Miss Blake's Abduction Ch. 01

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A gentleman ensnares a virgin in his ploy for revenge
4.3k words
4.59
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29

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 06/21/2005
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callida
callida
42 Followers

A gentleman, tall and broad-shouldered, crept across the small garden of a country house under the moonlit sky. He let himself in through the wooden gate, which he closed carefully behind him, and stole up to the shadowed side entrance. He produced a key from his pocket, which he had obtained from one of the servants last week. With a faint click of the lock the door was opened, and he silently passed inside, removing his fine hat as he did.

He knew the location of the bedroom he sought, and silently made his passage through the dark corridors, up the rear stairs, to the small front bedroom overlooking the garden. This door was unlocked, as he had expected it to be. From what he remembered of her, she was far to trusting to lock her door at night. Inside, he made his way to the bed, where she slept in a disarray of limbs and sheets and satin.

Constance Blake.

It had been at least two years since he had last laid eyes on her. He had not thought her any great beauty then, and it brought him some satisfaction to see that she was not the least bit improved since. Her mouth was rather pleasant, he admitted, though the fullness of her lips was rather ill-suited to current fashion. Her hair he knew to be of a subdued copper shade, though the moonlight did not do it justice. Her skin was a brilliant white by contrast, which made her look like a cold marble statue.

He debated for a moment what to do. For all his planning and deliberation, he had never resolved himself on how he might finally achieve his end. What if she were to wake the household? Her brother, obviously, was absent, but the servants might hear, and as much as they trusted him, they would undoubtedly oppose his abduction of their young mistress. Should he try to restrain her in some way? Bind her, gag her? But that might disturb her slumber, and she reposed so peacefully, he almost wanted to believe that he could carry her to the waiting carriage without waking her. He calculated the distance, and decided to remove her forthwith.

Leaning over her, he watched her steady breathing swell the sheets above her bosom. Unable to help himself, he felt his groin begin to tighten at the sight of her, which he knew must be in anticipation of his intentions for her, rather than due to any real feeling she might stir in him. She was nothing to him, after all, but the instrument of his revenge.

He pried his hands under her sleeping form, under her back, and where her knees must be. She had the same strength of limb as her brother, and was by no means a slight girl, but he lifted her from the bed easily, blankets and all. It was then but a short walk down the corridor, the stairs, and out the side entrance, across the lawn and into the waiting carriage. His butler, Richards, was driving. He would be paid well for his compliance and his secrecy.

Just as the carriage pulled out of the lane onto the country road, the young lady began to stir.

* * *

Constance had been disturbed in her sleep. She wished to slip back into the pleasant dream she had been having, but found that she could not make herself comfortable. There was a steady thumping in the distance, and she felt a cold draught over her skin.

She opened her eyes.

"Good evening, Miss Blake."

She was very confused for a moment. This was a carriage. They were riding quickly over a gravel road. Outside it was dark, though from the slanting, changeful light of the moon she could distinguish the features of her companion.

"Mr. Whitham!" Her thoughts began to flow together. She blinked the drowsiness from her eyes. Her mouth opened and shut, but no words would come. She sat up, drawing the blankets around her. Clearing her throat, she managed to speak. "What is the meaning of this? What has happened?"

He laughed at her indignation. "Surely you must know. What has your brother told you?"

A cold dread spread through Constance's body. "I haven't seen my brother these last three months. He has been away with his regiment in the North. What has befallen him? Are you taking me to see him?"

"No," Whitham replied, with a hard expression on his face.

Constance fought to keep her voice steady. "If there is some awful news you must deliver, Mr. Whitham, I pray you communicate it to me directly so that I might better bear the shock of it." She bit her lip.

"When I last saw your brother he was in good health, I assure you, Miss Blake."

These words caused her only slight relief, for there was still a dangerous foreboding in Whitham's voice.

