The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 08

"Tsk, tsk, you know I like you to call me Uncle, and I'll call you Margaret. You look so like my niece, after all. It's uncanny."

The word stuck in her throat. Call him uncle? Pretend not only to be Daisy, but Daisy pretending to be his niece Margaret? This had gone much too far.

"I don't feel well tonight," she said.

"That's too bad. Lie down, now, Margaret. Lie down and be a good girl for Uncle."

"No … not tonight. I cannot. Please."

His tone took on a sharp edge. "Lie down, I said, unless you want me to take my good right hand to your backside."

She was numb with shock. If she told him who she was, he would hate her for stumbling onto his dirty little secrets. His ire would probably rouse the entire ship, and then Walter would realize what Daisy had been up to, and it would come out that Walter had been with Constance … too many lives would be thrown into chaos if she spoke up. But the alternative was to go along with Lord Cuthburt.

"You're not minding me, Margaret." He pushed her onto her side and swatted her buttock. It stung and she yelped. "No, hush now. Be a good girl and you may have a chocolate later. Lie down as Uncle wishes."

Constance did so, closing her eyes. Her fists were clenched, the nails biting into her palms.

"Pretend that you're asleep, my darling niece," Cuthburt said hoarsely. His hands were on her, groping along her legs, bunching up the skirt of her chemise. "Asleep and dreaming."

Oh, how she wished she were! But she complied, trying to make her breathing sound deep and even as he raised her chemise all the way to her neck.

"Sleeping ever so soundly," he said, and crawled on top of her.

His mouth, all wet tongue and bristly moustache, descended on her breasts. He shoved her legs apart with his knee and thrust his hand between them. She could feel the hairy bulge of his fat pot belly, and below that the insignificant poking of a cock that felt no bigger than a twig.

"Now you're waking up," he said, breathing hard. "Waking up and finding that you're about to be fucked. But you want to be fucked. Tell me so. Tell me, yes, Uncle, fuck me, I want it."

And all at once, absurdly, it was all Constance could do to keep from bursting into gales of uproarious laughter. That tiny worm of a cock, and his desperate play-acting …

Yet she mastered herself and pretended to stir as if awakening. "Oh!" she said in a high, little-girl voice. "Uncle? What are you doing?"

"Fucking you, Margaret. I'm going to shove my great cock into you. Would you like that?"

"Ooh, yes please," Constance said in her most simpering tone. She'd met Margaret, whom Lord Cuthburt had brought around once to parade in front of Rob as a prospective bride. It was easy to imitate her. "Yes, Uncle, please do fuck me with that great cock of yours."

He thrust, and as he began a clumsy fucking, Constance found herself wondering if he had actually gotten into Margaret. She always seemed so prim and demure, a prig, Rob had said with disdain. Was it genuine? Or were all families as secretly depraved as hers?

Lord Cuthburt humped frantically, and spent so soon that the act was over almost before it had begun. He left her room quickly, as if embarrassed. Constance felt more bemused than molested, and rather sorry for the fellow.

She got up and braced a chair under the door before going back to sleep.

Continued in Chapter Nine