Victoriana (closed)

[dr_mabeuse]

The Doctor watched Sir Edward’s coach pull away from his house and disappear into the fog down St Barrow’s lane. He waited until he could no longer hear the hoofs on the cobbles, then turned and went back inside, closing and locking the heavy door behind him. The clock in the hallway had just struck ten, and Sir Edward had been as good as his word: here and gone in no more than fifteen minutes Even so, the Doctor would not yet throw away Sir Edward’s IOU’s just yet. Not until he was certain that the girl was worth it.

He finished his brandy and went to his study, where unlocked a cabinet and took from it a thick leather strap and some lengths of rope, then he walked through the darkened house to the kitchen where the girl sat waiting. He saw her sit up straighter, her senses sharp as he entered. “Who is it?” she asked. “Who’s there?”

He liked the way her lips moved as she said it. They were full, pouty lips, pink and fresh. He also liked the look of expectant fear he could see on her face despite the heavy blindfold. More than these, he liked the curves of her body beneath her clothes, the firm thrust of her breasts against her tight-stretched blouse, the swell of her hips. No doubt she wore a corset, which exaggerated the lush curves of her young body. But even so, her beauty was apparent. A girl at the very peak of sexual ripeness.

She had been pinioned as he had requested. A black leather collar was buckled around her neck, and her arms were crossed behind her back. Black leather cuffs on her wrists were attached to each other and to a thin silver chain that ran to her collar, keeping her arms in place and forcing her breasts up and out provocatively. He wondered where Sir Edward had got her. She seemed very well-bred. Despite her awkward posture and her fear she sat erect and proud, defiant.

“Good evening.” he said. “Do you know where you are, my dear?”

“I do not.” she said. “But I insist that you untie me this moment, sir. This is criminal.”

“I am the Doctor.” he said, “And you are in my home. I am afraid that I cannot release you just yet.”

“And what is the meaning of this? If this is a prank I must tell you I do not find it amusing in the least.”

“A prank.” he said softly, almost to himself. He squatted down so that his face was on a level with her own and examined her features. Very satisfactory. A lovely girl. Beautiful, actually.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you child?” he asked. “And quite beautiful. You’re also very fortunate; extremely fortunate. You are being given an opportunity that falls to not one girl in a million. You are going to learn the ways of love, my dear, and not that sap and puling nonsense you read about in poems and your magazines, but the true secrets of pleasure and desire.”

I daresay you’ve hardly yet been with a man, have you? You do not know the ways of the human heart either, do you my pet? The secret ways. The ways you will not read about in your romances and novels. No. How could you? You have no idea of the pleasure that you are capable of experiencing; pleasures beyond anything you can even imagine. Nor of the pleasure you are capable of giving others. A woman who knows these things is worth her weight in gold, my child. Literally. The woman who knows the ways of a man’s heart has more power than a queen. Men will fight and die over her. Kingdoms are lost over her.”

He stood up and looked down at her. She was listening, but she didn’t understand a word. Did they ever?

“But such knowledge is not easily gained, child. The road is long and arduous. It is your great good fortune to have been selected for this training. And I shall be your teacher and guide.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she said. “I demand you release me at once!”

He reached behind her head and unbuckled the leather blindfold and slipped it off. She blinked her large eyes and stared at him.

What she saw in the light of the kerosene lantern was a powerfully built man in his prime, his black hair and beard flecked with gray, his eyes deep and dangerous. He wore a red silk smoking jacket and black trousers, a white silk shirt still buttoned at the neck. His wealth and breeding were apparent from his dress and from the commanding way he gazed at her.

“This is who I am.” he said. “Your training begins now.”

He slid the blindfold back over her eyes and she shook her head in an attempt to foil him, but he slipped it in place and buckled it tightly.

He helped her to her feet. “Turn around child.” he said, turning her face to the wall. He bent her over slightly till her cheek touched the cool plaster of the wall and took a moment to admire the stout leather cuffs and chain that held her hands so tightly bound high on her back.

He picked up the strap and doubled it over. “Your first lesson is that you may demand nothing.” he said. He raised his arm high and brought the belt slashing down against her backside, the doubled leather making a sharp crack as it slapped against her bottom. She gasped and cried out in shock and pain.

“You demand nothing and you ask for nothing.” he said, whipping her again. “You speak only when spoken to.”

She screamed when he hit her a third time and he put one hand on her neck to hold her in place. By the fourth stroke her hands were twisting in the cuffs, her fingers spread wide against the pain, and by the fifth the shock had been replaced by real pain that flooded her body. She bit her lip to keep from screaming again and whimpered. Two more lashes and he stopped.

She was weeping now, not only from pain but from humiliation. No one had ever struck her since she’d been a child, and never with such force. Her bottom was burning and aching.

He grabbed her bound wrists and forced them up even higher, pressing her face to the wall.

“Do you like that, my pet?” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Shall you have more or have you learned your first lesson?”

As he pressed his body against her she was horrified to feel his manhood pressing against her hip. It was large and very hard. She didn’t dare speak. Obviously he was insane.

He threw the strap on the table and slapped her bottom once with his hand, sending a spear of pain through her. Then he slid his hand over her buttock and squeezed her, not to hurt, but for his own pleasure, feeling the form resilience of her young flesh.

“Does your ass burn, my dear? Do you feel the warmth in your pussy? No? You will, my sweet. Before we’re done you will learn to love the kiss of the lash. It will feel like a lover’s tongue on your body.”

He let her go and took a moment to straighten his clothes.

“Now come with me.” he said, leading her to a stout door in the hallway and opening it. “Let me show you the training room.”

 

[astralkiss]

Lady Marie-Anne d'Agnau, the illegimate daughter of the Comte d'Agnau, was still allowed to use her title, and she lived in a small room in the castle, due to the fact that the Comte's wide was dead. But her father had made them destitute, and her beauty would be the only salvation for the family and she was only a bastard....

She was sleeping in her bed when her father came.

The struggle, the strange-smelling handkerchief over her nose, and she was gone.

She should have known.

After she was passed out and drugged, her father took her to a place where she had no idea where she was or where she was going.

When she regained consciousness, she had found that she was bound tightly, her wrists behind her back, chained to her neck, which was encased in a collar, and she was clad in one of her most risque gowns, a low-cut day dress a few seasons old, made of layers of gauze and a touch of velvet, the end product revealing some cleavage and her tiny waist, which even uncorseted could be spanned by a large man's hands. Her long unbound waist-length ebony hair, a strange colour of a dark black kissed with a hint of midnight blue hung down loosely, swaying gently with her movements. Her dress barely contained her large lush breasts, around a modern equivalent of a D, and her hips wide but not unpleasantly so, her shape a definitive hourglass. Her hands bound and her eyes blindfolded, two of her senses cut off, hearing becomes more important.

"Hello?Is anyone there?"

The only answer to her question was echoing silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, she could sense a presence.

She sits up straight in the chair, ready to try to attack or at least make herself less vulnerable.

"Who is it? Who's there?" she asks in a shaky voice, her heartbeat going a mile a minute.


“Good evening.” he said. “Do you know where you are, my dear?”

Her heart catches in her throat. It's a man and it's not her father. Possibilities rush through her head, but none of them make any sense.

She replies in the negative, and rebukes him.

"I am the doctor," he says.

A doctor of what? she wonders.

They have a discourse, and she thinks it's going okay, although she doesn't comprehend half of what he says.

"I demand you to release me!" she says in the commanding tone she used with her father's servants, stamping her foot if she could.

That was number one of her mistakes.

He presses her against the wall, after blindfolding her.

Then she feels the shock of something hitting her bare ass after he hoists her skirts up.

"Aiee!" she squeals.

Again and again, an agonizing seven times, and by the end, her will not to cry or scream had broke, and tears coursed down her delicate cheeks, sobs wracking her small body.

He shoves her back up against the wall, and she feels his hard and huge manhood pressing into her, and she fears she will faint from fear of what he will do next, but she dares not say anything, not wanting to be punished again.

"Do you like that, my pet?" he whispers into her ear, his moist, hot breath caressing the lobe.

She whimpers almost inaudibly, frightened, her body stiffening.

After smacking her ass, which caused her to squeal and rubbing it and squeezing a bit, she straightens up.

He is insane, utterly insane, she thinks.

“Does your ass burn, my dear? Do you feel the warmth in your pussy? No? You will, my sweet. Before we’re done you will learn to love the kiss of the lash. It will feel like a lover’s tongue on your body.”

She gasps at his use of such coarse language and also to the fact that he makes it sound like she will be here a long time.
A whimper escapes her lips as he leads her to the "training room".
She feels ready to vomit in both pain and anticipatory fear.

"Training?" is all she asks, merely echoing what he said, not realizing she even said it.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He leads her carefully down the steps to the basement, past the racks of wine, and comestibles, the furniture and art that is stored there, and back to a corner where he maintains his laboratory, a collection of glassware, jars and bottle of chemical and herbs, and strange machines and devices. Here is a bookcase dating back to Cromwell’s time when the house was built, and by pushing it aside the Doctor exposes a long flight of stone stairs. He lights another lamp, and leads her to the landing and closes the door behind it, locking it securely. Knowing the stairs are treacherous, he removes her blindfold and she looks around her in astonishment but quickly regains her composure.
“I do not know what you think you are doing, Monsieur” she says, “but I assure you that the authorities shall hear about this. I demand once more that you release me.”
“Do watch your step,” he says, ignoring her outburst. Some of the steps are slippery.

