Wish Granted Ch. 06

Her husband was waiting in the dining hall, holding Danetta's chair out for her. "Good evening, Madam."

"Good evening." Daintily, calmly, she tried to glide to him. She sat down and let him nudge her close to the table. Then he took his seat. A servant came and served Danetta a bowl of creamy soup with a glass of pale wine.

"I hope you can forgive me for nodding away beside you," Duke Adurant said, his fingers laced together on the table. As usual, he didn't have a meal.

"Of course." She took a little scoop of her soup.

"What did you do once you realized I was sleeping?"

She sipped at her beverage. It was spicy. "I left you. That's all."

His head tilted a little. "That's all?"

"That's all," she said with a nod.

"That's well and fine, then."

The conversation began innocently. Eventually, though, when she was finished with the soup, she made a mistake. While responding to a question about horses, Danetta said, "I have limited experience riding, Your Grace."

The man's chair was shoved away with a scraping noise. He stood over her. His hand charged like lightning, crashing into her hair and net, the leather crunching as he pulled hard. Her head was forced to tilt back, and her throat was vulnerable. The pain almost wasn't registered, though. She mostly felt his power, both tangible and intangible.

While she could see the ceiling, like the pain in her scalp, she couldn't register it. Her mind was spinning about itself. Her barely hidden nipples were throbbing with expectant need. Her fingers fanned out on the table. She heard servants hurrying out of the room.

The mask loomed over her. Hot breath touched her face, laced with a cotton-like scent. "You're the Duchess here. You're the wife here." His voice was sandpaper against gravel. "You're never allowed to behave as if you're beneath me. You're allowed never to call me Grace."

Hastening breath had her nipples freeing themselves from her gown. They puckered up and silently begged for a caress. Her lips happily parted, and she whined.

The hand recoiled. Her husband stepped back. She missed it. She wanted that hand to return to her hair, pull her expensive net and circlet off, and drag her by her hair up to his bedchamber.

"I was cruel. I've abused you. Please. Please!" His voice was desperate. "Will you please forgive me?" Danetta lowered her head to a normal level and watched him bow to her. "Dear Wife, Innocent Wife! I will call all of my servants to this room and announce my transgression. As an example of morality, I should never abuse you, and if I do, I should admit it and right the wrong. I should never let any of the servants believe that assaulting the mistress of the castle is acceptable."

She held her hands up. "Husband! Dear Husband! Perhaps you were reckless, but I hold no ire." She stood up and went to him, frustrated, desperate for something considerable. Her arms wrapped over him. Her body quivered as his coat's deluxe fabric seemed to lovingly stroke her needy pink nipples. Her voice was demanding yet girlish. "Hold me! I beg you! Hold me and touch me! Place your hand in my hair and lead my body! Kiss me!"

"Danetta? Sweet One?" A questioning hand touched her shoulder blade.

"I felt no fear, no anger! I only felt my desire for you!" Her fingers seized his coat. Her weight shifted on the balls of her feet as she tried to hold herself up to him.

And then she was held, truly held. His thick arms clutched her body. Danetta felt as if she was being embraced by a sentient, caring tree with massive branches. She heard and felt his breath above her head, riffling her curls.

"My poor wife must have pity in her heart," he murmured into her curls.

"No! Pity me, Sir! Touch me!"

A sigh, a grumble of a sound, and then he pulled away, moving her arms off of him. He squeezed her hand with his smooth glove and said down to her, "Are you still hungry?"

Danetta shook her head.

He nodded and gently tugged on her arm. "Then we will retire to your bedchamber."

After he said that, he walked, and Danetta followed him, holding his hand almost as tightly as he held hers. Dizzy from exhilaration, Danetta giggled as her environment blurred and she could focus only on moving her feet and clinging to her husband. When they entered her bedroom, the duke ordered the handmaidens out. Once they had closed the door behind them, he held Danetta close again, and she nuzzled his chest.

His fingers sunk into the hair that wasn't in a net. Her head was happily tilted back again. Her eyes closed and she smiled as she felt warmth and fabric press into her throat, nuzzling her. There was breath, hot and irregular, fanning into her skin, making her moan. Then his other hand pressed onto her back. She leaned backwards, and his covered head swept over her bosom as he bent over her nipple. That point in her body was inflamed with enchantment. She licked her lips and keened out a thankful noise.

Then she was prodded towards her bed. Danetta was tearing at her clothes as she sat down on the mattress, pulling her jacket and over-skirt away. The stomacher went with it, since it was pinned to them. Her husband patiently helped her with the process. Some of the pins had to be removed. When that business was done, she was happy because he was holding her again, sliding what she believed to be his mouth back and forth on her nipple, rubbing the little bud with his fabric mask. His fingers ran up and down her arms. The thin collar of her chemise fell down, fluttering over the leather gloves.

