Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
His presence and the flogger in his hand.
Not my husband’s hand.
The butler’s hand. Anthony, that’s his name.
He’s handsome enough, with dark golden hair and a square jaw. It reminds me of the way household help in Regency England would be chosen for their attractiveness. Is that how Francisco chose him? And more importantly, did he choose him because he found Anthony attractive or because he thought his future wife would?
Francisco smiles down at me, the corners of his mouth curved in a darker cousin of delight. He backs up with deliberate care, creating exactly enough space for the butler to come forward.
“Begin.”
At Francisco’s command, Anthony brings the flogger down on one of my breasts. The leather tails sting over my swollen nipples. My back bows against the bed. There’s nowhere for me to go. Anticipation makes every hair on my body stand up. Somehow it’s worse, being able to see it. I thought a blindfold would be the worst thing, but no, it’s being able to watch the flogger fly toward me while I am powerless.
Lust flares in Anthony’s pale brown eyes, but that’s not what turns me on. He’s not the master of this scene. He’s not Francisco. No, he’s merely a prop. A prop like the thin black flogger that plays over my stomach and down over my thighs.
Francisco makes a sound of disapproval, and the butler shifts to the foot of the bed. No. Surely not. That’s not what he’s going to do, and not what Francisco meant. I fight back the question on my lips and force myself to wait. The few moments it takes him to get to his new position are enough time for me to feel everything.
My mind rebels against the idea of the butler and the flogger and my husband, standing nearby but not wielding it himself. It’s wrong for him not to be the one to do this. Isn’t it? But as his eyes move possessively over my body, I realize it’s not wrong. It’s a sign of his power. He commands everyone in this household. He might as well have the flogger in his hand. It’s the same. Everything springs from him.
The flogger comes down between my legs.
It sends me spiraling. Francisco wanted this. He wanted to watch the tails of the flogger connect with my softest, most secret flesh. He wanted to watch me cry out and hear that cry turn into a moan. He wanted to watch me thrash against the bed, held in place by chains he put around my wrists and ankles himself. I know he did.
“Three more,” he says.
The first one is a shock to the system. All that leather on already sensitive flesh. The second cracks me open. And the third wrenches a sudden orgasm out of me. I’m not the kind of woman who comes from this kind of treatment, except that I am. Except that Francisco made me this way. Or brought it out of me. Maybe these desires were always there, always hiding under the surface. It’s possible I was always this filthy and depraved.
This is as bad as it can get. This is as wrong as it can get.
“Fuck her throat,” says Francisco.
It sounds so elegant, coming out of his mouth. Almost like a royal edict.
Anthony doesn’t hesitate. He climbs up on the bed and straddles me. I’m so completely exposed. So completely at his mercy. I’m at my own butler’s mercy, except it’s really Francisco’s mercy, and Francisco isn’t going to be merciful.
The butler unzips his pants and takes his cock out. Francisco hands him a condom the way you’d hand someone a cigarette, and the butler unwraps it and rolls it on.
I open my mouth.
“Good,” says Francisco, and a pleased flush moves from my forehead to the tip of my toes. Praise from him shouldn’t do this to me. I haven’t even been his wife for a month. It makes no difference. It’s humiliating. Horribly humiliating, the way this makes me feel. I was not raised to crave compliments in situations like this. I never thought that being a good wife would mean opening my mouth to accept the butler’s cock.
I never thought that it would give me a twisted pleasure.
The butler leans over me and pushes in against my tongue. I don’t like the taste of the condom, but it makes this different from Francisco. He can enter my mouth without a barrier. Apparently, the butler cannot. Everyone in this house is an extension of Francisco. His word is law. So the butler fucks my mouth like he owns it, too, with deep, almost frantic strokes.
Francisco watches.
Impatience builds in his eyes, and my body matches it. I don’t want him to be impatient. I want him to give in to his impatience and touch me. He doesn’t do it. Francisco rarely gives in to anything.