The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 02bySabledrake©
Constance sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair as it dried. The balmy silver of the moonlight filtered through the gauze of the netting at her window, there to keep the bugs away while still allowing the cool night air to permeate the room.
It was high summer, and the days were brutal. The sky was burnished pewter, the sun a blazing coin, the sea a flat green mirror stretching to the horizon. A lethargic doze lay over Veradoga during the day, muting the babble of the marketplace, and while squabbles were more frequent, they were short-lived and spiritless. It was just too hot to dispute.
When dusk spread her purple veil, and the temperatures dropped, the island revived with life. Even now, drifting in on the breeze, Constance could hear the distant strains of music and singing from the taverns by the wharf, from the field to the east of town where a festival was going on.
In years past, she might have gone to the festival. Her father might have escorted her, or she and Rob and Enrique could have gone together. Dancing, laughing, eating too many spicy delicacies, coming home late and pleasantly weary.
Not so this year … this summer. She remained a veritable prisoner in the house, but that was just as well, for she couldn’t bear to show herself in public.
They would know. She was sure of it. Anyone looking on her would see and know the shame written in large letters on her face.
She couldn’t count how many times in her life Nana Eva had cautioned her about them. First boys, then men, but the lesson was always the same – a lady had to be on guard for the sake of her purity, couldn’t be ruined.
But now she was ruined. And not even in an excusable, overlookable slip of giving herself to her true love a bit in advance of the wedding.
Ruined … by her own brother.
He hadn’t touched her in the week since, but his final words from that terrible, fateful night still haunted her.
She’d fled the parlor to her own room, holding the torn remains of her dress around her, grateful that no one was about to see her in such a state. Upon reaching her room, she had flung herself into the tub though there was only the unheated water from the cistern on the roof. She had scrubbed until her skin was scarlet, soaked until she was wrinkled, and only then emerged to look at herself in the mirror.
What a sight that had been! The bath hadn’t been able to take away the soft puffiness of her lips, left so by Enrique’s punishing kisses. Nor had it been able to erase the darkening bruises left from his pinching of her breasts. No amount of rinsing could take the taste of him from her mouth.
She bore a scrape on one thigh, done by the signet Rob wore, though she hadn’t felt it at the time, being far too concerned with what else he was doing. She felt it now, though, a stinging line that hadn’t bled but was reddened.
But worst of all, she could see it in her own eyes. She was impure. No longer a virgin. The prize of her maidenhood had been cruelly taken from her by her own brother, in an incestuous act that was made a thousand times more shameful and repugnant because she had responded.
Oh, but her treacherous body had leapt willingly to his invasion! Had spent helplessly beneath his ministrations … twice!
And so she had slunk to her room and endured an endless night, aching and exhausted but unable to sleep for fear of what her dreams might bring. When at last she had fallen into a fitful doze, it had been the old dream, the pirate dream, but this time as she looked out from her mother’s eyes at the pirate captain, he had Rob’s face.
When morning came, she wanted to stay hidden away in her room, but hunger had finally impelled her downstairs. There, gorging on a late breakfast on the patio, were Rob and Enrique, looking as if they’d had the best night’s sleep in all creation.
Acting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Acting as if nothing unusual had gone on the night before. Acting as if it never was.
They had been jovial and cheerful as ever, but Constance had only been able to endure a bit of it before returning to her room. She did not know if they hoped to make her think she’d imagined it all – how could she, when the marks were still visible on her flesh? – or what their intent was. All that she knew was that she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with either of them.
Later that day, the servants had returned from their short holiday and resumed their normal duties. Nana Eva had been with them, fresh from a visit with her daughter in the village, brimming with tales about her clever grandchildren.
Constance had claimed illness and stayed abed, waiting for the moment when the old woman would look sharply at her and know, the way Nana Eva said she always knew when a girl had been tainted. But that moment never came, and Nana Eva only fussed over her as she had done since Constance’s earliest childhood.
The week had gone by, and still that moment never came. The marks on her body faded, but the memory remained vivid, troublingly so. Rob continued carrying on as if nothing was amiss, living heartily in his role of governor while their father was away.
But she began to notice a cloud over his friendship with Enrique, and it did not take her long to divine the cause. Enrique still looked at her, in that yearning and speculative way that had been so disturbing before, but it was underscored now with something more. With knowledge … he no longer had to wonder what she looked like beneath her clothes, because he knew. And resented, perhaps, Rob’s refusal to let him have his way with her?
Her relief when Enrique was called home to Santa Martina knew no bounds. His departure earlier today had lifted a weight from her soul, and for the first time as she got ready for bed, she felt safe. Enrique was gone, the servants were in attendance, and nothing more could happen to her. It wouldn’t be that much longer until Father came home, and when she told him …
No … Rob was right about that much! How could she tell anyone? How could she tell them that she’d writhed like a slut beneath her brother? That she had driven her hips up against him to bring on the first of her traitorous spendings, the one that had made it all into most vile incest?
