Lady Blackrook Victorian Adventuress En Pointe
- 3 years ago
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In a way, what I was doing was preventing me from having to tell him. It was easier, wasn’t it? It was much easier to have formed this routine. It immediately let him know I’d screwed up and I didn’t have to open my mouth and say it myself. But it was crazy. Certifiably crazy. I knew this even as I ran around the house, doing everything I could remember.
It was almost Christmas. The tinsel and fairy lights were twined around the banisters; the tree was standing in the sitting room, weighed down by decorations. A flurry of cards from well-wishers occupied the mantelpiece, the sideboard, even the telephone table in the hall. Everybody loved Kent, even though they didn’t know anything about him. I picked up each card in turn, checking for imaginary dust. There was no dust. There was never any goddamn dust. He had a cleaner come in twice a week.
I walked hurriedly around the rooms and lit the vanilla-scented candles, my hands trembling. I always got shaky around fire. It reminded me of cigarettes, of the long, lonely, desperate days before Kent had stalked into my life. And yet, some part of me still craved them. Just one. It would be easy. There was a ten-pack in the glove compartment of my car. It had been there for years. I could so easily get my fix. But he’d know. Of course he’d fucking know. What didn’t he know?
I hated him for knowing me so completely. For so many years, the real me had been a secret, the best kept secret. I was the only person who knew me, who knew what went around in my head. And then Kent had come and picked me apart and seen everything and put me back together but with a piece of him in there too. He knew me inside out.
I was wearing his favourite dress. I always wore his favourite dress when I’d done something wrong, like it might distract him from punishing me. It never did. Insanity. Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I knew this. I knew all of this. But it didn’t change the routines.
The dress was white, a pure, lily white and sleeveless too. It only gave me additional goose bumps. The fine hairs on my arms refused to lie down. His favourite underwear on me was no underwear so I was naked beneath the dress. My feet were bare, my dark hair tied up in a ponytail.
I couldn’t look at the Christmas tree; was far too conscious of the glaring gap in the presents beneath. He must have known what he was doing. Goddamn son of a bitch. And I was just as bad. He knew me, I knew him. Curiosity killed the cat. I didn’t touch the big presents. It was just that one little one. It was like it was watching me forlornly, begging to be opened. And it wasn’t even wrapped prettily. Brown paper, white string. Not even a gift tag. He’d written on the paper in his cursive handwriting.
To Eva. From Kent.
I’d told myself he wouldn’t notice while knowing he would. And even then, I hadn’t tried to cover my tracks. The smart thing to do would’ve been to carefully slit in open in such a way that it could be easily resealed and made to look untouched. But no. I’d torn the goddamn paper like a child.
Was it worth it? To get to the pretty box beneath, to open it and see the goddamn butt plug shining out at me? It made my stomach drop. Excitement clashed with unease. It was so big. So silver. And all of a sudden, I was in so much trouble. I could have run away; gone home to the apartment I never slept in anymore. Kent wouldn’t have chased me, at least not immediately. But I would have felt even worse.
So what did I do? I stowed the ruined present in the bedside table and awaited my fate. I cooked dinner for him. Spaghetti Bolognese. I even went and bought goddamn butterscotch ice-cream. I took the clothes from the dryer, ironed them. I rearranged the bookcase into alphabetical order. I moved the coffee table so it was exactly a foot away from the edge of the rug. I actually measured the goddamn distance. I painstakingly waxed my snatch. I changed my clothes, brushed my hair, dabbed on his favourite perfume. I put on a Frank Sinatra album.
Things hadn’t been good for over a week. Maybe the silence between us was what had prompted me to open the present. It wasn’t even about the present. It was about attention. I told myself this coldly. I was an attention whore, always had been, and always would be. And not brave enough to ask for the attention. I wasn’t the kid who put myself forward to be Mary in the Nativity play. I was the low-key nameless angel who purposefully tripped over the manger and got stared at disapprovingly.
Attention. Even though it was bad, even though I was told off, I still loved it. Kent knew. He’d know what I’d done, why I’d done it and he’d give me what I craved. But would it fix the standoff? I hated myself for ever arguing with him. But he could be so tiresome at times, so stubborn. He wanted commitment, whatever the hell that meant. Apparently it wasn’t enough that I let him do what he pleased to me. No.
He’d gone out and bought a goddamn diamond ring, got down on one fucking knee and expected me to melt with joy, as if marriage was the thing that would complete us. The ring ended up back in his pocket. We ended up fighting. We still fucked but it wasn’t the same. It was angry, defiant, more hate than love. I don’t know why I fought about it. Any sensible girl would’ve smiled and been happy. But the ring offended me. I hated diamonds, and what they were supposed to represent. I didn’t want to fall into a cliché.
