Jane Eyre (46 page)

 “The night air,” he explained, his lips twisted a bit wryly.

 “Sir?”

 “Sometimes the cold can interfere with my state. In future, a nice warm bed will suffice nicely. Come, Jane, kneel between my legs.”

 I went to him and knelt as instructed. I appreciated that he had placed the coat on the ground.

 “As I fondle your breasts, I wish for you to manipulate your clitoris. Slide your fingers gently inside yourself as I just did, to keep the way prepared for me. I shall not permit embarrassment. Find joy and seize it. This will be memorable for both of us. Under no circumstances will you reach fulfilment. If you sense you are close, you must tell me at once.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 He cupped my breasts. I stroked myself.

 “A bit faster, miss; show a bit more enthusiasm.”

I did. I shoved aside those judgements that I knew came from society and not from my own convictions.

 Though it was odd to touch myself so, I continued to do so. My master squeezed my breasts; he kneaded them, and he squeezed the tips. My nipples were already tender from his earlier ministrations, so it took little to make them hard and to make me groan with delight.

 “Two fingers inside your body; do it now, Jane.”

 I did as he said.

 “Such a sight!” approved he. “Continue your task as I tie the safe around my cock. Think only of the moment.”

 I craved to close my eyes. Because he had forbade it, I did not. Indeed I was glad I continued to watch. There was something purely masculine about the way Mr Rochester touched himself that made me feel even more feminine, despite my plainness.

 “Come, Jane,” he instructed, extending a hand in my direction.

 “Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

 “I wish you to sit on my lap, facing me. I will support you as you lower yourself on my cock. Proceed at your own pace. You may hold onto my shoulder if you choose.”

 The sight of his manhood held me mesmerised. That growing thing was supposed to go inside me? I felt a cool chill on my skin, one that was not from the night air.

 “Be brave, Jane. You have inserted fingers inside. You have felt how easily you stretch to accommodate girth and length. You shall feel the scald of pain but momentarily. Then you shall feel the bliss of my adoration.”

 I balked.

 My master—how well he knew me—took matters unto himself. He yanked me from my feet and across his knee. Before I knew what he was about, he rained hard spanks on my already blistered behind.

 I yelled out, but his actions had suited his purpose. I was no longer struggling against him or myself. I was again compliant—in fact, I was excited, a fact he noted when he slid a finger in my moist depths.

 “Up with you!”

 I expected him to move right then, but he continued to spank me hard. My legs flailed as I kicked and screamed.

 It was as if he either didn’t hear me or didn’t care for he paid me no mind; he beat me as if I were a naughty bride.

 My body hurt, not only from the spanking, but from the feel of his legs pressing into my belly. Blood had suffused my face! I felt aflame. I was dizzy! When I knew I could not bear one more moment, he righted me then pulled me against his chest. He pinched my bottom, and as I rose up, he lifted me from the ground and had me straddling him in mere moments.

 “Kiss me, Jane.”

 My master gave me not one moment to protest! He steered me with his hand in my hair, making me go where he willed. Said he, “Open!”

 I did, but only to protest his tone. It was all the encouragement he needed! He enslaved my mouth.

 He managed to find my quim with his other hand, and he stirred me again, pressing a finger deep inside. I wriggled, and that allowed him to sneak a second finger next to the first.

 Any protest was swallowed by his kiss.

 I felt a third finger in me. I thought I would go mad from the sensation. But he was correct in saying my body would stretch to accommodate his needs.

 He ended the kiss to say, “You’re to be my bride, my love, Jane.”

 I felt his cockhead at my entrance. My body went rigid. My master stroked my back, pinched my thigh, caressed my clitoris. Impossibly his touch seemed to be everywhere at once.

 I dug my shoes into the ground beneath me, and I wrapped my arms around him.

 “Raise and lower yourself as you will. We shall move at your pace, Jane. Even if it kills me.”

 “It hurts you, sir?”

 “Not being inside you pains me, but I assure you, it’s more mental than physical. I will control myself, this time.”

