Taming Maria, page 2
She shuddered as he trailed his lips over the nape of her neck, and then ran his tongue around the rim of her ear. She gasped. He withdrew and was silent for a long moment. She grew restless, trying to turn her head and glimpse him, but he kept out of sight. She was in a ferment of anticipation. He had excited her, then left her frustrated. He knew so well how to do this. She hated him for it, cursed him, lusted after him, completely out of control where he was concerned. Despite her restraints she tried to rub her clitoris against a knot in the wood, her aching breasts and pierced nipples, too, the tiny bells jingling.
Concentrating on seeking satisfaction, she was taken completely off guard by the fire that shot through her backside as the whip struck. She yelled and it fell again, not on the same spot, but a little higher. No sooner had she started to assimilate the agony when that wicked strip of leather writhed like a serpent as it flew high, then became a bar of pain as it landed, controlled by Damien's hand.
She had received it many times before, and had used it, too, well versed in the dichotomy of pain/pleasure. She sobbed, tears running down her face and was not sure if she was crying with happiness, fear or sheer agony. She smiled as he caressed her skin gently, around her arse, between her legs, a finger dabbling in her dew and massaging her clit, but she was wary enough not to sink into joyful anticipation. And she did not forget the instrument of torture he held in his other hand.
It touched her, gliding along her body. She started as he pressed the tip into her crack. Wet with her dew, he inserted the tip further, and then flicked the sensitive clit head. She wriggled in an attempt to control her rising pleasure. As soon as she believed she was finding the rhythm that would lead her to bliss, he took it away. He moved, and she no longer breathed in his smell.
She felt the whip tickle between her toes, up her legs, behind her knees. He was taunting her with it, goading her into breaking down and begging. She stayed silent.
Biting pain stung her back. 'Tell me what you want,' he crooned above the hiss of the lash. It became gentle, drifting around her upper thighs. 'Shall I whip your arse? Your crack? Spin you and lash your belly, your breasts, and your mound? It's no use answering for I shall use you as I fancy. And at the moment I fancy seeing your hinds change from blush pink to hellish red. Like this!'
She heard the sound of the whip rushing through the air. She felt his power and the force of the lash raining down on her flesh again and again. Her breasts seemed to become one with the wooden cross, her whole being as nothing compared to his will. This was not new, yet whenever Damien mastered her, it was as if for the first time.
He made her seem worthless, as if she was the most debased of slaves being punished. Each blow quivered through her flesh to her loins, rousing her towards orgasm yet never quite achieving it. He was like a creature possessed, blow after blow falling on her while she entered that state where pain could hardly be distinguished from sexual pleasure. Then he stopped. She heard the clunk as the whip hit the stone flags. His hand folded round her delta, the middle digit rubbing her clit until she forgot the pain and was swept up in a mighty orgasm that broke into rainbow shards around her.
He chuckled, undid his belt and let his breeches gape. He held her bruised buttocks apart and thrust his erection into her cunt. He fucked her hard for a few strokes and then pulled out. Her battered body responded, wanting more and more of him.
He set her free, each manacle removed before he forced her down in front of him. The folds of his shirt partly concealed his upraised cock. Arabella greeted it rapturously, an acolyte kneeling before this unusual altar. Her mouth opened wide and her tongue licked the length of it, finding the weeping slit and tasting the rich salty dew of his pre-come coupled with her own wetness. She rocked there, forgetting the pain that flooded her, taking him deeper until the mushroom-shaped tip butted the back of her throat.
She choked on it, gasping, 'God, you're so big!'
This pleased him, and he used her hair as a halter to draw her closer, her face buried in linen and skin and the hairy mat coating his lower belly. She breathed in the musky odour of aroused male, mingled with the eau de Cologne with which he always doused himself. He began to ride her face and she worked to bring him to the peak, cheeks caving in as she sucked vigorously.
