The dark obsession boxed.., p.9
The Dark Obsession Boxed Set, page 9
I wanted it all. Needed it.
His thrusts came harder and faster. My tongue felt swollen and bruised. My throat and jaw ached. I could feel thick streams of spittle and pre-come slip over my lips and chin as I struggled to breathe through my nose.
Still all of this was through a haze of intense arousal that kept me from thinking too deeply about what was happening. It filtered out all but my most raw reactions to his touch—to his manhandling. Allowed me the freedom to feel without guilt… the regret and recriminations would come later.
As if echoed down a long hallway, I heard him groan. Richard then lurched back, pulling his cock free. I felt a strange sense of emptiness.
“Push out your tongue.”
Stretching my tongue, I pushed it out as far as I could. I watched in suspended fascination as Richard fisted his cock and moved his hand up and down so fast it was a blur to my hazy gaze. Then there was the salty taste of his come as it coated my tongue and splashed against the back of my throat.
“Eyes on me.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him as he towered over me, like a conquering Viking. Placing his forearm at the side of my head, he leaned down and swept his thumb over my lower lip, coating it with his fast-cooling come before sliding it into my mouth. All I could do was lie there as it slid down the back of my throat.
I licked my sore and cracked lips.
My voice was hoarse and low. “Are you going to untie me now?”
“No. Now it’s your turn.”
He shifted his body down to wedge his large shoulders between my spread open thighs. Before I could even utter a protest, I felt the slightly rough swipe of his tongue.
Oh, God.
In the past, I’ve never really enjoyed oral sex. I guess I was always too much in my head to enjoy it. Worrying about what I tasted like, if my pussy hair was short enough, if I looked pretty down there. Then I would worry I was taking too long and the guy was probably only doing it out of obligation and I would start to feel anxious and guilty and eventually just pretend to come to get the whole stressful event over with.
That wasn’t the case with Richard.
Between his masterful touch and the expert swipes of his tongue, all inhibitions were gone. My only thought was of my own selfish pleasure and it was emancipating. I had never come so hard or so completely in my entire life.
Afterward the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the slow and steady tick of the clock over the mantel. Unlike other men who sprang up the moment you were done as if the school bell had just been rung, Richard stayed nestled between my thighs. I could feel the warm brush of his breath against my inner thigh. In many ways, that was more intimate than what he had just done.
Eventually he rose.
From the bed, I watched as he got dressed, once more every inch the gentleman. Richard approached the bed. Running the backs of his knuckles over the exposed slope of my breast, he leaned over to give me a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, my love.”
Tears formed in my eyes as he covered me with a large down blanket that he retrieved from a chest at the end of the bed. The last thing he did was blow out the candles before leaving me without another word.
Eventually I was lulled to sleep by the low, crackling hum of the fire and an exhaustion that only came from your body being pushed beyond its own limits.
CHAPTER 11
RICHARD
Walking into the library, I headed straight for the crystal decanter displayed to the right of my desk. Pouring myself a generous cognac, I took a seat before the already stoked fire. Cupping the thin crystal globe in my palm, I lifted the glass high and watched the play of red and amber as the flames from the fire cast their glow on the swirling liquid.
When it was warmed by the heat of my hand, I took one long sip, relishing in the smooth bite as it slid down my throat.
Relaxing against the high-backed chair, I allowed myself a small smile.
Everything was going to plan.
Elizabeth was everything I could have hoped for and more. She was an intoxicating mix of spirit and submission. She had just enough spit and fire in her to keep me interested but equally so, submitted under my dominant hand when the time came.
Despite the burn of the brandy, I could still taste her on my lips, smell her on my skin. The idea she was at this very moment naked and restrained, under my complete control under my roof, had my cock once more thickening. I don’t think I would ever get enough of the feel of her tight cunt as she squeezed my cock even as she protested my rough touch. Or the vibration of her screams along my shaft as I plunged it deep down her forced open throat.
She wasn’t fooling me. She liked the game of pain and dominance just as much as I liked to play it. I couldn’t wait to take this to the next level.
But first, there were a few loose ends I needed to handle.
To my left against the wall just out of reach was a long strip of heavy tapestry that ended in a large gold tassel. Leaning over, I grasped the tassel and gave it a sharp tug; within moments, my butler, Hutley, entered.
“Where is he?”
I didn’t have to explain who I meant to Hutley. “Just outside, Your Grace. I figured you would want to speak with him.” We were both talking about the footman who broke the rules and brought an item from the twenty-first century onto my property.
The only way this was going to work was if I fully submerged Elizabeth so deeply in the Victorian era there was nothing to confirm her suspicions that it might be otherwise. Hearing that ringtone set back my plans. It forced me to handle her more roughly than I would have liked this early in the plan. I had hoped to give her time to get used to the idea before using my more creative means of breaking down her mind and body for my purposes.
I nodded. “Send him in and summon Harris.”
