Sinful Seduction (26 page)

‘Well, get a move on then, girl,' he growled. ‘I ain't got all day to stand around waiting for you.'

Maggie didn't deign to answer. Instead, she picked up the shabby shawl that had come with the rest of the clothes, threw it round her shoulders and walked past him as if he didn't exist, leaving him no option but to follow her. His scowl deepened. Snooty cow! Who the hell did she think she was?

A cunning smile curled the corner of his thin lips. Thought she could snub him, did she? Well, the bitch had another think coming.

 

 

 

They were barely out of sight of the house before he pounced. Panting, he gripped her around the waist and pulled her towards him, his free hand groping at the heavy serge of her bodice, groaning as he felt the soft warmth within, his bony knee thrusting its way between her thighs as he pushed her against a convenient tree.

‘Get your hands off me, you filthy brute,' she gasped, struggling against his vicelike grip. But in answer he wrenched the neck of her dress until it tore away, revealing the mouth-watering globes of her breasts. For a moment he feasted his eyes on them before burying his face in their softness. She gagged in disgust as his slobbering lips sought out her nipple and latched on like a leech. He had her skirts up round her waist now, his rough fingers parting the delicate lips of her sex, his freed cock hard and ready. She whimpered as she felt the swollen head push against her and braced herself for his unwelcome invasion.

But it never came.

There was a roar of outrage and he was plucked away and flung through the air like a straw in a gale. Blinking away tears, Maggie gazed hopefully up at her rescuer, then hope disappeared as she realised she was looking into the furious face of Lord Anston.

‘Can't you go five minutes without causing mayhem, you little trollop?' he demanded, taking Maggie's breath away with the sheer unfairness of the accusation. ‘As for you,' he snarled, turning his attention to the wretched creature on the ground. ‘Pack your bags and get out of my house.' He punctuated each word with a blow from the dog-whip he carried, until the other man scuttled away like a whipped cur.

Ignoring him, Lord Anston seized Maggie's arm and dragged her back to the house, up the stairs and into the nursery where he flung her onto the narrow cot. ‘Now stay there,' he growled. ‘And keep out of trouble.'

He paused at the door and eyed her spitefully. ‘You'll have quite enough to satisfy your greedy appetites this evening. More than enough!'

Even through the locked door Maggie could hear him laughing as he stalked off.

No one came near her for hours, leaving her plenty of time to brood over his words. When the door did open, it was only the young maid with a plateful of cold meats. ‘Can't stop,' she panted, banging it on the table and turning to go. ‘Mrs Grimes ‘as got us scrubbing the reception rooms from top to bottom,' she announced excitedly. ‘The master's having company. First time he's entertained in years.'

Maggie's blood ran cold at the thought, a dreadful suspicion materialising in her mind about what form the master's ‘entertainment' might take.

And her fears were confirmed when he appeared several hours later. ‘Put this on,' he ordered. Maggie held up the thing he had flung at her and looked at it in bewilderment. With its complicated straps and buckles, at first glance it appeared to be some kind of horse harness - then it dawned on her that it was some kind of bizarre corset.

‘I can't wear this...!' she tried to protest, but the slap spun her halfway across the room and brought tears of shock to her eyes.

‘I told you to put it on,' he grated, she struggled to obey, and when she'd succeeded she felt more naked than if she'd been completely unclothed. Broad leather bands - shockingly black against her white skin - crisscrossed between her breasts, forcing them into prominence. An even wider one encircled her waist, pinching it to an unnatural narrowness, and below that a thin thong disappeared between her buttocks and curved round in an inverted Y where her thighs met her torso, leaving her vulva fully exposed. It reminded her of the costume worn by Ingrid at Mrs Wilkes', but somehow she didn't think that she'd be the one in the dominant role.

She tried to cover herself with her hands, but he wrenched them away. ‘Excellent,' he murmured. ‘Just one more thing.' He reached out, and she winced as he pinched her nipples into hardness. ‘There, perfect. Now come with me.' He turned and strode towards the door, expecting Maggie to follow obediently.

But she didn't.

‘What on earth are you waiting for?' he demanded. ‘I gave you an order.'

‘And you can stick your orders where the sun don't shine,' Maggie countered defiantly. ‘I ain't going nowhere.'

Anston was across the room in two strides, his grip biting into the soft skin of her arm. ‘You'll do as you're told!' he growled, yanking her towards the door. She clawed at his face, but he avoided her easily. Frantic with terror she turned her head and sank her teeth into his wrist. He shook her free, bent, slung her over his shoulder and carried her kicking and screaming out of the room and along the corridors, past the occasional gawping servant.

The brief journey ended in the bowels of the house, where he banged her down so hard her head throbbed painfully. Giving her no time to regain her composure, he gripped her wrists, bound them, and then wrenched on the other end of the rope so that she was hauled onto her tiptoes, arms above her head. Wide-eyed with fear she hung there helplessly, swaying slightly. He gazed at her with satisfaction, rubbing his wrist where her teeth had sunk into his flesh. Stony-faced, he lifted the dog whip he had already used to such good effect on his impertinent footman.

‘Behave like a bitch and you'll be treated like one,' he grated. ‘If one of my dogs bites me, I beat it until it has learnt its lesson.' He smiled coldly. ‘They seldom bite again.'

‘No, please,' she begged. ‘I won't do it again, I promise.'

Ignoring her pleas, he walked behind her, his eyes lingering on the smooth curves of her buttocks, where the black leather straps cut into the soft flesh. They made a very tempting target, so raising the whip, he brought it down across the shapely globes, grinning maliciously as they quivered beneath the stroke, the delicate skin turning first white, then red as the blood flowed back.

