brow. “I suppose that’s all you can reasonably promise, after all,” he admitted. “Bend forward a minute.”
She did, and he watched her breasts swing. With a smile, he added quietly, “Now turn around so your pert little tushie faces me.”
She did so, her face revealing her struggle to maintain both her balance and whatever dignity she could muster. Huskily, Al directed, “Spread your legs apart further.”
Swift as panther striking his prey, Al reached out, grasped her wrists – still behind her back, and jerked her down on his lap. Without speaking, he delivered a volley of pounding, rapid spanks, while Georgianna kicked and squealed and finally transformed into a gasping, incoherent girl across his thighs.
Al, however, wasn’t finished. Still without speaking, his left hand holding tightly to her wrists, he reached down into the cushioned space between the seat and the arm of his chair and searched blindly with his fingers, finding a lovely narrow but thick wooden rule, with holes drilled and sanded every two inches. It was a handy little tool, and Al had actually made several and stashed them around the room.
Foresight was, in this instance, an advantage. He laid it across her bottom for the space of two seconds, then swung it sharply against her ass. Her earlier defeat notwithstanding, Georgianna found some fight remaining in her soul, for she wrenched and kicked and screamed anew.
Al, who expected the reaction, confined her to his lap, then continued the punishment. If the wooden rule fell somewhere he did not intend, it was entirely through Georgianna’s own struggles, and Al felt not the least bit sympathetic.
Indeed, she finally whimpered and sobbed in a little heap while he continued the painful ordeal for precisely two minutes. And then he rested the rule against the base of her bum and said stiffly, “Did I ask for your opinion on your position?”
Still struggling for a normal breathing rhythm, Georgianna shook her head. “No, no.”
He cracked the rule against her thighs, hard. She yelped and whimpered pathetically. “No, sir.”
A lovely noise, Al thought. “I thought not. Now, then, I’m going to release your hands. You may put them anywhere you like, as long as they stay behind you. I am going to punish you again. I highly recommend you find the self-control to keep your hands out of the way – otherwise I will bind them out of the way for the rest of the day. Do you understand?”
The cruelest corner of Al’s soul hoped she would succumb and reach back, but it was a bit early in the day to bind them so securely. She’d have to suffer the consequence eventually, he thought, or simply submit to it for his pleasure, but her shoulders would need more training in the position first. They’d be terribly sore – more so than he truly intended – otherwise.
Georgianna whimpered in agreement. He released her wrists, using his left hand to brush the welts rising over her reddened flesh. “Now then,” he said briskly, noting that she was clutching the carpet desperately, “We begin.”
He concentrated on her thighs this time, raining down the painful strokes of the rule against the sensitive skin. She kicked, of course, opening up her legs, and Al made sure that the paddle contracted painfully and harshly against the raw skin of her inner thighs, still sore from the previous evening.
It was a long punishment, as punishments went. He took his time, breaking for minutes to tenderly brush, squeeze or cruelly pinch the affected skin. And he made certain no inch of flesh was left unpunished. As for Georgianna, after her first bout with struggling, she ceased to kick, but still squirmed, rolled, and wiggled. Of course, with her hands free, she also had to concentrate on remaining on his lap – he was no longer holding her in place. It was a struggle he was glad she had made.
He was certain she would someday try to roll off in escape, but he was glad to spare her the punishment for that error for the moment. Perhaps even tomorrow, he mused, admiring the bruises forming along her upper thighs. But not today.
Finally, he sat aside the rule and spoke to her, stroking her back gently. “Stand up now, my pet,” he murmured, helping her to her feet.
Georgianna’s tear-streaked face was swollen and her lips slightly parted. Her nose had clogged from the teary episode, too. She looked perfectly miserable.
Al smiled at her. “You really did very well,” he complimented her. “Now, do you remember how you were supposed to stand?”
Georgianna nodded, and turned around, her bottom blazing. Now she opened her legs willingly, then put her hands behind her and bent forward.
“Bend further down,” Al said. “I know the balance is difficult, but you’ll do it anyway.”
She did, until her crack opened to reveal her lovely anus. It was the first clear look he’d had of it, and Al was pleased to see that it was clean and rosy.
He slipped a hand between her legs and pressed his thumb inside her, finding her juices already sliding seductively around in her pussy. He chuckled. “You may not have known this about yourself, pet, but your body adores being subject to my will – even if it is painful.” He drew out his thumb and swiped the juice deliberately up her cleft. “And your body can’t lie to me about it.”