As far as the staff knew, Harris was my stable master. They had no idea he was actually my personal security, an enforcer. No one was more loyal or devoted to me than Harris. Rescuing a man from being tortured and beheaded by the Taliban will do that. They were right to want Harris dead. He was a sick sonofabitch who enjoyed violence for violence’s sake, enough to alarm even the bloodthirsty Taliban against keeping him on this earth.
The footman entered. Disrespectfully, he immediately began speaking before having his presence acknowledged by me, as was protocol. I sat and listened as he launched into a pitiful tirade of excuses for his blatant disobedience. “Look. I’m really sorry. I forgot it was in my pocket. It won’t happen again. I promise. It can’t happen again. That Hutley guy took it from me. So, like I said, it won’t happen again, I swear.”
Giving the brandy a warming swirl, I took another sip, wanting to measure my words carefully. “Well, you are correct about that; it won’t be happening ever again.”
It took him a few moments to get my unstated meaning.
“Wait. Are you giving me the sack? What the hell? You can’t do that! I need the money. I gave up my flat and sold my car to take this gig.”
“You’re shouting,” I said calmly as I rose to refill my brandy. By then, Harris had quietly entered the room, keeping to the shadows as always.
“Sod off! You’re damn right I’m shouting. You owe me! And you’ll pay or I’m going to tell the police about what you got going on here.”
Turning my attention back to the man, I asked, “And just what do you think is happening here?”
At that he floundered. “I don’t know. But something is off. This is all supposed to be some kind of intense reality show with hidden cameras and all that other crap but that chick didn’t seem to be in on the joke.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That chick?”
“Yeah, you know… the stacked one with the wavy hair.”
I felt a sudden sting against my palm. Looking down, I realized I had squeezed the glass so fiercely it shattered, piercing my palm with crystal shards and sending the fiery liquid cascading over the open wound. Looking down, I brushed at the jagged shards and blood as I tried to calm my rage. How dare he speak of Elizabeth… my Elizabeth in such disgusting terms.
“That chick happens to be my ward. A woman under my protection.”
“Whatever, dude. I get it. The cameras are still rolling and you’re keeping to character as the big bad duke but let’s get serious here for a minute. Your ward as you call her has no idea what the fuck is going on, does she? And if you want to keep it that way, you’re going to pay me the full contract and some extra for me to keep my mouth shut about whatever freaky shit you got going on.”
In order to keep Elizabeth uncertain of her reality and somewhat off-balance, I decided to hire all the actors and staff from the play to be my servants. From the moment they auditioned for the play, they understood there was the possibility of a much more lucrative position on the horizon, but all were made to sign an extremely thorough and intimidating nondisclosure agreement, swearing under pains of high penalties and damages that they would mention the project to no one, not even each other. While money was always a great motivator, I also made sure to only choose actors who had a past they wanted to hide, something serious that would lead to jail time or a complete upheaval of their personal lives. Money was good. Blackmail was better.
My plan was pitched as a completely immersive, intense reality show. Where every moment was filmed through hidden cameras to capture the true Victorian experience in real time. They were instructed to never break character, even when technically off duty and on their own personal time. They were not allowed to leave the estate or interact with anyone from the outside for one full year. To be honest, I was a little surprised how many actors did not hesitate to take me up on my offer. A testament to the power of money.
While I hid Elizabeth in the asylum after spiriting her away from that party, I brought the staff in. Before even setting foot on the estate, they all congregated at a nearby hotel I had purchased, where they surrendered all of their own modern belongings including cell phones and computers.
All of this would have the added benefit of convincing Elizabeth that her actual memories were just figments of an overtaxed mind. Everyone would look familiar from her former life but she should also recall them from the character names and costumes in the play that they were also wearing now on the estate. Soon she would have a hard time distinguishing her own memories between what was the play, what was her former life, and what was her new reality.
“I understand you completely. If you’ll follow Harris, he will take care of you.”
The footman turned, surprised to learn there was another person in the room. Suddenly some of his bravado left him, probably after he caught sight of Harris’ scarred face with its repeatedly broken nose.
Putting his hands up, he gave a nervous laugh. “Listen, we’re all friends here, right? I mean, there are cameras everywhere and I’m sure some TV crew is watching so…” His voice drifted off as he gazed up into each of the dark corners of the room, probably searching for a telltale red blinking light.
There were no cameras, no crew.
“You’re right. So, you have nothing to be concerned about,” I intoned lightly as Harris caught my knowing glance. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind Harris knew what my intentions were without my having to voice them.
I returned to my seat as Harris escorted the asshole out of my sight and off the property. Harris would be certain to put the fear of God… and worse, my retribution… in the man if he breathed a word of this to anyone.
Elizabeth was finally under my control.
I had planned too long for this day to let anything… or anyone… get in the way of what I wanted.
She was mine… and she would stay that way.
CHAPTER 12
LIZZIE
When I awoke, I was alone and no longer bound to the bedposts. I was a little surprised how well I had slept considering the complete hot mess my life had become in the last twenty-four hours. Snuggling deeper under the heavy down covers, I tried to think things through. The problem was no matter I how spun things around in my head, nothing made sense.