A shiver raced through Constance as she remembered it, her body reacting with far less abhorrence than her mind. Her body cared nothing for their blood relationship, or the indecency, or the ruination. Her body only cared that his clever touch had brought her to melting, a sweet hot melting like butter flowing …
She caught herself, realizing that she was drawing the brush through her hair in slow languid strokes, eyelids dreamily half-mast, the movement of her arm making the fabric of her nightgown slide enticingly over her breasts.
Her nipples poked at the silk, taut little points, and when she touched one, she gasped. An answering twinge came from her loins, as if her nipple and the tiny hidden nub tucked away down there were connected.
She set down the brush and, hardly aware of what she was doing, cradled her breasts in both hands, feeling their rounded shape and soft but firm weight as if she had never noticed them before.
The silk was cool, the skin beneath warm, and Constance slid her hands up. She squeezed gently, rolled her thumbs over her nipples, and sighed at the delicious thrill. It did seem to reach all the way to her loins. She shifted her hips slightly, aware of a mild but not unpleasant discomfort.
It was … quite nice, in fact.
She reclined on the sheets, bathed in diffuse moonlight. She caressed her breasts with one hand while the other stole, seemingly of its own volition, lower to brush against the silk-covered mound at the juncture of her thighs. Her knees drew up and parted, causing the hem of her nightgown to slide up to her hips.
For a moment, sense and reason tried to reclaim her. This was wrong, would be wrong even were it not inspired by her memories of that other night! To be touching herself like this was sinful and –
Those objections lasted only until that questing hand, still moving as if under its own will, crept between her legs. Her fingers combed through the lush curls and found the tender lips beneath, found them warm and moist.
Constance sighed again, forgetting all thoughts of right or wrong, and slipped her fingers into the furrow of those lips. She brushed against the hidden nub almost by accident, and stifled a cry at the sudden surge of pleasure.
“Ohhhhh,” she breathed, and began moving her fingers in an instinctive, slow, spiraling motion.
A draft belled the gauze at the window. Constance, eyes closed as she lost herself in the blissful sensations swirling through her loins, felt the cool push of air on her bare skin.
She slid her other hand down to join the first, dipping her forefinger into the channel of her cunny and marveling at the way that soft inner flesh clasped at her.
“What a naughty sister I have,” remarked Rob’s voice.
Her eyes flew open and there he was, standing in the doorway. The draft had been his opening of it, treating him to the sight of her sprawled across her bed with her hands thrust between her thighs and one breast exposed.
Riveted by shock, Constance couldn’t move for a moment. Rob took that moment to come into the room and close the door behind him.
“Look at what I catch you doing!” he said, one eyebrow at a sardonic tilt. “I wonder what you were thinking of?”
Constance yanked her hands away and pulled her nightgown down. “Go away!”
“Go away? But the fun’s just begun, sister dear! And you started without me.” He approached the bed, pulling his nightshirt over his head and letting it fall carelessly in a white heap. He was naked beneath, his skin silvered by the moonlight and his cock already standing straight and erect.
“Rob, no,” she said. “Not again.”
“But you need me, Constance. Look at you, resorting to yourself when there’s a perfectly serviceable man in the house. What a waste! We’ll soon set that right.”
She wrapped the sheet around herself. “I’ll scream, and this time there are people to hear me!”
“To hear, yes. To interfere? No.” He grinned, and for the first time she thought that her brother resembled a wolf, a tawny gold wolf with cold blue eyes. “I’m the master of the house now, and if they know what’s good for them, they’ll leave me to my own affairs.”
“Nana Eva --”
“Isn’t here,” he finished. “Didn’t you know? Her grandson is ill, and her daughter sent for her. You are right; she might have tried to stop us, but what she doesn’t know won’t harm her.”
“Rob, please, you must not do this!”
“After what I just saw, do you expect me to believe you don’t want it?”
“So you say, but you lie. I saw you petting that sweet cunny of yours. It needs to be fed, and I’ve its supper right here.” He stroked the head of his cock, and Constance watched, fascinated despite herself, as it rose to a new angle of stiffness.
“Rob …” she protested, ashamed at how weak it sounded even in her own ears.
He stopped at the edge of the bed. “It’s for your own good, darling sister. I can’t leave you unsatisfied, now, can I? When I’m man of the house? That would be poor manners indeed.”
“It is wrong! It is incest! How can you even want to do such a horrible thing?”
“Oh, because I’m a man, Constance, and we’re all beasts ruled by our basest passions. You’ll have to learn that sooner or later. Honor, nobility, gentlemanly conduct … lies, all of it. Any man, given the proper circumstance, would prove himself to be a selfish rutting beast.”
“I’m your sister!” she tried in desperation. “Father --”
“He doesn’t have to know, and believe me, you don’t want him to. It’s you he’d blame, not me.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? For one, he knows I’m a man and men are weak, unable to resist temptations. For another, he’s never trusted you. He thinks you’ll turn out just like Mother.”