They travel down the stairs to another locked door, which the Doctor opens, and then they are in a dark room. The Doctor lights some lamps, and she looks around in dismay.

It appears to be a torture chamber from the darkest of the dark ages. Chains hang from rings in the walls and from the ceiling. There are rough-looking pieces of furniture whose use she cannot imagine, but whose malignancy she does not doubt. Iron frames, an X-shaped cross, three straight-backed chairs, one of them with an imposing penis-shaped projection emerging from the seat, a rack, all equipped with straps and bracelets for restraining a reluctant user. In one corner is a forge, the coals glowing even know, the fumes led away by a metal pipe which must go through the living rock to vent out of doors.

The forge makes the room quite warm, but bathes everything in a baleful red glow that the oil lamps do not dispel. In one corner is a roll-top desk with a chair, and here the Doctor seats himself. He opens a journal and begins to write with a quill, leaving her standing there, allowing her to look around.

“Yes,” he says, “it looks like a torture chamber. And it can serve admirably as one too, I assure you. I hope we won’t have to employ it as such, at least, no more than is necessary.”

He gets up and approaches her, and she stands there defiantly, her brave chin tilted up at him.

“May I ask you to stand just there?” he says, guiding her a few feet to her left. He reached up and attaches two stout chains to her manacles, then unclips her cuffs, allowing her to move her arms.

“That is such a pretty gown.” he says, “I would hate to ruin it. May I ask you to remove it?”

“Sir!” she exclaims.

“No, I thought not.” he goes behind her and she hears the clicking of a winch as he draws the chains up tight, pulling her hands inexorably up and out until she is stretched out full length, her feet still on the floor.

“Your training begins here, my dear Lady, and begins at the beginning.” he comes around in front if her and she sees that he has removed his smoking jacket and unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing the dark hairs of his chest. “And the first thing we must do is examine the student. Are you a virgin, my sweet? Have you ever kissed a man? Has anyone ever touched you?”

“I suppose you’ve heard the latest so-called scientific findings that women don’t enjoy sex?” he went on. “Well, I’m here to tell you that that is nonsense. A woman can enjoy sex as much if not more than a man. That shall be one of our first lessons, my dear. But in time, in time.”

He walks around behind her and she feels his body press close to hers. “You are quite extraordinarily beautiful, my dear. But I suppose you know that. Most beautiful women do. Don’t let it go to your head though. Most beautiful women are useless as lovers. They feel they need do nothing more than be beautiful.”

She feels his hands on her bound wrists, holding her, then his lips come down on the side of her neck. She tries to pull away but he slides his hands down her arms till he is holding her shoulders tightly, pulling her against him, and he kisses her neck again, pushing her long black hair out of the way.

“Quite extraordinarily beautiful.” he murmurs against the warm skin of her neck as he glides his lips softly along the curve of her shoulder/ His hands sweep down the lines of her body, tracing the contours of her hips before working back up and around to gently cup her breasts. “Oh my Lord.” he whispers softly as he tries to fill his hands with them.

His hands move around to her front, over her thighs, where he slowly begins to pull her skirt up. At this she struggles violently, but only succeeds in rocking in the chains. Slowly the skirt crawls up her thighs, the hem reaching her knees, then it too brushes her thighs.

“Perhaps we should start with some basic vocabulary.” He whispers against her neck. He squeezes her breast. “This is your tit, your boob, any one of a number of things. And down here,” his fingers creep across her naked and exposed thigh to the crotch of her panties, “is your pussy, your cunt, your womanhood, the heart of your pleasure, your secret rose, your flower…”
He says this with his lips pressed against her neck, one hand holding her breast as the fingers of his other hand glide lightly between her legs, searching for her fount of pleasure.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He cannot believe his good fortune; what the gods and his balckmail have delivered into his hands. The girl is more than beautiful, she is one of the loveliest creatures he has ever seen. Her hair, a cascade of coal-black ringlets heightens compexion of striking clarity and sets off her eyes of an eerie, almost supernatural blue. A blue that shoots fire like sapphire when angry, or softens to that of a misty sky when her ardor is aroused.

He hugs her to him, reveling in the feel of her body. Her corset ends just under her breasts, and her ample mounds are soft and resilient and need no support. They are firm as if filled with honey, and warm through her thin gown. He runs his fingers lightly scross her mons, feeling her springy pubic hair through the thin fabric of her panties, then dips a finger between her legs, tracing the outline of her labia. He feels her hips jerk involuntarily, making the chains rattle above her. Her skin beneath his lips is warm and smooth and the perfume that rises of her heated body is absolutely intoxicating. As he caresses her he notices her hands above him, her fingers either splayed wide or balled into fists as the feverish sensations burn through her innocent body.

He can’t believe how remarkably sensuous she is, how she melts beneath his touch, how her body presses itself ardently towards his caress as a flower instinctively seeks the sun. He knows the turnoil her mind must be going through, and that at such a time her erotic nature can be so readily evoked tells him that he has indeed stumbled upon a woman of intense passion and fierce pride who is capable of overwhelming sexual pleasure. The mere thought of bedding her, of introducing her to the pleasures she is capable of, makes him groan softly.

The feel of her body has brought him to full erection, and he does not hide it from her. Sooner or later she must learn the effect she has on him. At present she is ignorant of her charms, she just doesn’t know. She must have been sadly neglected. That she seemed surprised when he praised her beauty was itself a surprise to him. To find a creature this erotically gifted and yet so naive was more than he dared hope for.

With reluctnace he releases her, the perfume of her hair in his nostrils, the taste of her skin beneath his lips. He must get a grip on himself. The one thing he hadn't been prepared for was that he would fall under her spell, that the teacher might become the student of her beauty and desirability.

She is after all a virgin he reminded himself, a state he didn’t particularly care for in his women. He preferred a woman who had some experience of a man. Virgins required so much care, so much fussing, so much explaining. And yet, to be the first one to touch this jewel of a woman, to be able to show her the pleasures her body was capable of, to feel those thighs, so feminine yet so muscular, girded around his waist as she urged him in, to see her face as he went into her for the first time...

But now his plans were all askew. He had counted on using the whip to tame her, to bring her to heel. He had never thought she would offer herself so readily to his lessons of lust. But as he has introduced her now to the first stirrings of her womanly passion, can he now suddenly introduce her to pain? Can he reward her sensuality with the whip? Or would he destroy her native passion and in effect teach her that her sensuality would only be rewarded with a beating?

The Doctor was a subtle man, and unused to losing his head over a girl like this. But he couldn't take the chance of ruining this passionate flower and possibly warping her forever by whipping her for no reason.

Besides, the Doctor knew the allure of pain was greatest when one was most highly aroused. When a man felt almost overwhelmed by his need, that’s when he felt he had to strike out at the object of his desire. And when a woman’s need was greatest, that is when the line between pain and pleasure blurs into a spectrum of pure sensation. So if he could arouse them both, kindle the passion he knew burned wityhin her lithe and lovely body, then he could introduce her to the intense pleasure of love-pain, of desire uncontrolled.

But he had to be sure. Was she really receptive? Was she really what she seemed?

A kiss. A kiss would tell. There was no lying in a kiss.

He stood in front of her and held her head in his hands, brushed some fallen locks away from her face, and looked into her eyes. What he saw there sent a pang of lust spearing into his groin. She was uncertain; she was frightened. But behind that she was ready, eager, waiting for his move. Her body knew what she wanted even if she didn't.

He tilted her face up to his and brought his lips down upon hers, softly, very softly, just grazing her softness, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, inhaling her intoxicating fragrance, feeling her yield, feeling her tremble deliciously...

 

[astralkiss]

All of his motions seem to unlock before unfelt emotions into her body, sensations unbeknownst to her before coursing through her body, a bolt of lust shooting through her as she searches for the words to describe the feelings, her body melting and yielding beneath his touch.

Why is she doing this? she thinks. Why isn't she fighting him, and why does it feel so good? Why does she care what he thinks?

He caresses her gently, exploring every inch of her voluptuous and firm body, awakening her senses.

She lets out a moan every once in awhile, her body relaxing and her voice sighing.

She has no idea how she appears to his eyes, her fragility and sheer sensuality utter secrets to her.

"What...is...this...feeling?" she says, her body bending to his hands and actually following his touch.

She moans, her eyes rolling back in her head, alarming him for a while, her body shaking with need and want.

Her virginity seems to her just a toy she used to fool men, now just a burden and block to the gates of pleasure she hasn't expected.

Her small pink tongue darts out to moisten her lips, an unconsciously sensual gesture, yet effective nonetheless.
Her inner sensuality, submissiveness and erotic side is coming out to play, almost mind-bogglingly opposite to the front she had had to put on before, of an easily shocked, coddled young gentlewoman.

He goes to brush her curls away from her face, his touch gentle and a small smile caressing her face, dimpling her perfect features.

He then leans over and kisses her never-been-kissed lips gently and softly, almost as if claiming her.

