A Regency Domination

A/N - This work is set in the same universe as my other regency novelettes but can be read as a stand-alone. It is NOT a romance. Trigger warnings include manipulation and intimate partner violence. Huge parts of the story will be told through the perspective of the abuser, who seems to neither realise nor care that he is one.

***

On an early December night, at the London Townhouse of the eighth Earl of Applefield, Miss Millicent St Vincent found herself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Insomnia had been her childhood companion, and it had only worsened ever since her dearest friend, Lady Vivian Applefield, had become engaged to a rather handsome baronet.

Despite the fact that Millicent had precipitated the betrothal by happily inducting the gentleman into their women's liberation club, she felt dismayed by this quick turn of events. Why, it seemed like only yesterday that she and Vivian had been encamped against the wall at parties, carelessly guzzling champagne and plotting to get Lord Applefield to table a Bill in Parliament on improving the rights of married women. And then, seemingly overnight and out of nowhere, Vivian had announced she was affianced to the man who had often sent her brooding looks from afar, permanently sending their world into disarray.

It was all a bit sad, really. Two bluestocking spinsters were fearsome forces of nature. One bluestocking spinster was merely an aberration. And the last thing Millicent St Vincent, the little orphan torn between her mother's working-class family and her father's noble one, wanted to be anymore was sad or aberrant.

You should have just married Sir Stubbins when he offered for you last year, the ever-disappointed voice of her aunt Poppy, the Viscountess St Vincent, said in her head. He was not a day below sixty, and he had been a tradesman before being knighted, but he was something at least.

Good old Sir Stubbins had been something, all right, Millicent remembered with a snort. Not wasting any time after his failed proposal to her, he had married an eighteen-year-old miss and promptly gotten her with child within the space of a few months.

Oh, but this would simply not do. She needed to find a distraction fast, given that she was now pining over a sexagenarian she had met but five times in her life. With a sigh, she got out of her comfortable bed. The question was, how was she to amuse herself with Vivian snoring so soundly?

When in doubt, Aunt Poppy's voice lectured, embroider!

Shuddering, Millicent pushed the overly decorous woman's opinions out of her mind and decided to head to the library instead, taking a single, flickering candle with her.

On second thought...

She paused. The Earl's library housed a respectable collection of tomes, but it was his son and heir's study that held the truly good stuff, those books full of wicked drawings and detailed descriptions that made her stomach flutter. And given that Golden George (named after his hair, not deeds), the Viscount Byrne, was still away on his travels, there was no chance of her getting caught.

Feeling very naughty, she rerouted her steps to the cosy study on the ground floor, making sure to be as quiet as possible. The first time the girls had perused those volumes together, Vivian had launched into an intellectual discourse on the artist's offensive choice to fully expose the nude, doe-eyed girl in the sketches, while only showing the back of the clothed man towering above her, and that had quite dampened the fun. Millicent had actually liked not knowing the man's face, for then she could imagine whoever she wanted in his place, touching and kissing her instead of the girl. And if the man in her fantasy happened to look remarkably similar to her friend's older brother, then well, that was only to be expected, given that he was her closest male acquaintance outside of actual family. It was the least of her transgressions against George. After all, here she was, traipsing into his inner sanctum for a taste of adventure.

Her heart racing, she began to rummage through his desk, before finally finding the book she was looking for. Flipping it open, she peered closer at the drawing of the same doe-eyed girl, whose hands were between her legs, fingers parting the lips of her sex while one reached inside her canal. The girl's face was contorted in what looked like agony, but was more likely pleasure.

Her breathing hitched as she turned another page, and then stopped entirely when she heard a scratching noise at the window. As her head whipped in its direction, there was a soft rattle, and the window started to open.

Alarmed, she backed away, accidentally knocking the book to the floor. She winced at the sudden noise.

A tall, sinewy form stilled in the act of climbing inside. "Who's there?" It growled.

Oh God oh God oh God. The Applefield residence was being broken into and she would be found murdered in a room she had no business being in. She could already see the pained looks of Aunt Poppy. Always her mother's daughter, Poppy would say sorrowfully at her funeral, all my attempts to civilise her were for naught...

