New England Bride

My tormentor, by now, had taken up a position astride my waist, and had apparently been awaiting my return to the world of consciousness.

"I'm to leave in the morning," he began, "…for Wellington to appeal my homestead rights before the new Parliament. I may be gone for some weeks, but I'm going to make certain before I go that any man who wants you will know beforehand that you are my property."

He paused at that time, as if for effect, then raised his pocket blade before my horrified eyes. Frantically, I lashed about, trying desperately to escape this madman I had taken to wed, but my panic only amused him.

"No!" I screamed in long muffled wails, sobbing breathlessly against my gag, but the only purpose it served was to stiffen the other weapon that he held between his legs. Finally, when my terror had reached fever pitch, he lowered the blade to my left breast and began to carve the letters "S T" in shallow slits into my pale flesh.

My entireties before were nothing compared to the screams for mercy that tore from my throat at that point, Fresh blood began to run in tiny rivulets between my bosoms and down my ribcage. This he ran his fingers through, and licked with intense delight. Then, scooping his hand along the hearth, he began to massage the soot into my wounds, creating a tattoo as the Maori are wont to do.

Finally, when hoarseness overcame me and I could scream no more, he once again carried me to his bed and laid me beside him, still bound, until the sun rose in the east. Twice more he took me in the night, each time more brutally than the last, until my body was so sorely tried that I could no longer rise from the bed to attend to my toilet.

When the morning came, he woke and packed his satchel. Then, with a parting kiss, my husband left me broken and bound in his bed. At last, I heard the sound of his horse beneath my window, and then he was gone, the memory of his cruelty casting horrific shadows through my mind.

Chapter Five:

Long hours I lay abed, the festering wound upon my breast growing more mottled and poisonous as the hours passed. My legs seemed carved of stone, lost to my use by now, and the flesh about my bonds had become swollen and cold against my naked body. Chill winds passed through the room, setting my teeth achatter, followed by a smoldering heat that caused me to soak the sheets in perspiration. Time began to turn inside out, and a few moments soon became hours…and then moments again. Flashes of the night before gave rise to tremors, and once more my husband sat astride my chest, mutilating my body with his pocket knife.

Finally, in the dim recesses of my mind I heard a knock, and the sound of footsteps crossing the floor toward the bedstead.

"No…No!" I mumbled incoherently, my hands straining to fending off my would-be attacker. He had returned, I thought, and now he harbored an even more sinister plot for my undoing.

Whimpering, I tried to pull away, to hide myself within the dark seclusion of my sweat-soaked bedclothes…but it was not possible. A voice, so far away, gasped in shock and distress upon finding me. My husband? No. Pania perhaps? Yes…Pania.

Immediately, I felt the ropes fall from my wrists, and a prickly throbbing overcame my leaden fingers. Gentle hands rocked me this way and that, and the warm, fresh scent of clean bedclothes filled the air. My wounds were cleaned and dressed, as well as I can surmise, and soon I felt a cool compress driving the heat from my face.

Time passed without account. Sometimes I woke in darkness, and sometimes in light, but always I saw either Pania or my beloved John sitting in the leather chair by the fire. Then came the day when clarity returned and I was able to partake of porridge and warm Maori bread to fill my aching belly.

I noticed by then time that my menses had returned, a fact that gave me great satisfaction, for the mere thought of bestowing a child upon a sadist such as Sean gave me pause. Perhaps the gods had been wise when they had denied him that privilege all these long years. I took cold comfort in knowing that I would not be the one to bring him to paternity.

It was also during this time that John began to stop by with news of the outside world. Apparently, my husband had sent messengers with word that all was not well, and that he would be further delayed. A great dispute had arisen in Parliament between landowners, the New Zealand Company, and the Maori Iwi over the just ownership of various homesteads. Apparently, the Company had promised certain choice parcels to homesteaders, but without settling accounts with the local Maori leadership beforehand. When the discrepancy was realized, the Company had attempted to secure these properties by questionable means, thus leading to a dispute over legality.

Ultimately, ten percent of the lands in question were awarded to the Iwi, my husband's section among them, but few of the contracts were ever honored…and so the battle wore on.

