Taming Maria, page 13
'And you love it.'
'I don't. I hate you,' she flung back, but his touch was so knowledgeable and insidious, almost impossible to resist, and the sight of Agatha maltreating the girl reminiscent of scenes she had witnessed at school. Even in those days she had found it arousing and now, with the addition of Damien's skilful fondling, she was burning with desire.
'Watch the inestimable Agatha,' he answered, ignoring her protests as his middle digit entered her anal opening.
Fascinated, yet aware of the discomfort of his probing, she stared through the trick glass. The girl was strapped to a bench, facedown, and now Agatha stood in front of her, opened her legs wide and started to frig her prominent clitoris. The prone servant had no option but to watch her at close-quarters.
Sickened yet aching for orgasm, Maria could not avert her eyes. Agatha was skinny, her pubis covered with a black thatch, her cleft protruding between, the lips dark red and wet. Her fingers flew over her engorged nubbin and she moaned in a frenzy of lust, moving closer and closer to her victim. She pushed her slit against the girl's face, continuing to finger-fuck herself, but augmenting this with her victim's nose, mouth, cheeks and chin.
Damien bared his cock, thrusting it into Maria's hand. She toyed with it, hardly knowing what she was doing as she saw Agatha reaching a convulsive orgasm, then throwing herself across the helpless servant, delving into her intimate places, making her moan and shudder.
He let the curtain drop, hiding the scene, and then forced Maria down on the purple-draped bed. He rolled her on to her face, bared her behind and slapped her again and again. His palm was hard through sword-play and horse training and meted out severe punishment. She struggled, but he knelt above her, trapping her legs with his knees. She could hear his harsh breathing and the sharp impact of that hand on her skin. She started to cry, the tears wrenched from her in spite of her pride. She could hardly believe it when he suddenly ceased hitting her. There was a moment's respite and then she felt something else. He was pushing pillows beneath her to raise her hips, then stretching her legs wide and fastening cords to her ankles.
'Oh stop, please!' she pleaded. 'Haven't you punished me enough?'
'Bradley may have cheated me of your love-channel, but I imagine that your arsehole is still virgin, is it not?' His voice was crisp, but with underlying menace.
'I don't understand what you mean...'
'No? I promised you lessons in fucking, didn't I? You are about to learn an important one.'
She shivered with fear and anticipation, never sure what he intended to do next. He was an enigma, both in his lifestyle and lovemaking. She realised it was only experienced women, like Arabella, who could begin to understand him.
He was moving behind her, taking off his clothes. She heard him reach for something on the bedside table. 'What are you doing?' she quavered.
'I'm making the way easier for myself.'
She started as cold lotion was spread around her anus, a slippery sensation in a place that had never before experienced such a thing. Then she was aware of him between her legs, and felt the hugeness of his penis pressing against her most intimate area.
'Stop it!' she shouted, but Damien was not to be deterred. He continued to grind into her until the rim of his glans had penetrated, stretching her sphincter agonisingly.
He groaned, the effort costing him dear, and she rejoiced in his discomfort, wishing she could squeeze his cock with her inner muscles, mangle and damage it, so he would never again be able to enjoy sex. But she was helpless to do anything as he inexorably pushed in further and further, entering the dark recess Nature had not designed to receive the male appendage. Maria was convinced she would be ruined for life, stretched, split and wounded by that monstrous thing violating her rectum. It was not welcome there, as Charles's cock had been in her vagina, yet she could not dislodge it, though her muscles were striving to do so.
Damien was intent on his purpose, ignoring her pleas, determined to lodge himself fully inside her. She stopped moving, for this hurt even more, and lay there accepting the agony as, with a final effort, he distended her and the whole length and girth of him shot into her. She screamed as she was plumbed to her depths. He stilled then, obviously finding the opening restrictive and narrow and she was glad, hoping he was suffering too.
'Damn you!' she cried and, to cause him more pain, clenched around his tool. She shunted back and forth, her anus like a ring sliding up and down his shaft. The pain was diabolical, and yet that feeling of being stuffed to the very limits held an odd kind of pleasure.
