What the Mistress Did Page 6

  Lifting the arm that is free, he clasps my fingers, joining us together even more intimately. With a sighing moan, he touches the tip of his tongue to my neck, and then slides it up to my ear. The withdrawal and return of his member into my body is almost minute in distance, but the force and control of each incursion is perfectly timed and positioned. His body presses against my clitoris with each motion—the head of his cock finds and stimulates a spot deep inside me with each pass.

  “I will not last,” he whispers. “I have yearned for this, anticipated this, too long. Just the scent of you makes me want to spend, before I even touch you.”

  Already I feel my body twisting tighter and tighter inside. My hips press forward to meet each deliberate assault of his cock. He knows how to bring me the ultimate explosion of pleasure—if he can stay the course, keep up this slow, determined pace, he will make me mindless with need.

  Time stretches, becomes a heated capsule trapping us within. He is mine, mine, again. As he was before—as I have always dreamed he would be. His hand tightens on my fingers and I look up into his passion-glazed eyes. What I see there makes me whimper and gasp his name. He presses closer yet, his cock imbedded as deeply as possible, and holds my gaze. Ripples of pleasure make my hips jerk in tiny, uncontrollable motions.

  “More,” I gasp, lifting my mouth toward his. “More!”

  With an inarticulate sound of passion, David claims my lips. It is a kiss tinged with desperation, yet no less desire-filled for it. The sweet sweep of his tongue matches the beat of his hips, and I surrender to them both, melting into him, welcoming him and his mastery.

  He drags his mouth away, and I glimpse dampness in his eyes before he buries his face in my neck.

  “Marianne, Marianne…”

  The chant of my name, the touch of his lips to my ear, my throat, takes me closer, closer to the edge of bliss. David is shuddering against me, and I know what it costs him to keep the thrusts slow, steady. My body tightens, and he cries out, the rhythm fracturing, becoming rushes of power that push me into another release.

  Still he pulses into me, deeper, deeper yet, as though never to cease. Opening my eyes, I glimpse our reflections in the mirror, think of Annabelle watching from the shadows, and my body spasms once more.

  Chapter Eight

  I feel her gaze brushing softly, curiously over my flesh. Reclined upon the bed where David had placed me following our tryst, I have not bothered to cover myself. What would be the point? Annabelle has already seen all of me.

  She is restless, her fingers smoothing her skirts again and again, although the lessons of being a lady keep her tethered to her chair. I am replete, satisfaction making me lazy and disinclined to speak, but beneath the flow of satiation vibrates a strange warmth that feeds off her agitation.

  “Is he always so forceful with you?”

  Abrupt, sharp, her words are as volleys from a pistol, shattering the silence and my peace. I stretch, more aware than usual of the way my muscles tighten, my breasts rise and fall, the wash of cool air over my skin. Through half-closed lids, I see how Annabelle follows the motion. Her gaze flickers and flits like a butterfly, touching the various parts of my body and then flying away. Heat uncurls in my belly.

  “No,” I reply, letting my eyelids drift farther down, until I must look almost asleep. Idly I stroke my stomach with one hand, from just beneath my breasts to just above my mons. “Sometimes he is slow and tender and brings me to climax so many times I am unable to move when he is done.”

  She glances away, just for a moment, and a faint tinge of pink stains her cheeks. There is something she wants to say or to ask but cannot bring herself to articulate it.

  My heart begins to thump. Tingles of anticipation flow across my skin. I still pretend somnolence but have never felt more awake or alert.

  “Have you ever climaxed, Lady Harrington?”

  A perfect riot of colour pervades her face, and her fingers fist on her skirts.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Once more I am forced to admire her coolness, the credible attempt at composure. Had I truly not been watching, I might even have been fooled. But I am not, and let her know with the smallest of smiles, a sharp glance from quickly opened eyes that snares her gaze.

  “Have you ever climaxed, spent, found release, as I did when you tickled my cunt with the feather, or when David was fucking me?”

