Miss Blake's Abduction Ch. 03

"Touch your bosom, Constance," he said hoarsely, "with your other hand. You have such lovely large breasts. I can't tell you how often I've thought about them."

Still teasing herself with the wooden phallus, Constance reached her free hand up to cup a breast, pinching her nipple between her fingers. Whitham heard her sigh.

"I knew you would like this. You're such a wanton creature."

Constance imagined how she must look to him, legs spread rocking her hips forward to impale herself on that solid shaft, the dark wood brilliant against her white skin as it disappeared between her copper curls, a hand pinching a nipple frantically, her head thrown back in abandon. She felt a tremor of desire run through her and moaned, unable to bite it back.

"I want to hear you spend, just like last night, will you scream for me again?"

"Damn you," she panted.

"Don't stop now, darling, you're close, I can tell." He was stroking himself more eagerly now, his hips thrusting forward a little. She could see the angry red head of his prick poking out from his fist, glossy on the tip. He leaned heavily on the bedpost, as though he could no longer support himself, his lips parted as he breathed hard, and a sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. She imagined the way it would feel when he finally thrust into her.

Constance could feel her own release building, and thrust into herself in a steady rhythm, truly fucking herself. Whitham matched her pace, stroke for stroke, grunting a little with every thrust. His eyes half closed a little, though he was still intent upon her writhing hips. He was giving himself in to his own pleasure, seeking his own release, so clearly aroused by the sight of her masturbating.

Constance felt her orgasm build from deep within her. A shiver of pleasure overtook her, and deep spasms of release. She cried out in a shuddering moan, and thrust deeply into her quivering flesh. She heard Whitham's echoing cry of triumph, and felt another ripple of pleasure as she watched his seed burst from his cock, splattering her stomach and thighs.

She collapsed finally, breathing heavily, unwilling to look at him. She tingled with satisfaction and burned with shame. She slid the wooden phallus out again, and placed it aside on the bed. Thinking he might just let her sleep, she closed her eyes, and drifted languidly for a while, as the tremors in her body subsided.

She thought she heard sounds of Whitham rummaging around again in his damned satchel. Constance ignored him. She was beginning to drift toward sleep when she felt a hand on her ankle. She opened her eyes wide. Whitham, naked as ever, was leaning over her between her spread thighs, grinning.

"No," Constance said weakly.

He proceeded despite her protests, bending his head to her moist lips.

"Ahh!" Constance writhed in agony as his tongue teased her sensitive flesh. "No, you can't—I can't, not now," she begged, trying to swat him away uselessly with her hands, and instead merely wound her fingers in his dark hair, pulling him closer to her. "Oh," was all she could say.

She heard, and felt, Whitham chuckle.

"I hate you," she gasped, not knowing whether she believed it.

Whitham did something unspeakable with his tongue that made Constance gasp louder. "Oh God," she cried. She felt his firm grasp on her hips, urging her on, forcing her to accept the pleasure he was bringing her.

She nearly screamed when she felt his teeth graze her. And just as suddenly, he was gone.

Constance blinked up at him, confused, as she watched him lick his lips. She rocked her hips a little, seeking his touch, but he sat up, evading her.

"What do you want me to do, Constance?" he asked.

She bit her lip, refusing to answer.

"What, Constance? What do you want?" he said, louder. He positioned himself between her thighs. Constance was ready to accept him, but he wouldn't enter her. He took her hand and placed it around his cock, just as he had with the wooden phallus. Constance couldn't believe she was holding it. It felt so smooth and warm and hard. "Do you want me to fuck you?" He looked her straight in the eye.

"No," she lied.

Whitham leaned over her, placing the tip of his throbbing manhood against her slit. She arched her back slightly. He fondled her breasts, handling the round globes roughly, and pinching her nipples. "You enjoyed it last night. I can tell you're eager again. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Please," she said quietly, her brow furrowed. "I want you to..."