Danetta let herself fall back against the mattress, hoping her husband would follow. He did, looming over her, a hand on the bed and another kneading her breast, leather against fragile silky skin. It was eerie yet addictive, and she wanted the feeling to last forever.

It couldn't. His hands moved to her skirts, and he pulled them up. There was the rustling, crinkling sounds of silk and linen being manipulated, and then there was the feeling of insistent leather slithering up her thigh. Danetta closed her eyes, wondering if he was planning to do it, planning to put his penis between her thighs.

Everything halted. She didn't feel anymore movement. Danetta was confused. She opened her eyes and sat up.

Duke Adurant was holding his wrist, his head pointed down as if he was silently contemplating a recent tattoo.

"Husband?"

His fingers bent and straightened, and bent and straightened again, as if following a pattern. Then he pushed more of his sleeve into his glove. He muttered something Danetta couldn't understand.

She reached out to him, wanting him to fall onto the bed with her. He moved back with a single step. Her hands fell to the bundle of cloth around her waist, and then she dug into the lavish skirt she had been so proud to wear.

"Husband, won't you claim this bride properly?" Her voice rose at the end, and she thought she might cry.

A nod, and then he stepped back to her. His fingers hooked under her knees, and he said, "Lie down, Dear One."

Her smile returned, and she went back into her supine position. Her circlet's jewels bounced and slid about her brow. She felt dull tips of leather press down her thighs, under her chemise, and the sensation was so peculiar, so foreign that she almost had no choice but to enjoy it. It was new and fresh to her senses.

"Oh! Oh!" Her legs quivered. The heels of her shoes stabbed the mattress. She didn't care about her shoes touching the bed. She hadn't been outside anyway.

And then it was pressing on her, the warmed leather, stroking up and down her bare slit between her thighs. The flesh there awoke; it pulsed and savored the touches. Danetta groaned into the back of her hand.

Then there was another new sensation, the little nubbin hidden at the top of her slit was gently caressed, and Danetta's mind cracked into pieces. Pleasure, hot, stabbing pleasure was shocking her. She didn't know this was even possible.

"Ooooooh ooohhhhhhh!" Her body was liquid fire sealed in flesh. Her previously neglected little clitoris was soaking up the attention, cheering the leather on with its silent throbbing. Blood was puffing her little bits up. Wetness was leaking out of her, and to her surprise, and enthrallment, her husband was determined to spread the liquid up and down her opening, especially over her intensified clitoris.

She heard the duke's voice, robust, husky, and scattering over her body like shavings of gold over an already lavish dessert. "Is this sweet, Dear Wife? Have I pleased you?"

"Yes! Ah, yes!" Her hips careened violently. Inside her shoes, her toes clamped down. His fingers were moving so fast against her, circling and rubbing. She thought she might die from the combination of madness and joy.

His chest was swelling and receding rapidly; his breath sounded painful. "Do you know what cum means, Sweet One?"

Come? As in, coming and going? No, he must have meant something else. Danetta shook her head.

"It's when all your pleasure reaches its highest point and you turn mad, but you don't care. It's better than any drug you can think of, but it's perfectly healthy."

Her torso bounced on the bed as she whined, "I don't care! I only want this! I want you to touch me! Don't stop touching me!"

"Precisely, Dear Mistress. This is what I'm doing. I'm touching you. I'm leading you up to your highest point, and I want you to cum as much as you can." His head tilted as he apparently looked down at her, possibly at what his fingers were touching through the leather. Danetta couldn't see what he was doing, but she obviously felt it, loved it, needed it.

"Please ... oh please! It's so good! It's wonderful!" Her head was moving back and forth, nearly tangling her circlet's loops and dangling chains. "Faster! Please!"

He obliged, by the gods, he obliged! He moved his fingers faster.

She screamed, threw her head back and screamed at the canopy ceiling over her bed. She was full of extreme emotion and matching physical sensation.

"Ah, there you are, Wife. You've turned so much more beautiful."

He took advantage of every little quirk in her muscles, pressing harder and harder, until her body finally stilled and her feet fell down to the floor.

Danetta was lowering from her new high, and she sighed as her heart pounded in her chest. She saw her husband move up and over her body. His head came to her throat, and something that felt like a covered nose touched her skin. Then there was a set of lips, a kiss with cloth. She whined at the feeling.

A rough whisper arose. "I need to restrain myself. I hope you'll forgive me."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I should go."

And he left her. Danetta shot up and watched him rush out of the room as if he was fleeing a monster. He didn't even close the door. She went to the doorway and watched him run down the hallway and to his own bedroom.

So many questions, so many hurtful, miserable questions were overloading her brain. She fell to her knees on the stone floor and put her hands to her face. Soon, her hands were moist with tears, and they were warmed by the frustrated heat in her face.

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