A Regency Ravishment

She was lucky. More than anything, she knew that: she was lucky. Twenty two and her father's sole child; anyone else and they'd have been ahsked to bow their heads and do as was best for the family, would have been given to a man or another, for the money or for the power. But she was lucky. She'd be allowed, her father had said, his eyes all gentle and loving, to make her own decisions about her match, provided they were of good enough social standing to be one with their family, and yes, maybe she didn't have too much time to decide, maybe she could only marry for like and not for love, but for her that was enough. Just last week she'd turned down a good suitor, and her father had said not a word, although she'd known he liked the man. He was a powerful man, to be sure, a naval officer with prospects, but something about Edwin Davenport had turned the skin of her arms into gooseflesh. Miss Buck, he'd said the first time they'd spoken, the smile on his pointed face tilting lopsided towards his pointy moustache from one side and his pointy goatee from the other, the man a pointed thing all over, but after that first meeting he'd called her Anna. Anna, Anna. She didn't like how easy her name came to his lips, how quickly; his tone always toeing the line between politeness and teasing, as if playing with her, though every time she seemed to be the only one to notice it. He'd kept his distance properly courteous, at least, for which she was thankful, but his gifts and his letters had been incessant. Most of them delivered by servants, but some of them bought in person, and every time she saw him the gooseflesh returned.

Anna shivered as she turned the corner. The tiniest part of her was a little ashamed, despite it all. She knew that most women her age would be overjoyed to have the attention of someone like Mr. Davenport, especially if that someone was so nearly obsessed with them. He was on the social climb, and from what she heard from those around her, most of them seemed to find him attractive, with his copper-colored hair and bright blue eyes, but when she'd look at him all Anna could see was the hunger. Gaze fixed on her like a cat with a bird! All she'd wanted was to be away from him as soon as possible. After three months of polite avoidance and subtle hints she had finally cracked; and he'd taken it with grace enough, much to her relief, being told of her disinterest, had accepted her request to be left alone with a bow, and left he had, and Anna had not heard from him again. For the first few days she had almost expected him to show up again; but by now, on day eight, she was starting to accept it might be final. Yesterday she'd woken up feeling lighter than she'd had in months, and when her father had boarded the carriage this noon to visit her cousins, she'd put on her dress and she'd pinned up her hair and went into town for some fresh air. Two hours later, with the impulse purchase of one more bow, she was on her way home.

People grew less and less as she went, shops turning to houses turning to nondescript buildings, vendors turning to beggars turning to cats, and up on the cliff she began to see the shape of the windows of her home. She liked this part of town best, though she wouldn't share, liked the quiet empty streets and the sound the cobblestone made under the heels of her shoes, the bright earthy colors of the buildings. The people in this quarter always worked at this time. When the sun began to set and they made for home, Anna liked to watch them from her window.

So it was a surprise, when she heard the footsteps coming up behind her.

She turned, and the sight was so unexpected and so familiar that for a moment her brain stopped, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. His uniform was impeccable and deep blue, as it always was, his smile little but lopsided, and Anna averted her eyes downwards, both out of etiquette and avoidance.

"Mr. Davenport", she greeted, with the tiniest of curtsies. "I was just on my way home."

"Anna." His voice was pleasant enough, although Anna didn't raise her eyes, hoping he would just walk right past. Instead he stopped. "Out on the town? Well, let a gentleman walk you home."

No. The last thing she wanted was to give him the chance to try and woo her again. She stumbled for words.

"Oh, there's no need. I'd hate to take you from your plans."

"Nonsense." Before she could protest he was reaching out, grabbing her arm. It sent a cold wave all the way up to her shoulder. "Allow me."

It didn't seem she had a choice. He pulled her, and Anna almost stumbled; his grip on her was rough, secure, and with a shudder she registered that it was beginning to hurt.

"Mr. Davenport--"

She was cut off as he pulled her sharply to the right. She tripped over her own feet, held up by his grip, and confusion caught up with her when she saw where they were. He was pulling them into a little alley, nestled snugly between the walls of two buildings, tight enough that she wasn't sure she could spread out her arms if she wanted.

