The Virtuous Wife's Tale Ch. 07

Isabella was under no illusion the following six weeks were going to be difficult and she had only had herself to blame. If she had hidden her diary better, had secreted it in the attic or even buried it where only she knew where to find it. She feared her own words would be her undoing, and that they would be used against her.

Night had spread its dark fingers over Pendragon House and Isabella picked up the blindfold, she felt the soft velvet and remembered the last time she had worn it. Her master had been gentle, had stroked her skin and yet she could still feel the tightness of his hands around her wrist. Isabella waited. Tonight she would know more of him, she was certain of that.

Isabella tied on the blindfold, and sight her other senses were heightened. She heard the floorboards creak as they settled, the smell of the sea blowing in through the window and her skin prickled with anticipation. Isabella hadn't felt as alive as she did at that moment. It was as she had been asleep and was now awake. The times she had spent with Mary, punishing her maid with whip and hand, taking advantage of the maid's eagerness to please her, were nothing compared to the way she now felt, waiting for her master.

She felt her breasts, through the silk they felt tight and ready, tweaking her nipple heat ran down her belly and between her legs. With nothing to distract, no sight to diminish the intensity of the feeling of pleasure, the nub between her legs begin to throb and the slightest touch sent her reeling with pleasure. Her hand moved down, rubbing her flat stomach, stroking herself through the silk. Her breath like the stormy wind that blew in the midst of winter. Isabella opened her legs and pressed her hand onto her swollen sex.

'It would be foolish to continue.'

Isabella started, her hands flew to her mask, but her wrists were grabbed and she was pulled forward. 'When...I didn't hear...' she gasped, struggling to free herself.

'Isabella, you have so much to learn.'

It was her master, but how could he have slipped into her room without her noticing? Had she been too focused on her own pleasure to have heard the door open?

'Do you remember your instructions today?' he was holding her tightly, her wrists hurt, her pride dented, but she could smell his cologne, dark and spicy, and she stopped struggling.

'My instructions?'

'Yes your embroidery lesson with Mrs Hancock.'

'I am to make a sampler. There is nothing unusual in that.'

'And what is to be the subject of this piece of work?' he sighed.

'I am to embroider the seven virtues.'

'Which are what, Isabella?'

'Why...' Isabella said, then without warning was pushed back onto the bed, her arms pinned above her head. She felt the weight of her master holding her down.

'You will not question me,' he hissed, shifting his weight. 'Now what are the seven virtues?'

'Please, you are hurting...'

'The virtues.'

'Chastity, Temperance, Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness and Humility,' Isabella said. He released his grip on her wrists, moved until she felt the whisper of his body on hers as if he were teasing her.

'Good Isabella, now it my task to teach you the value of being a good a virtuous wife, your fiancée does not want a sinful wanton as his betrothed.'

'I do not want to marry such a...'

'Your wants do not concern me,' he snapped. 'I am here to do the bidding of Lord DeVillier and show you the errors you have committed.'

Isabella bit her lip. She wanted to scream at her master that she didn't want anything from Simon DeVillier, she didn't want to marry him, she wanted. What did she want? She knew at that moment she wanted the man who was so close that she could taste him, the man she was not allowed to see, the man who set her heart and her loins pounding.

'Today you will learn Chastity. You shall not touch or take pleasure in your body while you are here at Pendragon House.'

How could she remain chaste when his presence filled her with such a need that it was frightening?

'Do you understand, Isabella?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'Good,' her master said, leaving her.

Isabella strained her ears. Where had he gone? Is this her lesson in chastity? To remain on her bed, blindfolded, not knowing what was to happen next?

'Are you ready?' he breathed into her ear and Isabella heard a tremble in his voice. Yes she was ready.

'Lift your arms above your head.'

Isabella complied. She could feel his breath on her skin, hot, urgent, but he did not touch her. Isabella waited. Then she felt it, a light movement on her skin, moving up and down her arm. Isabella giggled.

'Chastity Isabella, you must not give in to your immediate pleasures,' he said and she could hear amusement in his voice.

