The Accidental Bride (2 page)

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ He laughed softly, his smile like the sun rising in the dark of night.

‘Um … sorry.’ She dropped her arms to her sides, and tried to stand proudly, without meeting his eyes. Slaves were supposed to be modest and humble – fat chance of that.

‘Better. Now come here.’ Lifting her eyes again, as she knew he probably expected her to, she caught his elegant, beckoning gesture. His shapely hands were as gorgeous as the rest of him, and they settled on his black-clad thighs as he made space for her between them.

In slow, even steps, she approached. Right up to him, her bare legs just an inch or so from his clothed ones. Without speaking, he nodded to the mask, and the leather collar, lying on the gnarled wood of the old table, beside the box. Curious, and a little fearful of what the casket might contain, she lifted the mask and fastened it around her upper face, framing her eyes. It created a weird shadow round the edge of her vision, and vaguely reminded her of another mask, a far more elaborate and costly one, that she’d once worn to attend a risqué party with him. Tying the black ribbon at the back of her head, she managed to get it right, first time. She’d been practising in the mirror, imagining how the great Bettie Page might have looked, in one of her fetish films.

‘Good,’ he said, reaching out and touching her cheek, just below the mask, the contact feather-light in a way other contacts, coming soon, would not be. ‘Now kneel.’

She sank to her knees, trying not to shake, but it was hard to avoid. The smell of him, and the sight of him, were like the yummy, rambunctiously rustic local wine they’d been drinking. Wildly and intensely intoxicating. Heady. His skin gleamed like satin this close up, and
beneath the soft, weathered denim of his trousers lay a huge bulge.

‘Uh oh, naughty, naughty. None of that until later.’ In an efficient gesture, he swept up the thick, black curtain of her hair. ‘Hold it out of the way,’ he instructed, and when she did so, he fastened the little leather collar neatly around her throat. Then, hooking a finger into it, he tugged, drawing her face towards his denim-covered erection, and just holding her there. She could feel the raw heat of him, through the fabric, against her cheek.

‘You’d like some of that, wouldn’t you?’

She nodded, rubbing her face against the object in question. Rubbing more enthusiastically than he probably wanted her to, but not caring. In a bold, pre-emptive strike, she kissed it through the dark cloth. She’d pressed her face to his crotch like this on the first night they’d ever met, in a quaint, old-fashioned hotel room, in another country.

‘I’ll fuck you, slave, but you’ve got to earn it.’ He tweaked on the collar. ‘You know that, don’t you? You’ll have to indulge my nasty foibles and predilections. Let me spank that perfectly beautiful, perfectly creamy bottom of yours until it’s pink.’

She kissed his crotch again.

‘I take it that’s a “Yes, I concur” then?’

She nodded.

He slid his fingers beneath her chin, compelling her to look up at him, her mate – and despite everything – her equal in his matching black mask. ‘You haven’t forgotten our safe word, have you?’

‘It’s “chintz”. But you won’t hear it.’

‘Is that so?’ His smile was like Lucifer’s, beautiful yet infinitely dangerous.

‘Yes!’

‘Well then … Let’s see, shall we?’ He touched her hair, her cheek, her mouth, rubbing his thumb over her lower lip. ‘Up you get!’

As she started to rise, he slipped a hand beneath her elbow to help her. Even at his most magisterial, his manners were faultless, ingrained in him by his background and his natural humanity. These were the qualities that made her happy to submit to him. To her, he was worthy of her awe, as no other man ever would be.

Guiding her with his touch, he positioned her across the table. The old wooden surface was firm against her crotch, and the urge to massage herself against it was powerful. Her pussy ached. For touch, and for him, but there was a road to travel yet, and it was one that promised to be hard. But still she could barely control her excitement, and she savoured the feel of the polished wood against her mound, her belly and her breasts. Cradling her head on her folded arms, she attempted to harness the biofeedback techniques he’d started to teach her. But it was hopeless. She was a turbulent mass of fear, anticipation and raw lust.

‘I think we should make this a bit more interesting, don’t you?’ His hand was cool as it smoothed over her back and her buttocks, testing her resilience. Each fingertip was distinct, especially when he dipped two into the cleft between her buttocks, coasting teasingly over her anus, but not lingering. What was he planning? There was something in that wooden box, she was sure of it. Something that would go somewhere, but she wasn’t quite sure exactly where. It could be something for her mouth, her pussy … or her arse. A long shiver swept through her.