She moans lightly, letting her tongue run over his lips, nibbling his bottom one gently. Her body softens and yields, the expression in her eyes is the one of want to please and to be pleasured.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Her kiss doesn't lie. Her lips are tender, warm, and giving, waiting to be taught. Her delicate and delicious tongue tastes him cautiously, as if afraid to discover that he is real, that what she feels is real. He opens his mouth and tastes her breath, warm and sweet, and he can scarce contain his moan of erotic arousal.

When he tenderly breaks the kiss her breasts are heaving, her eyes fogged with desire. Her fear and trepidation bried in an avalanche of sensual delight and espectation. He stares into her eyes, searching, and she meets his gaze with a question and a plea: What is this you do to me? and Please, do not stop.

He runs his hands up and down her body, the feel of her as she writhes under his touch inflaming him further. His hands go to the bodice of her dress behind which the globes of her breasts tremble expectantly. With her arms chained over her head her breasts are forced together enhancing her natural cleavage, producing a dark and sweet valley he cannot resist. He presses her breasts together and buries his face betwen them, inhaling deeply of her sweetness, licking the light film of perspiration from her delicate skin. Then he pulls the bodice open, baring her breasts to his eyes. The orange-red glow from the heath and the lantern glints off her perspiration-coated flesh, making her look like some pagan fire goddess.

He caresses her breasts, squeezing them, putting them to his face and sucking and licking them, thumbing her nipples as she gasps and twists to press them into his face. He grabs her hair and pulls her face towards his for another kiss as he feasts his hands on her magnificant breasts.

Suddenly he breaks away from her. He goes behind her and releases the ratchet freeing her hands, and he unhooks the chains. He kisses her hard and deep, bending her back in her arms as his hand feels between her legs, feeling her wetness.

He sets her back on her feet and turns her around as he undoes the buttons on the back of her dress, hearing her impatient breathing. She pulls her hair back to give him access, her hand shaking slightly, and when he is done he turns her back to face him.

Again she stares into his eyes, seeing such desire there that she feels the wetness flow between her legs. She wants to tell him but she has no words. As they stand there, eyes locked, he gently pulls her dress from her shoulders, lets it slide down her body and fall in a puddle around her feet.

She stands looking at him dressed only in her corset, her panties, stockings and shoes, and collar and leather bracelets. He takes her in his arms, crushing her breasts to his chest and burying his face in her hair. His hand comes down to her shapely ass and slips inside her panties, making her gasp. She doesn't resist as he slides them down her legs.

"You are a goddess." he whispers to her, his eyes glowing red in the hearth light. "You are desire made incarnate. And you don't even know, do you?"

She is staring at him with a look that could melt ice, her breasts heaving with her labored breathing. As she watches, he unfastens his pants and lets them fall. He skins down his briefs, and for the first time she looks upon his cock, hard, engorged, and rearing like a proud beast sprung rampant from his loins.

His hands find their way to her bottom, still sore from her beating, but he is not thinking of that now. He pulls her hips towards him, crushing his hard cock between them. Despite her innocence, the feel of his hard male tool sets off an instinctive reaction in her body and she floods with heat.
The Doctor slides his hand back down between her legs where he feels her softness. She is warm and moist,

 

[dr_mabeuse]

It's like there's a spell upon them both that they cannot break. The Doctor looks about him and knows that this will not do. There is a bed in the corner but it is hardly more than some blankets on a board. He doesn't want her first experience to be down here in the gloom and grime.

He bends down and picks up her gown and puts it over her shoulders, then takes a small chain from the wall and clips her hands together.

"Come with me." he says. "You deserve better than this."

He leads her back up the way they have come, into the basement, and back up into the kitchen. He leads her down the darkened hall and to the master stairway. He gestures with the lamp for her to go first, and he follows her up the deeply carpeted stairs, watching the sway of of her hips so close to his face.

On the landing she stops and waits for him, her eyes glowing in the light from the kerosene lamp, and as he passes her he pauses ever so briefly to inhale her fragrance, which he has already come to love.

His room is large and dark but he lights a candelabra and brings it to the bed. "Sit down." he says.

She sits, her wrists still fastened together, her back proud and straight. Already she has regained some of the self-possession she'd lost downstairs, but he can tell she is no longer the young girl he dealt with earlier that evening. She never will be.

"Do you know why you are here?" he asks her.

She nods once.

He reached over and unclips the chain. "Stand up." he says.

She stands, and he slips the gown from her pale shoulders. Leaving her in her corset as before. "Turn around."

She turns, and his fingers go to her black corset, untying it and pulling the laces loose. She stands, hands at her sides and he strips off his clothes. His cock, enormous and achingly hard, stands proud like a rampant beast from his loins, but with her back to him she does not see.

He takes her shoulders and pulls her back against his naked body and she gasps as she feels his cock hard against her behind. Quickly he puitys his arms around her, grasping a breast while his other hand dips to her sex and he holds her like this, playing with her pussy and kissing her swanlike neck until she cannot bear it and she sobs suddenly. As she twists in his grasp her corset falls from her body. He turns her to face him and covers her mouth with his, tapping her armsd against her chest.

With his hands on her ass he picks her up and takes her to the bed, dropping her onto the deep feather quilt and she sinks into it as he falls on top of her.

They are all over each other in a desperate struggle of need: lips and tongues, hands and fingers, exploring, urging, gasping. They are like flame and fuel, threatening to explode and be consumed in their own fire. In their fever they appear to be struggling with one another, but in truth their struggle is only to possess and be possessed.

Finally he emerges atop her, her legs open beneath his. The head of his cock finds its way to the gates of her pleasure, and she instinctivbely draws her knees up for him, grips his arms and waits, breathless, for him to take her at last.

He arches over her, looking down into that impossibly beautiful, lust-filled face. He feels her tremble against him, the lips of her virgin pussy kissing the head of his cock.

"I don't even know your name." he says. "Tell me. Tell me now."

 

[astralkiss]

"Lady Marie-Anne Catherine Lisette-Chantal d'Agnau," she says without skipping a beat, looking at him with raw hunger in her eyes.

Lust jolting her body, she doesn't know what to think of herself anymore, the events of the past hours filtering through her mind, wondering what exaclty is going on, thinking she has a very good idea, but not exactly sure.

Up close her emerald-green eyes have threads of gold in the iris, as if they were woven in as decoration. Her demeanor is fitting for a goddess, and a hairless pussy was exposed when he ceremoniously disrobed her.

She lies there in suspense, waiting for his entry.

In her naivete, hoping he does not punish her, she bites her lip.

"Um, may I have permisssion to speak?"

When he nods his consent, she looks at him, a bit of fear mixed with the immense lust in her slightly glazed eyes.

"Will this hurt?" she asks almost systematically, not as if in fear, but more in curiousity.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Marie-Ann." he says, tasting her name. "Marie-Ann." He combs his fingers through her hair, holding her head steady so he can watch her face.

"Don't you know?" he says, gazing into her eyes, "Everything that's beautiful hurts."

And with that he leans his weight on his hips and the head of his tool parts her virginal lips, sinking into her sweet warmth, stretching her with his maleness. He feels the thin barrier of her maidenhead and he watches her intently as he breaks through, making her a woman at last.

She is so tight, so fresh and unspoiled, he at last understands what other men seem to see in virgins. They say that a man wants to be a woman's first lover, and a woman wants to be a man's last, and now he understood.

As he filled her with himself, he saw her seem to burst into flower before his eyes. Below him, sunk into the white featherbed, the light from the lamps shines on her pale sweat-sheened skin, her jet black hair a halo around her blissful face, her lips red and quivering with pleasure and desire.

He pushed deeper, he felt he was so big he would never stop, finally lodging so deep that he could feel her ragged breathing in his cock. He stopped, just basking in the delicious feel of her pussy around him. She was unlike any woman he'd ever felt. She knew nothing: no technique, no tricks, nothing about pleasing a man. She acted only on instinct, but her instincts were perfect. Her body knew just what it wanted, and her pleasure was so immediate and so intense that she had no shame, no hesitation about getting it. Everything she felt was obvious on her face and in her voice, in her body and in the way she moved.

He groaned. This was sexual heaven. This was the perfect woman, a lady in public, a shameless whore in private. He sought her mouth, He gribbed her buttocks in his hands and pulled her up against him until the base of his cock spread her pussy wide and his pubic hair scrubbed against her swollen clitoris.

He could no longer hold back. He had to move. He had to make her his. Now.

 

[astralkiss]

As he slides into her, fireworks explode before her eyes.
This is what she has been missing.
Ever since her awareness of her sexuality, she had felt something missing inside, something purely carnal and animal.
She had found it in him, her first lover, her first cock, but far from her last of both.

A loud guttural groan is ripped from her lips, as she grunts in pleasure, ragged breathing elevating in tempo as he comes closer and closer, a short whimper or two punctuating the staccato breathing of her pleasure interspersed with pain.

"Don't you know?" he says, gazing into her eyes, "Everything that's beautiful hurts."

"Does that mean that I hurt?" she muses, asking out loud, unsure if he will answer, not knowing if she meant it as a rhetorical question or not.

She quivers in anticipation of his taking her, her pussy dripping, clit and mouth aquiver with excitement, her body on fire.

She moans and nips his shoulder lightly, groaning against him, mewling a bit in need, in want, in pain.

