The Fool Ch. 10

They rode into Mansfield Woodhouse and met with two men who took their horses and gave them motorcycle helmets and leather jackets before disappearing. Sinclair led her to a nearby service station where a touring road bike waited for them.

"I take it we aren't visiting the markets then?" she tilted her head.

"Not this time, but we can come back another day if you like," he offered, helping her into the jacket and helmet, making any further conversation impossible. They mounted the motorcycle and took off at speed, making Carrie cling to him even more tightly.

They rode out of town and through the countryside, taking the back roads and lanes rather than the direct motorways towards Nottingham. Leaving the bike and walking hand in hand for a short time, they reached a small building that seemed carved from the sandstone face of the rocky outcropping.

"This is the entrance to Mortimer's Hole. One of a series of secrets tunnels and caves that run beneath Nottingham Castle," Sinclair explained.

"Jordan and I did the tour when we first arrived in England," Carrie said. "It is eerie in there, but I doubt that it's truly haunted."

"Well, that gives us more time for other things then," Sinclair said, as if making up his mind not to do the tour he had planned for her, believing her love of history would be enthralled by the story of the doomed Mortimer and his lover Queen Isabella.

After making another quick phone call, they climbed back on the bike and headed off again with Carrie clinging tightly to Sinclair, wishing he would let her drive but not arguing with him just this one day. They were on the bike for less than half an hour before stopping again at a large country house. If Carrie was honest, it was more of a castle than a country house, and she looked up at the large stone walls as she took off the helmet and riding leathers.

"The old lady who lives here is a bit of a recluse," Sinclair explained. "I don't think she's left the property in over a decade." He placed his hand on the small of her back and propelled her gently toward the door. "She's a bit brusque, but don't take it to heart, it's just her way." The door opened as they approached and a liveried butler stood in the doorway with a serious look.

"Master Sinclair," the butler nodded his formal greeting.

"It's good to see you, Giles," Sinclair said quietly. "How is she today?"

"Sweetness and light itself. She has been looking forward to your visit and meeting your lady love," Giles seemed to relax his stiff demeanour slightly as they spoke in hushed tones.

"I bet she is," Sinclair chuckled. "May I introduce Carrington Wordsworth-Ward."

"It is a pleasure, Miss Ward," Giles bowed stiffly and turned, leading the way deeper into the huge house. He stopped before twin doors and seemed to take a breath before opening them both and entering, clearing his throat and announcing, "Master Sinclair and his betrothed have arrived, your Ladyship. May I introduce Carrington Wordsworth-Ward."

"You may not," the old woman snapped from her seat on a red velvet high backed armchair. "Sinclair can do that," she informed him imperiously. "We will have lunch in the rose garden in half an hour," she instructed and dismissed the man with a shooing motion.

Sinclair chuckled and stepped forward to kiss the old woman's cheek before speaking to introduce Carrie. He had barely gotten a syllable out when she held up her hand to stop him from talking.

"I heard her name, there is no need to repeat it, I am hardly going senile, despite the rumours," she admonished him. "Well, come over here, girl, and let me see you," she commanded.

"Carrington, this is my great Aunt Ophelia," Sinclair introduced her as she moved closer, putting an arm protectively around her waist.

"It's lovely to meet you, Lady Ophelia," she said, feeling like she should curtsy, but merely lowering her head slightly in a sign of respect. She and her late husband had been well-known philanthropists who had set up scholarships and bursaries for underprivileged young students who showed promise in the arts, some areas of mechanical engineering, and, more recently, medical research.

"You're a Wordsworth and a Ward, that is some interesting genetics, luckily they work for you," she said, giving Carrie an appraising look from head to toe. "What is it you do?"

"I'm and exhibition curator at a museum," Carrie gave a vague response to the question. "I have a degree in Art History, specialising in antiquities from the mid to late nineteenth century," she added as the woman looked at her expectantly.

"Ah, a woman after my own heart. I have a small collection of my own from that period you may be interested in viewing after lunch," she offered. "Sinclair can give you the grand tour, but one or two rooms I would enjoy showing you myself."