‘Are you cold? Would you like a blanket?’

She shook her head. ‘No, master. I’m fine. Quite comfortable.’

He laughed. ‘Really? Well, we’d better change that, hadn’t we?’ His voice was merry, and she could imagine his blue eyes twinkling behind the mask. She wanted to twist round and look at him, but she had to stay still and compliant, no wriggling and no looking. Focusing on the sight of moonlight filtering through the green darkness of the shrubs and trees, she reached for a calm place.

It was tough, though, when she heard him open the box, and she couldn’t see what it was that he took out.

All she could hear was tiny, deft little movements, so quiet they were indecipherable. It was only when something very cold and slick made contact with the entrance of her vagina that she knew, or at least could guess, what was coming.

He was applying lube. Lots of it, even though she barely needed it. She was pretty sure she was already making a wet spot on the table edge, she was so slippery. He pushed plenty in, though, compelling it into her with two unyielding fingers. More, then more. She was scared she’d squelch in a most uncouth way.

‘Steady.’ His free hand on the small of her back, he applied more, then, before she could prepare herself, he reached for something and pressed it against her, cold, smooth and hard.

An egg. A tempered glass egg. Quite a big one. Despite her resolve to stay quiet, to best him with silence, she moaned as he pushed the devilish thing into her. Its unyielding bulk taxed her as it went in, nudging around inside, pushing against the muscular channel as he pressed it higher. When it settled against her womb, it felt gigantic inside her, jostling the root of her clitoris from within as she
breathed. She could feel the tickle of a fine silk cord, too, trailing from her entrance.

You devil. You know how this gets to me. You know I’m already almost coming, before you’ve even got started!

She didn’t have to speak it. She knew he’d heard her.

‘I bet you’d really like to touch yourself, wouldn’t you?’ he said, striding around behind her, clearly admiring the way she was arranged, her thighs parted and the little cord dangling. Was it white? Or black? Or some other colour?

‘Yes … Yes, master. I do want to touch myself.’ Defiantly, she churned her hips, then yelped out loud at the wicked sensations of the rolling egg inside her. Her clit felt enormous, as if it were bulging out from between her pussy lips, pushed by the obstruction inside her body.

‘Be still, wicked girl. Be still.’ He reached beneath her, just stroking her entrance, then giving the tiniest tug on the cord.

Breathing hard, she fought not to whine. God, if she was like this now, how on earth would she feel like when he really went to work?

‘Would you like me to make you come? It might make the ordeal easier if your body is filled with pleasure endorphins.’

‘No! That’s no true test … master. And I’m an old-fashioned girl. I’m used to earning my rewards. I enjoy them more that way.’

It was nonsense. She was dying to come. But it seemed a better way to play the game.

He leaned over the table at her side, and she could feel his mouth close to her ear, and his breathing ruffling strands of her hair. ‘I adore you. You know that, don’t you?’
said her lover, not her master, his voice softer, gentler, more emotional.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He knew she adored him right back.

Then, he straightened again, and passed his hands over her buttocks and thighs, in a slow, almost insulting glide. He was testing her muscle tone, assessing her susceptibility, and that made her hornier than ever. His arrogance made her want to touch herself all the more.

‘Very well, then. Let’s proceed.’ As he spoke, he lifted the wide strip of leather – the slapper – and trailed it over her bottom slowly and tauntingly. It was supple, yet substantial, and she feared it. He’d spanked her with his hands, and with rulers and switches, and even with a table tennis bat, when they’d been fooling about, back at home. But he’d never punished her with actual leather before, apart from the sole of his slipper once, ad hoc, and then only a couple of strokes. She had a feeling this would be far more momentous. Far more painful.

She didn’t know why she wanted it. But she did.

‘Be ready, dear slave.’ He let the leather rest horizontally across her bottom as if he were sighting the first blow, measuring exactly where he wanted it to fall, and then he lifted it up.

Holding her breath, she willed him:
Do it! Do it!

And he did.