She squeals to the high heavens, seeing white and almost falling unconscious when he plunges into her, the mixture of the sweet pain and lucid pleasure combining to make her cum for the first time, her sweet juices coating her tunnel, coaxing it further open for him.

"Aie.....eEEEEEEEE.....Master," she mutters the last word almost unconsciously, as an instinct.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

She is incredible. The touch of his cock is like the kiss of a magic wand that turns her from a shy and uncertain girl into a sexual tigress, and she fucks him with her whole boidy, her whole soul. She shreads her long legs wide, wraps them around his back, plants her feet in the mattress and heaves her slim hips up at him, impaling herself again and again on his thrusting prick. His cock emerges from her pussy pink with her virginal blood, but if he is hurting or--or perhaps because he is hurting her--it only makes her hotter.
She groans, cries, whimpers. She claws at him, bites his chest, muffles her screams by biting his shoulder, but her passion just feeds his own.
He pinches her nipples, and through his haze of lust he hears her squeal in delight as he mistreats her.
He slaps her ass, already sore from the lashing, and with each slap she cries out as the pain melts into the incredible pleasure his cock is giving her, heightening her already overloaded senses.
His own lust ratchets up several notches as he realizes that this is a girl who responds instinctively to pain. What a joy it will be to train her, to chain her and flog her ass and watch her desire burn out of control, to put the clamps on those proud tits and watch her as every move she makes send spears of sharp pain through her body. The very thought takes him up and over and onto the verge of orgasm.
He struggles with her and grabs her wrists, stretches them out over her head and looks down into her lust-contorted face as her body heaves up at him, her eyes glittering like a feral cat's.
"Tell me how it feels!" he gasps. "Tell me how my cock feels inside you, you gorgeous bitch! Tell me you want my come inside you! You're mine now! You belong to me! Now come for your Master! Come for your Master!"
He begins to fuck her hard, brutalaly, out of his mind with lust and the desire to ejaculate. He grabs her nipples and pinches hard, thrusts his cock deep, deep, and his body goes rigid, quivering. then he groans deeply, the sound tearing from his chest as she feels him throb within her and his semen blasts from his cock and jets into her in gout after gout of molten release so intense that his mouth hangs open in silent sock snd wonder at the pleasure she wrings from his body.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

They lie together, arms around each other, cheek to cheek, both of them slowly returning to earth and wondering just what has happened to them.

Although she cannot see his face, his eyes are wide with astonishment and wonder as he pants to catch his breath, and his arms hold her tightly because he is subconsciously afraid that if he lets her go she will quite literally disappear. He can feel her heart beating through the warm cushions of her breasts and feel her slim body trembling in the aftershocks of her orgasm as he holds her, and just the feel of her in his arms begins to revive his lust for her.

But no, that won't do. Not now, not so soon after her first experience. He must regain some control over himself. After all, who is the Master in this relationship? And he is well aware that he is responsible not only for her sexual and social training, but also for her physical well-being.

At last their heartbeats slow to normal. She is confused. Confused by her own reaction to his lovemaking and whether she should even feel ashamed of what happened. She finally screws up the courage to ask him if she did well, and he can't keep from laughing.
"Far more than well, Marie-Anne!" he says, "Far more than well. You are simply quite extraordinary, my dear, and I am quite taken with you."
She looks away in embarrassment but he takes her chin and turns her face back to look at him.
"And you don't even know, do you?" he asks her. "You have no idea what a treasure you are."
She looks at him sadly, sure he is flattering her. He will not let her eyes go.
"I have no need to flattrer you, Marie-Anne." he says softly. "What I say is true. You are an extraordinary woman and I am extremely pleased with you."
He kisses her softly, and her eyes close to receive him. Her lips are as ever soft and warm and accepting, and he has no doubt that were he to mount her again she would take him with as much enthusiasm and joy as she showed before. She cannot help herself. It is her nature.
He breaks the kiss reluctantly ans smiles at her.
"You will share my bed, my dear. I had planned on boarding you with the servants, but I want you here with me. You will belong to me, and I shall be your Master and lover. I will teach you the ways of love, I will teach you the ways of a lady. I will clothe you and provide you with all you need by way of comforts. For now you have the run of my house, but you must not leave. I shall instruct the staff that they are to treat you as their new mistress. But all this, my dear, only as long as you obey me and follow my instructions, is that clear?"
He gets out of bed, fully naked and goes to his closet. "Tomorrow we must get you some suitable clothes." he says, "But for now, this will have to do." He lays a velvet dressing gown on the bed, and atop that a silk shirt. "I'm afraid this will have to do as a nightdress for you tonight.
"Now. The washroom is through that door. I daresay you might like to clean up a bit? And when you get back I shall have a present for you."
While she is gone the Doctor gets up and goes to his dresser. He removes a small box and gets back into bed to wait for her.
She returns dressed in his oversized shirt, her hair put up for sleep. In the large shirt she is simply adorable. Despite the fact that the shirt fairly swims on her, her breasts stretch the fabric tight between them. He feels his cock stir yet again just looking at her.

"This is for you." he says, handing her the velvet box. She opens it to find a simple black velvet choker from whicxh hangs a perfect opal, shooting fire even as she stares at it.
He takes it from the box and fastens it around her throat. It fits as though it was made for her.
"This is a symbol of the bond between us." he says. "In time, when you have proved yourself, we shall find a way of providing you with a more permanent brand. An indelible mark, binding you to me forever."
"And now," he said, "let us sleep. It has been a most gratifying night, and tomorrow will be a busy day."

 

[astralkiss]

She smiles serenely, just lying in his arms for a second, thinking to herself. Why does she react this way to something she previously thought was horrid? Why does she just want to please him, and be rewarded, but the best reward would be his approval.

She shakes her head lightly as if to clear her brain of the cobwebs clouding it as she does an inventory of her thoughts, confused and a bit frightened at her own reaction, not knowing what is going on with herself mentally or physically.

A quick glance down to her thighs confirms that this was not a dream or a figment of her imagination. One of her ultimate fantasies was being fulfilled. She was owned, loved, wanted and needed by someone. Relying on solely him for her needs to exist and her motivation to live was to serve him.

He says nothing of her performance, and it worries her.

"Wa..Was I okay, Master? Did I do well?" she asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Far more than well, Marie-Anne!" he says, "Far more than well. You are simply quite extraordinary, my dear, and I am quite taken with you."

Her cheeks flame with embarassment. He must be teasing her, tormenting her with honeyed words, a power game or something, and waits for his next words to be a rebuke or insult.

"And you don't even know, do you?" he asks her. "You have no idea what a treasure you are."

She continues to take all of his words as a jest, or simple flattery so he can keel her to his will, but she and he both know she would nonetheless, so why does he say this, she wonders.

"I have no need to flatter you, Marie-Anne." he says softly. "What I say is true. You are an extraordinary woman and I am extremely pleased with you."

With these magic convincing words her face seems to light up from the inside, an ethereal halo of exuberant happiness bathing him when he looks into her eyes or at her face, her radiance blinding, as she has received what she wanted all along, her Master's approval.

He leans over and kisses her softly, and her lips part to allow his tongue softly into her mouth, stroking hers gently. Her legs part automatically just slightly, inviting him in again. Arms out, she accepts him readily, and wonders if he is going to fuck her again.

She stops in her tracks. Did she just think the word fuck? She did.
Wow. She would have never thought of using that word before, yet she shrugs it off.

"You will share my bed, my dear. I had planned on boarding you with the servants, but I want you here with me. You will belong to me, and I shall be your Master and lover. I will teach you the ways of love, I will teach you the ways of a lady. I will clothe you and provide you with all you need by way of comforts. For now you have the run of my house, but you must not leave. I shall instruct the staff that they are to treat you as their new mistress. But all this, my dear, only as long as you obey me and follow my instructions, is that clear?"

She looks at him almost in disbelief. This is too good to be true. A Master and a lover all in the same man, to teach her everything she needs in life. He sees to her comforts, providing her with more than just the means of existence. A bright smile lights up her face like a jack o'lantern as she rapidly nods, restraining herself from childishly clapping happily.

"Tomorrow we must get you some suitable clothes." he says, "But for now, this will have to do." He lays a velvet dressing gown on the bed, and atop that a silk shirt. "I'm afraid this will have to do as a nightdress for you tonight.
"Now. The washroom is through that door. I daresay you might like to clean up a bit? And when you get back I shall have a present for you."

She takes the clothes, grinning giddily. A present? She hasn't gotten one of those in ages, everything she has being a hand-me-down. Smiling at her reflection in the mirror, examining her slim wrists in leather bracelets and the slimness of her neck emphasized by the slight leather collar she wears, she grins.
He is right, she is beautiful, especially this way.

She cleans off her body quickly with a thick fluffy towel, savoring the texture as it rubs over her skin.

Throwing her hair into a quick bun, and donning the nightshirt and dressing gown, she bounds into the room, flying onto the bed in anticipation, as if a child on Christmas morning.

He opens the box and brings it out.

A breathtakingly beautiful opal on a midnight black choker, close to the colour of her shimmering curls. She gasps when she sees it, and when he replaces the leather colour with this one, she smiles at the feel of the velvet on the tender flesh of her swan-like neck, downy soft and lush. The gem moves and fire flashes from it, a rainbow of colours.
She thinks the opal reminds her of an orgasm, a rainbow explosion of sensual colours and giggles slightly.