Maggie's mouth opened in a silent scream, the agony so monstrous it took her breath away - then as one blow followed the next she found her voice, and shriek after shriek pealed from her lips. Panting from the very enjoyable exertion, Anston stepped back to admire his handiwork. Her bottom was scarlet now, crisscrossed by a mass of thin weals where the whip had bruised the peach-like flesh. He ran a proprietary hand over it, feeling the heat radiate and savouring the way she flinched at his touch. A lustful smile touched his lips; the bitch would think twice before defying him again!

Maggie sagged against her bonds, her head drooping as tears of pain and humiliation coursed down her cheeks. Her backside throbbed abominably, but at least the worst was over... until the sound of a low titter brought her head up again, like that of a frightened deer. What was that? As she peered through the candlelit gloom she could just make out dim shadows and the glint of cruel eyes, and the full horror began to dawn on her. They were not alone. There had been an audience to witness her ordeal!

As Maggie shrank away the little her bonds would allow, the shadows began to move, closing in around her like a pack of rabid wolves. There were three of them and she could see their faces now, avaricious and pitiless. The tallest, his eyes sparkling greedily, reached to fondle her breasts, cruelly pinching her delicate nipples.

‘Capital fun, Anston,' he lisped. ‘And as pretty a filly as you'd find in a twelvemonth.' His next words chilled her to the marrow. ‘So who's having first crack at her?'

Her eyes flew to Lord Anston's face, seeking some glimpse of humanity, but found none. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Impetuous as ever, Charles,' he said. ‘I thought we'd cut cards. Highest wins the lady's favours - and the rest of you can wait while he enjoys them.'

Maggie watched in gathering terror as he produced a pack of cards and they each chose in turn. Oh, this couldn't be happening!

The tall one snorted in disgust as he showed the five of clubs. ‘Last as usual, dammit!'

‘I win,' chuckled the shortest one, producing an ace. With his flabby body and plump face, he looked like an evil cherub. He stepped forward to claim his prize and Maggie shuddered as his clammy hands began crawling over her. Grinning, he kneaded the soft mounds of her breasts, forced into vulnerable prominence by the thin leather straps that constrained her, and the fact that her arms were wrenched above her head. He tweaked her nipples viciously until they rose and hardened, then, satisfied, lowered his slobbering mouth to them, tonguing the hard buds while his hands roamed lower, wrenching her legs apart to find the dark secret gem between them. She winced as he forced his stubby fingers eagerly inside her quivering body while his friends looked on, jeering and offering lewd advice.

Closing her eyes, Maggie tried to will her mind away from her torment, to divorce herself from her helpless body and the disgusting buffoon mauling her. But it was useless. Despite his incompetence, her treacherous body was responding, the heat and pain from her beaten buttocks transforming into a more demanding heat that filled her lower belly. As she moistened, his fingers slid more smoothly in and out of her vulva, increasing the insidious tendrils of pleasure coiling their way through her.

There were more hands on her now. They fondled her buttocks, parting them to finger the puckered little mouth of her anus. They crawled over the soft flesh of her inner thighs. They joined the drooling tongue at her breasts. It felt as if every inch of her skin was being teased and tormented.

The fat one had his breeches open, his cock jutting from beneath the overhang his belly, thick and distended. Grunting, he parted the lips of her sex and gripped her hips as he pushed its swollen purple head between them. Maggie whimpered with reluctant pleasure as he eased himself home - then froze as she felt another persistent erection forcing itself between her buttocks and against her anus. She shrieked as it pressed, penetrated her tight muscle, and then the men thrust in unison, filling her completely. She hung helplessly between them, her breasts swaying as they heaved and grunted like beasts - and like an animal too, she gave herself up to the primitive lusts of the flesh, shrieking her pleasure as they both ejaculated inside her.

But that was not the end. As the first pair fell away the second took their place. Another cock thrust its way into her from behind, while a searching wet tongue lapped at the nub of her clitoris, sending her spiralling upwards yet again. She whimpered, fighting against the endless waves of foul excitement that washed through her, but her body had a mind of its own. She writhed in exquisite torment, her hips grinding against the source of her pleasure, forcing the anonymous penis deeper and deeper until she exploded once more.

How long it all lasted or how often they took her, she didn't know. When the ordeal was finally over Maggie hung from her bonds, perspiring and sated, her muscles trembling and aching, and she was barely conscious of Lord Anston removing her bonds, carrying her back to the nursery and flinging her on the bed.

Her last thought before exhaustion overtook her and she sank into oblivion was that she had died and gone to hell.

 

 

 

The only good thing to come from the nightmare night was that Maggie's treatment improved. Convinced he had broken her spirit and bent her to his will, she was released from her nursery prison, provided with decent clothes and ensconced in a bedroom on the main floor. She smiled bitterly; conveniently to hand should the master desire the use of her body.

Seated at the window of her new room, she stared moodily out at the empty landscape that stretched before her as bleakly as her life. She was trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage, and the last four months had been a study in insanity.

During the day she lived the life of a prim Victorian maiden; waited upon hand and foot, allowed nowhere without a chaperone and forced to pass the weary hours with pointless amusements such as pressing flowers or decorating endless boxes with sea shells.

But the resemblance ended with nightfall - or whenever else Lord Anston chose to slake his vile lusts. Then she was nothing but his whore; a human toy to be played with in whatever depraved way took his fancy. She shuddered; those fancies had taken her down many a twisted path. She had been forced to perform unnatural acts with other whores or play with herself while he and his friends looked on. Forced to endure the attentions of whomsoever he chose to offer her, almost every part of her body had been employed to provide pleasure.

And worst of all, she had grown to enjoy it all. Like an opium eater who craves the poison that will eventually destroy him, her body craved the evil mixture of pain and pleasure he had introduced her to. Each new episode left her filled with self-loathing and despair - yet hungry for the next.