At that moment she loved Damien, in so far as Arabella could be said to love anyone save herself. She was proud to be the one to bring him bliss. Usually she had to share him, for he was always up for it. But just for that minute fraction of time he was hers and hers alone, that marvellous, complex, cruel yet strangely sensitive and aware man. It was supremely satisfying, making her feel like a queen, an empress, a goddess.
He groaned as she enveloped his length and girth, and she felt his knees tremble. His penis swelled to its full extent. It surged and then her mouth was filled with the warmth of the semen that flooded from him. She took it all, coughing but swallowing, greedily licking up the drops that escaped to bedew her lips.
He pulled away from her, wiped his cock in her hair and adjusted his clothing, once more in perfect control of himself. Filling two goblets with wine, he handed her one and allowed her to put on her clothes. This took a matter of moments, for she had been wearing a semi-transparent gown that offered no more concealment than a nightdress. It was the height of fashion and Arabella was always in the forefront.
They moved to a divan covered in a lavishly embroidered Oriental quilt. Damien clapped his hands and a magnificently muscled Nubian servant wearing nothing but a loincloth brought in an exquisitely chased Turkish hookah. Rose water bubbled in its bowl as Damien and Arabella drew deeply of the fragrant smoke, and then blew it upwards towards the silk tenting that draped this luxurious couch.
'Our young ward has no idea of the delights in store for her,' Arabella murmured dreamily and relaxed within the circle of Damien's arm, forgetting the stripes he had inflicted, or rather rejoicing in them, an adjunct to the sensual pleasure he always lavished on her.
Chapter 2
'I miss Maria so much,' Jane confided to her leather-bound journal, the trustee of her deepest secrets.
She was seated near the window of the dormitory in the almost deserted school. 'The coach came for her two weeks ago,' she wrote on, 'and it already seems as if she has been gone a lifetime. Papa has written to say that I shall be collected tomorrow. They will stop here on their way to London. I may be able to see Maria, perhaps even be allowed to stay with her, although I understand that we will be visiting Percy and his parents in their townhouse in Mayfair. Papa is thinking of purchasing one there, though he already owns a residence in Bath and, of course, our country seat.'
She stared into the distance, tapping her lips with the tip of the quill pen, the brass inkwell to hand, the diary she had been keeping for months lying open on the escritoire. Suddenly her attention sharpened. There in the garden below her walked Robin Claremont, upright and manly, hat beneath his arm, the sunlight glinting on his brown hair. Jane drew in a sharp breath, closed her book and locked it with the key she wore on a ribbon around her neck, and then slipped it into the valise that stood, half-packed, on her bed. This was too good an opportunity to miss. She could use saying goodbye as an excuse for addressing him. In reality, she had thought of little else since that never-to-be-forgotten day when she and Maria had caught him pleasuring himself.
This scene had haunted her and she had been unable to look at him when he was taking the class for divinity. All she could see was his lean frame resting against the tree and his hand rubbing his cock and the relaxed, sensual expression on his face after he had discharged.
Driven by the thought that they might never meet again, she lifted her skirt and fled along empty, echoing corridors, down through the hall and servants quarters to the rear. Only the caretaker and his wife remained and she had been cooking for Jane in a half-hearted manner, making it plain that she would be glad to see the back of her.
Once outside, she raced to the spot below her window where she had seen Robin. He was still there and looked up when she appeared. 'Lady Jane!' he exclaimed.
'Mr Claremont.' She stopped dead, only a few inches away from him and very conscious that the rapid rise and fall of her breasts almost made contact with the sober black coat that covered his chest...
'So, you've not left yet.'
'Tomorrow. I shall be glad, for my best friend has already gone.'
'You haven't enjoyed school?' He was obviously racking his brains for subjects of conversation that would delay her.
'No, sir, not much. I don't know what I should have done without Lady Maria.'
'I remember her. A forthright young person.'
'And you will go, too? Or are you staying here?'
'I shall be heading home to Somerset, and later taking up my new post as curate in the village of Burdock.'