"Where are we going?"

"I know a shortcut." His reply was almost instant. Anna's heart was beginning to thunder. "It's just through here."

She tried to stop them moving, but he was too strong. He dragged her along with him, and for a moment Anna was sure she was going to die. And then they reached the end of the alley and he let go of her arm, Anna almost collapsing with relief, and she made to exit- and then the blank confusion again. To her left side the street was a dead end; to her right, a tiny narrow road that seemed to go all the way down to the ocean and only meet the back of buildings. Anna blinked, then blinked again, sure she must have missed something. She turned her eyes back to Edwin.

"Wh--"

His mouth smashed against hers, and she let out a small, alarmed noise, trying to step back. His body followed her own when she did; she managed to rip her mouth free, her face aflame. "What are you--"

And then all the breath was knocked out of her. It took her a second of ringing dizziness to realize he had just slammed her back against the nearest wall, his body so close to her she could swear he felt his heart beating, one hand firmly holding her wrist down. Without warning his lips were against the base of her neck. The disgust she felt was unparalleled.

His stubble scratching against her skin, he said, "Taking a shortcut."

"Mr. Davenport--", she began, trying to move away from him, and cut off with a gasp when she felt his other hand fondling the- the front of her bodice! He squeezed, hard, and Anna's pained noise lasted only a moment before his fingers were digging under the fabric. She began to thrash in earnest then, desperate to escape under his weight, and then his palm was cupping her breast and pulling it out over the top and the cool air on her nipples tinged the fear with a healthy dose of shame. She tried to claw at him with her free hand.

"Stop," he said, his voice a warning. When she didn't, he pinched at her nipple and pulled. Hard. "I said stop."

The pain was unexpected and paralyzing; Anna froze in place, brows furrowed and mouth open in a silent cry. He took the chance to pull out her other breast too. He moved away from her neck when he did, leaving her skin feeling wet and disgusting, and there was such a dark, starving look in his eyes as he looked at her that Anna almost burst into tears. Edwin made a pleased noise, low in his throat.

"Look how beautiful." Anna thought he was talking to himself until he squeezed her left breast and began to massage it against her body as if it were a piece of dough. "So full and perfect. Perfect size. Perfect girl." He leaned against her, took a deep breath against her hair. Anna tried to turn her head away. He wasn't very impressed with that. He moved away with a small snort, but her relief was short-lived. She yelped a moment later. Edwin had leaned his head, put the tip of her breast around his mouth, and bit down around her areola.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She looked at him as he let go and ran his tongue across the abused skin; she could see his teeth marks. It'd bruise. As if he knew it, he glanced at her, moved a little higher up, and bit into the meat of it. She jumped, almost began to sob, but the tears wouldn't start. She was too tense to cry.

He repeated it, one or two or ten times, a few on each breast, until Anna lost count and the only thing she knew was that her chest ached worse than anything. At last he straightened his back, and for one small, bright moment, Anna thought he'd let her go, until he reached out and grabbed one of the pins in her hair. Ten seconds later it was all free, a dark brown waterfall down her shoulders, and Anna was confused and sore and scared and she didn't want to be there anymore.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was quiet. Edwin ran his fingers through her hair and she flinched.

"Isn't a husband allowed to have his wife's body?"

The softness of his tone chilled her. She almost couldn't speak when she answered. It was barely more than a whisper.

"You're not my husband."

"Not yet."

She would be more confused, if the certainty in his tone didn't make her ice cold from toe to top. He gave her but a handful of seconds to process this; and then just like that he was spinning her by the wrist, turning her over, and she barely registered what was happening before her exposed breasts were pressing against cold stone wall and her cheek was following. And then his weight was against her back, his hands on her hips, and she began to wonder how someone so lean could be so strong when she felt it. A round and tough bulge, cushioned by her skirts, pressing against her rear. She gasped.

"Mr. Davenport." It was a plea.

He gave no sign of hearing her. He bunched her skirts up in his hands, pulled them up; Anna gasped at the sudden feeling of air on her upper thighs as he flipped the fabric over her back, exposing her.