She gasped softly and teetered, but managed to balance herself. Al smiled. “Now, then, my dear,” he said, “You may make a choice. You may sit that very sore and hurting bottom down on this stool here by my feet – or you may kneel between my knees facing me. Either way, your hands stay behind your back.”
Georgianna stood and looked desperately from one to the other, then reluctantly – and he could see it was reluctant by the way she turned toward him – came to stand in front of him and lowered herself to her knees.
He bent forward and kissed her mouth tenderly, then licked the salty tears from her eyes. His right hand palmed her breast and found a nipple, squeezing the already hard nub and pulling on it as he selected fruit from the platter with his left hand and set it to her mouth.
That she should breakfast thus clearly shocked her. He pushed the berry inside her teeth and stared back at her incredulous countenance. He pinched harder. She grunted, chewed and swallowed, then found he was prepared to feed her another piece.
Al was painfully conscious of his arousal while he fed her fruit, pieces of bread, and bits of sausage. Her subtle signs of submission had not been lost on him, despite any visible resistance. Yes, she would be thoroughly his, he thought, shifting to relieve the ache.
He held a cup of cool water to her lips and tipped it slowly, watching as she swirled it in her mouth before swallowing it. He gave her another drink, and then set it aside. He was throbbing with arousal now, and definitely needed release. Al glanced down at her, already growing uncomfortable on her knees, and smiled. It was another position in which she would require extensive – and painful – training.
She looked suddenly cautious, as if she didn’t quite trust him. He chuckled, liking the anxious face. He didn’t want Georgianna to be complacent.
“Now, then,” he said huskily, releasing her nipple and unbuttoning his trousers. His hard dick jumped out, the length jutting from a dark patch of curls around the base. “Open your mouth.”
Georgianna gasped, which was all the opportunity he needed. Al grabbed her head and brought it forward, thrusting the organ deeply into her mouth.
Her lips and mouth were a fine combination of natural heat and cool water, remaining from her sips. His fingers tightened on her scalp as she struggled to determine what to do. He felt her hands grab his legs and grunted. She’d moved them.
“Naughty girl,” he growled, closing his eyes as her lips tightened and loosened in confusion. “Tighten your lips around me and inhale through your mouth and nose. Then back out.”
Georgianna tried it. Al groaned. “Again,” he demanded. “Until I say otherwise.”
Her mouth was innocent, too, he had realized, exulting. She wouldn’t expect the ending, of course, and he would have to spend hours upon hours training her in the art of fellatio, but Al couldn’t imagine a more pleasant task.
The heady joy of having her at his feet rushed him, and closing his eyes, he pumped into her mouth while she choked and sputtered and released him from her mouth. His hands held her head in place though, so that the cum he released after leaving her mouth shot across her cheek and upper lip.
Al collapsed back in the chair and fondled her hair. Georgianna looked as dazed as he did. He decided he didn’t have the energy to enlighten her at the moment.
After a few moments, he peered at her critically. “You look a mess,” he announced.
Georgianna blushed. She’d been in the room two days and had hardly been out of the bed in that time. Certainly she hadn’t bathed. Her hair was wild, her face tear-streaked, and now she had his jism running over her jaw and chin.
He smiled. Her blush took on the nervous edge he expected.
“Stay on your knees and shuffle over to the servants’ bell. Once you pull it, you may stand up.” Al watched her accomplish this task, then look at him questioningly.
He smiled again, the same smile, and her anxiety returned. “I have to say, my little pet, I do enjoy that charming case of nerves you have.” He paused, “And I suppose it is justified.”
She licked her lips, then stopped sharply at the odd taste on them from his ejaculate.
Al laughed. He quickly brought himself under control and said intently, “Turn and face the fireplace, then reach behind you and put your hands on your bottom.”
Georgianna tried to do it quietly, but gasped when her hands came in contact with her raw skin.
“Bend forward just slightly, and hold your bottom open.”
Georgianna had just brought herself to accomplish this task when the door behind them opened to admit Quincy. She jumped, straightened, and looked behind her.
Al made a clucking noise. “Now,” he murmured, “That really was not very wise. Quincy is going to stand there and wait until you are in position.”
Georgianna’s blush once again enveloped her from the nipples up. But she looked away and brought herself back to the manner he had described.
Keeping his eyes firmly on his recalcitrant filly, Al gave instructions to the butler. “Quincy, please clear the breakfast trays away. We’ll need the bath brought up and filled with hot water. And please send for Nurse Liesel to come up.”