He raises a questioning brow and she explains it and he merely smiles at her.

"This is a symbol of the bond between us." he says. "In time, when you have proved yourself, we shall find a way of providing you with a more permanent brand. An indelible mark, binding you to me forever."

She nods, almost lightheaded with happiness, allowing her hand to rest on his momentarily, looking up at him with utter devotion in her eyes.

"And now," he said, "let us sleep. It has been a most gratifying night, and tomorrow will be a busy day."

Sighing happily, she allows herself to fall asleep with her back to his broad chest, his arms trapping around her waist, encircling her in a gesture of possession.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"One thing you will learn about me," he whispered in her ear as they waited for Madame Christina to finish with her customer, "is that I hate to shop for clothes. I have my tailor come out twice a year and he makes me what he thinks I need, otherwise I wouldn't bother at all. But I know it is different for you ladies."
They were standing in the front of Madame Christine's dress shop surrounded by mannikins in the latest Parisian styles, the Doctor fidgeting uncomfortably.
"Now Madam Christine is supposed to be the best at her trade, and she is off to Paris at least four times a year to keep up with what's in vogue. She's French herself, I understand, but not bad for all that." He caught himself. "Sorry, my pet. Just a joke. Now you tell her just what you like and don't let her cow you. I've arranged it with her so all will be put on my account. I have an engagement and I'll pick you up in an hour and a half."
He stopped outside the shop and looked in through the window to see that she was treated with the proper respect. To Madam Christine and to everyone they met that day he introduced her as his ward, the daughter of a business partner, whose education he was overseeing while she was in England. That would do for now.
As he watched her a smile spread over his normally grave face. She was a delight to be with. Her enthusiasms were like those of a child, everything delighted her and she was so grateful for the least kindness, and being with her forced him to remember the days when he felt like that too, when the world and life were great adventures, rather than the grim tasks they often were now.
She was a natural woman and a natural aristocrat. Though she still needed to learn the social niceties, she had a naturally regal bearing, and a femininity that quite made his heart ache, and more than once he thought he would give in to the temptation to just grab her and press her to his body, just to feel her softness and her luscious curves.
He knew that she did not quite fit the current ideal of beauty: she was too thin, lean and athletic rather than soft and doughy, but she fit his ideal. She defined it, in fact.

By the time he picked her up in his coach she had picked out a number of dresses and gowns and was bubbling over with enthusiasm. In the coach, however, she noticed his mood and grew silent. Shyly he took her hand in his, saying nothing. She slid close and pressed herself against him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The coach stopped at a non-descript sop in a row of shabby buildings, and the coachmen helped them down. She followed the Doctor through a passage that ran beneath the vuilding and they emerged in a small, dark courtyard. In front of them was a dilapidated townhouse. The Doctor rapped on the door with his walking stick. She wanted to ask him where they were, but she knew her place. In any case the Doctor said, "This is a man named Simms. He manufactures certain objects I use."

The door was opened by a bent old man with a cast over one eye wearing a shoe-maker's apron. "Doctor, Doctor!" he exclaimed. "What a welcome surprise. Do come in, sir, do come in."
They stepped inside to a very dark and cluttered room. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Marie-Anne noticed strange articles of leather and metal hanging from the walls and scattered about the workbench. They reminded her of the object's in the Doctor's dungeon, and she grew frightened.
"The pinch clamps." the Doctor said. "Upper."
"Yes, yes, by all means." Simms said, and he led them into a smaller room towards the back. This room had no windows, just a beureau of many drawers.
"Bring me a chair, Simms." the Doctor said. "Then see that we're not disturbed."
"By all means, sir, by all means."
He dragged a straightbacked chair in, then left, bowing and scraping.
The Doctor locked the door behind him.
"Take off your hat, my dear. And sit down."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Marie-Anne?" he asks. "Did you hear me? What is wrong with you, girl?"

"I..I am scared Master...And not in the good way.." she stammers.

"Scared? Why so you are! Oh my dear! Oh my poor, poor dear!" He goes to her and takes her in his arms.

He reaches over and unlocks the door. "Simms!" he yells down the hallway.

"Sir? Yes sir?" omes the nervous reply as tyhe old man hobbles in.

"Nothing today." the Doctor says. Seeing the old man's shocked expression, he adds, "Oh, very well. Pick out six pairs and bill me. Send them through the post when convenient. We cannot stay."

Keeping his arm around her trembling shoulders, the Doctor hurries her out of the place, through the dank passageway, and back into the coach. "Home." he tells the driver. "The lady's not well. Avoid the ruts."

He bundles her into the coach and closes the door. Inside he hugs her to him and strokes her hair. "My dear, my pet. Don't be afraid. Don't ever be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. Not like that, darling."
He is taken momentarily aback when he hears the affectionate term leave his mouth. But why not? he thinks. Is she not his darling one? Of course. But should he let her know so easily?

She is still trembling. he pulls away from her and takes her face in his hands. "Marie-Anne," he says earnestly. "I want you to love me. I want you to trust me and respect me. I don't want you to fear me. Ever. Not ever. Do you understand?"

The gratitude he sees in her green eyes melts his heart, and he hugs her to him so that she will not see his own eyes mist with tears.

Who is this sorceress? What has she done to him? He is the Doctor: ruthless, predatory, diabolical. So he has been told. Hadn't he decided long ago that love was a lie, a stupid fiction fed to the gullible. he might lust, he might desire, but he didn't love. Or so he thought.

Then who was this woman-child, young enough to be his daughter, treated with cruelty by a family that cared nothing for her, who gave her nothing but scorn? How had she emerged from that background with such a beautiful spirit, such grace of form, such passion and affection.?

"There will be no more of that if it frightens you, my pet." he says softly to her. "I will not see you unhappy."

Slowly she relaxes in his arms till he is holding her like a child.

"Now." he says. "Now that that's settled, why don't you show me what you've purchased. Those silk stockings I wanted you to get? You are wearing them now if I'm not mistaken."

She looks at him, a hint of her color returning, some of the gleam in her eye.

"Come, show me." he says. "The shades are down. No one can see."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"Purple?" he asks, delighting in her smile, which seems to light up the entire coach. "Yes. Purple is a fine color, my dear. But I far prefer green. The green of your eyes when you look at me this way. And pink. The pink of your lips when they beg for a kiss."

He leans over her and touches his lips to hers, and again, her mouth seems to melt into his and he feels desire rise in his blood. He holds her face turned to his with his hand under her chin, drinking the nectar of her kiss. He places his hand on her knee, on the inside, and feels the smoothness of her leg beneath the stocking.

His touch makes her jump. but her skittishness is quickly replaced by a rush of her own arousal, and her kiss becomes more ardent, more heated as she feels his warm hand caress the inside of her leg, and move higher, higher.

She sinks into the corner of the seat, pulling him down on top of her by the lapels without thinking. When she notices what she's done, she's horrified, and looks at him in fear. But she sees a gleam of humor in his eye, and beneath that the glow of lust. She starts to apologize but he covers her lips with his again as his hands find the bare, intimate flesh high above her stocking on the soft inside of her thigh.

Her reaction is swift and total, and he feels her lurch against his hand, as if her sex were trying to draw him into contact with her most sensitive flesh. He looks down at her and sees her face is already flushed with desire, waiting for him to touch her, to take her.

He knows that she doesn't want to be gratuitously hurt; that pain for its own sake holds no attraction for her whatsoever. But he senses too that she wants his hardness and his roughness against her. She wants him to crush her in his arms, to batter her in his lust. She wants to be taken utterly, and used for his pleasure. He knows this instinctively, and the knowledge makes him burn with desire for her.

"God in heaven how I want you!" he whispers.

She looks back at him in surprise, the feral light gleaming in her eyes again, outshining the opal at her throat.

All this goes through his mind in a moment, and then he gets control of himself once more. He smiles down at her, and he cannot help but laugh, if only to dispel some of the erotic tension that has gathered in the coach, that seems to gather wherever she goes.

The coach stops and she arranges herself hastily. Phillip the Butler greets them at the door.

"The Mistress and I are quite done in, Phillip." the Doctor says as he takes off his gloves. "We will have a nap before supper. Keep the help off the second floor, will you?"

"Of course sir."

He follows her up the stairs, again entranced by the sway of her hips, the rustle of her petticoats as she ascends ahead of him.
They enter the bedroom and he locks the door behind them. He removes his coat and hangs it up, loosens his tie and unbuttons his collar as she stands by uncertainly.

But her uncertainty vanishes as he goes to her and takes her in his arms. Suddenly it as if a switch were thrown and her passion comes boiling over. She throws her body furiously against him and their mouth meet, open and searching. He holds her tight as if seeking to merge with her, and she thrills as she feels the muscles of his arms, hard and rigid. What can she do against such strength but yield.

When they break apart she stands there dizzy for a moment. The Doctor sits down on the bed with that same questioning, disbelieving look on his face, as if still asking himself, who in God's name is this woman?

"Take off your clothes." he says softly. "I want to see you. All of you. Take of your clothes and come to me."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"I..I am sore there...Master.." she says, standing in her nakedness.

"No doubt." he says. He gets up off the bed and motions to her. "Come here Marie-Anne. Sit down on the bed. I want to show you something."

Eyes wide, she does as he says.