"No." Her voice, previously hushed with disbelief, was growing panicked. She began to thrash against him again, pushing at the wall with her hands; he grabbed her arms, pulled them behind her back, and gripped her wrists in the vice of one hand. She was trapped. "Mr. Davenport, no, please--"

In one hard move, he pulled her underwear all the way down her thighs.

It was a nightmare. It had to be. This would not happen to her. But his hand went between her legs anyway, a finger running through her slit, and she wasn't sure what he was looking for but whatever it was, he didn't find it, if the clicking of his tongue was anything to go by. He didn't seem to notice her unwilling shudder of pleasure when he brushed her clitoris.

"Anna, Anna." His tone was as if chastising a child. "You're barely wet at all."

Wet? In her panic it barely made sense. He sighed.

"Well, I suppose I don't need you to enjoy this part, but I expect this to be fixed after we're wed."

It finally registered, when she heard the clink of his belt being undone.

She'd began to struggle when he'd touched her, but now she tried to fight him off in earnest, yelling, screaming for help; and for a moment it almost worked, for a moment she felt him lose his grip, and then his weight was against her again and his hand was hard over her mouth and she felt his breath against her ear when he whispered, "If you don't stop that I'm going to get you on the ground, take your ass there in the dirt, and give you something to really scream about."

Anna stopped. Her heart threatened to fly out of her chest; finally the tears came, silent, but it took Edwin another moment to remove his hand. And then it began.

She felt something hot and hard parting the lips of her slit, something foreign, and she began to squirm, trying to get away from it, but Edwin held her firmly in place. It didn't stop when it found its target. Anna might have never been with a man, but she was a woman grown; she had touched herself before, a few times even slid her own fingers inside of her body, but nothing compared to this. She registered what Edwin meant now, about her being wet. As he pushed against her opening, all she could feel was burning.

"Please don't do this." She was quiet. "I'm not ready, at least wait, please--"

Her opening gave in with a surge of pain, and Anna gave a cry, her whole body jerking. Behind her she heard him moan, low and long. He didn't stop; Ana felt every painful centimeter of the head being forced in, the sensation like sandpaper against her insides, getting wider as it went. Her opening was on fire.

"Shhh," he said as she whined, but his tone was only half there. "That's it, it's okay. Be good for me."

Unceremoniously, she felt him ripping through her maidenhead. The pain was a stab all the way from the innermost parts of her; she yelled, her knees began to give, but he held her up, squeezing her wrists. There was no getting out of this. Anna closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and tried to just get through it.

She felt his hips touch her rear at the same moment she felt him reach something deep inside her core. Something painful. He ground his hips against her and his cock ground against it, too, sending another wave of pain across her abdomen. When he began to pull out she felt it dragging against every dry bit of her walls.

And then he thrust back in, hitting that spot inside again. And Anna began to cry in earnest.

"Sweet girl," Edwin mumbled. Again he pulled out of her, then back again. "Pain builds character."

She could hardly remember what her character was through this pain. All she could register was the hard wall against her front and the burning ache in her privates growing momentarily sharp every time he thrust, even though he was not rough or too fast. In and out, in and out, dry drag and burning push, until a minute or an hour or an eon later the pain began to dull just the slightest bit, which she supposed meant her body had finally caught up and decided to help. He had picked up a little speed, with the new aid of her wetness. The pain in her entrance dulled slightly and left her vividly aware of the pain of that spot inside, low in her stomach, right below where she knew her womb to be. Every time he thrust it was as if he was clawing at it.

Panting behind her, Edwin mumbled, "If it's a girl, I hope she has your face."

Anna felt as if waking up from a stupor.

"What?"

"Our child. If it's a girl, I hope she has your face."

Somewhere in the pain and the shame of the violation, Anna felt lost. She tried to look back at him, but the position made it difficult.

"What child?"

Edwin laughed, as if it was the funniest question in the world.

"Anna, sweetness, the one I'm fucking into you now." As if to stress his words, he gave a particularly hard thrust, making Anna yelp. "Just give me a bit to spill my seed."

