Gwen started undoing her husband’s clothes, pushing back his coat and unbuttoning his waistcoat. All the garments were discarded posthaste, thrown into a careless pile. “Do you think your friends will want you to share it again?” Gwen asked.
“What?”
“I mean, when they tell their wives what sort of garden folly this is... Do you think they will all wish to try it out?”
Aidan chuckled. “Perhaps. It depends whether they are as depraved as you, my love.”
“I am not depraved.”
His chuckle transformed to a laugh. “Tell me that again in five minutes. We’ll see if it’s true.” He led her toward the whipping post. “Raise your hands in surrender, my perfectly demure wife.”
“I didn’t say I was demure either.”
He put a finger over her lips. “Enough chatter. While the cuffs are on, you’re not to speak, do you understand? Not unless you’re spoken to.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The authority in his voice sparked an aching pulse between her legs.
A few years ago, her husband had commissioned some fine leather cuffs which were now affixed to the pole at her precise height. He still used rope sometimes, if he wanted to give her some leeway to pull and writhe about. He used the cuffs when he wanted her fixed and controlled. She studied his handsome features as he secured her wrists in the restraints. She still found him every bit as beautiful as Jack in the meadow. If anything, he’d improved with age.
He met her eyes when he finished, his lips curving up in a smile. He had a daunting ability to read her moods and thoughts. He kissed her, simultaneously pulling down on the cuffs to make sure she was secure. When he was satisfied, he smoothed his hands down her arms and to her nape. He took her hair down, pin by pin, until it cascaded down her back. Then he wrapped it around one hand and pushed the lot of it forward over her shoulder.
She shivered as he caressed her bare back. Please, take me now, she wanted to beg. How wise he was, not to let her speak, for she’d be babbling like a madwoman. I love how you caress me. I love the heat of your body at my back. How strong he seemed, how commanding when he explored her this way. His thick cock poked against her bottom, a delicious threat, although he rarely buggered her except after punishments. Disciplinary sodomizations, as he called them, for naughty wives.
He made a low sound as he nuzzled her nape. “How good you’re being,” he said. “Not a sound, although I can see you trying to rub your quim against the pole.”
Oh, yes, she was, although her husband discouraged such lascivious lapses of discipline. He held her waist with one hand and palmed her pussy with the other, thrusting his middle finger deep inside. It slid within her moisture, betraying copious arousal.
“Not depraved, my sweet?” His laugh was rough and lewd as his touch. “You’re hot enough to burst into flames.”
She moaned as he stroked her, taking his time, bringing her closer to that peak but not allowing her to reach it. Oh, she wanted his cock inside her now, but she knew he would play with her first, play with her until she was reduced to a needy and desperate puddle of longing. It appealed to the tyrant and sadist in him, to make her wait. To even, occasionally, leave her unsatisfied.
Goodness, she hoped this wasn’t to be one of those nights. She couldn’t even beg for what she wanted, because he’d taken away her permission to speak.
And you love it, she thought. His control excites you beyond bearing.
She heard him rummage in one of the trunks, and shifted from foot to foot. The cool air had her nipples hard as pebbles. She felt his hand on her hair, and then soft fabric against her face. He looped a length of silk around her eyes and tightened it so she couldn’t see. She made a soft pleading sound, wanting to be touched, stroked, anything. She heard rummaging again. No point in turning to look. Not that she ever turned to look, since that only made her more anxious.
Oh, hurt me, please.
She felt his palm against her arse. He smacked it a few times, readying her, she knew, for something harder. Then he stood back and dealt her a stinging blow that could only have come from the tawse.
She shrieked and danced on her toes. It hurt so badly, stung like spreading fire on her cheeks. He gave her four more blows in quick succession, so she thrilled and hurt and nearly jumped out of her skin. Heavy impact, heavy sting. She feared the tawse, for it could be such a brutal implement. She gritted her teeth so she wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t cry out loud for him to stop.
After the fifth blow, she felt his heat and presence behind her. His thick cock slid between her legs and then thrust strongly into her quim. She struggled in her dark world to reorient herself from pain to pleasure. Another thrust, and another, stretching her in ecstasy, and then he was gone, leaving her empty.
“No,” she cried, even though he’d forbidden her to speak. Because she knew what was coming. Teasing, and more pain.
“Hush,” he reminded her, and then the swish and thwack of impact echoed in the marble room. The heat was more intense now, coming on the heels of the too-short respite. Five blows again, as she cried and danced about, going nowhere. Then his cock drove inside her again. She used to be ashamed that such rough play excited her, but not anymore. Oh, oh, oh...
“You feel that?” he asked, pressing inside her. “Feel how hard I am for you. You want to be fucked, don’t you? You want me to fuck you until you come.”
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, taking the opportunity to speak, even if she could barely form the words. “Please let me come.”
“After you take your spanking,” he said. “You know you come much harder and longer after you’ve been properly spanked.”
She shook her head, and pulled at the cuffs in frustration as he left her again.
“Please,” she cried out as the tawse resumed its stinging torture.
Rather than chide her for speaking out of turn, he put his hand over her mouth and gave her a good, steady volley of whacks. She protested against his palm, but oh, it felt so good. It felt intense and scary, and wonderfully liberating, because she was so completely under his control, unable to speak, unable to see. She lost track of how many times he spanked her and fucked her in alternation, never letting her get a foothold on her way to climax.
She would feel this tomorrow...even though it was play, this sort of spanking would leave bruises. She’d feel it when she walked, and when she sat to tend the children. Whenever she had time alone, she would pull up the back of her skirts and gain perverse pleasure from gazing at the marks in her looking glass. That was the type of duchess she was, for better or worse, and her husband rejoiced in it.
Especially at times like these.
“I want you to come now,” he said at last. He placed his hands over the cuffs and thrust inside her, banging his hips against her tender arse. “Come for me, Guinevere. I want it.”
Nothing triggered her pleasure more reliably than his gruff, insistent commands. Her pelvis contracted, her pussy clenching around his pounding shaft. He drew rigid behind her, with a jerk and a long groan. His final thrust nearly lifted her from the floor. The cuffs rattled on their chains as he held her close, sighing contentedly against her ear.
She didn’t speak yet. She wished to be a good wife and obey his directions, so she waited until he removed her blindfold and released her from the cuffs. Then she turned to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you. I love you. And that really hurt.”
She reached one hand behind her to rub away the sting that remained, but of course, Aidan stopped her.
“You know better,” he said, clasping her wrist. “Perhaps we ought to begin all over again with a real punishment, if you’ll disregard my rules.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’ll be good.”
She put her arm back around his neck and hugged him, unwilling to break the connection that came from this intense sort of play. After a moment, he lifted her so she was eye-to-eye with him at his prodigious
height.
“Say it again,” he prompted. “I like those words.”
“I’ll be good?”
“No, the other words.”
“I love you.” She hugged him tighter, pressing a kiss against his ear. “I love you. I love you.”
She drew back and gazed at him, the fairy queen and her king in their marble temple. His hands smoothed over her back and cupped her bottom with a tender grip.
“I love you too, Gwen,” he whispered. “I’ll love you forever.”
And for that, she’d always be his perfect, obedient duchess.
Ask the heavens for what your heart wants. In her case, someone had answered. Someone tall and commanding, and sometimes a bit lofty, with a Viking marauder smile.
THE END