I heard Kent’s key in the lock. Simultaneously, my heart sank, my stomach turned and my snatch flushed with wet heat. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. I was standing in the kitchen. Maybe he was hungry. I hoped he was hungry. I only ever cooked to see him eat. Jesus. Jesus. It wasn’t worth it. None of it was going to be worth it. Maybe he’d still hate me. Maybe he didn’t want to play my stupid, pathetic, messed-up games.
I knew each sound he made. The door shutting. The bolt across. The key scraping. The clink into the bowl. The drop of his shoes. His coat brushing against the wall as he hung it up. There was a pause. He could smell the candles. I heard him think. I swear I could hear it.
“Eva?”
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I crossed my legs, my arms, my fingers. I almost wanted to cry. I swallowed hard.
“Eva? You here?”
My feet were walking without permission. Out of the kitchen, into the hall.
“I’m here,” My voice was small, thin, like a scrap of paper.
He looked at me. I looked at his chest. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid dress, stupid presents, stupid everything. What if he hated me? What if he was through? He didn’t speak and to fill up the silence I was suddenly talking fast.
“I didn’t know what time you’d get back. I made dinner but I’m not hungry so it’s all for you really. And I went out and to the twenty-four hour store and I know you said that I should take the car but it wasn’t all that dark and I needed the fresh air and I got ice-cream and it wasn’t the exact same brand but they didn’t have-”
“Enough,” Kent’s voice was resigned. “Just go upstairs.”
I knew better than to argue. I slipped past him and headed up to the bedroom. I heard him follow though I didn’t dare look back. My heart sank a little. His dinner would be cold. It made me almost angry. I walked into the bedroom and stopped at the foot of the bed, turning reluctantly to face him.
“You know what to do,” His voice was patient. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”
I couldn’t look at him. Of course I knew. It was maybe the tenth time I’d found myself in this very situation. I walked over to the dressing table. It was small and wooden, painted white in a shabby-chic kind of way. It was probably meant to look French. Kent said it reminded him of me. I could never understand why. I bent over the table, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He was brisk, unemotional, like he always was at this point. He pulled my dress cleanly up.
“Legs wider,” His strong hand closed around my ankle, forcing my feet further apart. “How many times do I have to tell you this, Eva?”
God. God. Why? How did any of this make any sense? Why did I need it? Why did I enjoy it?
His hand slipped up my leg, my calf, the inside of my knee, my thigh and hesitated there. He knew I was wet. He knew I couldn’t help it. Maybe he’d mortify me by calling me out on it. He’d done it before. Why’re you so wet, kitten? D’you want to be spanked? That’s counter-productive, right? Maybe we should come up with something else, something that doesn’t turn you on so much.
But he didn’t say anything. He straightened up. His fingertips rested lightly on my ass and then they were gone. I didn’t move. I hardly breathed. I screwed my eyes shut and waited. His hand came down, fast, strong and hard. No matter how many times I’d felt it, it always surprised me. Sharp. Urgent. He alternated between cheeks and I felt the stinging glow radiate after the first dozen. He always went in dozens.
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His voice was lazily amused as he pressed his thumb to my tight asshole. “You didn’t put it in?”
How did he know what I’d done wrong, that I’d seen the plug? I felt like I’d been set up.
“No,” I said, very quietly.
“Why not? D’you want me to do it? Surely, you wanna play with your new toy.”
“No,” I knew he’d make me wear it for what felt like forever. “Please. I – I didn’t mean to unwrap it.”
He laughed.
“Of course you did. You always do. We both know you, kitten. You don’t make mistakes. You’re too fucking smart for that.”
His hand slapped down again, cracking against my tender ass. I pressed my cheek against the cold dressing table and sucked in air, trying to count. It felt like more than twelve. With each strike, the air was knocked out of my lungs and before I could get it all back, he’d have spanked me again, leaving me gasping. Two dozen? I couldn’t count. I couldn’t think. I felt his hands grasp my cheeks, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp out a protest.
“Please. That – hurts!”
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he breathed. “Don’t move a muscle.”
I didn’t move. I heard him walk to the en-suite, heard the drop of his clothing, and imagined his broad shoulders under the stream of hot water. I moaned softly. I desperately wanted to touch myself. My ass throbbed threateningly like it was reminding me of what misbehaving earned. The rush of water. His damp hair. Maybe he was stroking himself. I almost stamped my foot. It felt like I was there for hours. My nails bit into my palms.
By the time he returned, I was a mess. He was naked. It only made me wetter.
“Take your dress off. And bend over again.”
I obliged, slipping the white dress off over my head. He took it from me and dropped it onto the bed. Reluctantly, I bent over the dressing table. Kent’s fingers skimmed down my back and slipped between my legs, fingering my snatch.