The possibility that I was part of some extraordinarily elaborate plan of Richard’s to trap me in the Victorian era as his own personal sex slave was even more ridiculous than the idea that I had tripped into a wormhole on my way back from the cast party and somehow managed to travel back in time like that chick from that Scottish show. And yet, what other explanation was there?
Unless what everyone was telling me was the truth?
Was I insane?
Every living soul around me seemed to think so.
My reactions to Richard certainly were not in keeping with my usual character. I had allowed the man to fuck me twice! And then there was what he did later… I shifted my body lower under the covers as if the bedspread could somehow hide my shame. The very idea that I enjoyed a man thrusting deep down my throat as hard and fast as he could rocked me to my core. Never in my life had I ever even fantasized about allowing a man to do something so carnal and violent to me… and yet there I was, moaning like a cat in heat with every thrust.
The problem was everything was so familiar and yet it wasn’t. The surroundings, the people, the clothes, they all felt right.
Before I could think further, there was a discreet knock on my door.
Annoyed, I realized my heart lurched at the idea it might be Richard. Then I realized that a man like him wouldn’t bother knocking. My thighs clenched slightly at the thought. Damn him! The thought of him being such an arrogant Neanderthal as to not even obey the most basic of social niceties should not be turning me on.
Mary entered, carrying a large heavy tray.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Morning, Mary.”
“It’s Parker, my lady.”
“Right, yeah, sorry. Parker,” I added obligingly as I started to get out of bed.
“No, my lady. Please stay as you are and enjoy breaking your fast. I will tidy up the room.”
The tray had four little feet that fit snugly on either side of my thighs as she placed it on my lap. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A brightly polished sterling silver set was carefully arranged on the tray. The pot was elaborately engraved with fancy swirls and flowers. There was a pitcher of cream and a tiny pot of sugar. Hearty toast points were arranged upright in a little silver caddy. There was even a silver egg holder with one perfectly boiled egg. Arranged to the side, there were several small pastries with dishes of marmalade and clotted cream.
I had to admit it looked beautiful and terribly luxurious. I had never had breakfast in bed before. Realizing I hadn’t really eaten much at dinner, before Richard had… had seen to… punish me, I was looking forward to tucking into every delectable morsel. Carefully grasping the teapot handle, I tipped it over one delicate teacup that was decorated with thistles and roses.
Expecting tea—I was in England after all… at least I thought I was still in England—I was surprised when a brew of dark chocolate poured out. This was definitely not the powdered stuff you made with hot water. It looked rich and creamy.
“Hot chocolate?”
Parker looked in my direction from across the room where she was busy fussing over the dresses in the wardrobe. At my question, she hurried over to the bed, a worried expression on her face.
Raising her hands in a placating gesture, she lowered her tone and spoke softly to me as if she were soothing a temper-prone child. “Lady Elizabeth, you usually prefer a warm chocolate to break your fast. You’ve often said tea was too bitter for your digestion this early in the morning. So, I’ve brought you what I’ve always brought you. I can have Cook prepare something different if you wish it.”
Usually prefer.
Often.
Always.
Words of familiarity, of a settled routine, of knowledge of my likes and dislikes. The worst part was it was true. I didn’t like tea in the morning, always preferring the sweetness of hot chocolate. Yet, in all my conversations with Mary in the costume room during rehearsals and the run of the play, I cannot recall ever once telling her that. Were my memories false? Did that really happen? She was speaking as if she not only knew me but my likes and dislikes as well.
Deciding to play along for now, I said, “Of course, I must have forgotten. No, please do not bother Cook.”
Keeping silent, I obediently sipped at my chocolate and ate marmalade toast as I wondered how far this fantasy was going to take me.
After she rang for a maid to clear away my tray, Parker set about dressing me for the day.
“His Grace has stated you are declining all invitations from your friends for teas and outings till you are feeling more yourself so I have chosen one of your favorite at-home taffeta dresses for today, if you approve.”
There it was again.
Your friends.
Your favorite dress.
Words of familiarity, of a routine I couldn’t recall.
Parker held up a soft powder blue taffeta dress with delicate draping and closely pleated kilting on the hem and cuffs. I immediately recognized it as the dress I wore in the opening scene of the play but of course, like last night’s dinner dress, this was far more elegant and did not have that musty moth ball smell or pale yellow pit stains that were the norm for theater costumes.
After Parker laced me into a whalebone corset, I stepped into the dress before allowing Parker to raise it up over my hips so that I could place my arms into the sleeves. The dress buttoned down the front with a row of fifteen fabric-covered buttons and featured a few pale yellow rosettes closer to the waist. As I reached for the buttons, Parker gently pushed my hands away. After giving me a slightly admonishing look, she slowly and methodically began to fasten the dress.
With her concentrating on her task, I thought I could take her off-guard. “This reminds me of that time I was wearing this dress and Joe dropped that slice of pizza at my feet. You were so mad when he got marinara sauce on the trim.”