 I used my pelvis and my legs to raise up and down. I feared I was more coward than anything. I did not want to endure the agony.

 “You’re getting wetter for me,” said he.

 “I am unsure of this, sir. I am not brave.”

 From behind me, he touched my anus and eased into me a bit.

 I was overwhelmed. “Take me,” I told him, the words gritted passed my terror.

 He thrust his hips up, and I felt the barrier of my maidenhead, the slight pressure.

 “Bring yourself lower,” he instructed me.

 I could not endure those final moments, so big did I make them in my mind.

 “You’re thinking too much, Jane.”

 But I stood a little, preventing the entrance he sought.

 “Thorny rose,” he ejaculated. “Yield!”

 He bit the side of my neck. The pain seared and distracted, and I lost my purchase. He lifted his hips at the exact same moment.

 I screamed.

 Breath seemed stolen from my lungs.

 Then after an interminable moment, the pain receded; honestly, it was gone faster than the place he’d bit my neck. Just that fast, it was done. Over. 

 He held me tight and soothed me. To me he said, “I’ve done my worst, Miss Eyre. The rest is for your pleasure. Move as you see fit; give over to all the sensations.”

He cradled me and began an odd rocking motion. I realised this allowed him to thrust and retreat.

 I could hardly believe it, but with the way he tended to me and moved within my quim, a crest began to build.

 “Sir!”

 “This is beyond what I hoped for your first time, Miss Eyre. You are indeed an exquisite find. Thornfield’s own jewel. Take your pleasure!”

 He fingered my clitoris as I rode him.

 Indeed I found my fulfilment! I felt my internal muscles squeeze him as I buried my face in his shoulder.

 He held me for several moments until the paroxysm passed. Then he held my hips in his grip. “I fear I cannot wait any longer, Miss Eyre.”

 I let him guide me. I wanted him to know the same sensations I had experienced. What joy I had found in the union.

 “My seed is ready to spill,” he said.

 “Yes, sir!”

 I felt his penis become even thicker in me.

 I dug my fingers into his hair, and I kissed his mouth.

 His body went rigid. Then he surged upwards.

 I felt him pulse within me. His body had brought him the same joys he had brought me. Heady knowledge, indeed. I have no idea how long we remained in each other’s arms.

 “No longer just friends,” said he after a while. “My bride; my lover.”

 “My master. Your humble servant.”

 He manoeuvred us so that he could look into my eyes. “This is the beginning, Jane. I could never love another as you. Thank you.”

The night drew on, and my body cooled. Mr Rochester helped me to dress. “You are a fine maid, sir.”

 “Only after I have divested you of your clothing and must see to your modesty!”

 He drained the safe and folded it in a handkerchief. I enjoyed the intimacy of watching him don his garments, as well. It was intimate and appealing. To think, the future lay bright and beckoning at our feet.

 “We must go in,” said Mr Rochester, “the weather changes. I could have been with thee till morning, Jane.”

And so,
thought I,
could I with you.
I should have said so, perhaps, but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and there was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal and I thought only of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr Rochester’s shoulder.

The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house, but we were quite wet before we could pass the threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when I gave into the impetuousness of a delight and I giggled with unadulterated joy. This, then, was my fate, to be with a man with whom I could be my full self, as honest in my reactions as in my heart. Reader! What more could I have wanted?

My master smiled and tightened his hand in my hair. It wasn’t a gentle touch, it was at once commanding. I heard his sharp intake of breath that told me his thoughts were similar to my own. We danced well together he and I and my body responded immediately to his unspoken demands. I became as damp as was my hair! He hadn’t yet released me when Mrs Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first, nor did Mr Rochester. The lamp was lit. The clock was on the stroke of twelve.

“Hasten to take off your wet things,” said he, “and before you go, good-night—good-night, my darling!”