Damien could not contain his groans of pain and delight, urging his cock in and out of that tight, restricting hole. And she yearned for revenge, longing to suck him into her bowels and absorb his prick, making it a part of herself and never letting him go, her prisoner forever. He came, and she felt the hot bursts of spunk exploding deep inside her and then he rolled away, swearing and clutching himself. She lay there experiencing a form of triumph, though her arse ached and she felt she would never recover from his assault.
He sat up, turning to look down on her. Then he freed her ankles and she raised herself, avoiding his eyes. His emission dribbled from her anus and she grabbed up a handful of sheet to staunch it. He pulled on his shirt, saying, 'You are too tight. I shall order Agatha to use butt-plugs on you.'
'And what, pray, are they?' She wanted to cry, to beg for a modicum of tenderness, but refused to grant herself that indulgence. If he could be icy, then so could she.
'Devices for stretching the rectum. She will start with small ones and gradually enlarge them until you can take me with ease.'
'You intend to repeat this atrocity?' Maria found her clothing and covered her bruised body.
'In time you will beg me to perform it.'
'I don't think so, sir.'
'Ask your aunt. Sodomy is one of her favourite forms of entertainment. We shall have plenty of opportunity for practice in the country.' Fully dressed, it was hard to credit that a short while ago he had been behaving like a rutting animal.
'May I return to Armitage House now?' She flung her wrap around her like a royal robe, head held high.
'You may, but make no attempt to contact Bradley if you wish him to live. My men are watching him, and you.'
'Oh, Robin, what are we going to do?' lane tried to appear calm for they had arranged to meet in a coffeehouse, notes passed between them through her maid, Abigail. She was nothing like as reliable as Maria's servant, Emily. A stout, idle girl who, released from Agatha Bailey's domination, demanded money and privileges for her loyalty.
They were seated in the shadows, with Abigail at a table close by. A new chaperone had not yet been engaged and this afforded Jane a little more freedom, though such an arrangement could not continue for much longer. Robin touched the hand she had clenched in her lap.
'I will visit you in Bath,' he declared. 'There to see your father and ask him for permission to woo you.'
She shook her head sadly. 'He won't give it, determined that I shall wed Percy Tate. I am the last daughter, you see. My sisters have all been married in turn, I am the youngest and therefore the last.'
'If he turns me away we will run off to Gretna Green. Once the knot is tied he will be unable to part us. I shall take up my post in Burdock Village and we can reside with the vicar until a house is found for us.'
'I'm afraid,' she whispered, her fingers held in his as he worked them over her thigh and down between her legs.
'Don't be,' he insisted. 'Love will conquer all.'
They left the coffee-house and she sent Abigail on an errand and lingered in the shadowy stable with Robin, the coachman and grooms being in the tavern next-door. He pressed her against the white-washed wall, the air redolent with the sweet smell of hay, and she wished she could die and remain in that moment forever.
His arms tightened around her, and her breasts were pressed to his chest, their clothing chaffing her sensitive nipples. She rubbed her body against him, her lips opening under his as he kissed her, their tongues meeting. Now she recognised the hard object distorting his breeches, and pressed her pubis to it.
He groaned. 'Oh, God! I want you so much.' As he spoke he started to caress her breasts and her nipples peaked at his touch, pleasure darting down to set her clitoris on fire.
'And I want you,' she whispered. 'This can't be wrong, can it? We love one another, don't we?'
'Yes, yes, of course we do.' He was breathing quickly and there was increased force in the way he was caressing her. He thrust with his hips in a rhythmical movement and she responded, recognising his need.
The stable was fitted with stalls where lovers could hide away from prying eyes, and Robin took her to one of them, laying her down on a bed of straw. Time was of the essence. They had no idea when the grooms and Abigail would be returning. Robin lifted her skirt, opened her legs and sank down between them, his cock already exposed. He plunged into her without any foreplay and, although she was moist, she realised she could not climax that way. Robin seemed only aware of his own driving urge, bucking and plunging until reaching his peak, his tribute shooting into her. There was no way he could prevent it and she was fearful. Supposing he impregnated her?