“You did this for me?” he asked. “All smooth and pretty?”
I was fighting the urge to push against his strong fingers.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.
“It’s so perfect,” His voice was teasing. “Too perfect, kitten.”
His fingers pulled back and I whined.
“Too perfect?”
“Yep.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Can’t ruin it. Mustn’t. So I guess I’ll just have to fuck your ass instead.”
I clenched as his fingertip pressed against my tight knot. We’d only been there once. And it wasn’t a wonderful memory.
“But you said - but we don’t.”
Kent sighed.
“I know. But you’re enjoying yourself too much. You need to remember who owns who, kitten.”
I almost stood up. “But I know!”
“No, you don’t,” His voice was serious. “You say it. You act it out. But then you drag me back in with these games. You’re not the boss. Now, where’s the lube?”
I gulped. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm.” His fingers tapped against me forebodingly. “Maybe we’ll go without.”
I whined. I knew exactly where the lube was. I’d hidden it at the back of the en-suite cupboard, hoping that if he didn’t see it, he wouldn’t think of needing to use it.
“Please, please, please,” I begged. “Please don’t make me.”
He blew out a breath.
“Well, maybe I should spank you harder. Two dozen more? I’m in a good mood, kitten. You’d better think fast. You want me to fuck that ass or spank it?”
“You can – spank me,” I said quickly and my ass stung a little like I was betraying it.
His finger slipped down into my snatch and further still to find my clit. He rubbed it in quick, tight circles, forcing my body to build towards orgasm only to pull away at the last moment.
“No,” I gasped. “No. No!”
“You really think I’m even going to consider letting you come?” Kent breathed. “You’ve been so bad.” His finger eased back onto my clit and rubbed again, taunting me. “Not giving me what I want. Do you know how it feels? To think something is pretty much certain only to have it pulled away from you at the last minute?”
I gasped as pressed his fingertip flat against my clit. I tried to move against it.
“So desperate,” he murmured. “This is just the start, kitten. I’m going to play with you for hours. Really teach you a lesson.”
He spanked me again, making me bend over the goddamn dressing table and arch up for him. He switched the lamp on which only made me feel more aware of how his eyes travelled across my reddened cheeks to the tight star between. I couldn’t help crying out at each strike across my ass. He knew I wasn’t into a serious amount of pain but he pushed at my limits like he was daring me to back out, to use my safe word. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was too wet, too eager to please.
He edged me mercilessly, taking me to the brink of orgasm and then leaving me there, helpless and unable to tip over the edge. I tried to close my legs to allow some kind of friction but every time I did, his finger would press insinuatingly against my asshole. When he was through with the spanking, he set the chair from the dressing table in front of the wardrobe mirror.
“Sit down.”
I obliged, though it hurt intensely.
“You’re gonna edge yourself ten times,” he said. “No coming.”
He left the room. I couldn’t look at my reflection in the mirror. I heard him making phone calls. Business calls. God, how I hated him! Why didn’t I tell him what I thought of him? Everything he did was so planned, deliberate, knowing and even though I thought I could figure him out, he always had to prove me wrong.
My hand moved shakily down between my legs. For a few minutes, I didn’t touch myself. When I finally did, I had to bite my lip. My snatch was wet and swollen and the more my ass stung, the wetter it seemed to get. My clit throbbed insistently, demanding attention. It didn’t take much to get me close to orgasm. When I pulled my fingers away, I had to bite down on them to stop myself finishing what I’d started.
Ten times? He was a monster. By the fourth, I had to clench my fists hard. I was terrified I would accidentally tip over the edge. It felt like it would take nothing. Just the scrape of a fingernail. Even a breeze through the window. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and couldn’t look. Too desperate.
Kent’s voice would come closer and then fade away again. It terrified me when he was outside the door. Was I taking too long? What if he came back and I hadn’t done ten? What would he say, or more importantly, what would he do? I found out soon enough. I was recovering from the ninth when the door opened. He regarded me impassively.
“Finished?”
I could have lied. He would have known. I decided to be sensible.
“No. One left.”
“Well.” His smile was kind. “Don’t let me distract you.”
I didn’t move. His eyes moved deliberatively down my sweat-dampened body.
“We don’t have all night, kitten.”
I hated touching myself in front of him. We both knew it and he loved it. I squirmed in the chair and moaned softly as my ass protested. My hand moved down between my legs.
“Look at me,” Kent said.
I couldn’t. I don’t know why. His mere presence was enough to make me blush and to hold eye contact while touching myself was too much. It was impossible.
“I can’t,” I breathed. “You know I can’t!”
He sighed like I was disappointing him.
“Okay. Fine. Go into the bathroom.”
I knew better than to ask why. He followed, went into the cupboard and extracted the lube. Of course, he’d known where it was all along. I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Lean against the wall. Ass out. Spread your cheeks for me.”