Millicent knew that her chances of getting to the door and outrunning the intruder were minimal. There was nothing to do but attack while she still had the benefit of surprise. Murder was more acceptable to society than being seen by a fully conscious man while in one's nightclothes; this, she was sure of. Clutching the candlestick, she rushed at the shadowy figure and swung wildly.

He ducked at the last minute, but she still managed to catch his shoulder, making him grunt. And then his features, pained as they were, became clear to her in the moonlight. And going by his extremely incredulous look, he had recognised her too.

"Mousy Millie, it's you!" Her friend's brother exclaimed.

"Oh, hello, George," she said, trying to hide her mortification behind an air of polite indifference. "Back from your travels already?"

"Just today, and then someone at the gentlemen's club told me my sister was engaged, so I decided to come here directly instead of waiting till next morning." He gave her a wry smile, tugging at her heart. "I had hoped to get inside without waking anyone up, but here you are, my personal welcoming committee."

Suddenly realising she was in nothing but her sheer chemise and thin banyan, she hunched inwards, while still trying to appear nonchalant. "Ah, yes. I - um - was walking past when I heard noises and thought to investigate. One tries to stop a burglary when one encounters it. Naturally."

"Naturally," he agreed amenably, finally climbing inside and closing the window behind him. He gestured to where the erotic book lay facing up, open at a particularly egregious page. "And you thought you would make a detour to my desk and do a bit of light reading before apprehending the burglar?"

His query seemed innocuous, but the air was charged with something now, and it was making her mouth dry. "I do not know how this book came to be here."

"Oh, I think you do." With a cat like tread, he advanced upon her, dark eyes glinting in the scant light. "I think you knew what this book contained and came to take a peek. But if you were curious, little mouse, you only had to ask."

She backed away, but he was faster. Without warning, his lips were upon hers.

She froze, unsure what to do. On the one hand, the soft pressure of his lips upon hers was dizzying. On the other, Aunt Poppy would surely not approve.

"Loosen up, you peagoose," he whispered, licking the seam of her lips and encouraging her to part them. "There, see? Like that."

She moaned in pleasure. Sparks were dancing on her skin and butterflies fluttered in her belly.

Her sounds encouraged him and, with a growl, his hands dug into her hips and pulled her close to him, fingers kneading her globes.

"George-"

"Shh," he said, kissing the spot where her pulse jumped in her throat. "Millie, I never thought you would taste so sweet."

He had thought about tasting her?

With a gasp, she backed away, pushing him off and brandishing the candlestick that was somehow still in her hand. "I - I will hit you again!"

"Why, because I kissed you without permission?" Hands raised in mock surrender, he grinned. "Look at you, terrified as ever, little mouse. Go, then. And do not let me catch you alone again, for no candlestick will stop me."

Not waiting for him to finish, she turned and bounded up the stairs, back into her room and into her bed. Heart pounding, she relived their kiss. Drat, she definitely would not be able to sleep now!

***

The next day, at the breakfast table, Lady Applefield was harassing her son, talking about making a list of eligible matches for him.

"Mama!" Vivian interceded. "I understand that George can be deeply repellent to the female sex," - as if to prove her point, she waved at his ridiculously handsome face, somehow rendered all the more appealing by his crooked nose - "but surely he can find himself a wife without you needing to bother everyone here."

"Everyone?" Lady Applefield peered around the table. "Why, it is only you and Millie here! Speaking of which, Millie dear, your cousin made her come out this year, did she not? I hope she is not already attached?"

Ah, yes, Minerva. With her rosy cheeks and dimpled chin that made Millicent's own pale, pointy face and brown hair look very nondescript indeed. No wonder George continued to called her Mousy Millie. All though he would perhaps desist now that he had kissed her. Surely when men kissed women, they decided to compare their brown hair to something poetic and beautiful and not a mouse.

"Mother!" The man in question erupted. "I am hardly going to marry a chit fresh out of the schoolroom."

"Why not?" His mother asked airily. "It's not as though any half-decent young lady remains unwed well into her twenties."

"Mama!" Vivian complained.