He pulled out when it was over and sat there, looking shamefaced. 'I'm sorry, dearest. I couldn't wait,' he said.
Her instinct was to comfort him, although she was disappointed at having failed to reach a conclusion and hoping against all hope that his flood of semen did not find its goal within her womb. She wanted children with him, but not yet. The obstacles were too great.
Rather crestfallen, they tidied themselves and prepared for the arrival of Abigail and the coachman. 'Best if you leave before they come,' she murmured, tears welling in her eyes.
'I will contact you in Bath,' he promised.
'Mama and I will be taking the waters at the Pump Room daily. Perhaps you could be there. She liked you when she met you at the school and I may be able to persuade her to speak with Papa.'
'I shall be staying at The Black Swan tavern in Southgate Street. Contact me there. This isn't the end, Jane, merely the beginning,' he promised, kissing her so tenderly that it nearly broke her heart.
Then he left and, within a few moments, Abigail and the others arrived.
'We're nearly there,' Arabella asserted. 'Thank God for that! I can't abide travelling. Dreary, boring, forced to stay in hostelries where the beds are lumpy and the privies stink.'
She was wearing a new carriage costume. The long coat was of military cut in tobacco-brown velvet, lined with white satin and trimmed with gold fogging. Beige kid half-boots encased her feet and her hat was like a soldier's kalpak, set at a jaunty angle and sporting a yellow plume. This was the latest vogue and Maria was similarly dressed, Madame Descartes doing very well out of these wealthy clients.
'Why did you consent to come?' Maria was tired of her aunt's constant complaints. For her own part, every mile that separated her from Charles was a torture.
'Damien ordered it.' Arabella was definitely tetchy.
'And you do everything he says?'
'Don't be pert!' She gave Maria a sharp glance and then continued to gaze out at the passing landscape. 'It should be fun. The hunting season is not yet over and he knows a number of jolly people. He's Master of the Hunt, you see.'
Of course, he would be, Maria thought glumly. Always the leader, ahead of everyone else. Did these rural friends indulge in the kind of perversions he enjoyed? Probably. And would she be forced to take part in them? Without any doubt. Agatha had not yet approached her with the butt-plugs and Damien had made no attempt to contact her. She had not seen him since the visit to Strafford Hall.
This was even more unnerving.
Arabella had kept her busy organising her apparel for the visit, but he could have appeared at any time. There had been no sign of him when they set out. They were travelling without him, using the earl's finest carriage and a train of more modest ones for the servants and luggage. James had been left in London in the care of his nurse and half a dozen nursery maids, with his father taking time out to play with him occasionally. Ali had also been left hind with Poppy. Both were fashion accessories, and there was no call to show off one's coloured page or lapdog in the country.
Now they were nearly at their destination, and Maria's curiosity got the better of her. She leaned forward and joined Arabella in staring out at the view. The scenery was rugged, the Dorset coast in all its glory. They were travelling along a road that edged a cliff, and the sea sparkled below them, grey-blue, topped with white horses. Seagulls wheeled and screamed overhead, and the bushes leaned away from the constant wind blowing from the open water. Maria was not accustomed to such an expanse of sea and sky, and longed to walk along the path, breathe in the salty tang and climb down the rocks to where golden sand spread out in secluded bays.
'Can we go there?' she asked Arabella.
'You're as excited as a child,' her aunt responded indulgently. 'Of course we shall visit the beach, with footmen carrying picnic baskets and our maids bearing rugs and towels. The sea is most refreshing and I shall take a dip, though I don't want to get burnt by the sun. You'll enjoy it here, and it will be most informative. Ah, can you hear the horns? What a thrilling sound. Damien must be leading the pack. Do you hunt?'
'I haven't done so since father died.' Maria's ears pricked at the distant clarion call, old memories and sensations rushing back.
'One never forgets. I'm looking forward to it. And there will be balls and parties and all sorts of entertainment.'
