A Regency Ravishment

He cut her off with a kiss, deep and demanding.

She bit his tongue as hard as she could and he pulled back, angrier than she had ever seen him.

"So that's how it will be then."

He got up and moved to his dresser. Before she had time to understand what was happening, he was back by her side, holding what looked like a whip.

"If you will act like a wild mare, I will have to break you," he growled, his voice promising hell.

"You will try, but you will not succeed," she retorted.

Without another word, he flicked his wrist and brought the whip down on her breasts.

She screamed, more from the shock than the pain.

He hit her again, this time right on her nipple, setting it aflame and making her squirm.

"Oliver, no, stop it!"

He let his whip trail down her belly, and then, with another flick, hit her right on her sensitive bud.

She screamed again, this time from pain, but there was a jolt of pleasure there too, one that she tried to suppress.

Roughly, he turned her so she was lying on her belly, her hands stretched and contorted painfully.

She knew what was coming but was not prepared for it.

Whack.

The first crack of the whip landed across her bottom, hard and fast. The next aimed between her shoulders.

"Oliver-"

"Do not presume to address me by my Christian name," he growled. "You will call me Sir henceforth."

Tearfully, she nodded. "Yes, Sir. Please don't hurt me anymore, Sir."

"I told you I would punish you if you acted like a child, whore. Now count every lick of the whip and thank me for it. If you don't, I shall start over again."

Whack.

"Ahhh - one!"

Whack.

"Two!"

"No, that was one, too. You forgot to thank me. Let's try again."

This time, the whip cracked on the back of her knees, searing the sensitive skin. "Ooh, one. Th-thank you, Sir!"

The next one hit her between her globes. "T-two. Thank you, Sir!"

He kept going this way and she kept counting and thanking him. Once he had hit her two dozen times, he finally stopped. "This was only a taste of what will happen if you disobey me again."

"Yes Sir," she said, hating herself and him. "Thank you for being merciful, Sir."

His hand came down to soothe her skin. "Don't worry. You will not be able to sit down for a few hours but I haven't broken your skin."

"Thank you, Sir."

He turned her around again, relieving the pressure in her arms but causing her backside to chafe. Without ceremony, he thrust into her. If he had anticipated causing her pain, that did not happen.

Her body was ready for him, her essence flowing from her quim. His manhood was still a tight fit and uncomfortable, but she was not hurt. Instead, her body was on high attention, anticipating the pleasure he had brought her with his movements.

"Tell me, Anne, did you touch yourself while thinking about me?"

She blushed and shook her head, but he must have seen her face, for he laughed. "Well, I have thought about you for years. Wishing I could sink into your tight cunt, dreaming of fucking you until we could hardly breathe. Hearing your voice in my head, calling out my name as I made you come apart."

She moaned at the picture he painted.

"Yes, just like that, good girl." He covered her lips with his own, his tongue mating with hers in tandem with the thrust of his hips. One hand snaked down to her nub and circled it, bringing her to a frenzy.

"Come for me, Anne," he ordered her, pinching her nub tightly.

With a shriek of pleasure, she broke into a thousand pieces, weeping and clinging to him as wave after wave crested through her.

As her nails dug into his back, he groaned and spilt his seed inside her.

For a while, they lay unmoving. She was still basking in the afterglow of their coupling, and he had his face buried in her bosom.

"Oliver," she whispered. "I am sorry for everything. I was young and broken and I acted-"

"Shh," he said, looking up to meet her eyes. His expression was unreadable but his steely eyes could bore a hole through her. "Do not waste your breath apologising to me, dear. For I will never forgive you."

"Oliver!"

"Sir," he instructed, sternly. "You will call me Sir."

"I'm not one of your Navy sailors," she began mutinously.

He barked another laugh. "Good thing too. They would have eaten you alive, were you on the ship. All though perhaps not anymore, given the way you look now. No, no, Anne, don't look so sad. You are not the beauty you used to be, but you will always be beautiful to me. In fact, I prefer you this way, for no man will look at you again and you will be all mine."

"I am not yours! I will kill you in your sleep before I become your mistress."

His grin only widened. "You, my dear Anne, are already ruined. Being my mistress is the only way to protect yourself now. Polite society will not accept you anymore."

She gasped. "My family!"

"Have been looking for you for hours. They sounded the alarm. Someone spread a rumour that you are headed to Gretna Green to marry your footman. How sordid!"

"They would never believe you! Phillip would-"

"Ah yes, your idiot cousin. He came here, looking to challenge me. We meet at dawn. I am not yet certain if I will let him live. You should have married the boy when you had the chance. All though I would have still taken you away from him, and then I would most certainly have had to kill him."

"You cannot do this! Please, Oliver - Sir - I'm begging you. Do not hurt him. You have thoroughly ruined me. I will never be able to show my face in polite society ever. How much more will you punish me? Let me go."

His eyes glinted menacingly and he tensed. "I will grant you your cousin's life, but I will not let you go. If you try to leave me, I will lock you here and never let you out. I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth."

"Okay, okay," she said in a soothing tone that belied her panic. "I shall stay. I will gladly be your w-whore. I will do anything you ask. Please do not be cross with me."

He grunted something approaching a yes.

"Sir, may I ask you something?"

"Go on then," he sighed.

"When you took me-"

"When I fucked you," he interjected brusquely.

"Yes - when you f-fucked me, I liked it. I want to do it again, if you don't mind." Her tone was meek, her eyes downcast. If he had forced her to look at him, he would see the turmoil and calculatedness behind them, but he did not.

"You truly want me, Anne?"

She gulped and nodded. "Can you please untie me?"

That gave him pause. For a second, he gazed at her, as though scanning her soul for secrets. Whatever he saw there made him grim. "I do not think so, my darling. I think you should remain tied up until I can trust you to not give me trouble."

"I need to answer nature's call," she insisted. "Please, Sir. I'll be a good girl."

He sighed again. "I never could say no to you. Fine, but don't try anything funny. And don't move until I tell you to."

She nodded quickly.

He untied her from the bed, then pushed her hands together at her front and retied them, before leading her to the water closet, then crossed his arms and stared her down.

"Turn around, please." When he did not comply, she burst out. "For heaven's sake, where will I go? My hands are tied and you're blocking the door."

With a long-suffering exhale, he turned around. "Make it qui-"

He scarcely had the time to finish his sentence before she was upon him, her hands at his neck, pressing the rope against him. He pried her grip off his neck but she allowed her weight to fall back. There was only the rope against his neck which broke her fall. It was that damned rope that was to be his downfall. Whether because he was unable to scream, or because he did not want his servants to see him bested by a woman, he continued to struggle wordlessly.

Her body pumping with an instinct that had served her ancestors well against predators, she kept trying to choke him, until he finally gave up fighting and collapsed on top of her. Even then, she kept her ropes pressed against his throat for a while, afraid he was tricking her. But he was motionless and lay heavy atop her.

With a grunt, she pushed him off her and got up, quickly rummaging through his drawers to find a letter opener to cut the ropes. She then tied him up and gagged him. It was no Naval knot, but it would do. Inside his dressing room, she found spare clothes. Donning them, she went to the window. The branches of the nearby tree seemed sturdy enough to support her weight, so down she went, silently thanking her Papa's groomsman for having taught her to climb trees.

Getting her bearing, she pondered her next move. She was ruined, this much was true. It would do her no good to return to her family, for she would further blight Phillip's chances of making an advantageous match. Plus, he would find her there. He had promised as much. The only thing left to do was run, and run she would, away from London and its treacherous opportunities for adventure.

"Please forgive me, Aunt Primrose," she begged silently, before melting into the night.