"I would appreciate your insight into the collection. I have always found that the owners of such antiquities hold the history more vividly than those who have an admiration for it rather than a connection," Carrie said enthusiastically.

"That's very true, my dear," Ophelia gave a small smile and winced as she began to move as if to get up, causing Sinclair to let go of Carrie and step forward again to help her.

They walked slowly out to a small rotunda which sat in the middle of a traditional garden dominated by roses in a myriad of colours. Carrie could see the old woman struggle and her energy wane as the lunch progressed through three courses, until Sinclair promised that, if she went to rest, they would come and wake her before they left. After a short and heated negotiation, wherein Sinclair had vowed to return within a month with his father, she went, albeit reluctantly, with Giles helping her to walk the short distance back into the house and up to her room.

The grand tour was indeed grand, Carrie had to admit, and ended at a small cottage that butted up to the rear of the house but was quite separate. The cottage seemed unremarkable in comparison to the rest of the house and estate, though it had been kept in the Victorian period style.

"This was originally a guard house," Sinclair informed her. "When the original castle was destroyed, and the stately home you see now was erected, the lord of the land divided the lower levels between storage and servant quarters beneath the house and small guard house over what remained of the original dungeon."

"There's a dungeon under this cottage?" she asked, looking around at the small building.

"There was a dungeon, but it had evolved over time to become slave quarters, and eventually this cottage was used for the mistresses of the Lords who resided here," he smirked. "It seems that the Lords of the land kept this little cottage and what lay below it a secret because of the ungentlemanly behaviour that often occurred here. Including my late great uncle, who died while enjoying the delights of a young woman held in slavery here."

"He, what?" Carrie was aghast. "He was such a good man, the media reported on him as a saint. I don't understand."

"Even good people have their faults. Some women, like the young woman found here after his death, seek out sexual slavery. She wasn't a prisoner here, she had a home and everything she desired, and, in return, she served my Uncle in any way he wished."

"I'm not naïve, Sinclair; I'm just surprised. I thought you, of all people, would have condemned him for it," she shook her head.

"He didn't drug her or force her against her will, there is a difference. His wife was a reluctant lady and wouldn't indulge his needs, but he loved her and found a way to be happy in his marriage while meeting his baser needs," Sinclair said reasonably. "True, I never wanted to live a life divided like that and was prepared to wait for the one who could fulfil all of my wants and needs. I want the lady and the tramp, the wildcat and the mouse, a woman who can be all of those things, and more. I found all of that and so much more in you."

"Are you saying you want me to be like the woman who lived here?" Carrie stared at him, trying to understand the parallels he was making, but her mind was stuck on the idea of sexual slavery and what it must have meant to the woman who lived in this cottage.

"No, just the opposite," he stepped forward and took her in his arms. "You are everything I have ever wanted in a woman. You are the lady of the Manor. You're the sexy wildcat who challenges me to earn the domination and control I crave. You're the sometimes vulnerable and insecure girl I want to love and protect. You're strong and loyal enough to stand beside me against any adversaries and accept that as part of our lives. I love every facet of you, and every time I learn something new I just love you all the more."

Carrie was taken aback and had no words to respond to such a heartfelt declaration of love, so she kissed him, deeply and passionately. "So, about this dungeon?" she asked in a throaty murmur, which made him pull back and raise an eyebrow.

"The wildcat lives," he chuckled. "But if you have ideas about putting me on the rack you can forget it."

"Fairs fair, you already had your fun this morning," she smiled slyly, only half joking.

"You promised me to be compliant today, a sweet-natured, loving fiancé, no arguing or negotiating terms," he reminded her. "I don't believe wanting to tie me up and torture me in a dungeon fits that description," he teased. "I guess," he stepped forward, taking her hands in his and pulling them around to her rear as he pressed against her and leant to kiss her lightly. "I guess we could arm wrestle for it, but it seems I have already won that little bout," his grip tightened on her wrists.

"That was hardly fair," she growled.

"Are you arguing with me?" he gasped in mock horror.

"No, merely stating a fact," she grumbled and looked up into his eyes.

"Wonderful, then let me lead the way," he chuckled.