For my part, I was delighted with anything that kept my tormenter far from me and occupied elsewhere. My wounds had begun to heal by now, though my husband's mark still lay upon me, but my youthful vigor was slow in returning, and so I found myself at rest for the greater part of the day. Here, John and Pania took turns keeping me company, one reading and the other regaling me with stories of Maori tradition and lore, including the tale of "Pania" a fabled mermaid from whom her name had been derived.

It was then that I realized my love for John had not been diminished by my marital woes. Each day I listened for his steps beyond my door, my heart skipping a beat as I watched the doorknob turn once again. His voice was like music to my ears, and the warm brush of his hand against my own filled me with peaceful contentment.

I had been certain that lustful thoughts would never enter my mind again after my disastrous encounter with Sean, but I soon became aware that the disquiet stirrings of passion had not left me, they had just been waiting for the proper lover.

Then, one day as John was reading from a book by Samuel Clemens, my countrymen, he chanced to drop his bookmark among my bedclothes. Immediately we reached for it, both in unison, and our fingers became entwined in the quilted valley between my thighs.

At first I stiffened, passion warring with experience, and then my hand curled about his in tentative invitation. John too quickened at the encounter and I watched as his eyes scanned mine for a sign. Finally, he pressed his lips against my forehead, and continued Mr. Twain's humorous anecdotes. Today was not to be the day…but soon.

And so our erstwhile courtship progressed slowly, stretching out almost three weeks after my husband's departure. I had decided by then, that if I must be married to a brute, then I would have to find my pleasure where I would or lose all hope of a life worth living. And so by the time John arrived that fateful day, I was prepared to state my case, and throw myself on his mercy.

It was a morning when Pania had gone to market in the small Maori village by the river to secure the ingredients for "Rockcakes," a newly acquired favorite of mine. She had been gone perhaps half of an hour, when John knocked on my door with his current reading project in his hands.

"Come," I called, my voice quaking. "Come in…come in. I've been waiting for you!"

Gladly, he entered, and settled himself on the edge of the bed, as was his custom. This time he seemed to fidget, however, as though his hands were governed by another source, and not fully under his control. He smiled, a look of distraction about his eyes, then laid the tome across his lap and began to intone the erotic novel of "Wuthering Heights" , written by a woman named Emily Bronte.

He had just turned the page, when I covered the words with my hand and drew him away from his task.

"John," I began slowly. "I told you long ago that I had developed an attraction for you, do you remember?" I paused, gathering courage for what I was about to say. "My unfortunate circumstances have not changed that. But, I have to know…have your feelings for me altered at all since that night aboard ship, or has my encounter with John left me too soiled to be any longer attractive?"

"Your encounter with…my God, Caroline! Do you think I blame you for that, or would think less of you because of my uncle's cruelty? Instead, how little you must think of me!"

I paused, "Then, what is it, John? Am I alone in my feelings? Am I asking more than you can give?"

Troubled, he turned from me, and in words that barely ruffled the silence he answered, "I did not want to test your vows, Caroline, or to be a party to any unhappiness you might find in your marriage. As you have come to know, my uncle can be a brutal man. I could not place you in harm's way, simply for my own desires."

"Then you do desire me?" I replied, my heart leaping in my breast. I smiled, and drawing my finger over his lower lip I continued. "Your uncle and I will never be man and wife…not in any meaningful way. My marriage vows are a sham, something to bind and choke the hope out of life. I cringe in his presence and dread the trip up the stairs to his bedchamber. It's only the thought of you that keeps me sane, John…only the thought of you that keeps alive a dim flicker of happiness. Would you take that from me?"

Then, setting the book aside, I curled up once more atop his lap, and pressed my lips tentatively against his. "We were here once before, my Love. Will you turn from me once again, or will you give me something to hope for?"

His response now was as soft as a whisper, and as loud as the beating of my heart. Tenderly he cradled me in his arms until our passions quickened and he once more lay me back on the counterpane, but this time in my husband's bed.

"Are you sure, Caroline? Is this what you really want? You must tell me now…I don't know if I have the strength to stop later…"

"Shhhhhh," I whispered, pressing my finger to his lips. "It's what I want, John. It's what I've always wanted. Make love to me…please. I want to know what it feels like for once in my life."