"Say it, Constance, 'fuck me'". He urged.

"Fuck me, then. Please."

Whitham struggled with himself for a moment. Constance froze anticipating him.

"No," he said, and he withdrew from her. Constance whimpered in confusion.

Instead, he grasped Constance by her hips, and pulled him over her, turning their bodies until she was straddled on top of him, as he lay on the bed. She was poised above him, her long still-damp hair falling in waves of deep auburn. He grasped her round hips, positioning her above his straining member. She was forced to place her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance.

"I imagine you are so eager by now you'll do anything to have me inside of you."

Constance narrowed her eyes at him. "You are forcing me to do this."

"I'm not forcing you at all, Constance. From this point of view, you seem to be taking advantage of me."

Turning her head away in shame, unable to deny her longing, she lowered herself slowly onto his shaft. She gripped his shoulder and bit her lip as she sunk deeper and deeper. She came to the bottom, so full of him, resting her thighs on top of his. She looked at his face. He was watching her, examining her reaction, making sure she enjoyed it.

"Ride me out, darling, like a wanton whore. Imagine if all the society ladies could see you now, straddling my cock."

Constance wanted to stop, knowing it was wrong, knowing that she mustn't enjoy it, but she slid herself up and down his stiff shaft. She turned away, to block out his passionate words.

"Not many women take such delight in fucking as you do. And to think you were only a virgin yesterday. My virgin." He gripped her hips possessively, guiding her rhythm, and ran his hands along her waist to her breasts, claiming her flesh as his own. He started to thrust his hips up to meet hers, forcing himself deeper inside of her. Constance moaned before she could bite it back. "Let them hear you, Constance. There is nothing more erotic than the sound of a passionate woman. Let them hear how much you enjoy it."

Constance sighed a little, his words enflamed her so. His hands on her breasts were pinching her nipples, and she could feel her pleasure rising in her slick loins.

"Are you slowing down, Constance?" he asked, teasingly. "Are you trying to savour it? Don't want it to be over yet?" Constance hadn't been aware of it, but her motions had become slower and deeper, unconsciously trying to prolong the experience.

She looked at him, his eyes dark with naked lust. She couldn't speak, but could only grind herself down on his cock again. They both gasped.

"Oh," she cried quietly. "Oh James, please."

"God, yes. Constance, say my name." He held her, thrusting his hips deep inside of her. She could feel him, filling her completely.

"James," she gasped, meeting his fiery gaze, momentarily acknowledging his power over her. They moved together in glorious heat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, as her sighs became louder. His hand sought hers, she felt him squeeze her fingers, as he began to lose control.

"Ah, Constance!" There words were ripped from his mouth, as she felt him erupt within her, pounding her flesh ferociously. Her own orgasm overtook her suddenly, as she quivered on top of him.

He held her trembling body until they both subsided into sleep.

Several hours later, Constance awoke with a full bladder. The fire had burned itself out and the room was covered with darkness. Whitham lay facing her, breathing deeply and steadily. Reluctantly, she left the warm bed and crossed the room to relieve herself. On her way back, she noticed the dull form of Whitham's coat, draped over the chair where he had left it.

She glanced at the bed. She could make out the curve of Whitham's body in the darkness, exactly as she had left him. Her fingers delved nimbly in his pockets until she heard a muffled jingling. She looked up. Whitham had not moved, and if she strained her ears she could almost hear the slow rhythm of his breathing. Quietly, she pulled out a couple of large coins, and replaced the coat on the chair. She padded softly across the room again, and tucked the coins under the mattress. It was as much money as she dared to take so that he wouldn't miss it. It would do for a small bribe, and hopefully her brother would receive her letter before long.

Whitham turned in his sleep, reaching for the empty blankets. She reached out to his hand, letting him know she was still here. He curled his fingers around hers, as she climbed back into bed. His eyes fluttered open for a moment. "Constance," he whispered, and then drew her close to him.