Anna felt his words all the way to her core, cold and sharp. He wasn't. He couldn't. But he moved inside of her, his sounds growing more and more heated, and whatever fear Anna felt before was nothing compared to this. Her world narrowed to it: she couldn't let him do that, couldn't, couldn't. She began to struggle again, and she didn't even realize her mouth had opened until he placed his hand under her chin and tilted her head back and up, cutting off her voice, stopping the stream of no no no nos she had began letting out.

"If it's a girl", he growled in her ear, "I want her to have your face, and your hair, and my eyes. Or maybe my hair, and your eyes. Wouldn't that be beautiful? A little girl with my hair and your beautiful dark eyes?"

She thought she was going to be sick. Even without voice she had not stopped breathing out nos. He had began to really pick up speed now.

"Maybe we can have both." He continued as if he couldn't hear her. "I want three girls. And at least one boy. Though I think two boys would be best, don't you think? Maybe one can have my face and one can have yours."

Anna wanted nothing less than to give this man children. Against her will she pictured looking down at a babe in her arms and seeing his face and wanted to start crying anew. Sobs were shaking her shoulders by now; she struggled feebly in his grasp, but her strength was spent.

"Please," she whispered, and he let her head straighten the slightest bit.

"Please what?"

"Please don't do this." Maybe if she begged. He had always been polite before. "Please, I'm begging you. Think- think of my family, please, my father, my future, my body."

He hummed as if considering her words, and his hand found her breast where it hung between her body and the wall, playing with it absently. The bruised skin hurt with every touch.

"Anna, Anna." His voice was so sweet, so unlike the pain in her body, patient as if she were stupid. "I am, sweetness. I'm thinking about how your father likes me and my money. I'm thinking about your future as my wife. I'm thinking about your body all beautiful and round with our children." He squeezed her breast. "Thinking about your perfect tits swollen. I'm thinking about all of it, Anna. This is the way."

"I'm not going to be your wife." She had already said no. She had! He knew she wouldn't! "I already--"

"Anna." Again, as if she were stupid. "Think, sweetness, do you think anyone worthwhile will have you now that I've taken your body? Oh, if you tell them, you'll ruin your poor daddy forever, but they'll find out, won't they? When your perfect belly starts to swell with our beautiful baby? Who will have you then?" He kissed her head from behind, and Anna shivered with fear and disgust. The dull despair settling low in her stomach had her knowing he was right. That was the plan from the start. He was going to get her with child, and then she'd be trapped with him forever.

"Please," she tried again. "Please take it out. It's not too late. You can finish in- in my mouth, anywhere else, Edwin, please."

"You're going to be such a good mom." It was as if he didn't hear her at all. He'd made up his mind, and what could she do? Pray that he'd change it last second. Pray that she wouldn't catch. Pray that, despite everything, someone would find them. But his thrusts were starting to get erratic.

"I'm close." His voice was hoarse by now, near a pant. "Anna, sweetness, I'm going to cum inside of you, and you're going to like it." When she whimpered, he added, "okay?"

She had no words left, only the please, only the no, and then Erwin gave one deep thrust, two, and on the third hilted himself all the way inside of her, hard, the force pushing her on her toes, stabbing that spot inside of her with all his might, and spilled. She knew he spilled; she felt the wicked warmth of it spreading inside of her, and he didn't move as it happened, stayed sheathed well inside. He sighed, content, spent, kissed her shoulder.

"Perfect little cunt", he mumbled, hotly.

After a few moments, he rocked his hips. And again. Slowly, gently, a little thrust, then another, pushing his seed deeper inside of her. Anna whined. The pain might have dulled, but it hadn't stopped.

"I'm sorry, sweetness," he was still mumbling. "I know that hurt, but it hurting just meant I was deep enough to give it a good chance to take. It'll get better once it does, I promise you, I'll make sure you like it. I'm just making sure to push it in deep now."

Anna had no energy in her left to wish it didn't take. She just cried against the wall, trying to ignore the warm wet feeling inside of her, trying to ignore his words. Again Edwin kissed her shoulder. He put a hand on her head, softly, and began to stroke her hair.

"You're going to look so pretty swollen with our baby."