There was a whoosh through the air, and then the impact. For a moment she couldn’t even quantify the sensations. Had it hurt? She couldn’t tell. She could only mewl out, like an animal, but she didn’t know whether it was from leather on flesh, or the way the egg bounced inside her, rocking against sensitive nerve ends and stimulating her clit from
within. Was she coming? Perhaps … But just as pleasure bloomed, a flaming wall of red agony slammed into the muscles of her backside, the sensation delayed by warped time and perception.

Not sure whether she was in heaven or hell, and suspecting it was both, she rocked and squirmed against the wood, hands clutching her buttocks as if that might assuage the fire. Her clit throbbed in time to the pulsation of heat in her buttocks.

God, yes, she was coming! Her vagina clenched, rocking the egg more, making things worse … better … worse … Fuck alone knew!

‘No, no, you know better than that.’ He dropped the leather for a moment, and prised her hands away from her bum. ‘Hold on to the table.’ Gently, he drew her hands forward, and reaching out, she obeyed him, grasping the far edge.

He didn’t speak again, but the leather spoke for him, flashing down again, hitting her like a chunk of the very wood she was lying against. So hard. So merciless. Pummelling. Pounding. He whole rear was in flames after one, or was it two blows? She’d lost the ability to count. Holding the table as if it were the last spar of a wrecked ship that had gone down, she hurled her pelvis to and fro, grinding her crotch against its resistance, still not sure if she was climaxing even while she burned. Her bottom felt as if it had been savaged, yet, wildly, she lifted it. Enticing him.
Give me more
, her sizzling, walloped flesh seemed to be saying.
Do your worst, you demon, fuck you, I can take it!

How long had he been spanking her? Part of her mind suggested hours, a thousand long hours, but the one last little bit of her consciousness that was still able to record
such things told her he’d laid on only five blows and it had taken less than a minute.

‘Oh my darling …’ His voice cracked and she heard the leather slapper fall on the stone flags, somewhere at their feet. He flung his body over hers, his thighs and the fly of his trousers cruel against the agony in her buttocks. He slid his hands along her arms, lacing his fingers with hers at the edge of the table, circling his hips, stirring her pain, yet pressing her against the table’s edge to give delicious pressure to her clit, working it, massaging it. She cried out, high and clear, her soaring voice nothing to do with the torture in her bum, and everything to do with a fresh orgasm that melted beauty in her loins, circling and knotting around the obstruction of the egg. He completed it by reaching beneath her to stroke between her legs.

‘Oh God …Oh hell …’ She surged again, writhing beneath him, arching and pushing against him. She didn’t need the table edge now; he was doing the work, rubbing her clit with his fingers, working it with a rough, tender magic.

‘I love you,’ he gasped, and she broke apart into a million happy pieces. How she’d wanted to hear those words, even when she’d told herself that they didn’t matter, and it was actions that mattered more, and loving deeds. He still didn’t speak them randomly, spilling them meaninglessly at every opportunity. When her lover said ‘I love you’ it was always with momentum, always fresh and as precious as the first time.

‘I love you,’ she answered, rubbing her painful bottom against his groin, actions complementing words again. ‘I want you,’ she added, barely any breath to get it out as her body gathered, ready to shine again.

‘Here? Now?’ he asked, as if she were offering to grant him a magnificent privilege. He was still her master, but she was his mistress now, his equal. They were matched creatures, sex deities of the night.

‘Hell yes!’ she cried, widening her stance to invite him in. ‘Bloody well have me! But you’d better get that fucking egg out of me first. You’re a big man, lover, there isn’t room for both of you!’

He laughed; the sound was pure happiness. Levering himself away from her, he reached down and plucked at the string. At another time, he might have withdrawn the egg slowly, teasingly, but the need that flashed between them was too great to dally. She growled like a she-wolf as it popped from her body, creating another fleeting orgasm. His fingers had plied her clit, all the while.

The egg rattled and rolled across the flags when it landed, forgotten for the moment.

The sound of his smooth-running zip was like heaven to her ears, as was the barely audible rustle and tear, the condom being unwrapped. The feel of his cock, hot and large, was the perfect pressure against her entrance, the longed for thing. She wiggled and he pushed in, sure and deep, barely noticing the way the teeth of the zip pushed against her burning bottom as he thrust and thrust, ploughing into her, his curse words of happiness almost like lighted sigils flying out into the perfumed air amongst the trees.