"Oh, besides you, my dear, but even you are now betrothed." Her mother patted her hand indulgently. And then she looked guiltily at Millicent. "And also you, dear. But your case is... extraordinary, of course."

Of course. She was but the "ward" of the Viscount St Vincent, an honourable man who had retrieved her after her mother died in childbirth and her father, his younger brother, walked into the Thames in a fit of grief. The fact that Lord St Vincent had introduced her to society as his legitimate niece did not change the fact that her parents had not wed, which Aunt Poppy was all too happy to remind her every time she started to get notions above her station.

The most Millicent could hope for from George was a stolen kiss in the night.

His eyes darkened as he looked at her then, as though he, too, was reliving last night. As his mother asked for a pen to make additions to the list of potential Lady Byrnes, he leaned over and whispered seductively, "Good thing I like extraordinary women, Mousy Millie."

She blushed furiously and quickly glanced at Vivian to see if she had noticed. Her friend had a deeply contemplative look on her face, doubtless pondering her engagement, as she often did these days.

"What say, little mouse?" George continued, grinning widely at her discomfort even as hardness laced his voice. "Should we meet again tonight in my study?"

"Absolutely not!" She retorted. "When do you return to your bachelor lodgings anyway?"

She realised too late that she had said the last part out loudly, too loudly, in fact. The other ladies at the table turned to gape at her.

"Unlike you, Miss St Vincent, I actually belong here," George drawled, clearly relishing her embarrassment. "When do you plan to stop wearing out our hospitality and return to your home?"

"George," Vivian said, "don't be such a toad!" But her voice sounded faint and distant as a haze descended over Millicent.

Oh no, no, no. It was happening. The walls started to restrict around her as she let out a choked breath. Visions, of people grimacing at her faux pas while her aunt looked on in shame and disappointment, threatened to overwhelm her. And it was at this point, invariably, that she would begin to stammer, causing the young debutantes to titter.

Stuttering St Vincent, Stuttering St Vincent! Their voices chanted in her head cruelly, as she jumped up from her seat. Trying to block out all the stimulation, she turned and fled the room, without so much as an "excuse me" to anyone at the table.

***

He was a cad, a bounder, a villain! These words were thrown at George by his sister, and he almost agreed with her.

It had been so long since he had last seen Millicent like this, unable to breathe or speak, looking very much like she was trapped in a small space with no way out. He had always tried to be kind to her, but something had changed last night, when he had seen her half naked, nipples poking through her sheer night clothes so enticingly. Since last night, all he could think about was taking her like a wild animal, fucking her until she screamed around his cock, and the only way he could keep the thoughts at bay was by provoking her with his words instead.

But surely she understood that she was family to the Applefields, and not a burden! Surely she knew that she belonged to them, to him, and always would, no matter where she called home? Anger bubbled within him at her foolishness. He had to find her, and then he would set her right.

"I'll go," He said, rising quickly and holding up a hand to stay his sister. "Vivian, stop, let me bring her back. It was I who wounded her."

"Well, she should learn to develop a thicker skin," his mother said dismissively. "As much as I love having Millie here, your words were all true!"

Vivian rounded on her mother. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Leaving the two to their bickering, he stole out of the room. Knowing the quiet little mouse as he did, he understood that she would seek refuge in either the library or the greenhouse. And given that she likely wished to be alone, she must have gone to the latter place, deserted as it was most of the time.

His rage dissipated when he found her huddled on a bench near the very back, hidden behind some of the more exotic plants he had brought back from India. Remorseful, he pulled her into his embrace, stroking her back soothingly, murmuring words of comfort into her ear.

When her breathing finally regulated, he spoke. "Millie, I did not mean it like that."

She shook her head against his chest. "N-no, you were right. Oh George, you m-must kn-now that I am so very grateful to you all!"

He could feel her blush as she fought to overcome her stammer, her scent of peppermint and rosemary washing over him. His fingers cradled her chin and tilted her face up. Her long, sooty lashes blinked over her chocolatey eyes, trying to hold back tears. She bit her plump lower lip, her bosom heaving. And suddenly, he was a lost man.