This is truly terrible, Jane thought. I don't know what to say. All I can visualise is his swollen cock with milky liquid spurting from the helm - his moans - his pleasure - my crying need to touch him there.
He hesitated, making her feel suddenly much older than her years. Before, he had been a teacher and she a schoolgirl, but now the memory of him in a compromising position coupled with the realisation that she was no longer under his tutelage put them on an equal footing. She liked him; could almost say that it was more than mere liking. He appealed to her in an extraordinary way, her emotions vastly different to those she experienced when with Percy Tate. She always avoided the touch of his damp, flabby fingers whereas now, as Robin tentatively reached out, she met his hand gladly, her heart fluttering like a caged bird in her breast.
He smiled widely, surprised and pleased by her acceptance of this gesture. 'Lady Jane... I didn't dare hope... have been aware of you for months. What more can I say? I'm a clergyman with modest expectations, though well connected. My uncle is a magistrate. He occupies a seat in the House of Lords, but you must have many much more suitable gentlemen begging your father's permission to court you.'
'I have one and am almost promised to him, but I find him displeasing and shall try to dissuade my parents from encouraging his advances.' The words gushed from Jane's lips. It was a wonderful relief to be able to speak to him so frankly; something she had never before achieved with anyone expect Maria.
'Oh, Jane... if I may? Is it possible that you could somehow introduce me to your Papa and put in a good word for me? I'm certain that my uncle's name might influence your father in my favour.'
'The coach will stop at the main door while my luggage is being loaded. Be in the hall, offering to assist and I'm certain that I can present you to them. My mother has a penchant for the clergy. She will be impressed.'
'Then that's settled!' He smiled rapturously. 'And you are in agreement, my dear young lady? You don't find me too repulsive?'
Jane was blushing, her heart beating so fast that it made her breasts tremble. Her nipples chafed against the lace trim of her chemise, the sensation shooting down to her loins, labia thickening, her bud rising, fluid dampening her floss. The school was empty of students and teachers. They had all left, including the formidable Mrs Rossiter. The sudden thought struck Jane that they could slip up to the dormitory unobserved and use one of the narrow beds for their first coupling. It was so outrageous a concept that she shook and Robin felt that tremble pass through her fingers into his.
'Jane!' he exclaimed softly, and his mouth came closer, hovering over hers.
'Oh, Robin!' she replied on a sob.
'Darling angel.'
Inexperienced at kissing, his nose bumped hers, but she had learned the art with Maria and angled her lips, puckering up to take his. At first it was a chaste kiss, their mouths remaining modestly sealed, but this wasn't enough for Jane. She wanted to experience what she had felt for her girl friend, opening up and finding Robin's tongue, tangling with it in a dance of desire. His breath was fresh and he quickly followed her lead, giving her so much pleasure that she collapsed into his arms, careless of anyone seeing them.
He was conscious though; his prospects of advancement would be hampered if it was reported that he had been seen toying with one of the pupils. He reluctantly withdrew from her, straightening up and saying, 'We must find somewhere private. Dare I ask you to accompany me to my room?'
This was indeed an unusual request and no doubt he knew the rules whereby it was customary for a young lady to be chaperoned at all times and never, under any circumstances, be alone with a man. Her reputation would be ruined if this happened, yet his impetuosity thrilled her; it was as if he could not help himself. Common sense said no, but a new, bold persona urged Jane to take the plunge. Instinct recognised that Robin was no philanderer who would seduce and then abandon her.
In a short while they had traversed the upper floors, passing no one on the way, and at last reaching the seclusion of a medium sized apartment in the west wing where he had lived for eighteen months. Clear of clutter and practical it contained a desk, a tallboy, a fireplace, two chairs and a wash-stand. A four-poster bed took pride of place, its width promising much.
They kissed again, unable to refrain from touching, cleaving together, needing to be as close as was humanly possible; one mind, one flesh. Now Jane understood the meaning of the marriage vows - Forsaking all others - till death us do part - with my body I thee worship...
