Bound by Bliss (11 page)

She closed her eyes against the image and then opened them again, staring at the Binkshaws. Such thoughts were forbidden. Even here, even when she was exploring her own desires, she refused let her mind wander there.

Bliss knew color was rising in her face and pressed it more determinedly against the peephole, her eyes fixed on Mr. Binkshaw’s fingers as they glided and moved. Mrs. Binkshaw was shifting and squirming, her face tight, her mouth slightly open. Bliss wished that she could hear what was happening. Were those moans or sighs escaping the parted lips? She knew her own lips had parted, her body alight with imagined sensation—and real sensation as well; there was no denying what effect watching was having on her.

She felt breathless and achy and needy, her body longing for…Her own heart sped and beat harder, her breaths increasing in intensity. When Mr. Binkshaw parted the cheeks of his wife’s behind and his thumbs moved into the deep crevasse between, Bliss found herself squirming and shifting. The back of her legs bumped into Duldon and she froze. She could feel the warmth and strength of his body surrounding her, the hardness and thrust of his thighs. She should move away, but found herself powerless to do so. The desire to press back into him was almost overwhelming, dizzying. Biting down hard on her lower lip, she tried to control the desires that began to overwhelm her.

“You are beginning to pant a little. Do you wish to tell me what is happening? Is he fucking her?” Duldon whispered the words and particularly that word against her ear.

Had anyone ever used such language with her before? She’d certainly heard the word before, but always in passing and never had it been directed at her. Again, it should have been distasteful, but something in his tone created an intimacy that caused something warm to unfurl deep in her belly. “No. He is merely caressing her behind,” she said, her voice so low even she had trouble hearing it.

“You mean her ass?”

Her belly trembled. She refused to be cowed—or overcome—by the blunt language. “Yes, her ass.”

“Tell me how he is caressing it. Softly?” Duldon trailed fingers along her arm, the barest brush but every tiny hair stood on end. “Or with more pressure?”

Suddenly his hands rested upon her shoulders and the fingers dug firmly into flesh, moving, kneading…It felt so good. Tension had built up there, at the joint of shoulder and neck, and she had not even been aware of it. She sighed softly, her body arching back toward him, moving to do that which it already desired.

“It is more like the second, I think,” she replied, trying to keep her wits about her. His fingers were magic, and the thoughts he put into her head forbidden.

“Is she enjoying it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How can you tell?”

“Her face. I can see her face. Her eyes lie half closed, and her lips—even without being able to hear a word—I can feel the moans that escape them,” she answered.

“And how else can you tell?”

Bliss looked more carefully, trying to determine how she could feel the woman’s pleasure. “Her skin, it grows flushed, on her…her ass, where he touches, but also all over. She looks as if she were walking uphill on a summer day.”

“I like your description, but are there any other ways you can feel her pleasure?”

Was he leaning more over her? It was hard to tell, but with each breath she took she felt that there was more contact between them, and more shivers spread through her. “I truly don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me, is she naked? Completely? Can you see her cunny?”

Cunny? Bliss pondered the word for a moment, distracted from the scene before her. “You mean her woman’s place?”

“Yes, I imagine that is what I mean. Have you never heard the word ‘cunny’ before?” He whispered in her ear, his breath teasing her.

“I don’t think so. It would not be surprising if one of my brothers or the stable boys used it, but perhaps I did not understand and so forgot.”

“I don’t imagine you will forget this time, my sweet. Now, tell me, can you see it?” His fingers began to knead her shoulders again and lightning shot down through her breasts and then between her legs. She moved from foot to foot trying to find comfort, trying to fight the need growing deep in her belly.

“Almost. Sometimes. She’s angled a little away, but when she shifts I can see a deeper pink and…”

“Is she wet and glistening? Does she look eager for a man’s mouth and cock?” His voice wrapped about her, forcing her to imagine herself in Mrs. Binkshaw’s position.

Bliss began to pant. “Yes. When he presses his fingers into her flesh it separates some and I can see it shine, and down her thighs. They glisten and look damp.”

“And what of you? Are you damp and glistening? Are you longing to be touched, caressed, pleasured?” The backs of his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts, but Bliss could swear she felt the faintest of strokes upon her inner thighs.