He spoke not a word then, but tenderly raised the hem of my nightgown, slipping it over my head until I lay naked before him. A sigh…the gentle caress of his lips against my warm and willing flesh. So this is love, I thought in amazement. So this is love…

John rose and quickly shed his clothing, his manhood already hard and quivering in anticipation. Then after what seemed an eternity, he lay beside me and sealed our pact with a kiss. In amazement, the tender buds of passion began to bloom once more, and I felt an early dew begin to form between my thighs.

"Oh John," I sighed. "Touch me…please. I need…I need…"

My lover shifted atop my eager form, his knees parting my own, and I felt his hugely engorged member intimately brush the "v" of my inner thighs. I sighed, my limbs closing about his hips as his weight pressed me deep into the down of the mattress. Then, kneading my breasts, he began to draw my nipples into his mouth, one at a time, and suckle until they grew hard and swollen with lust.

I curled my fingers into his hair, my eyes shut to all but my lover and the bright passion that set my veins afire. He looked up once, as if to gauge my reaction, then gently pressed my thighs apart and settled his head between them. I stiffened…would this be a replay of my husband's act upon me? Would his nephew too use my weakness against me?

But no…this was not Sean. This was John, and I had nothing to fear. And so I clasped the headboard and arched my hips, spreading my thighs in butterfly fashion to allow him deeper access.

He was wonderful! The wet curl of his tongue deep within me, the heated friction of his lips against my swollen bud were more pleasure than I could bear. Soft mewlings gave way to loud, wet hunger, and my maidenly reserve flew from me. Once more my body stiffened, building in intensity to a pinnacle of abandonment. Would he stop now, as my husband had, or would he…? And then I slipped over the edge of my tentative precipice, swallowed up in a gushing, screaming vortex of need and ecstasy.

Eagerly, I arched against him, watching as he plied his tongue within me, wetting his face as he labored between my thighs.

"Scream for me, Caroline. I want to hear you scream out as though you were dying with passion." And then he dipped his face once more and began to suckle my swollen bud as his finger probed intimately below.

Again my control fled, and screaming now, I wrapped my legs about my lover's back and held his face tightly in place, writhing like a woman gone mad.

And still he continued! By now, my mind and body were no longer my own. They belonged to John, to do with as he wished. I was a helpless witness to my own sensual abandonment, a voyeuristic bystander who rutted vicariously with each thrust and shudder upon the bed.

Wave after wave of uncontrolled passion once more shattered the silence. Whose voice was that, I wondered? It couldn't be mine…not Caroline…never Caroline. This was a woman for whom there was no limit, no passion too great. This was the voice of a woman who hungered…

Screaming his name once more, I felt John lift my legs and position his throbbing muscle at the wet and gaping maw of my womb…and thrust.

I was beside myself! The hot, slippery length of him filled me over and over, wiping away my husband's memory and replacing it with a joyous expression of passion and wet communion.

"Yes…" I cried, raising my hips to meet him. "Fill me, John. Oh, my Love, I…" And then I felt my body tighten once more, spurred on by his hot seed boiling inside of me. Heavily he plunged, no longer gentle, but lost in his own passion, and I responded in kind. The delicacies of foreplay were lost now, and we both rutted against each other like beasts in the field, giving and taking until there was no will left to move at all.

And so we lay there, sweat soaked and naked while the world once more took on a semblance of sanity. So, this is how it's supposed to be, I thought in amazement. If not for John, I would never have known! Then sated and filled with a pleasant lethargy, I curled up in my Lover's arms and slept. If I'd been a cat, I would have purred. As it was, I could only sigh as he closed his hand over my breast and drifted off to sleep…a dream in the making.

But it was no dream. It was real, and it was all mine. I would not think of the time when my husband would return. I would think of only here and now…and John filling my body over and over in the big bed by the fire. I would deal with my husband when he came back to Waiariki. For the present, there was only John.

Long days drifted by, each moment a thing to be cherished. Often we found ourselves traipsing the verdant hillsides, basket in hand, seeking a place far from prying eyes. The time for my menses came and passed with no sign, and I began to wonder if perhaps I was with child…John's child.