I didn’t move. I felt weak.
“Kent, you said - ”
He cut me off. “I know what I said, thank you. Move. Now.”
My heart was beating fast. I turned my back on him and leaned against the cold tile of the wall. Slowly, I reached around to my ass, my fingers digging into my reddened cheeks and holding them apart.
I felt his finger there, cold lube slicking around my tight knot. It made me clench hard. I knew why he was doing it. He’d talked often about what a dominating thing anal sex was and since I’d left his proposal hanging, he wanted to reassert his ownership of me. I would never have let anyone else treat me the way he did but apparently words weren’t enough.
“It’s your own fault, anyway,” he was saying. “Making that little snatch so perfect and pretty. You know I can’t bring myself to ruin it.”
“Kent. Please.” There was nothing left. No games, no smart words, no hate, nothing. He’d worn me down. It was just him and me, my tits pressed against the cold tile, my back arched and my ass lifted up for him as if I was presenting myself. My nails dug into my cheeks as his finger worked lube into my tight hole.
“Relax, kitten.” He knew where we were. This was the soft point, the no-more-walls point, the you’re-mine-and-I’m-yours-point. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t amused. He just wanted to fuck me.
“You know I’m never gonna hurt you,” he breathed. “And you want this. Deep down. Somewhere below all the bullshit and makeup. Don’t worry about a thing, huh? You think I’d ever push you too far?”
It was about as romantic and as simple as ass-fucking could get. I felt the head of his cock press against my knot and he’d used so much lube that it slipped in unexpectedly easily, though I had to consciously stop myself from shutting him out. My nails dug harder into my cheeks. His hands were on my shoulders, on my tits, distracting me as his cock pushed further and harder.
I was breathing in short gasps, trying not to overthink it. The first time we’d tried it had been a mess, I’d been far too nervous but over-eager and it’d hurt like hell. This felt different. Easier. More prepared. I moaned as he pushed harder and then I was stretched around him, his body pressing against mine. I didn’t want him to pull back but he did, gradually, as though warming me up.
I couldn’t help the noises I was making and his hand moved up to my mouth, fingers pressing into it. I sucked on them hard and he pressed his forehead against my shoulder. I’d never felt so close to him. His free hand moved between my legs, finding my clit and edging me ceaselessly. My snatch felt hopelessly empty and as if to make up for it, it got wetter and wetter.
Kent’s hands went to my hips and held tight as he began fucking me. It was so tight, so intense. He was breathing hard and I pressed my hands against the wall to support myself. It became less painful. It felt smooth, slick, not as soft as regular sex but with a hardness to it, something that bit. It wasn’t worse, just different.
“Touch yourself.” His mouth was at my ear. “You can come as many goddamn times as you like.”
I didn’t need telling twice. My clit was sensitive, and it took a while for me to figure out how best to build towards orgasm. Even then, my body didn’t quite trust me, like it had seen too many edges to believe that the real thing was coming. But it came. My fingers circled my clit frenziedly as the rush tore through me, making me cry out with relief and pleasure.
“Oh god!” I moaned. It was so intense that I felt my eyes water. I pressed my forehead against the wall and whined as the waves flooded through my body. Kent’s hand came down to cover my own, forcing my fingers to press against my clit again.
“You deserve more than one, don’t you?” His voice was low and tight. “Who knows how long it’ll be ‘til the next time?”
“Kent, Kent, please!”
My body didn’t know any better. It peaked again recklessly, making me shudder and clench. If it hadn’t been for Kent, I would have collapsed onto the floor. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was coming too, his cock erupting inside me. I heard his long, growling moan in my ear, felt his teeth bite my shoulder. I wanted him to bite harder. He held me to him tight as the shudders washed over us. I didn’t want to move. I was still breathing hard when he shifted, easing out of me. He didn’t let go of me though.
“Yes,” I said, very quietly and I knew that soon enough the high would wear off and I’d be in the real world and indecisive all over again. But I also knew it was what I wanted. What I had always secretly wanted. The thing is, sometimes when your dreams come alive in front of you, you think it might be some kind of mirage. You don’t want to run towards them in case they disappear. But Kent wasn’t going to disappear.
“Yes?” he asked. He walked me into the shower and switched it on, still holding me close.
“Yes to what you asked,” I couldn’t look at him. “It took me all of this to give me the courage to say it. But yes. We can get married.”
I took a breath and forced myself to look up at him.
He shrugged but his eyes were alive.
“I should fuck your ass more often.”
And he kissed me hard, possessively, his strong fingers moving between my legs until I gasped into his mouth.
The END
Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to 19savant. Thank you for being you and for letting me be me. You are so, so incredible and inspiring.
Marisol
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