His cock started to twitch as blood rushed to it. His hold on her tightened. "How grateful?" He asked, almost in a strangled whisper.

Her eyes widened. "George, what-?"

His fingers snaked into her hair, tugging her head back, feeling a stab of satisfaction as she gasped softly in pain and surprise. "How grateful, Millie? Are you willing to show me?"

For the briefest second, her gaze stole to his lips. She shivered. And he was undone.

With a sense of urgency, he picked her up and covered her lips with his, drawing a surprised groan from her. He let his teeth dig hard into their pliant softness, before licking her gently with his tongue. As he set her back down on the bench, his hands started to caress every curve, from her collar to her waist, which he pulled closer to himself.

She started to resist, panicked. "George, this-"

"Shh," he said, as his hands roughly started to unbutton his trousers. "Shh, Millie. I must have you!"

She tried to scream but he covered her mouth with one hand, pushing her skirts up with the other. Oh, how he loved the fact that ladies did not wear drawers! His cock was standing at attention, craving her touch, and there was nothing shielding her from him. With a groan and a thrust, he was inside her.

She shrieked into his palm and started to struggle wildly.

"Stop, stop," he whispered in ragged breaths. "If you resist, it will only hurt worse. My sweet little mouse, you are so tight."

He had broken her maidenhead, he knew, for it was surely the blood lubricating him and not her juices; no innocent could be wet at such sudden penetration. He kissed her sweaty forehead, forcing himself to stay still inside her. "Millie, it is done. I cannot undo it. I can only make you feel good. Let me take my hand off your mouth so I can make you feel good."

Eyes wild, she shook her head, so he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth. His cock throbbed at the sight of her lying there, so helpless and with her mouth gagged. He groaned again, starting to move against her slowly and painstakingly, while his fingers worked to loosen her bodice.

She started to pant and shake, trying to throw him off. But she was so small, so weak, that her attempts were futile. He did not even have to restrain her hands to pin her down. He kissed the side of her jaw, his hands finding her little nub. He started to circle it, massaging and stroking until her struggles became less frantic.

"Just like that," he said soothingly. "See? This does not have to hurt, not unless you want it to."

He pulled his cock until it was almost outside of her, then thrust again, even deeper, making her moan. As his tongue licked the valley between her breasts, he began to fuck her rhythmically, his fingernails scraping over her nub. He wanted to be so very rough with her, he wanted to unleash his darkest desires on her quivering body, but today, their first time, he would be careful. He would make her want it, too.

Slowly, she grew wet for him as he continued his ministrations. His mouth encased her breast and sucked, tongue laving her nipple. His movements became rougher, faster. He was fucking her wantonly, past the point of no return, teeth scraping against her skin and leaving marks. Her muffled pleas were buried under the sound of his own grunts as he thrust harder and deeper, feeling his balls swell with pleasure until, at the very brink, he pulled out and came all over her exposed belly.

She lay there, looking small and broken, with his seed on her body and fear on her face.

"Oh Millie," he said, "I did not forget about your pleasure."

So saying, he leant down to press a kiss against her quivering cunt, licking the heady mixture of her juices and blood. "I have never fucked a virgin before, Millie. The very sight of your abused cunt is making me hard again."

"Mfpfft!" Her back arched as his tongue flicked over her nub, before he covered it with his mouth and started to suck greedily.

The combination of the licking and suction was getting to her, for she was no longer fighting him. Instead, she squirmed and swivelled her hips towards him, even as her mouth protested. He slid two fingers into her tight, warm cunt, massaging her most sensitive spot. His cock grew harder with every passing second at the thought of ripping pleasure from her unwilling body. As he gently bit down on her nub, she came with a muffled scream, going rigid and then limp.

And then he entered her once more. "I must have you again, Millie. No, do not shake your head. You may be too sensitive, or too sore, but I need to fuck you more than I need to breathe air."

He pushed her legs up and over her head so that he could thrust ever deeper. "Ahh, fuck, yes. You are so tight, little mouse, and your velvety cunt sheathes my cock like a glove. Does it hurt you, even now? You will get used to it, my dear. I will fuck you until your hole is gaping for me."