Punishing Miss Primrose

The following is an excerpt from Punishing Miss Primrose, Part V. For more about the series, visit the Erotic Historicals website or search for the series at your favorite e-book retailer.

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Insufferable man, Beatrice Primrose huffed to herself. Perhaps it was she who ought to prefer the gout over that other affliction, one that she shared with the nameless nobleman with whom she had agreed to spend a sennight with in exchange for two hundred quid. She had few kind words for the man, yet her body would respond to his caresses, would yearn to spend at his hand. She recalled the force with which he had smacked her derrière, but the walloping had only enflamed her lust further. She shivered to think that he might apply his hand to her backside fifty times instead of the eleven she had endured.

Wanting air, she looked and found a door to a veranda overlooking the gardens. She stepped outside and admired the view of his estate. A fountain stood near the entry of the garden. A half dozen wrens splashed in its pool. Perhaps later she would venture into the gardens to enjoy the summer flora. She knew not what his lordship, as he wished to be addressed, intended, and the uncertainty unnerved her. But she had decided to see the sennight through. Six days remained. At their conclusion, she would have the remaining hundred quid he had promised. She would leave behind the whoring and return to Liverpool, to her aunt and nephew, James. She had not seen the boy for over a year and knew he must have grown dramatically in that time. She wondered if he would become a near replica of Nicholas Edelton.

While at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, she had avenged her sister—and in some manner, James as well, for he would not have been born into the world and lost a mother if not for the treachery of William and Nicholas Edelton—and secured enough money to support her aunt and nephew for some time. As a bastard child, James would not have the privileges of his father, but Beatrice was determined that he should not want for much. She would put aside savings for his schooling when he came of age. She dreaded the day James would become old enough to inquire about his heritage. She had no answer yet for what she would say if he asked about his father.

Nicholas knew nothing of the child that had resulted from his rape of Charlotte. Though William was every bit as guilty as Nicholas in the evil deed, it was apparent that James, despite his youth, resembled Nicholas, whose slim figure and boyish physiognomy shared little with his cousin. William was tall with square shoulders and the same light brown hair as his lordship. She knew not which of the Edelton men had initiated the rape. Charlotte could only describe two drunken men assaulting her. But for Beatrice, both were culpable. Both were conceited young men of wealth and privilege, able to evade justice because of their standing. Both deserved the severest of punishments.

She wondered what had become of them. Though she could have continued her vengeance, humiliating them and flogging them to her heart's content, the efforts had wearied her over time. Nicholas had become smitten with her, catered to her every demand, offered her more than she had ever hoped to exact from him. After she had dismissed both men, Nicholas had written letters to her, beseeching his mistress to take him back. He persisted in returning to the Red Chrysanthemum till Madame Devereaux declared him a nuisance and revoked his admission. Beatrice might have extended her stay at the Red Chrysanthemum, but she had no desire to ever cross paths with Nicholas or William again.

Finding a chair, she sat down and breathed in the country air. It smelled and tasted crisp compared to the city. She wondered at the distance to the nearest neighbor. In truth, she was a captive here, for while his lordship had said she could leave his estate at her will, he had not offered her any conveyance back to London. She hoped he would be civil enough to point her in the right direction. She had glimpsed indications of his decency, but he was too enigmatic for her to be certain. And she would have bet money that he disliked her in some form. Perhaps, upset that he was attracted to a dark whore, he directed his self-loathing toward her.

She did not like the situation. Accustomed to being in control, to issuing the commands, to hearing herself addressed as 'Mistress Primrose,' the role of the submissive one unsettled her. She was to address him as 'his lordship,' obey his directives, and be punished if he found her insubordinate. Thus far, she had committed one error. The penalty had not been too difficult to bear. Her arse had smarted beneath his hand, but the ache had faded faster than expected. The small metal clips he had affixed to her nipples produced a tolerable pain save when he pulled upon the chain between them. To her surprise, the sensations had only added to her ardor.