Once she is seated, he stands up. He kicks off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt, baring his chest to her. She watches him as he goes to the window and draws the curtains, plungingthe room into shadow. "Nowadays, people marry and spend their whole lives together without ever seeing each other's bodies. It's a pity really. It's the foolish curse of this foolish age. But I am not a fool, my dear. And neither shall you be."

He takes his shirt off and throws it aside. Hew sits down and removes his socks, then stands and takes off his pants. She sits there watching him, spellbound. He is solid and muscular, his chest broad, his shoulders blocky. He looks terribly powerful, and as he moves she can see the play of muscles beneath his skin.

He stands clad only in his drawers, and her eyes are drawn to the bulge in front. She seeks his eyes but cannot keep her own from falling to his groin again. As she watches she sees him twitch, watches as his cock actually gets hard before her eyes, tenting his drawers. Her hand goes to her mouth in an unconsious gesture.

"I am getting hard," he says, "because I am looking at you. I am thinking of you. That is how it is with a man. Do you understand?"

She swallows and nods, although she barely hears what he says.
She is afraid he will take off his drawers. She is afraid he won't. He is still growing.

"Oh, mon Dieu." she breathes.

He strips down his shorts, lifting the waist band out to clear his cock, which has now grown alarmingly. Surely she did not have that thing inside her last night? It was much too big.

He comes to her. "Touch me." he says softly.

She is hypnotized.He cannot tell exactly what she is thinking. It might be fear, it might be fascination. Clearly she has never seen a man close up before. She reaches out tantatively and touches him, as she might stroke a small pet, running her fingers down its length. He closes his eyes at the touch of her hand on his cock and groans in pleasure.

"This part is the head, or glans." he says. "See how soft, how smooth."

"Yes." she whispers. "Yes."

"And this is the shaft."

"Oh my. But he is still growing!"

"Yes. From your touch, my dear. From the touch of your hand. Hold him. Put your hand around him."

Cautiously she does as he says. He is warm, even hot. He is hard inside but the outside is soft. She can see veins under the skin, the little hole at the tip. How formidable it all is.

"I can feel your heart beating!" she exclaims. She claps a hand to her breast in wonder.

"Do not be afraid of hurting him. You cannot hurt him as long as you do not try and bend him." he says to her. "You cannot squeeze him to hard. He loves it when you squeeze him."

"May I? Like this?"

"Harder."

"Harder still? Like this?"

"That is good. But harder still won't hurt."

"Oh mon Dieux! I don't want to hurt him!"

"Beneath him you see my balls, my testicles, my nuts. These are very sensitive. You must always be very careful with them. That is where my sperm is made, and stored before I ejaculate. Before I come."

She tilted her head and looked at them in rapt wonder.

"Lift him up so you can see better."

"Oh my." she said softly.

She looked at his cock again. It was inches from her face when she saw a drop of clear fluid gather at the tip. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Are you coming?"

He laughed, making his tool jerk in her hand. "No." he said. "that is only a kind of lubricant I secrete when I am aroused. It has no real name. Some people call it pre-cum."

"May I touch it?"

"Of course."

She touched her finger to it and when she pulled her finger away, a long string stretched from the head of his cock to her finger. The sight of it gave her a sudden deep sexual thrill.

He saw that her face was flushed, her breathing was fast.

"Would you like to see me come?" he asked her.

"Oh yes." she said. "Very much."

He removed her hand and laid down in the bed on his back, his hard cock pointing straight up at the ceiling.

"Take my cock in your hand." he said. "Grip it tight. Now work your hand up and down. Yes. Like that. Faster. Yes."

She was on her knees facing him, leaning on one hand, tyhe other wrapped around his cock, pumping up and down. As she did so her breasts swayed softly with her rhythm. He groaned in pleasure and she saw another drop of pre-cum gather at the tip of his cock and run down the shaft and over her fingers. Unconsciously she licked her lips.

Although she was still sore she longed to have him inside her again. So big, so hard, so tender. "Is it good...darling?" she asked.

"Yes." he said. "Yes it's very good." his hips began to thrust in counterpoint to her hand. "Harder." he said harshly. "Spread your legs. Play with yourself, Marie-Anne. I want to see. It will make me come. Play with your pussy, my sweet."

She did as he said, groaning with wanton pleasure at the lewdness of what she was doing. As her own exciotement rose, she felt his rise as well. His thrusts became more vigorous, harder. His face clenched in a grimace of concentration, She saw the muscles of his stomach tighten and bunch, and his thighs became as hard as marble.

"Yes! Yes!" he cried.

"Oh come darling! Come for me!" she said, echoing words he had used last night.

He groaned deeply, his whole body went tense and hard as a board and she felt a surge of poower in his cock, then he cried out and thruist his hips up as a gout of semen erupted from his cock and flew three feet into the air, taking her entirely by surprise, then fell on the pillow beside his head.

"Don't....stop!" he groaned and another burst jetted from his cock, this one not as high but more copious.

"Oh God! Oh God!" she wailed, feeling like she had a tiger by the tail. Again his buttocks clenched and another wad shot from the end of his jerking cock, landing on his chest, followed by a fourth and a fifth, until the semen did not arc into the air anymore, but just streamed from his cock and down over her knuckles.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

The sight of her masturbating and the feel of her small hand on his hard cock had made him come, and she had as well, hard. To his mind there was nothing to equal the sight of a woman in the throes of orgasm, and often he had wondered whether this was the source of his interest in pain, because the look of orgasm and the look of pain were all but indistinguishable. As he had told her, all that is beautiful hurts. Just as now, looking at her asleep like a child in the bed, his heart ached, his cock started to stiffen.

When she had licked and sucked his come from her fingers he thought he would lose control. Tentatively she had tasted it first, and then, as if she recognized the taste, she sucked her fingers ravenously, smearing his semen across her face, on her neck, on her breasts, reveling in it. Her actions had brought him erect again, and he so wanted to take her then and there, soreness be damned. He wanted to fill her with his cock, make her cry out his name in her passion. He wanted her to feel him dripping from between her thighs every hour of the day.

An unwelcome thought came to him then. A thought that had been at the back of his mind since last night came suddenly to the fore: Is it me she loves, or just sex itself?
A woman this passionate, this sensual: would she respond in the same way to any man's touch. Was her heart truly involved in any of this at all? Or was she the fabled nymphomaniac, available to anyone?

There was no way to tell at this point. Perhaps she herself did not know. How could she? No one else had ever touched her. But what could he do? He could teach her, train her, but he could not keep her a prisoner. He could not demand her love.

He let her sleep and got out of bed, his mind troubled. Looking out the French windows he saw that it was beginning to snow. He would have liked to waken her, just to see her face when she saw the thick, soft flakes falling from the leaden sky, turning the garden outside into an enchanted world.

But she needed her rest. She was still not recoverd from the emotional turmoil of last night. So he went into his bathing chamber and ran his showerbath.
The Doctor's bathing room was quite unusual. He himself had designed it. In addition to a claw-foot tub, it contained a sunken Japanese style immersion bath. Water from a cistern on the roof was heated by a coal fire so that water was always available for bathing or showering. The Doctor didn't subscribe to the popular idea that bathing more than once a week was deleterious to one's health.

Emerging from his bath he dressed and went downstairs. Phillips met him at the stairs and informed him that parcels had been delivered from Madam Christine's, apparently some clothes that the dress maker had altered for Marie-Anne's figure while her wardrobe proper was being prepared. The Doctor had Bridget run them upstairs to his bedroom and he told Phillip that they would dine at eight. He also asked Phillip to bring up some stachels he had stored down in the lower basement. Phillip gave no sign of surprise. He was the very soul of discretion.

The Doctor walked though his house, through the front parlor, the foyer, the dining room and library, the billiard room and music room and into the conservatory at the back of the house. Here he checked his plants, the rare specimens he had collected from the jungles of South America and Borneo, or had sent from more remote lands. The Doctor had made his fortune in medicines. While his neighbors might know him as an ethical manufacturer of laudanum (tincture of opium in alcohol) and Dr. M's Coca Extract, they probably did not know that he also made "L'Tour Eiffel Men's Invigorator and Erection Tonic" or "Helen of Troy's Female Elixir", both of which brought in even more money than his ethical pharmaceuticals. He was always searching for new medicinal substances with commercial potential, hence his conservatory.

At seven he instructed Bridget to wake the Mistress to dress for dinner in half an hour, and he retired to do the same. He stopped on the second floor in an unused bedroom. This would be her room. Close to him, but a place where she could retire for solitude and recreation, and a place to keep her clothes and makeup and other female things. The room was bright and sunny--thouih not with the snow falling now--and it made him think of her again.

He went back into his bedroom where she still slept as he had left her. He picked up the blanket and looked at her with a pang of desire. She had the behind of a dancer, high and proud, and the lash marks hardly showed today, though he could see his hand print where he had spanked her in his excitement as he'd taken her virginity last night. She was naked except for the black velvet choker, and her legs were apart slightly. He felt himself stir.

He dressed and went downstairs and sat in the library, catching up on correspondance as he waited for her to come down. He tried to put his doubts about her out of his mind, but he could not.

 

[astralkiss]

After licking and sucking his semen from her fingers, and artfully spreading it across her body and on her face, she falls into a deep sleep, curled into the fetal position on the bed.