"Then what is all this?" she asked with some alarm, wondering why a man she had trusted since childhood would need to abduct her from her bed in the middle of the night if only to tell her that her brother was in good health. She thought back to her brother's correspondence of late. He had written little, being extremely occupied with his regimental duties, though she recalled, in his most recent missive, a short line, warning her to be on her guard against his friend James Whitham, though he had not detailed his reasons. It seemed that her brother's fears were not unfounded. "Why don't you bring me home, Mr. Whitham, and we can discuss this matter together?"

"I think not."

They rode on for some moments in silence. Constance couldn't help but dwell on her darkest fears.

He spoke suddenly. "Your brother owes me a great debt, Miss Blake, and I intend to use you to pay for it." She couldn't mistake the meaning of his look.

"Where are we going?"

"Away."

"Where?"

"I shall not tell you."

It was that response that really unnerved poor Constance. She rose to look out the window, but could discern nothing of the countryside. She caught his eye. They weren't moving very quickly. Could she jump?

"I wouldn't if I were you," he warned, apparently reading her mind. "Even if you survived the fall, we are at least ten miles gone by now, and think of what a damage to your reputation it would be to be seen walking about the countryside in your nightclothes." His glance travelled up and down the curves of her body, which was only partially concealed by the fabric.

"My reputation would be better served by flight than by remaining in this carriage with you," she retorted.

"Ah, very true, your reputation, and indeed your virtue, I must confess are in danger tonight. But there is no sense in running. I will easily find you again." His voice was certain, and his manners were all arrogance. He leaned back in the carriage seat, calmly waiting for her to sit down again. She did, unwillingly, unable to think of an alternative.

"Whatever it is that you hope to achieve by—by meddling with my virtue, I am certain another way can be found," she said with some disgust.

"Meddling with your virtue, indeed! That is well put. I did not notice that you had become so clever, Miss Blake. So like your brother, you are."

"Mr. Whitham, whatever my brother might have done, whatever disagreement might have befallen you, please, do not make me pay for his transgressions."

"You would do better to be silent about that of which you are ignorant." He said dangerously.

"Pray, then, enlighten me, so that I might no longer be ignorant." She stared into his cold blue eyes for a long time, until finally he relented.

"Your brother is indebted to me, for a crime of honour he committed against my family."

Constance, thinking very quickly, suddenly understood the whispered conversations she had heard over the last month.

"Miss Whitham!" she gasped, her eyes widening with fear.

"Yes, my sister," answered Mr. Whitham, with such a cold gaze clouding her features that she lost all recollection of the cheerful boy who used to play with her as a child.

"But I was told that she was merely visiting her aunt and uncle in the country."

"Oh, she is," Whitham said a little wildly, "she is there to give birth to your brother's bastard!" He spat harshly.

Constance did not know what to say. This did not seem to fit the character of the brother she loved so dearly.

"This must all be a terrible mistake, Mr. Whitham. I do not believe that my brother would have committed such an act."

"No? Do you not know him to be a vile and desperate man, so intent upon my sister's fortune that he would seduce her in an attempt to force her to marry him?"

Constance was becoming quite distraught, feeling that her control of the situation was rapidly diminishing. "If it is true, and you are so well acquainted with the sorrow of seeing a sister thus mistreated, would you really wish to inflict the same grief upon your oldest friend? Can you really intend to do the same to me in revenge?"

Whitham laughed evilly. "That is exactly my intention, Miss Blake, but more than that. Your brother seduced my sister with the intention of marrying her, of making something of an honest woman out of her, but clearly, Miss Blake, I do not intend the same for you. I will have you in any manner that I please. You will do such things for me that would make even a well-used whore blush. You will be ruined beyond repair. And maybe, when your belly is swollen with my child, your brother will come to preserve what little honour you have left. And I will kill him."

I uttered this last phrase with such malevolence that Constance burst into tears. How could Mr. Whitham treat her so cruelly?

"Is there nothing I can do? Nothing I can say that will make you change your mind?" she sobbed. "Can I not appeal to your superior breeding, to your character, which is so above that of my brother? You are better than he, in every way, and yet you would surpass his very basest acts in the name of vengeance?"

His jaw clenched in a most obstinate manner, and his face reddened, but he remained silent.