Chapter Seven

Bliss swallowed, unsure how to take this sudden turn from watching to thinking about her own body, to thinking about her body and Duldon, to thinking about the weight of him pressed against her, the warmth of his thighs, the hardness of the body that surrounded her, the stroke of his fingers reaching for places that had never been touched. “I—I—I don’t know.”

“Do you really not? I can feel your legs pressed together. Is that to stop the ache between them—or to increase it?”

One of his hands left her shoulder and trailed down her back. Could he feel how she trembled at his touch? How she longed to flee and yet longed even more to press herself tight against him?

“Are you embarrassed by my questions?” he asked as his fingers settled upon her waist and squeezed lightly.

“Of course not.” She could only be glad he could not see her blush.

He chuckled, vibrations tickled her ear. “Then let us step back a bit in time. Tell me what he is doing now. Is he still touching her ass?”

“Yes, but his fingers move deeper and lower with each caress. One of his hands has sunk between her legs and is moving in a place I cannot see. I am not quite sure what he is doing.”

“I can imagine.”

“He is spreading her wider and wider. He just shoved her knees a bit apart. I think he will…fuck her in a moment, just as Mr. Banks did in the library. Although he does still have his breeches on. He is spreading her moisture across her. And she likes it. Her hips are beginning to buck almost like a horse. She keeps pressing back and he shoves her forward again. I think she wants more and he is holding back.”

“Is she quivering with need as he deprives her? Does she want more and more and yet the more he refrains the more she wants? A greedy thing, is she?”

Bliss would never have thought of it that way, but said, “Yes, that is exactly it. She wants more.” Just as Bliss did.

Duldon’s fingers wrapped tighter about her waist, whether to pull her to him or hold her tight she could not be sure. It was hard not to move her hips as Mrs. Binkshaw did. Her own need was growing and with every touch she watched she felt a phantom one upon her own flesh, the lightest brush or the firmest grasp, it mattered not. And then…

“My God,” the words came on a single great exhale.

“What?”

“He struck her. He pulled back his hand and hit her flat upon her behind.” Her surprise was so great that the more familiar word slipped from her lips. “And he did it again.”

Duldon tightened against her; she could feel every muscle in him harden and grow strong.

“And again. Should we get help? God, I don’t know what to do.” And she didn’t. The one thing she did know was that she could not look away. Her eyes remained fastened on the rapidly reddening skin of Mrs. Binkshaw’s behind. Each blow that fell caused Mrs. Binkshaw to rise up more, to move into it—to—to seek it? Was she really moving toward the blow? Bliss’s eyes moved to Mrs. Binkshaw’s face. The eyes were large now, but not with fright. It was impossible to escape the emotion that moved within them, to miss the heat high in her cheeks, the swollen red lips. “She likes it. I don’t understand. She likes it. How can someone like being spanked? I never liked being spanked, although to be fair it only happened once.”

“Who spanked you?” Duldon’s voice was low.

“Swanston.”

“I can see how that would not be enjoyable.”

Bliss kept staring ahead, her mind locked on what was happening before her. “Her skin has gotten so red and tender looking. And yet she seems to want more. She’s spreading her legs farther, directing him to her most tender spot. She doesn’t want him to slap her there, does she? Oh, she does. And he’s doing it.” It was getting hard to draw breath. Tiny darts of sensation ran through her and Bliss felt the backs of her thighs tingle with each blow she watched; her—her cunny quivered. What would it be like to feel so ready and needy? To feel a man’s powerful hand pressing one to his will? To desire nothing but…

She almost jumped when Duldon’s other hand left her shoulder and drifted down her back, past her waist to her behind. She stood still, frozen, suddenly completely distracted from what was happening before her. Should she say something? Pull away? Although there was almost no place to go in the narrow hallway that held the peepholes.

Drawing a deep breath in, she did her best to ignore the hand. Perhaps he didn’t realize it was there? Maybe it had just slid down and he wasn’t thinking about it and where it had landed. Perhaps he didn’t realize where it was? No, that was nonsense. Duldon had already demonstrated this night that there might be more to him than she had thought. He knew exactly what it was doing—and what it was doing to her.