For the first time ever she realised this could be a wonderful commitment - with the right man. I shall tell Maria, she promised herself.
Then all sensible thought fled. Robin caught her to him and to her joy she felt the pressure of the long bough of his penis. It bored against her belly, hard and hot, and she was not afraid, knowing what it looked like.
'Jane! Oh, my dear, I shouldn't have brought you here. It's too tempting. I don't know if I can control myself,' he muttered, his face buried in the softness of her neck, his breath tickling her ear, causing a flurry of sweet sensations.
She was not sure that she wanted him to exert control, though dire warnings issued by her governesses rang in her ears. 'No man respects a girl who gives in to his lustful desires. You'll end up on the stage if you are too free with your favours, no better than you should be!'
Then there was the matter of pregnancy. More than one of the maid-servants in her father's household had been thrown on to the streets when confessing to being with child. There was no provision for a woman who conceived out of wedlock. If the father deserted her, and nine times out of ten he did, and her relatives cast her out and the parish refused to support her, then she was doomed to a life of begging or prostitution to feed herself and her bastard.
Jane had not heard of it happening among her own class, but then an arranged marriage would go ahead, the date simply brought forward a little, titles, property and religion of prime importance. But if she found herself in the family way by a humble clergyman? What then? I can't, her mind screamed, but I want him, her wayward flesh argued.
Despite her reservations she found herself lying on the bed with Robin beside her. It felt so natural, his arms holding her, his mouth against hers, his body part covering her. Even the new sensation of his jaw was a novelty, slightly rasping although he was close-shaved. She was accustomed to Maria's smooth cheek. Being with a man was altogether different - his embrace was harsher, his kisses rougher, his whole attitude one of dominance. It made Jane feel puny and of no account against the force of his passion.
His hand closed over one of her breasts. At first he seemed content just to cup it, but then his fingers began to move, tracing over the pert swell of the nipple. It rose towards him like the hopeful nose of a household pet, begging to be caressed. He bowed his head and she felt his hot breath warming the eager teat, then the delirious sensation of him sucking it through the muslin. Encouraged by her moans of pleasure he unbuttoned her bodice, exposing the pink rosebud and licking it.
Jane could feel her resolutions melting like snow in sunlight. He was so hesitant and shy, almost afraid to touch her, as if she was made of spun-glass that might shatter. Wanting to reassure him, she wound her arms round his neck and ground her pelvis against his thigh. He started, trembled and his prick became larger and harder, wanting release. She dropped her hand down, groping for the trouser closure.
His own clamped over her searching fingers. 'No,' he begged, in a tumult of indecision. 'No... I mean, oh, yes... can you really want to handle my manhood?'
'I do,' she urged, then bowed her head. 'I must confess that I have already seen it. Maria and I were hiding behind the bushes and watched you bring yourself relief.'
'You did? And you weren't shocked?' He released her hand, permitting her fingers free rein in their exploration of his person.
'I was excited,' she murmured, finding the flap that was buttoned each side of his waist, releasing it and unfolding the square of material to below his crotch.
His cock was hidden by his shirt, but she lifted this away and freed the sturdy phallus from its confinement. It felt every bit as good as she had imagined - so warm and heavy and needy. Greatly daring, Jane followed the dictates of nature and lowered her head so that her mouth engulfed it, taking in the length and girth until it prodded her throat.
Robin lay there transfixed. It was as if his wildest fantasy had been fulfilled, transporting him to heaven. 'Jane, Jane...' he whispered, with a catch in his voice. 'This is the first time a woman has touched me, let alone done what you're doing. There were whores haunting the taverns in Oxford where I attended university, and some of the other fellows used them, but I was studying religion and didn't think it right. A few of the students practiced sodomy, but this, too, I avoided. I never dreamed... never even hoped that a genteel young lady would want to do this to me. Where did you learn?'