I had taken great pains to be particularly fetching for my lover that day, wearing my "violent green" day gown with Zoauve Jacket and lace chemisette. Delicate white sleeve jockeys adorned my arms, and a "Blessing" pendent, painted upon New Zealand "greenstone" hung between the full line of my bosoms…a gift from my lover.

He seemed not to notice at all, however, for in his eyes I was as nature had intended, pink, ripe and eager to mate. I smiled, already he knew me so well! Did he know that I had also left my underpinnings behind, to expedite our union as we lay among the tall ferns and towering trees on the banks of the Wai-kohu? I smiled to myself. He would be pleasantly surprised indeed.

Hand in hand we strolled the banks, the native brush springing disconcertingly between my naked thighs as I searched for a suitable place to share our cold rock lobster and warm French wine. Finally, we settled beneath a great beech tree and spread our cloth atop the soft underbrush, a secluded haven from the world about us.

Immediately, as had become our custom, we set aside our picnic basket to satisfy our more urgent hungers. Murmuring softly I lay back on the cloth and watched as my lover unbuttoned his shirt and breeches, leaving only the strained fabric of his small clothes behind to try and disguise the prominence that hid beneath.

He knelt beside me then, and with experienced fingers he unhooked my guimpe, exposing my burgeoning nipples beneath my chemisette. Startled, he assessed my lack of clothing, then lifting my skirts he whistled low and long.

"You've forgotten your bloomers and corsettes, my girl…and where are your petticoats! If not for your hose and garters, I would be scandalized beyond telling!" he joked.

I giggled, for the reverse was obvious indeed. My small surprise had stimulated him beyond even my anticipation, for now his linens were fairly bursting at the seams, the bulging fabric straining like a homing pigeon who sees its goal in sight. It was then that I felt the irrepressible urge to taste that which had given me so much pleasure. How would I fare between a man's legs when the inclination was my own, I wondered?

And so, as he readied himself to pleasure me, I stayed his hands and bade him spread his legs before my face, that I might satisfy my curiosity.

At first he seemed confused, uncomprehending as I slipped my hand beneath his drawstring and curled my fingers around his quivering organ.

"Caroline? Whatever's gotten into…" He stopped there, for now his last undergarment slipped down about his ankles and I rose to my knees, my intention shockingly clear.

I examined him then, stroking his manhood in the bright light of day, and found this unobstructed view most appealing. The slit at the tip of his throbbing knob smiled a wet grin as I tentatively extended my tongue, licking the dewdrop that had already formed to greet me.

John groaned, his flesh shuddering, and I knew that I had found my vocation. Again I slid my tongue over his flesh, this time steadying his body by clasping him firmly about the swollen sack that hung between his legs.

John fairly jumped from his skin.

"Caroline!" he croaked. "Oh my stars, Caroline. Do you have any idea what that…ohhhhh!"

Again I approached, experimenting with this sensitive "handhold" that quivered in my palms as I sucked his weeping knob between my lips.

Now I felt his fingers digging into my auburn hair, grabbing and releasing in convulsive torture as I moved between his thighs. It seemed the deeper I took his member, the less coherent he became. Finally, I clasped his sack in a pressured grip and took him far into my throat.

His speech then became reminiscent of a kind of local gibberish to which I was fairly unfamiliar. His meaning was clear, however, for now I tasted his seed within my mouth, spurting in fits and starts across my tongue as I drew him out. He pulled away from me at that point, and capturing my hands between his own, he stayed my ministrations.

"Caro…" he gasped, beyond reason, beyond the remnants of civility "Oh…Caro…" Then flipping me over on my belly, he positioned himself behind me, his eyes a haze of lust and abandonment. "Forgive me…" he growled, then in one swift motion he plunged his knob into my narrower passage and began to thrust rapidly between my buttocks.

At first I stiffened, the pain growing with each motion of his body within me Gasping, he paused for an instant, and it was then that I felt his fingers invade my slit, massaging the swollen nub of my sex. Immediately, my nails dug into the glassy surface along the edge of the cloth, my ardor rising as his persuasive touch worked its magic.

My lover took it slowly at that point, waiting until I had warmed sufficiently to join him. Soon I found myself rocking against him, urging him deeper, harder with each lunge. Finally, his touch became more than I could bear and I screamed my need into the silence about us, gushing in wet accompaniment into his hand.