About a half hour into her sleep, she begins to dream.

"You stupid little whore! Ruining my plans again! You are so useless! I should have given you to the Duke to be his slut to pay my debt to him. He offered too much for you, and I was a fool to refuse! Now down in the dungeon with you, bitch!"

She stirs in her sleep, visibly, a sharp cry of want piercing her lips, a moan and whimper of fear and hurt.

"What did I do wrong father?" she mutters in her youthful voice. "Shut up, wench," was all he muttered and shoved her down the dungeon stairs into the darkness, leaving her with nothing. No light, no food and no water.
"I'll be back for you when I think you've learned your lesson.." he says ominously.
She whimpers and cries out, running for the door but unable to find her way in the dark.


She wakes up with a scream, breaking out into a cold sweat, Bridget staring at her as she stands, waiting to awaken her for dinner preparations, unmoving in her fear of her.

"Um, Mistress, it's time to get ready for dinner, some new clothes are in the wardrobe..." Bridget says and runs down the stairs quickly.

Marie-Anne rifles through her wardrobe, looking for a few pieces and wondering what to wear for her first formal meal with him.

She finally decides on a black pair of silk stockings with matching garters, a black brocade corset with golden embroidery, and dainty black silk slippers that emphasized her small size.

Over this she wore a gown that emphasized her small waist and pushed her breasts up even more, a fairly low-cut black velvet number that matched her choker/collar and had golden roses embroidered on the bodice, and golden and black lace on the sleeves and at the neckline.

Putting her hair down, letting the curls cascade, she grins at her reflection in the mirror, all recollection and memory of her nightmares gone. She smiles, patting her curls into place, and bounds down the stairs, eager to see the look on his face, storming into the library.

"I'm ready, Master!" she chirps childlike, adoration and admiration adamant on her face.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Sitting in the library, the Doctor read the letter for a third time. It was no use. He couldn't concentrate. Since he'd had that thought about Marie-Anne's feelings for him and fidelity, it was as if he'd been poisoned. He knew he was foolish to be jealous: she'd never even known the touch of another man, and yet... What was wrong with him?

"I'm ready, Master!" he heard her say, her voice like music in the house.

He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, rested, composed, and simply radiant in a gown that finally did justice to her figure and charms. She stood demurely, but he could tell that she was bursting with pleasure inside, and the smile she gave him told him that it was he who was the cause of so much of her happiness.

"Oh my God!"[I/] he thought to himself. "I'm in love!"

And now that he admitted it, it was all so obvious to him. He couldn't say he'd ever been in love before, but he recognized the symptoms from things he'd heard from others: the longing, the urge to protect her, to be with her, the way she cheered him, his worry over losing her.

"You are beautiful, my dear." he said softly. "Just ravishing. Let me look at you."

She smiled with glee and did a pirouette for him and he feasted his eyes on her. His heart swelled.

He gave her his arm and they walked in for dinner. He sat here to his right and Phillips served.

It was a rather simple meal, as the Doctor was concerned for her digestion. There was a lobster bisque, salmon in dill sauce, a gallantine of duck, and some grilled chops, and two wines. The Doctor was somewhat dismayed to find his appetite not what he'd thought. He didn't feel ill, the food just didn't seem as interesting as his company.

He had been expecting her to lack some manners at table, but was gratified to see that her bearing was impeccable, He drew her out, really wanting to hear of her life and her person, her ideas and her thoughts, though she was at first most reluctant to discuss herself.

Her delight in the food was itself delightful. Obviously she was unaccustomed to this type of fare, and she ate with the enthusiasm and honest appetite of the young, though always a perfect lady. Slowly he pried her history from her, a history of almost unbelievable cruelty and callousness. She had been no better than a slave or prisoner of her own family, beaten, abused, confined. Anything she had loved had been intentionally ripped from her grasp and destroyed in an attempt to destroy her. And yet her spirit and her beauty had survived in spite of all they did.

Hearing this, he recalled that he himself had intended to be the last link in the chain of her degradationand exploitation, and the idea filled him with shame. As if to deny this part of himself, he broached a subject he had not intended to mention yet.

"Marie-Anne," he said, "I intend you make you my legal ward. This means I will take full responsibility for you, and that your father will have no further claim to you. You will stay with me permanently. Quite frankly, I do not trust your father, and I would not be surprised if he tried to get you back. Once you have become my ward, however, that will be impossible. You needn't give me your answer yet. I want only for you to consider it."

By the time Phillips set out the cheese, fruit, and port, Marie-Anne was a bit tipsy. The Doctor dismissed the staff, and he and Marie-Anne took their dessert into the library, his own favorite room, where there were two sofas and a fire burning in the large fireplace. Here the French doors looked out into the garden in the back of the house, all cloaked in the soft snow which was still falling.

Marie-Anne went to the window and looked out. "It is so beautiful. See how it sparkles mon Docteur. It makes everything look so soft and kind."

Her words drew him to his feet and he came up behind her. He put his hands on her arms and pulled her back against him. He pushed aside the blue-black mass of her curls and his lips found the side of her neck, her perfume and natural scent making his head swim. The velvet choker, the symbol of their bond, was less than an inch from his lips and as he kissed her he felt her arch back against his touch.

His hands acressed her body, sliding down over the velvet of her gown to her hips, and then as if of their own accord they came up to her breasts where he stroked the soft exposed skin until her breath came deep and fast, making her bosom heave. She let her head roll on her shoulders as he kissed and bit softly at her neck, and he saw the tops of her breasts erupt into goose flesh.

"My Master." she breathed. "My Master."

"Yes." he said. "And I have so much that I want to teach you, so much to show you, Marie-Anne, my precious, my slave."

 

[astralkiss]

She stands waiting for his approval. All she really wants is for him to say how he approves of her gown, how he loves the way it makes her look. Because without his approval of it, it means nothing to her, in any way shape or form, she cares not for what she thinks of herself anymore, because what she thinks abotu herself is what her master thinks.
She looks a bit fidgety, waiting for his reaction as he surveys her lush figure clothed in the gown.

"You are beautiful, my dear." he said softly. "Just ravishing. Let me look at you."

She grins at his approval, her night made in just those few words, the kind remarks bringing a blinding glow of self-confidence to her delicate features, a grin dimpling her doll-like cheeks.

He leads her down to dinner, a veritable feast compared to the meager spread brought on at home by her father's rapid descent to destitution, much to her step-mother's dismay. IT was her step-mother's idea to sell her anyways, and her father gladly agreed to it, to please his lover, her step-mother, who insisted that they had other children, it was done in ancient times, why not?

She sighs at the unpleasant memory, jarring herself back to the present, her table setting with her Master, happiness flooding her and replacing the residual grudge.

She eats happily and decadently, with impeccable manners. Enjoying her courses one after the other in childlike enthusiasm. He asks her questions, slowly revealing her story.

"I was born as an illegitimate child and my mother died giving birth to me. The woman I called stepmother hated me from the start, calling me satan and all sorts of hideous names. From the time I was old enough to stand it, she would beat me for the slightest infraction, and my father was so bewitched by her, that he never stopped her. I still have a few very faint scars as a result."

"Another one of their favourite punishments was locking me in the dungeon. That was why I freaked out yesterday at that place...it reminded me of the dungeon so much..."

She goes back to eating, him done with his interragation.

After the wine and cheese coiurse, overindulging a bit, she feels quite a bit tipsy, a smile caressing her lips widely.

Her Master looks at her, regarding her seriously.

"Marie-Anne," he said, "I intend you make you my legal ward. This means I will take full responsibility for you, and that your father will have no further claim to you. You will stay with me permanently. Quite frankly, I do not trust your father, and I would not be surprised if he tried to get you back. Once you have become my ward, however, that will be impossible. You needn't give me your answer yet. I want only for you to consider it."

She looks at him and merelty smiles, a grin on her face, wondering what he means, needing further clarification later. He leads her into the library, the fire crackling in contrast to the snow outside, coating everything in a layer of frost, kissing it with sparkle.

She stands in front of the window and gapes.

"It is so beautiful. See how it sparkles mon Docteur. It makes everything look so soft and kind."

She smiles at him widely, thinking, like you.

He comes up behind her arms encircling and claiming her, his hands moving the frothy mass of curls to the side, his simulatenously rough and soft lips caressing the tender skin of her swan-like neck. Arching back against his touch, she sweetly surrenders.

His hands skim over her velvet covered body, feeling every luxurious, luscious inch. Her breath catches in her throat when he cups her velvet covered breasts, fondling them softly as if reveling in the texture. Her neck and the visible top of the mounds of her breasts dimple with goosebumps.

She yields to him completely, in sweet submission.

"My Master." she breathed. "My Master."

"Yes." he said. "And I have so much that I want to teach you, so much to show you, Marie-Anne, my precious, my slave."

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He leads her from the window to the sofa and sits her down, and for a long moment he stands just gazing down at her, her fine features illuminated only by the orange glow of the fire which crackles softly in the hearth.

The house is silent; outside it is silent, everything muffled in the nlamket of gently falling snow. It is as if the entire world were holding its breath. He lowers his face to hers and she closes her eyes and offers her lips to him, and his kiss if like the falling snow, so gentle, so tender, and warm upon her lips. Her touch fires his lust, and he kneels on the sofa next to her and kisses her harder. The feel of his need almost alarms her, but his passion kindles a fire in her as well as she feels the possession in his kiss. The roughness of his beard chafes her delicate skin, yet she offers her face to him, wanting to feel the full force of his desire.