'Similar to those at Strafford Hall?' Maria gave her a straight stare.
Arabella flushed as she replied, 'Very possibly. It depends what your guardian has in mind.'
'And we all know what that is likely to be,' Maria returned boldly, no longer caring if she was angry with her. Matters had proceeded too far.
Arabella took no notice, leaning forward as the coach swung down a lane and then came out in a tree-shaded avenue. There, ahead of them stood an ancient mansion of great size. 'Raven Towers,' she said.
'It's like a castle!' Maria exclaimed.
Arabella nodded, saying with as much pride as if it belonged to her, 'Parts of it date from the Norman Conquest. Of course, there have been more recent additions, but much of it remains untouched. The turrets for example, from which it takes its name, the raven being on the family crest of its owners. Quaint, isn't it? Rather like something out of a fairy-tale.'
It lay amidst parklands, its long stone facade with regularly space diamond-paned windows surmounted by a red tiled roof, mellow with age. A series of fantastically ornamented chimney-pots reached towards the sky, and some of the walls were enveloped in masses of ivy, giving the impression that the house had evolved from the soil like some natural growing thing.
The coach rattled over the gravel at a spanking pace and soon the house loomed over it, dwarfing everything. Grooms and servants appeared and the passengers alighted, their baggage being off-loaded. There was no sign of Damien.
'His lordship is leading the hunt,' explained the dignified head butler, wearing a curling powdered wig. He was formally attired in a blue coat with gold epaulettes, white satin breeches, a lace cravat, pink stockings and black buckled shoes. 'He has instructed me to show you to your rooms so that you may refresh yourselves after the journey. He will be back shortly and a repast is being prepared on the terrace.'
The guestroom to which Maria was shown was spacious and finely furnished, with damask curtains at the windows and draping the four-poster bed. Sarah would be situated close at hand, and so would Emily, and they set to work helping her to wash and change, then busied themselves unpacking the valises and depositing her clothing in the armoire and tallboy. But, in spite of the apparently luxurious and comfortable surroundings, Maria could not still the quake of uneasiness that stirred in her gut. This increased as she finally joined her aunt at the top of the main staircase and they made their way down, guided towards the terrace by a liveried footman.
The hunt had returned in full force. She was aware of their loud, triumphant voices even before she passed through the open cedar-wood doors and stepped into the sunshine. She saw Damien at once. He was leaning against the marble balustrade, wearing a red coat and white breeches. His boots were muddy, his buckskins soiled and his lips curled in a smile, his eyes those of a hunter who has caught his prey and enjoyed the kill.
Arabella went straight to him, gazing up admiringly, a hand on his arm. The crowd of men, all in hunting pink, local squires, magistrates and landowners, were stamping about, leaving muddy footprints on the paving stones, talking, drinking champagne and indulging in the cold collation arranged on trestle tables spread with fine linen. There were ladies, too, hot from the chase, middle-aged and younger, excited by the bloodshed and the company of those virile males. A close-knit set, Maria guessed, recalling similar meets at Burrington Manor. They owned the villages around, and were still treated like feudal lords by the inhabitants. And none was more lordly than Damien.
He looked across and saw her, left Arabella and came straight for her. In a trice he had caught her by the arm and propelled her towards his friends. 'This is my ward, Lady Maria Granger.'
She was surrounded by gentlemen hunters, some tall, thin and aristocratic-looking, others sweaty and red-faced, bluff and stocky. They had one thing in common; a lecherous gleam in their eyes. The ladies looked her over, pretending to be welcoming but she guessed that beneath the show they were viewing her with suspicion. A new female in their midst was a threat, maybe intent on luring away their husbands or lovers. Running a critical eye over the men present, Maria could not imagine even bothering to try. Damien was the only one there who attracted her, and that was with very mixed feelings. Arabella was already known to them and they had her measure, it was the newcomer who posed a problem.
The terrace was a sun-trap and Arabella held her parasol aloft. The talk became louder, more boastful and bawdy as the wine flowed, and presently Damien said, 'Are you ready, friends? Shall we proceed to the training ring?'