  “I…I…”

  Her attempt to pretend indifference cannot be maintained, and the sight of her discomfiture only fires my rising excitement.

  “Oh, but you must experience it. There is nothing more truly delicious in this entire world.” Sitting up, I abandon all pretence of disinterest. “There are ways, you know, to have it by yourself, so as to know what it feels like. You must know how to achieve it, so as to find satisfaction in the marriage bed. ’Tis most important.”

  Her lips open, but she does not speak. I move to the side of the mattress and dangle my legs over the edge. Now facing her, I smile and settle the fingers of my right hand over my mound. Already my clitoris is beginning to throb, my outer lips filling with warmth. Slowly I open my legs. Annabelle tries not to look, but inexorably her gaze falls.

  What does her cunt look like? I wager she does not even know. Her reaction to seeing mine tells me, for her, that particular part of her body has been no more than a crevice to be washed at bath time. Or, now, a place to receive her husband’s seed. Letting my voice fall caressingly low, I say, “Pull up your skirts, dear, and put your hand on your cunt as I do, and I will guide you.”

  She shakes her head, still all a-blush, but cannot bring herself to look away from where my fingers have begun a slow slide towards my quim. Impatience snaps at me, but I hold it back so as to croon, “If you are shy, darling, just put your hand up under your dress. There is no need for me to see what you are about, as long as you can see me.”

  Using my index and little fingers, I part the lips of my cunt and slowly slide the middle finger between them. Annabelle licks her lips and swallows, her avid gaze tracking my slightest movements. Taking my time, I circle the distended flesh of my clitoris and whisper, “This is the seat of pleasure, dearest. You will hear it called your nub or pearl or peak, but the name matters not. What is of true import is that you recognise it is the place that brings the sharpest and deepest bliss.”

  In illustration I touch the tip, dance my finger over it, tap it lightly and moan at the combined stimulation of my caresses and her unwavering stare. She is clutching the arms of her chair, her knuckles white under the strain. I swirl my finger faster, then suddenly dip lower to the entrance of my cunt. Using two fingers, I push inside, feel the heated walls cling and release. With slow, deliberate motions I fuck them in and out, the wet sounds of my self-ministrations filling the room.

  “This feels lovely too and will only drive your desire to new heights.” My voice is hoarse, breathless, and my body begins to tremble, curling in on itself with each new sensation. “While it is a good way to discover what feels best for you, the touch of another’s hands, or better yet their tongue, is even more thrilling.”

  “T…tongue…?”

  Annabelle’s eyes widen, a fresh wave of red suffusing her face, neck and the now heaving expanse of bosom above her bodice. Her gaze lifts to mine—is immediately drawn back to where my fingers play. She licks her lips, and I moan softly at the sight of that pink tip, imagining the velvety slide of it over my skin.

  “Oh, yes. The tongue truly is the most delightful device of love.” I can hardly speak now, the insistent waves of lust gathering strength within. “Once you experience your lover sucking and licking your quim, you will never want to be without that sublime sensation.”

  Her hands have fallen to her lap, although I doubt she realises it. Beneath the hem of her skirt I can see the toes of her shoes inch apart and her back arches slightly, no doubt pressing her cunt against the seat of the chair. I know she craves completion but cannot yet throw off the retice
nce force-fed her by society since birth. I am determined to shatter it, to see her indulge in the most lascivious acts imaginable. Just the thought of it is enough to make me shudder and moan.

  Withdrawing my fingers from inside my body, I use my fore and middle fingers to frame my distended clitoris. The slippery flesh pulses, and my hips jerk as I draw back the hood on my “little cock”, as Imogene has dubbed it. Annabelle’s breath shudders in and out of her lungs, and her hips rise and fall in sympathetic arousal.

  “Do you want to see me spend, darling?” I tease her with subtle motions, pinching and releasing my nub, drawing back the supple skin so the even smoother flesh beneath is revealed and concealed in little winks. I am teasing myself unto madness too, and whether she wishes to see my release or no, there is nothing I am willing to do to restrain myself from having it. The only thing that would make it absolutely sublime would be to hear her admit she longs to see me lost in passion once more. “Tell me if you do, and I will climax just for you.”