“What?” She stared at him, confused yet aghast. “But he loved Mother --”
“Yes, but he never trusted her. Not after what happened. After all, she was their captive for more than a year. He thought she might have grown to like it, and he’s always been worried you’d be the same way. What would it do to him to hear that you are?”
“You wouldn’t! Oh, Rob, you can’t!”
“I’d hate to have to. But I’ll make a bargain with you, lovely sister-mine … you finish what you were doing, let me watch, and I swear, I’ll say not a word of it to Father.”
“You … you want me to … no!”
“Go on, do it. Caress yourself, Constance. Make yourself spend. You can, you know. It won’t be as good as having a man inside you, but you’ll like it all the same. I want to see you do it.”
“It’s wrong, it’s evil!”
“Forget all that. Think about how it feels.” His voice dropped to that persuasive purr she remembered so well, the one that haunted her thoughts. “Think about how it felt to have me down there, my tongue on you. Remember that? I do … your sweet taste, the clear honey of your excitement … oh, yes, I remember.”
“Stop it,” she moaned, his words bringing an unwilling resurgence of arousal.
“The way you slowed down,” he continued. “So as not to let it be over with? You wanted to spend, Constance. You needed it, craved it. Remember what it felt like to have me lay my cock against your cunny?”
“Rob, don’t do this, please!”
“I’ll never forget what it was like to have your hips start moving, rubbing on me like that. And the look on your face! A girl’s never more beautiful than in that moment, when she's on the verge of spending, oh, it’s wonderful, Constance. There’s such an expression of awe, yes, and a bit of fright, wondering if she’ll be able to stand it, wondering if any living creature can stand such pleasure and survive. I want to see that again. I want to see you do it to yourself, bring that look to your face. But it’ll be different this time, because there will be an awareness in it, an awareness that it’s you doing it, all you, your hands and your body, that the power is in you.”
She was nearly crying again, but also quaking as his impassioned speech fanned embers into flame. Oh, but she wanted to, she wanted to fall on her back and spread her legs and touch the flesh that was maddening her to the point of distraction.
Wanted to, and did … overcome, Constance unwound the sheet and let it drop. She stretched out on the bed and opened her thighs and thrust her hands between them. If her cunny had been warm before, it was burning now, and the curls of hair were damp with her arousal.
Her back arched as she found the center of her demanding need. She cried out, low but intense, and it didn’t matter to her that Rob was standing at the edge of the bed, holding his cock and rubbing it in time with her motions while his gaze never left her. Nothing mattered except for the wanton desire that was building to a fevered pitch.
She spent with such force that it seemed the world went soundless and white, her every nerve afire and her mind spinning apart into fragments that gradually drifted down and formed themselves back to cohesion.
Drifting, floating, yes, she was awhirl in the sensations so that when she felt his hands on her, she first thought they were her own hands. But then, as he lifted her, coaxed her to swing her leg, Constance regained her senses and saw what was happening.
Rob was on the bed, on his back. He had arranged her so that she was straddling his hips, the tip of his cock poised at the opening of her cunny.
“Now, do it, Constance,” he murmured harshly. “Lower yourself. Ride me. Fuck me, sister dear, and all of the power is yours.”
Objections flew through her thoughts like fireflies and were gone. She moaned in delirious abandon and sank onto his upthrust length, taking him deep within her in one smooth movement.
It was Rob’s turn to cry out, mostly in lust, partly in surprise that she’d actually done it.
She rocked atop him in an urgent rhythm, relishing the feel of his cock engulfed in her cunny, first sliding nearly to the point of withdrawal and then sinking back down. There was no pain this time, only the wonderful sensation of being filled, of the thick base of his cock pressing against her nub and sending her racing toward the peak again.
He lay beneath her with his hands to her bouncing breasts, and now she could see what he’d meant, that the power was hers, he was in her power, as helpless in the face of his passion as she’d been.
When he spent, when he emptied himself into her in a series of convulsions, he had to muffle his shouts with his own forearm, and his final frenzied thrusts were hard enough to raise her from the bed.
Even then, she didn’t stop, but kept riding him, until her own spending crashed over her like a wave. Only when the last of the tremors had ceased, only when Rob’s cock slid from her in a flaccid, diminished state, did Constance crawl from him and fall limply to the mattress.
Rob rolled onto his side and draped an arm over her. His breath was hot on her skin as he whispered into her ear.
“I’m glad you understand now, Constance. This is how it’s meant to be. How it’s going to be. At least until Father returns … and after, if we’re discreet.”
She mustered the strength to look at him. “What? Oh, no, Rob, we can’t! We mustn’t! Ever again!”
“How quick they say that once they’ve spent,” he chuckled, then grew serious. “No, Constance, we will. Again and again. As often as I like. You must take that to heart, little sister. You’re mine now. My possession, my bedsport, my whore. That’s how I aim to keep matters, and there’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.”
Continued in Chapter Three