Yes, she would ignore it, pretend it was not there.

She focused on the scene before her again. Mr. Binkshaw was opening his breeches. He was turned away from her, so she couldn’t really see anything except for pale buttocks. They were much more muscular than she had expected. Again, he nudged his wife’s legs apart and then, with a sudden thrust of hip, he was in her.

Bliss swallowed again, watching the steady thrust and withdraw of him. Mrs. Binkshaw moved in tandem with him, straining back and then lunging forward. Her face was turned to the side and Bliss could see the effort and the want reflected in her flushed cheeks and wide eyes. She wanted something, wanted it badly, her whole body spasmed with the need for it. Her mouth opened and Bliss could see that her lips formed words, commands. Bliss might not be able to hear, but she knew that expression of command.

She circled her own hips in imitation of Mrs. Binkshaw and felt Duldon’s fingers tighten. Feeling shot straight from their squeeze to between her legs. He’d asked her earlier if she was wet and she had refrained from truly answering. There was no question now; she could feel dampness slicking her thighs, her tight breeches holding the moisture to her. He squeezed tighter, his fingers moving over fabric, awaking her sensitive skin.

It felt good, far better than it should have.

She leaned into him. She knew she should not, but how could she resist?

Another squeeze, harder, tighter, more lightning bolts connecting his hand and the ever-tightening sensation at the apex of her thighs.

“He’s fucking her now, isn’t he? And you like it? You like it very much, don’t you? Do you wonder what it feels like? Do you imagine taking a man into your body? Feeling the long, thick length of a cock sliding in and out? Do you want that? Do you want another orgasm like the one you had in the gardens?” Duldon’s other hand slid down to grasp her other buttock, his fingers digging in tight as he began to massage her through her breeches.

She was going to faint. Bliss had never fainted in her life, but it was going to happen here and now. Her body felt as if it could no longer support itself; knees quivered, thighs shook. Her back arched, allowing her to rest her chest against the wall, but it also pressed her more firmly into Duldon’s hand. The excitement of her mind, of all that she watched, combined with the desire of her body, of Duldon’s touches, to leave her vulnerable, open—and needy, so very needy.

She should pull back, she really should, but it felt so good.

God, she could only hope she was not purring.

“What’s happening now?” his voice whispered.

“I—I…” It took effort to focus. “I need to look again. I’ve lost track. Oh, he’s flipped her. She’s on her back now on the bed and he’s still, still moving. How long does this normally take? It was rather quick when I watched Lord Banks.”

“Poor Lord Banks,” Duldon chuckled, but his fingers continued to move. “Never let him hear you say that. Men take a certain pride in being able to last. But it lasts as long as it does, sometimes fast, sometimes almost endless. It depends on many factors.”

“Such as?” she gasped, trying to think of anything instead of betraying the wonder that continued to build between her legs.

“Passion and buildup.” His fingers moved lower on her behind, almost down between her thighs, the thick fabric of her breeches rubbing against her, tantalizing her.

The tension she’d felt when Duldon kissed her in the gardens was surging again, winding her tighter and tighter. No matter how tightly she pressed her legs, it brought no ease. “I don’t understand.”

“When a couple has been wanting for a long time it can be quite quick. Much of the play happens before a single piece of clothing is dropped. At other times it can take longer—if a couple has been together for a while or if it is not the first time of the night. Drink, fatigue, age, these also can make a difference.” His fingers moving over her thighs, a thousand prickles of delight spreading from them.

“That makes sense.” Bliss sighed, her attention caught between his ever more daring fingers and the sight of Mrs. Binkshaw’s face as she approached that magical moment, approached her orgasm. “She’s very flushed now and moaning, or at least I think she is moaning. It is hard to tell when I cannot hear.”

“I imagine you are right. Is anything else happening? Describe to me what you see.”

“No, there’s really nothing else happening. Well, his hips are certainly moving with some vigor. I cannot see his face. Oh, his hands have moved to her breasts. He’s stroking, no—squeezing. She likes it. She likes it a great deal. Her face, oh, I wish you could see her face. I’ve never thought of her as a truly beautiful woman, but now, flushed with joy and with her eyes glowing I am not sure I’ve ever seen lovelier.”