She had thought the door he opened had been a linen cupboard when she had first glanced at it on her inspection of the cottage, but it opened onto a small landing that led down a dark and narrow stairwell. The walls turned quickly from the wall sheets that matched the cottage above to rock and hardened clay as she descended lower.

"Had we done the tour to King David Dungeon we could have made some comparisons about why this one was more suited to a princess or a queen rather than a king, but I guess it can speak for itself," he said in a strangely hushed voice. He flicked on a series of guttering gas lamps and watched her as her eyes adjusted to the light and she took in her surroundings.

It was a step back in time as Carrie entered a bedroom setting straight out of a medieval castle. The room was half filled with an imposing four post bed, the large posts of old stained oak were swathed with rich fabric, and, unless inspected closely, a casual observer may have missed the hooks and eyelets positions at strategic levels up and down the solid pieces of wood.

The rest of the room was filled with decorative but unassuming furniture; a small chaise and two armchairs sat in one corner of the room to the left of a fireplace and a large armoire and dressing area filled the other corner next to the fire. A large steamer trunk and several straight-backed chairs filled the space around the bed itself which dominated the space.

"I assume you'd like me to submit, no arguments?" she asked, giving him a sly look that he couldn't quite decipher.

"That was the deal today, was it not?" he asked speculatively as she continued to take in the room.

"True, but it seems this has become less about showing me how to celebrate Valentine's Day and more about you living out your fantasies," she challenged. "I assumed chocolate and flowers, not whips and chains." Carrie raised an eyebrow at him.

"The day is far from over; there may still be chocolate and flowers for you if you continue to play the game," he chuckled, teasing her and closed the distance between them.

"Oh well, in that case," she rolled her eyes dramatically at him.

"We can fight, if that's what you want," his voice lowered dangerously. "We both know how that will end. I have to admit it's been some time since I forced the victor's rules on you completely, and I would be more than happy to revisit our first few days together."

Carrie inwardly cringed at his use of her that first weekend. The galling display of her body and his power over her in front of the staff at the hotel he had been staying at had almost made her break her agreement after the fight. If she was honest, she enjoyed his need to dominate her completely on occasion, reminding her that he was strong enough to not only match her but force his will. She couldn't have willingly given herself to anyone with less ability. Her thoughts turned briefly to Jordan, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Mistaking her shudder for excitement, Sinclair took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, his hands wandering over her body to slowly undress her. He knew, as she let her shirt fall away without argument, that she was still deciding whether to fight her need for submission. As if feeling the moment, she wavered, he leant down and kissed the sensitive skin of her neck below her ear and murmured, "You're mine, there is no need to fight what we both want anymore."

Carrie stiffened, despite the truth of his words. She fought with herself now, wondering how this man had worked his way through all of the barriers she had around her inner heart and mind. His breath was warm against her ear as he spoke softly between teasing licks and kisses. Her bra fell away as he deftly unhooked it with one hand and began kissing down her throat to the soft mounds of flesh with their nipples that betrayed her arousal. His lips were on the pink nubs then, making her sigh in pleasure, his hands snaked down to her waist to begin easing her jeans from her body.

She didn't fight his actions or feelings, admitting that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her eyes remained open, scanning the room's furnishings and what it meant for both of them if she gave in to everything his room stood for: submission, obedience, power and control. She would never be able to live that life completely. She knew that she needed to make him work for the dominance and power he craved over her, giving in without any resistance just seemed so wrong to her, despite the love and respect he showed to her in all other areas of their life.

Sinclair could feel the tension in her body and knew giving in to his desires without argument was difficult for her. He smirked up at her as she stepped slowly out of the jeans and seemed to be considering him carefully. He kissed his way up her legs to her pussy, placing a soft kiss there before pulling his shirt over his head without undoing the buttons. He leant in once again, teasing her with his lips and tongue as he rid himself of his jeans and underwear awkwardly and then added his hands to the teasing of her.

Carrie's legs trembled, and she teetered on the edge of her orgasm when he stopped and stood to take her in his arms and kiss her deeply, swallowing the whimpering whine of frustration she let out at the denial of her orgasm.