Constance sat in the coach, with the man who would ravish her, and tried to calm her tears. What could she do? He couldn't keep her in the coach forever, at some point, probably soon, they would have to stop to change horses. She might have a chance of escaping then, or perhaps when they reached their destination she might have a chance of sending some word to her brother of her predicament – only to have him come to rescue her and be killed for it! For she knew enough of Mr. Whitham's character to know that it was not an idle threat.

"When will we stop?" she ventured at length.

Mr. Whitham seemed surprised to be stirred from his reverie. "Not for several hours, I suggest you try to sleep, for you will have precious little time for it once we are arrived."

Again these hints; Constance blushed, but wished desperately that he could not see it. She was resolved, if he wanted to do this thing to her, his satisfaction could only come from the pain her caused her and her brother. And she was determined that no matter what may come, no matter what he would do to her, that she would betray no emotion to him, that she would endure the entire experience, and then, just when he thought he had won, she would killhim.

These thoughts, so different from the thoughts that had filled her dreams only a few hours ago, comforted her somewhat, and together which the easy rhythm of the carriage, she drifted into sleep once more.

* * *

"Constance," came his voice, "Constance."

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed its solitary toll.

"You are either a very deep sleeper, or you much prefer my mode of transportation than your own."

She opened her eyes and blinked at him in the dim light.

"This is twice in a single night that I have carried you bodily to and from your bed."

She looked around; she lay on a bed in a pleasantly furnished little room. The night wore on outside, she felt exhausted at having her sleep so interrupted, but a stab of fear in her gut quickly chased away her remaining lethargy. "What is this place?"

"I took the liberty of taking a house by the sea for the summer. I hope you find it to your liking. If not, I'm sure you will grow to like it in time. It is a very charming little place, quite well-situated for our purposes, being well out of the way of the main thoroughfares."

Constance roused herself from the bed. This madness had to end. "I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Whitham, but I'm afraid I must be going." She had no clothes, no shoes, no money, but made for the door anyway.

"You mustn't leave, my dear Constance. What will the servants say? What about your reputation?"

"My reputation!" she cried, and reached for the doorknob. Whitham crossed the room, and snatched her hand away. In an instant she felt the power the man could exert when crossed. He lifted her as he must have done in her sleep, and deposited her on the bed. She would have tried to crawl away again, had he not pinned her down with the weight of his body. He began tearing her nightgown into great strips. Constance, who felt that she was about to be ravished any minute, thrashed wildly against him to no avail. He succeeded in binding first her wrists, and then her ankles to each of the four bedposts. When she was finally secured, he stepped back, breathing heavily and wiping a drop of sweat from his brow.

"You do make good sport, Constance, and we have not yet begun to play."

She clenched her jaw and jutted her chin proudly, trying to maintain some dignity while tied, half-naked, to his bed. She wanted him to stop, wanted to plead for her release, but she distained to beg for him, and she doubted that it would influence his intent in the slightest.

To her horror, and fascination, he began to undress.

He did it in an unconscious way, but she knew he must be thinking of her eyes on him. First his coat and hat he removed, leaving them neatly on the dressing table. He removed his boots also. Then he undid the buttons of his shirt, half-turned away from her, as though not caring whether she watched, but knowing that she couldn't help herself. His undershirt was removed as well, and he stood before her, stripped to the waist. It was then that he considered to light the candle, so that the warm light spread over his muscled torso like liquid honey. He must know what a picture he presented to her – damn his conceit!

He turned to face her fully now, grinning at the expression on her face, which was clearly both appalled and captivated. He had sparse black hair in a small patch on his chest, and a much more interesting line of hair leading from his navel down into his trousers, to where she could only guess.

"I think it is time that you were undressed as well," he said in an oddly uneven tone, and he approached the bed. Leaning over her to remove the scraps of linen that covered her body, she could not help but absorb the scent of his skin: fresh but spicy. His fine brow furrowed in concentration as he sought to disrobe her. He stood back to consider his work. She couldn't bear the thought of him seeing her naked flesh, and shut her eyes to block out his lusty gaze.

"Do you want me to tell you that you are beautiful?"