Only last night she was still a virgin, although that seems so long ago, and so much has happened. But when he sits beisde her and his body presses her back into the sofa, she finds the fire returning to her blood. There is something in the way he handles her, tender, yet with a sense of ownership, a certain familiar roughness that ,akes her dizzier than she already is, and when his lips trail down her thoat to her chest and cover her with kisses, she throws her head back and sighs with pleasure and surrender. He kisses her breasts through the lacey top of her gown and she feels his hot breath upon her skin, his urgency. She feels her nipples peak in excitement.

He bites softly at her lips, his tongue finds hers and explores her mouth, taking her. With some difficulty he manages to work the bodice of her gown down and over her breasts, and his hands go to her, gliding over her flesh, tickling and setting off sparks of delight. At the same time he is raiseing her skirt, his hand trailing up the inside of her stocking-clad leg, finding the tender flesh near her crotch, tracing delicate circles on her warm, soft skin. She is still sore there from their violent lovemaking, and she feels a pang of fear, but she would not stop him now.

She is nestled into the couch, the bodice of her dress down and her breasts exposed to the fury of his kisses and he nuzzles and licks her, his beard and moustache scraping harshly over her tender skin. He puishes her leg up to the top of the sofa, spreading her lewdly apart, and she can feel the fabric of his trousers against the delicate flesh at the top of her thighs. She can feel the hard stab of his erection as it lays along the lips of her sex. Boldly, without even thinking she reaches down to touch it and the feel of him makes her groan with desire.

He gets off her and tells her to stand and she gets to her feet. He stands behind her and begins to unbutton her dress. Stopping to kiss her on the shoulders or bite her tenderly there. When he has the garnment undone, he slides it off her shoulders, and she stands in the firelight clad only in her corset and stockings, awaiting whatever will come next.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

"You know I love you, don't you Master?" she asks, an innocent smile on her face.

The way she says this, almost as if she's speaking to herself, tentative, as if afraid to say it aloud, as if she's said it before and had the words hurled back in her face--as if she'd been mocked for it, punished for it--touches him in a way he can hardly stand. His love and desire for her well up in him in an almost overwhelming flood of emotion along with a need to possess her, to crush her to him, a love and desire that is almost violent in its intensity. Suddenly he remembers that first night, when he'd held her neck, pressed her innocent face against the wall and whipped her beautiful backside with that cruel strap, and strangely he longs for that feeling of power over her again. She has stolen his heart, as surely as if she had broken into his house and stolen his gold, and in some part of himself he feels she must be punished for this thievery, innocent criminal though she is.

He controls his overwhelming emotion and looks at her standing there. Shy yet proud, a girl, yet a woman. So innocent, yet so instinctively expert in her lovemaking.

He goes to her and takes her in his arms, enfolds her in his embrace. "Marie-Anne..." He does not know what to say. In all his life he has never told anyone that he loved them. It had always seemed a confession of weakness to him, as if it were a defect of character.

"Marie-Anne... I love you." he says. And then, as if a dam inside him had burst, "My God I love you so!" He crushes her frail body to him, burying his face in her mass of raven-black tresses, inhalaing her perfume, and he feels her slim arms encircle his broad back as she returns his embrace with all her strength.

"You are mine, you are mine alone." he says as he kisses her hair, her face. He whispers hotly in her ear, "You shall never escape from me. I will never let you go!"

He longs to hold her there forever, his arms around her, lost in her beauty, but the feel of her body is too much for to man in him, and he pushes her gently back upon the couch. He must have her. He must have her now.

Her panties are beneath her garters, and he has no patience for dealing with these. Taking the flimsy fabric in his hands he rips the crotch band and pushes the torn garment aside. He stands, and as she watches he takes off his jacket, undoes his tie, unbuttons his shirt and removes it, until he is standing in the firelight, hid hard body painted with gold from the flames.

He makes her sit on the sofa, then pushes her knees apart and kneels down between her legs. He puts his hands beneath her knees, lifts her legs and pulls her hips forward as she looks at him with alarm. Surely he is not going to do that?! Surely he is not going to kiss her there!

He lowers his head and she feels his lips barely touching the inside of her thigh, his touch barely perceptable. Then the other leg, slowly, so tenderly, yet always working his way closer to her center of need.

Finally she feel the soft brush of his lips on her sex, and she jumps.

He looks up at her, his eyes like live coals. "I must have you like this." he says. "I must taste you."

She feels his tongue barely caress the lips of her pussy, from bottom to top. She feels his hot breath on her there, and just when she thinks she can stand his teasing no more, she feels the touch of his lips on her, gentle and warm. He knows she is sore, He knows he must have her, and he knows that her arousal is the one thing that will make her forget her soreness.

His tongue traces the crease of her sex several times before attempting to penetrate her. She twists and shrieks, in embarrassment of excitement, even she does not know which, but he holds her legs spread for him, exposing all of her to his hungry mouth, kissing, licking, nibbling with his lips. He scoops up her honey and swallows it down. He finds her nub of pleasure and teases it. He makes love to her pussy with his mouth, getting rougher and more passionate as her own passion builds.

And then he stands. They are both of them breathing rapidly, their eyes are glazed. On impulse her straddles her body, his big cock, painfully erect before her eyes, her mouth. He knows that she has never done this, possibly has never even heard of this, but he trusts her instincts.

He looks down at her and she looks up at him with her eyes sparkling.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

As he expected, her mouth is ecstasy itself. Untrained though she is, her instincts and her deisre to give him pleasure take over, and she soon learns what to do to make him groan, to make him close his eyes in pleasure, to make his stomach muscles clench and tremble with excitement.

She is lying on her back on the sofa, her head propped up aganst the armrest, as he straddles her body, one knee of the sofa, his other leg standing on the floor, his trousers in a puddle around that ankle. The fire pops in the hearth as she sucks him, moaning in lewd pleasure as his arousal leaks down her throat. She pumps his shaft with one hand while the other tickles gently at his dangling balls.

The sight of her small delicate face distorted around his giant cock makes his blood boil, and when she glances up at him to see his reaction she finds his eyes locked on hers, and there is a chilling moment as Master and slave confront one another: his will and her willingness, his pleasure and her discomfort. She feels totally at his mercy and yet never has she felt in more control, more responsible for his happiness.

With a groan he combs his fingers through her onyx tresses, he grips her hair and pulls her face tighter to him. He is more than she can take but his lust has the better of him now, and he hardly knows what he is doing. He wants to fuck her, fuck her mouth, fuck those sweet soft lips.

"I'm going to cum in your mouth." he gasps breathlessly as she feels his srong hips begin to pump at her face. "I'm going to cum in your mouth, you sweet bitch. I want you to swallow it. I want you to swallow it all."

She moans at the lewdness of his words, at the image of what they must look like. She queezed her thighs together to ease the delicious ache she feels in her pussy and she fights to control his pistoning cock between her llips.

He fucks her mouth brutally now as his orgasm rises, his male passion out of control, bruising her lips and stuffing her mouth with his meat. Her breasts shake from the violence of his assault, and she grabs his shaft with both hands to keep him from plunging down her throat. His violence frightens and excites her, and she holds tight as the head of his cock plunges in and out of her mouth, his hands in her hair hurting her.

He groans, his groan rising to c rescendo of lust. he shoves forward and she feels him tremble, the cock in her hand jumps, throbs, and then a blast of his release bursts into her mouth with incredible force, as if shot from a gun. Now she gried out in surprise and excitement as another jet splashes across teh side of her face, slashing across her eye and druipping down her cheek. She pumps him furiously as he spasms in her grasp, punscing forward to blast her again across her lips and throat as she gasps fopr breath.

He wrests his cock from her grip and finishes himself, pumping himself as he pours a stream of his hot pleasure over her breasts, shoving his cock between her breasts and discharging the last of his release in her cleavage.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

He remains above her catching his breath, as she swallows convulsively, coughing, caught off guard by his sudden violence. His body is covered with perspiration that shines in the light of the fire as his chest heaves.

He climbs off her and takes her roughly by the shoulders and sits her upright as if she weighed nothing at all. Startled, she instictively brings her arms up to protect her breasts and prepares herself for the blow she knows is coming even if she has no idea why.

But when she opens her eyes, she sees him looking at her with a strange and alarming look: a look of rage and terrible tenderness, a look that tells her instantly that there is much, much more to this man than she has yet suspected. Something is torturing him, and in some way she can't begin to understand, she is involved.

Then suddenly he kisses her, desperately. Her face and her lips are still running with his ejaculate, but he kisses her hard, his mouth open, his tongue searching her mouth as he tastes himself in her mouth.

That look, the kiss, they take her breath away. She doesn't know what they mean. He releases her and strides naked to the library table, his back to her. She hears him pour a brandy, a tall one; the decanter gurgles, then he throws it back. He runs his hands through his hair, and when he turns back to her he is trying to smile.

"Forgive me." he says. "I shouldn't have done that."

Quickly he pulls on his drawers and puts on his pants, throws his shirt on.

"Come," he says, "I'll see to you bed, my darling. I have work to do."