Her stomach rumbled, and she wished she had taken his advice and eaten more of her breakfast. She considered going in search of the pantry when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I've prepared a light repast," his lordship said, approaching and setting down a tray with slices of meat, cheese, and bread upon the table beside her. "And this time, I require you to eat."

Without objection, she accepted the glass of lemonade he held out to her.

"The sweetmeats came from the gardens," he told her. "And you left this in the library."

She looked down at the tray and saw the book, The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, she had pulled from the shelves yesterday. Remembering his comparison of her to the heroine of Defoe's novel, Beatrice said nothing. She reached for the bread and meat, making a sandwich, and took a hungry bite. He took the seat on the other side of the table and looked out over the gardens. He appeared more relaxed, and when the slight breeze tousled his hair, she was reminded of her hopes to have an enjoyable romp with the handsome stranger.

"You've no need to keep me company," she said. "I do perfectly well on my own."

"I have no intentions of a tête-à-tête but am here to ensure that you do not starve yourself."

"How gracious of your lordship."

He did not respond to her mockery. She swallowed the food in her mouth and, glancing at the book, wondered if a nicer disposition might gain her more. Though he insisted on having the dominant role, he had performed the duties of a servant, twice bringing her meals and drawing a bath for her.

"Thank you for the book," she tried.

A little startled, he replied, "You're welcome."

"You have a great many books in your library."

"My mother liked to read, and her tastes were diverse. From Shakespeare sonnets to original editions of French works. You are welcome to them."

"Thank you. I've not read but a handful of sonnets in my life. My French is too poor to attempt its literature."

He looked at her, curious. "You had a French tutor?"

"For but a year, and I fear my sister and I were poor students at the time. We ought to have made more of the brief opportunity."

"You have fallen far from grace. With your upbringing, you could have aspired to be a courtesan or become a mistress to a man of means or..."

"A man such as yourself?" she teased.

He frowned. "Your circumstances must have been drastic for you to end up in a brothel with Madame Devereaux."

"My whoring," she went on, "is only temporary. I had...other motives for choosing the Red Chrysanthemum, which is not a brothel, though Madame is not averse to playing the bawd on occasion. The Inn is a club, of sorts, a place where its members can indulge in their most erotic penchants."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that all?"

"Its members seek and want to be there." Seeing the grim set of his features, she changed the subject. "But I have hopes that you will be my last patron. I shall seek employment hereafter as a governess or a lady's companion."

"You? A governess? You think you will be allowed the care of children?"

Offended by his skepticism, she replied, "I was a governess, beloved by the family, until...until I had to leave."

"It was discovered your virtue was lacking."

She scowled. "Yes, I had fucked the stable boy, the butler, the footman, my employer's valet, and I would have done the horses in the stable if I had stayed."

She nearly laughed at his open-mouthed stare.

"Which one of the fellows was James?"

Her cheeks burned. "None! I left because my sister fell ill."

He cleared his throat. "And you nursed her back to health."

Her bosom swelled. She could not respond, muted by the pain of her sister's death, which flared like a new wound, though she thought time and her vengeance upon Nicholas and William would have eased the loss. But this insolent nobleman, who presumed to know her and her situation, who assumed the worst of her because she was beneath his station in life, had somehow renewed the anguish and the misery. He suddenly represented all that she detested in Nicholas and William and men of their ilk.

"What do you care for the sister of a hedge-whore?" she replied and tossed the rest of her sandwich onto the tray.

He stared at the half-eaten sandwich. "You should finish it."

"You finish it if you care so much for it," she replied as she rose from her chair, too angry to form a mature response.

"At least eat the sweetmeats."

She would have, for she adored berries and did not often have them. But she wanted nothing of his at the moment.

"No, thank you," she replied and made for the stairs that led down to the gardens.

"You'll not have a chance to eat again till it is time for tea."

She ignored him and proceeded down the steps, needing to put some distance between them. For some strange reason, she felt as if she were looking at Nicholas and William when she saw him. But for his kind, she would still have a sister, her only sister.

She heard his footsteps behind her, and he grabbed her by the arm before she had reached the bottom of the stairs.

"You will eat more," he said when she faced him.