"Submit or take the lead," Sinclair murmured the challenge in her ear. "I can rock your world and finish what I have begun, or you can choose the top and ensure my world is rocked." He kissed and nibbled at her neck as he spoke and smirked at her sharp intake of breath.

"You'd submit to me?" she asked breathlessly.

"I have my limits, but I will safe word if you hit any of them," he smirked. "I know you and trust you to ensure my safety." The teasing smile played over his lips as he spoke in a low voice. "Consider my bending to your will a Valentine's Day gift."

Carrie noted that he refrained from saying submission. but decided to let it drop without a comment. Her mind raced. She purposely sought out and challenged strong men who could match her physically and mentally, and, invariably, she admitted, overpower her eventually. Being offered the opportunity to top left her stunned momentarily but she couldn't back down from the challenge he presented as a gift, and after several silent minutes she gave a sly smile and stepped out of the circle of his arms.

"Restraints and toys?" she cocked an eyebrow, looking at him with a smirk that matched his own. She saw a brief mixture of emotion on his face and wondered if he had been betting on her backing down from the challenge.

"In the armoire," he nodded his head toward the large piece if furniture, mildly surprised that she seemed so eager to take up his challenge. "You haven't tested my limits, so I hold the power of veto on your choice of toys," he said carefully.

"You trust me, don't you?" she asked sweetly, making him chuckle as he followed her. In a short amount of time she had him naked and cuffed at the wrists and ankles. She had led him to stand at the foot of the bed then, taking her time, being unused to the types of knots needed, she secured him to the posts, his arms outstretched and his feet wide as he remained in a standing position.

He checked her work, pulling against the solid bedposts once his limbs were secured and found he had little movement or play in the restraints He was uncomfortable, but he needed to show her that his trust in her was as absolute as he wanted her trust in him to be. Submitting, he knew, took far more strength than dominating, and he struggled, taking a deep breath and trying to concentrate on the woman he loved rather than the restraints holding him immobile.

Carrie ran her hands over his broad chest and leant in to kiss him deeply. She was going to enjoy teasing him and denying his needs, as he did to her so often. She just needed to watch carefully for any telltale signs that he was close to coming and back off before he hit the point of no return. Her hands continued to roam over his body, teasing him before she began to kiss her way down his body, teasing with licks and small nips of her teeth.

Sinclair groaned as he felt her breath trail over his groin as she bypassed it completely with her mouth, moving from his hips to his thighs, leaving only the delicate feel of her warm breath and her hair in her wake.

Carrie smiled at the first sound of arousal he made for her and continued on the path she had started, kissing down and up his legs before biting softly at his thighs close enough to his balls for him to contemplate the feel of her mouth there without actually feeling it. She heard the D-rings on the restraints rattle and smiled knowing that he would want to wrap his hands in her hair and guide her to his cock. She took her time before finally flicking her tongue lightly over his balls and being rewarded with a deep rumbling growl. She wrapped her hand around his throbbing cock and stroked it slowly as she sucked and licked his balls until they were completely wet and glistening.

Sinclair arched his back, pushing his hips toward her and found she backed off, making him groan and drop his head to look at her. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a small playful smile dancing on her face.

"Don't get too excited, I don't want you coming until I give you permission," she warned before pulling his cock toward her mouth and placing a soft kiss on its tip, making him growl at her. She might not know his limits where the pain was involved, but there was more than one way to torture him, she smiled and continued to look up at him as her tongue snaked out and around the mushroomed head of his cock. She was enjoying the sounds of pleasure and frustration he made as the restraints creaked and jangled under the movements of his arms and legs.

Sinclair watched as she teased him, fluttering her tongue around his cock before slipping it into her mouth so that just the head rested on her warm wet tongue. He groaned in pleasure and sheer frustration. He loathed being a passive participant and wanted nothing more than to thread his hands into her hair and force his cock deeper. He tried to buck his hips, but she pulled back, totally in control of what was happening to him, and he cursed himself for offering this scenario, thinking that when challenged she would demure and take the bottom, as she always did, even when she fought his dominance and eventually gave in to his wants and needs.