  “Y…yes.” She gasps, rocking against the chair, her hands pressing down against the skirts covering her lap. “Yes.”

  Oh, the thrill of watching her watch me, of knowing we have reached a point of no return, that whatever comes in the future I have changed the cold, aristocratic young girl into a woman driven by lust. I wish David were here to see it, to know. I imagine him tied, unable to move or stop me seducing his wife and leading her into the dissipation he so happily introduced to my life.

  Reaching down with my other hand, I plunge the first two fingers into my cunt, all the while tickling and swirling my clitoris with the other. Our breathing is the same, rushed and desperate, becoming a duet of arousal and intent.

  “Imagine David’s tongue between your thighs, his fingers penetrating your cunt, finding a special place that drives you to explode into a ball of flame.” My voice is high, a little wild, and Annabelle shudders, her body vibrating within the confines of her chair.

  “Oh,” she whimpers, closing her eyes momentarily, her back arching against the chair.

  The first wave of orgasm strikes, harder than I expected, making every muscle tremble and strain. I am lost, dying le petit mort, not restraining my cries and sobs of completion. My body folds forward, my legs closing over my hands against my wish to keep them open wide so Annabelle can see every nuance of my release. I do not stop the frantic motion of my fingers but wring every last drop of satisfaction from this torrid, hitherto inconceivable, moment.

  When I finally gather the strength to look at her, Annabelle is motionless, frozen, her eyes glazed, her lips red as though bitten or kissed repeatedly.

  I have not touched her—yet—but we are already bound by lovers’ bonds. Laughter wells inside me, and I fall back upon the bed, opening my legs wide so she can see the final pulses of my cunt. A soft moan breaks from her throat, and she rises. Beneath lowered lids, I watch her reach for and clutch the back of the chair for balance, and triumph makes me laugh all the harder.

  “That was wonderful, beyond my wildest expectations.” I sit up suddenly, repressing my laughter and cupping my breasts to tweak the still-hardened nipples. “Would that I could explain it better, but the pleasures of the flesh must be experienced to be understood. Is there no part of you that wishes to learn this divine sensation?”

  She swallows and licks her lips again. I need not be clairvoyant to know how she yearns to reach for that final culmination—that her legs are trembling, her cunt afire with need. My aim now is to take her there, to drag her even farther from the safety of conventionality. She took the first steps of her own volition. Now I crave her complete surrender to desire.

  When we part, I want to know she will forever lust, ache, hunger for erotic stimulation. That no matter how she tries to once more conform to our society’s strictures, she will be despoiled by the carnal knowledge I have imparted.

  It will be my final gift to, or curse upon, David and her.

  Quaking as though buffeted by a gale, she seems unable to move or answer my question. Sliding off the bed, I go slowly closer, until we are face-to-face. Looking down into eyes dark with desire, I slowly reach out to touch her face. The scent of sexual congress surrounds us, and I see her inhale, the delicate skin of her nostrils flaring.

  “Will you let me help you?” I make it a question, a lure, when what I truly want is to command her surrender. “I will make it all better, if you let me.”

  Gently, gently, I tell myself as her eyes close, and a single tear slips from beneath one lid. Bending forward, I catch the drop on my tongue, feel her shudder at the soft contact. Testing her compliance, I put one arm around her shoulders and turn her to face the mirror. Releasing her grip on the chair, she allows the movement, and my heart swells with the small victory.

  Standing behind her, I rub my hands along her forearms, feeling goose flesh rise beneath my fingers. When I touch her shoulders, she starts but does not move away. Sliding my hands along the edge of her bodice makes her stiffen, and I play with the lace above her breasts until she is panting softly in response.

  Dipping my fingers beneath the fabric, I gently caress the sweet warm swell of her breasts, until I find the tight nipples.

  Immediately she shudders, and I whisper, “Open your eyes, Annabelle. You look so lovely, lost in passion.”