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care."

Perhaps the painful memory, the knowledge of the crime that had been done to her sister pressed upon her mind too strongly at the moment, clouding her perception, but she felt as if she were staring at William Edelton.

"I'll not have the sweetmeats left on the tray," he said.

"Then shove them up your arse."

She attempted to wrench herself free, but he tightened his grip. Warning bells went off in her head, but before she could correct her impudence, he had lifted her and thrown her over his shoulder. He walked up the stairs back to the veranda, set her down, and bent her over the stone railing. The hard flat surface pressed into her ribcage and the lower half of her bosom.

"You'll want the sweetmeats now, I warrant," he said, then flipped her skirts over her hips, baring her bottom.

Thank God the servants were away! she thought to herself. His hand pressed upon her back, keeping her against the railing.

"But there is a lesson to be learned here," he continued. "It is much wiser to heed me without the opposition."

He smacked a cheek with his free hand.

"Now, Miss Primrose, we will finish the sweetmeats. Do you understand?"

She was to receive another spanking, she realized. A part of her did not want to give in. The other part warned her that she had no choice. She had survived the one from this morning. How much more did he intend?

He whacked her again, but this time she howled. Something harder and unyielding had struck her. She realized he had picked up Moll Flanders.

"Are we agreed, Miss Primrose?"

"Y-yes."

She grasped the railing, attempting to alleviate the pressure of being ground into the stone. He held a berry before her. She opened her mouth and accepted the fruit. When she was done chewing, he walloped her again with the book. She cursed aloud.

"But I—" she began.

"Fail to eat and I'll double the blows," he explained, offering her another berry.

She ate the second one and silently cursed him, then braced herself for another smack. She could hardly believe what was happening to her. Her arse was exposed to the world and she was compelled to take food from his hand as if she were a babe or a dog while receiving a paddling with a copy of Moll Flanders. A part of her wanted to cry. The other part vowed vengeance. She would procure her own sweetmeats and shove them up his anus—with a hard wooden spoon.

He struck her twice when she did not immediately take the third berry into her mouth. The air felt cool about her nakedness, but her arse burned. She ate the next one quickly and he seemed to ease the force of the subsequent blow. But the fifth one nearly sent her over the railing. She wanted to beg him to stop, though her pride would never allow such a thing. After the sixth application, he paused. She hoped the last of the sweetmeats had gone. His hand slid between her thighs. He withdrew it, wet.

No! How was this possible? Perhaps the current hiding reminded her of the delectable fucking that had followed the spanking from the morning? Did her body now interpret pain as pleasure?

He inserted a finger between her folds. She shivered. His breathing had become uneven. Would he take her again? She rather hoped he would. He seemed to contemplate the possibility. But it was unlikely he had brought a sheath with him. And given how forcefully he could thrust, a pounding against the rough railing might not prove that enjoyable.

"What is the lesson we have learned, Miss Primrose?" he asked.

She groaned at the patronization but answered, "To heed your lordship."

"Heed and obey."

Since he could not see her face, she rolled her eyes. Her buttocks ached twice as bad as before.

Without replacing her skirts, he threw her once more over his shoulder, making sure to grab the book before he entered the house.

*****

Why did she not eat the damn sweetmeats? Spencer Edleton wondered as he tossed her onto her bed. Not that he did not enjoy bending her over the railing and palming that delicious arse once more. It took all of him not to take her then and there. But he had none of her condoms upon him. And he was not finished with her punishment.

He understood that he had provoked her and made unkind remarks. While his assumptions may not have been on the mark, he was not far off the truth. It was her place to submit to his accusations. That she did not, taking offense and mocking him instead, irritated him. He recognized that the subject of her sister was a tender one, but he was too enflamed at present over her suggestion regarding the sweetmeats to dwell on the matter. He could not remember the last time someone had spoken to him with such insolence.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she watched him open the trunk of items from the Red Chrysanthemum.

"What is this?" He held up an iron bar with cuffs at both ends of it. Mr. Fields had not described this particular article in his reports.

She said nothing.