He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ran upstairs.
Explanation will do for another time,
thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every other feeling and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as the rain fell during a storm of two hours’ duration, I experienced no fear and little awe. Mr Rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil, and that was comfort, that was strength for anything. On the third visit, I had a confession to make, although the experience earlier had been the stuff of poets, I was still curious. I wanted to know what it would be like to have him lay with me on a bed. It would keep at bay the fear of the storm. We both knew I was concocting a reason to have him stay; alas, he had fabricated excuses to see to my safety.

 “You know it will not be the traditional way a man lies with a woman.”

 “Sir, I suspect nothing with you is traditional.”

 “Well said, Jane.”

 I waited for him to enter, but he said, “Invite me in, Jane. Or send me back to a lonely existence.”

 As he’d promised, I was always at choice. I made certain no one was about. “Sir, please enter.”

 He did as I bid and threw the bolt. “I’ll have you naked, Jane.”

 The candlelight made his features fierce, or perhaps the ambient light served to enhance his natural looks.

 “Strip.”

 I should have already been accustomed to his brusque manner of addressing me in these moments, but I was always taken slightly aback. It caused a reaction within me, one every bit as powerful as the storm assaulting the manor.

 “Do I need to repeat myself?”

 He drummed the fingers of his right hand against his thigh. Even though we were to be married and even though I had been with him earlier, this seemed more momentous. I undressed and stood before him.

 “Turn slowly.”

 I did so; when I faced him once again, I was aware of his eyes on me.

 “Would that I could keep you gloriously unclothed always, Miss Eyre. Come here and present yourself before me.”

 I was right in my thinking. There was a sternness about Mr Rochester that had previously been absent. That unyielding part of his nature excited me.

 He pointed to a spot on the floor and I went to it. My hair spilled down across my shoulders as I tipped back my head. I parted my legs and folded my hands behind me; the wait for him to say something—to do something—felt interminable.

 Mr Rochester took a step towards me. He had not removed a single garment, making me much more aware of my own nakedness.

 His eyes ever focused on me, he stated, “I am going to hold your breasts, Jane. Then I am going to squeeze them.”

 I did not respond to him. I could not find my voice.

 “Earlier I ascertained that your nipples can tolerate a fair amount of pressure. I imagine those tips are a bit tender from earlier from where I suckled you?”

 “Yes, sir,” responded I.

 He took my breasts in his large, strong hands. He cradled them for a few seconds, as if weighing them.

 I moaned slightly, the pleasure was unimaginable!

 “I see your nipples are hardening without a single touch, sweet Jane.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Keep your eyes open, Miss Eyre. I demand your participation. I shall not allow you to hide.”

 My legs felt a bit weak, but Mr Rochester didn’t give me leave to change my position.

 He brushed his fingertips across both my nipples. From the earlier torment, I was tender! I groaned aloud.

 “Is that too much, dear Jane?”

 I confessed, “No, sir.”

 “More, Jane?”

 I simply nodded.

 “Speak up. Be brave. You have no trouble speaking your mind at any other time with me—in fact, you are a bold one! I demand the same from you when you are naked. I repeat, more, Jane?”

 “Much, much more, sir!” How my master indulged me. He brought my breasts closer together, lifting and squeezing them harshly even as he pinched my nipples.

Mr Rochester smiled. He clearly delighted in my reaction. How I enjoyed pleasing him! I would do anything for these scraps of joy that came my way! “If you please, sir, I wish for you to give me even more.”

 “Does your greed know no bounds?”

 “It does not.”

 “How fortunate a man I am, Miss Eyre, to have one such as you at my mercy.”

 He gave me what I asked for. I had never known such exquisite pain. Although he fondled only my breasts, my whole being responded. The pleasure crashed like the storm raging beyond the manor walls. I reached for his wrists to hold on.

 “Right, miss! If you cannot follow directions!”

 “Sir?”

 He released me so quickly I stumbled. My body throbbed with unfulfilled need. Before I knew what he was about, Mr Rochester was seated and had me upended across his knee. He gave me three brutal whacks on my already-reddened bottom, and he left me sobbing.