She felt the soft whisper of the touch of a feather on her skin, and Isabella bit her lip trying not to move or give in to the desire to laugh out loud. Gradually the tickling feather moved down, stroking the top of her breasts and this time it was not laughter she was suppressing, but the quickness of her breathing gave her away.

'Control of your desires will bring you more pleasure than giving in to them, Isabella,' he said, pulling down the front of the silk shift until it rested just above her nipples.

With a touch lighter than air the feather was stroked across her breast, she felt her nipples harden underneath the silk. She knew he could see how aroused she was becoming. The way the feather flicked from the top of her breast to the edge of her nipple, sometimes quickly giving her little time to draw breath and sometimes so slowly that she could feel her skin tighten.

'You are doing well, Isabella,' her master said as he flicked the top of her nipple with the feather. She was so aroused, the tight nipples so tender, that it felt as if he had struck them, making her gasp. Then the touch was gone. Isabella waited.

Where was he?

Isabella yelped as the feather tickled the sole of her foot. She pulled back. It was unbearable. She felt him take hold of her ankle and once again run the feather along her sensitive skin.

'Please not there,' she whispered. 'I cannot bear it.'

'You have to learn that pleasure is to be experienced by all of your body and it is a chaste woman who can accept this with quiet virtue.'

She didn't feel chaste or virtuous. She hated the feeling of the feather running from her toes to her ankle and wanted it to end. But he kept on. Isabella realised that if she remained still, did not show any emotion, he would stop. She tried to think of anything distract her from his ministrations, but all she could think of was of the way he had held her, his hands on her. Even so it worked and he released his hold on her ankle.

Once again the feather was removed. The anticipation of where it would touch her next was delicious.

At first she thought it was the silk of her dress brushing the inside of her leg. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she felt the feather stroking up from her ankle. It rested on the back of her knee, so sensitive that it sent sparks as if she were on fire up and down her leg. Heat pulsated up and down her body and she could feel herself becoming aroused. Isabella wiggled trying to give herself some relief.

'Keep still,' her master said, gently moving her legs apart.

Isabella felt the feather on her thighs and could hear the rustle of the silk against his hand. She knew he couldn't see her arousal, covered in virginal white silk she could only imagine what he was feeling. Did he want to take her? But if he did then surely he would have done so by now. All she could feel was the feather expertly used so that she could feel nothing other than its unrelenting movement upwards.

Her breathing gave her away, short and sharp. She gulped as the feather brushed the outside of her labia, the lips so swollen that the lightest of strokes had her gasping for air.

'Remember, Isabella. You must control your body, do not allow your wanton desires to win.'

Even though she was wearing the mask, Isabella shut her eyes tight. Concentrate on something, anything. Shadow he always took her to places where she felt free, but all Isabella could think of was the last time she rode him on the moors, of how riding him without a saddle aroused her. The feather ran along the length of her sex. Luke, no she couldn't think of Luke and there was Mary and Isabella remembered how her maid would plunge her tongue inside her, bringing her to glorious release.

'Please, let me...I must be allowed to let my passion to...'

'No Isabella, you must bear this and prove that you can be the chaste wife of your Lord.

At the mention of his name Isabella cooled. All she had to do was imagine how it would be to take Simon DeVillier into her bed. Feel his hands on her body, his lips slobbering over her breasts and then his, no doubt tiny penis, entering her. The thought of it sent shivers down her spine.

The feather was now flicking inside her, touching her clitoris, flicking across it.

But it was now Simon licking and sucking. In her imagination she pictured her wedding night, of how her betrothed would satisfy himself then roll off her panting, leaving her to find her own pleasure with her fingers. As if doused with freezing water she felt all of the excitement and passion aroused by a simple feather leave her.

'You have done well, Isabella,' her master said, removing the feather.

'Thank you,' Isabella replied feeling calm and a little pleased that she had succeeded in controlling her body as he had instructed her to.

'Your next lesion will be one of temperance. Once you have added this to your sampler I shall begin your instruction.'

Isabella heard the door open. She could sense he was watching her, waiting to see if she would give in, take pleasure in her body, failing before she had begun. She knew that if she did it would anger him, and there was one thing she knew, more than her hatred of her fiancée, was that she had to feel the touch of her master again.