  There is a small shake of her head, and I do not press the point. I want to do nothing that will make her pull away or have even one second thought. Pinching and tweaking, I keep my touch gentle, coaxing her to press her breasts into my hands. When I twist the nipples hard enough to cause some pain, she gasps, but instead of pulling away, her hips thrust back against my legs.

  Keeping one hand thus employed, I reach down to lift the hem of her skirts, slowly pulling at her petticoats, trying to get beneath them. I will not be able to without her help and tell her so. Again she shudders, shakes her head, but already her hands are gathering the billowing fabric, layer after layer, until her trim, silk-clad calves are revealed. I help her, touching her hand, holding the petticoats, making sure she never loses awareness of our joint complicity. Finally she stands, arms full of her skirts, leaning back against me, eyes closed. All that stands between my questing fingers and her first release at my hands is the thin drape of her shift.

  Slowly releasing her breast with one last squeeze, I withdraw from her bodice, earning a small moan of disappointment. I am smiling as I reach around her hips, beneath the folds of her hiked-up dress, and grasp the paper-thin linen undergarment. Taking my time, wanting her to feel each inch of its ascent, I gather it up. Suddenly, as it rises above Annabelle’s knees to expose pink ribband garters and her plump smooth thighs, I realise I too am panting with undeniable excitement. Unable to wait a moment more, I bring it all the way up to above her mound.

  A swirl of dark hair coyly hides her from my view, but a gleam of her excitement wets the curls. Reaching out with my foot, I draw the nearby footstool close to our sides.

  “Hold your shift, darling, and put your foot up,” I whisper directly into her ear. Her entire body quakes, and a wave of unexpected tenderness makes me hug her closer. Bending to kiss her neck, I flutter my tongue against her skin and am rewarded with her sighing assent.

  As she lifts her leg, knee turned out to the side, the glory of her sweet little cunt, red and awash with juices, comes into view. Delicate folds open, a stiff nub peeks out, and she quivers, as though already feeling what is to come.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper again, slowly tracing my fingers along her thighs. It will not take much to make her spend. Already she is on the brink. There is one thing more I need tonight, a night meant to give her a taste, tempt her to want more and more. A night meant to set the stage for her complete seduction.

  “Do you want me to touch you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Oh, how Annabelle trembles, from her lips to the muscles of her thighs, taut beneath my hands.

  “Look at me.” I make my voice stern, softening the demand
with a squeeze of my arms, held tight around her. With a reluctant flutter, her eyelids rise, and she meets my gaze in the mirror. Then she looks down and stares at her own cunt, framed by my hands, in the glass. Her sighs immediately turn to soft moans, and she tilts her hips forward, begging to be caressed in that most intimate place.

  “Do you want me to touch you?” Teasingly I let my fingers draw closer, touch the crease at the joining of her thighs and mound. “Do you?”

  “Yes.” The words seems forced from her lips, and her hips jerk in pre-orgasmic spasms beneath my hand, although I haven’t yet touched her properly. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  She is indescribably wet and hot as fire. Wanting to stretch the moment as long and deliciously as possible, I flirt with the sides of her clitoris but do not stimulate it directly. Her hips swivel, but I elude her attempts to bring me to the mark for one more, long, taunting moment.

  Dipping one hand lower, I enter her tight heat up to the second knuckle of one finger, feel her inner muscles grip and release and grip again.

  “Please, oh please.”

  How I love the sound of her voice, breathy and uncontrolled, as she begs. It makes me want more, and I demand it by crooking my finger inside her cunt, exploring as I press my palm tight over her mound. Splaying her legs as much as possible, hips gyrating, Annabelle gasps and moans, almost incoherent pleas issuing from her lips.

  Grasping her around her waist, I pump myself against her fabric-encased buttocks, and carry the rhythm through to my finger, fucking her before and behind. She is close to climax, head back against my breast, completely lost, desperately trying to reach that final moment she can feel rushing forward to engulf her body.