An odd question, especially considering she had never been pretty.

"No."

That laugh again. She heard him moving away.

"You can look now, if you want."

She did, stupidly, in time to see him removing his breeches. He caught her glance before she could look away. Soon, he was naked, his throbbing organ standing proudly out of a nest of curly black hair at his groin. Constance dearly wanted to look away, but found she could not. She knew that he was examining her with equal intensity.

"I will not flatter you," he said gruffly. "It is not for you that I am here. I had I wanted you, I could have bedded you a hundred times before now, with more discretion than your brother could have ever exercised. You are worth nothing to me as a person, or even was a warm body. You are merely your brother's sister, and it is through you that I will have my revenge."

Yet even as he spoke his eyes roamed the curves of her flesh, and his manhood throbbed.

"Mr. Whitham!" she cried, straining against her bonds, "You cannot do this. Please, there are better ways you can be revenged against my brother."

He walked towards her slowly, his large manhood bouncing slightly with his steps. He crawled over her onto the bed. She cringed, expecting him to enter her at any moment. "I have done nothing to hurt you, Mr. Whitham. Why would you punish the innocent?"

"You will not be innocent much longer, Constance," and with that he bent his head to her plump breast. She gasped, she hadn't meant to, but the feeling of his lips and tongue on her nipple surprised her so. With a free hand he weighed her other breast, running his thumb and forefinger over the tight pink nub.

Constance, who had some experience with her own desires, was acquainted with the sensations his touch sent running through her body, and feared them so much the more.

"Do you enjoy that?" he asked, as he paused to switch to the other breast.

She would not answer him. He ran his hand down her smooth, white stomach, to the thatch of curls nestled between her thighs. She knew what he would find there. A skilled finger stroked the lips of her sex, and slowly pushed past, into the heat and wetness beyond.

Whitham held his slippery finger up for her to see, with a triumphant cry. "Perhaps you are not as innocent as you would like us to believe, eh Constance? Have you been pleasuring your other lovers in your spare time? Or is this arousal due to your own self-love? Is this skill one of the many young ladies are now required to learn? You must spend many hours practicing, I am sure, to be so very accomplished in this matter."

Constance would say nothing, but blushed agonizingly. However she was moved to speech when he slithered down her body, past her breasts, past her stomach, down to...

"What are you doing?" she asked in some alarm.

He looked up at her from the juncture of her thighs.

"I am giving you what your body craves."

Constance didn't understand. "Forgive me for trespassing on your expertise, but I assumed that the union of a man and a woman involved moreessential parts of the anatomy. Surely that is a very inefficient way of going about it."

His laughing smile humiliated her. "If you are so impatient, I will gladly gratify your urges, but you must allow me to insist that my tongue will bring you pleasures equal to that which my cock could bring."

Such language, she thought. But then she felt his tongue sliding over her most sensitive flesh and could think of little else.

He ran his tongue along her moist lips. She squirmed beneath him, wishing that she could stay the provocative motion of her hips. When his tongue dipped inside her suddenly, she cried out with an unexpected rapture.

He stilled for a moment. Constance was mortified, but he began anew, dipping his tongue over her folds, encircling, but never quite touching that exquisite nub where she needed him most.

She writhed against her bonds. Surely this torture was unbearable. She could not help but moan with every fresh assault of his tongue. She mumbled incoherently. He was obviously delighting in her response, a fact which shamed her deeply, and somehow inspired her passions more keenly.

Finally, when it seemed that her pleasure would shatter into a thousand pieces, he stopped, leaving her suspended with tension.

Constance opened her eyes, which she hadn't realized had been shut. Whitham looked down at her; his lips were shiny with what must be her own essence. She could smell the mustiness in the air.

"Are you going to spend, Constance?"

She gathered his meaning, but did not trust herself to speak.

He sent a wicked finger back to her snatch to heighten her desire. She moaned again, this time as his eyes traced the lines of desire in her face.

"I wish you would spend, but you must ask me first," he said evilly. Constance balked at the thought of it.

callida
callida
42 Followers
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