Georgianna shivered. He was sure she had heard the words, and she was intelligent enough to comprehend the implication.
Al didn’t disappoint her. “Georgianna, two things. Are you listening?” His tone was clipped, business-like, specifically chosen to add to her anxiety.
“Yes, sir?” The words were wavering, he noticed. Good.
“First, you are due a punishment. Two, actually. You moved your hands from behind your back while I was using your mouth. And we’ve just had the unfortunate experience of disobedience again, haven’t we?”
Georgianna’s shoulders caught on a sob. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Secondly, as much as I’d love to, I can’t stay here day and night. And yet, you frankly need constant supervision for the foreseeable future. Therefore, in my absence, I’ve a proxy of sorts, who’ll keep you, shall we say, in the proper frame of mind. And body.”
Al stood and moved to the wash basin, using a cloth to bathe his limp member. He’d much prefer Georgianna’s tongue do the task – and it would soon – but not at this moment.
He turned to watch Georgianna. From this angle, her face was more visible. Behind him, Quincy was clearing the mess from breakfast. And Georgianna was contemplating panic.
Al buttoned his fly and said gently, “This is for my own good, sweetling. I won’t be able to conduct any necessary errands or business without worrying after you, otherwise. And you do want to make me happy, don’t you?”
She bit her lip and nodded, then remembered, “Yes, sir.”
He glanced at the door as Nurse Liesel entered. She was a big woman – tall, strong and fully aware of her talents. Garbed in a dove-gray gown with white apron, and a prim cap over her blond hair, she was the epitome of a nursery governess. Al grinned. He had frankly discussed with her his expectations for Georgianna, and Liesel had left him little doubt as to her willingness and capability. Indeed, she came highly recommended from another gentleman Al knew of similar temperament and tastes.
“Good morning, Nurse,” he said brightly, drawing two very short leather belts from the tallboy.
“Goot morning, Mister Davies,” she replied promptly, studying the specimen before her. Al could almost see her wicked mind at work.
“I have some business to conduct this afternoon,” he told her. “And my little houri needs a bath and thoroughly cleaned up, and perhaps a nap. On her tummy, of course.”
Nurse Liesel smiled. Even Al got a small twinge of nerves at the expression on her face.
“I shan’t return until early evening. I trust you’ll be able to spend some time… ah, getting to know one another?” Al asked.
“Ach, goot,” Nurse Liesel pronounced.
“There is one other thing,” Al murmured, moving toward Georgianna. She was glancing at him fretfully, though she couldn’t see the imposing figure in the doorway.
“Georgianna has been naughty, I’m afraid. I simply told her to put her hands behind her back, but of course she couldn’t keep them there. Therefore, I’m going to have to insist that they stay behind her back while I’m gone. As a lesson.”
He grasped one of Georgianna’s wrists and put the belt around it, tightening it with the buckle. When he took hold of the other one, Georgianna broke. “Oh please, sir, I’ll be good,” she gasped, twisting a little.
“I’m afraid that’s too late, my dear,” he murmured gently, fastening the other buckle. “Nurse, if you’ll come closer?” he directed.
Georgianna looked over her shoulder as Nurse Liesel approached. Her eyes widened frantically. Al murmured in her ear tenderly. “You are very special, my dear, and I will take very good care of you. Nurse Liesel is here to make sure of that, too. But you must learn to be obedient or things will be so much more difficult than necessary.”
She inhaled quickly. To the woman, he said, “All that’s necessary to keep her wrists together is a ribbon or length of yard tied between the buckles. From the mantle above him, he drew a strip of red ribbon and threaded it, then knotted it tightly, so her wrists were unable to separate even an inch.
“Very goot, sir,” Liesel looked satisfied. “I take goot care of her, and for speaking out of turn, no?”
Al felt his lips curve. “Please do,” he invited. He reached out, grasped Georgianna’s chin and kissed her lovingly on the mouth. “I’ll be back to play with you later, sweetling,” he smiled, lowering his hand to squeeze her breasts one at a time.
Her nipples were still hard, he realized with satisfaction.
“Now, her name is Georgianna, but you needn’t worry about learning to say it,” he said briskly, stepping away, “As I’ll be renaming her soon enough to suit me. For this afternoon, I’m certain she’ll respond just as obediently to ‘girl’ or ‘little one’ or some other fitting title you invent.”
Georgianna gasped. Nurse Liesel reached out and grasped her by the upper arm.
“Have fun,” he smiled brightly, and left the room.
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