"Are we dismayed? I assure you I intend to try every one of these intriguing implements before our time here is done. Now, what is this?"

"A spreading bar," she muttered.

He walked over to her with it in hand. "Show me how it works."

Her countenance tightened, but she took the bar from his hands. "The cuffs go about the ankles. The bar prevents the legs from closing."

"Demonstrate."

With tentative hands, she locked the cuffs about her ankles. His cock, already hard, throbbed against his trousers.

"Now undress."

"Again?!"

"Worry not. You will not be required to don your garments again."

Her eyes widened.

"You should try to be a more apt pupil, Miss Primrose."

"I erred," she said after some struggle. "Your comments had incensed me, but I ought not have told you to shove the sweetmeats..."

"Up my arse."

"I won't make the same mistake."

"Is it not common practice at the Red Chrysanthemum for the submissive ones to forego clothing?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you allow your pets clothing?"

She frowned.

"I thought not."

He found the pincushion and handed it to her. The heat was going to his head, but he could not stop. The more she defied him, the more demanding he wanted to be.

After removing the pins, she removed her gown with some difficulty as she was sitting on the bed with the spreading bar between her legs. He made no move to help her and watched as she untied her petticoats. She had to lift her derriere to push them down her legs. He adjusted the tenting at his crotch, wondering how long he could refuse his cock satisfaction. Next she unlaced her stays. After her stays, she pulled her arms from her shift and slowly pushed it down past her breasts. His cock reared its head at the sight of her two magnificent orbs. With the shift removed, she sat upon the bed naked but for her stockings, garters, and the spreading bar. Her body was an amazing sight to behold for she was near hairless compared to women of paler skin. Walking over, he brushed his hand along her leg. Her limbs were uncommonly smooth. His lust swelled.

"I did as you bid, my lord," she said.

"Yes," he acknowledge hoarsely as his gaze devoured her. "You are learning. Finally."

Remembering he had found her wet after the spanking downstairs, he said, "Pleasure yourself."

"Yes, my lord."

She fitted her hand between her thighs and began to play with the little bud at the top of her folds. He rubbed his cock through his fall. He sensed her awkwardness but wondered if she were aroused enough that she would spend before him. How long would it take to make herself spend?

"Lie back," he said, wanting a fuller view of her cunnie.

The moisture there allowed her fingers to slide along her slit more quickly. He walked around to the other side of the bed for a view of her tits. In the undulations and planes of her body from her groin to her belly to her breasts he found not the slightest flaw. Her head rested near the edge of the bed, and though he had intended to search for the condoms that she kept, he could not wait. He undid his fall and pulled out his cock. He caressed its length.

"Come closer," he said.

He rubbed his cock against her plump lips. Anticipating what he wanted, she opened her mouth and took him in. He groaned at the lushness enveloping his shaft. The angle of her throat as her head hung off the edge fit well with the angle of his cock, and he pushed himself deeper into her orifice. She gagged but quickly relaxed. She wrapped a hand about the base of his cock to ensure its position. With her other hand, she continued to fondle herself. He grabbed both breasts and mauled them, then tugged at her nipples and twisted them. Her hips came off the bed. She yelped, but the sounds were muffled by his cock. When she tried to disengage, he smacked the side of an orb. The sight of her body, of her pleasuring herself, and the feel of her mouth about his cock was too much. He began thrusting his hips at her face. She grabbed him with both hands to prevent him from penetrating her throat too deeply or striking her in a place that made her choke. He replaced the hand between her legs with his own. The more she writhed, the harder he rubbed.

"Oh, God," he groaned as the pressure mounted in his groin.

He pumped himself into her, and the tension soon shot through his cock, spilling into her cavity. She started to gag. He pulled out to relieve her choking, a string of his semen falling upon her cheek. His body jerked and shuddered. After shaking off the violence of his orgasm, he resumed fondling her. With his other hand, he kneaded her breast and flicked the nipple with his thumb. She grabbed the bed linen beneath her, perhaps to keep from sliding off the edge of the bed, but she was nearing her own climax.