Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle) (14 page)

Jane had lost count of how many hands of poker were played, and how many punishments she received. The only thing she knew was that even taking a breath was painful…and that she must have pleased Darkdale enough that he allowed her to sleep in his bed.

She could hardly move; her limbs were sore, her buttocks battered, and her sex still throbbed gently in a reminder of all its pleasurable activity in the last days.

Jane realized she had been wrong. Nothing that happened in Cold Eyes’s village had prepared her for being Kellan Darkdale’s submissive mistress.

As if her thoughts had wakened him, Darkdale moved next to her. He reached out and closed his hand over her breast.

“You were magnificent last night, Jane darling,” he said, fondling her with his strong fingers even as his eyes remained hooded. “You made me very proud. Hence your sleeping accommodations.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I don’t apologize for the severity of your punishment, however, and until you learn complete obedience, you will experience similar sorts of consequences. But for now…” His fingers found her sex and stroked her only twice before her traitorous body began to quiver, to heat and dampen and respond.

He smiled, then parted her legs as he rolled over on top of her.

“It could be like this every day,” he said as he filled her with long, slow, almost tender strokes. “And I would like that, Jane. I would very much like that.” He bent to kiss her breast and tongued its nipple lazily. Jane shivered and closed her eyes as pleasure washed over her easily this time—like a soft wave on the beach.

Then, all at once, she was struck by grief and pain. Zaren. It was Zaren she wanted—Zaren being tender with her, touching her with awe and kissing her gently. She wanted to wake next to him and begin the day at his side.

She felt so much more when she was with her jungle man—there was a depth that went far beyond her body’s physical reaction, and at that moment, Jane felt ashamed. Utterly ashamed at the unwilling, almost addictive response to the man who’d brought her here.

Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t turn her body off. As Darkdale fucked her, she shifted and panted and arched and took pleasure from the action as one might take pleasure from a belch or a piss…but in the end, it was only Zaren she truly wanted.

Only Zaren she loved. Only Zaren with whom she could completely give of herself…to whom she wanted to give herself.

The difference between lust and love had never been so clear to her.

When Darkdale finished, he withdrew and yanked on a bell pull. “You may stay here for a time,” he said, rising from the bed. “Because I am well pleased with you.” He cast her a soft, affectionate smile as he reached for the chamberpot. “I suggest you rest well, darling Jane, for I have a little surprise for you tonight. Marcine will be visiting…and she is looking forward to seeing you again.”

Jane couldn’t control a sharp little quiver of apprehension and something else. Anticipation? Desire?

Either way, she wanted nothing more than to do what Darkdale suggested: rest before what was certain to be another active evening.

Unless she could find a way to escape before then.

***

The day went by very quickly for Jane. She slept until well into the afternoon—waking only to be served luncheon by a dour-faced Trevor, who seemed irritated that she should be ensconced in Darkdale’s bed—and then luxuriated on the mattress for several more hours before she was taken to the same room where Marcine had prepared her only yesterday.

Bernice and Belinda were there, but their blond mistress was not. Still, the twins seemed perfectly capable of whatever task they’d been set to—which included bathing Jane, washing her hair, and removing the few stubborn gems that survived the poker party and its related activities.

After her bath, the maids massaged her body from shoulder to foot with a musky, delicious oil that made Jane’s skin soft and wildly sensitive to the touch. Her hair was left to hang long and loose, and she wore no other adornment but a slender gold chain around her throat from which draped a diaphanous cloak of shimmery gold.

A clock struck seven in the distance, which seemed to spur Belinda and Bernice into more speedy action. No sooner had the last of the seven strokes echoed into silence than the door to the chamber opened to reveal Trevor.

“She is here.” He spoke in a sharp, low tone to the twin maids—certainly not to Jane.

Before either of them could respond, Marcine walked through the doors. As yesterday, her blond hair was pulled back in a rather severe bundle, and she was dressed in an austere but extremely expensive gown of slate gray. Her hands were covered by startling red gloves, and her lips had been stained a matching scarlet.

Marcine’s eyes went immediately to Jane, scoring over her as if to ascertain whether the maids had completed their work to her standards. “Excellent,” she said when her examination was complete.

The maids and Trevor seemed to take this as a dismissal, for they bowed to Marcine and vacated the room. Jane was aware of a sense of foreboding as she waited for the other woman to command her.

“I have been looking forward to this evening ever since yesterday,” Marcine said with a small smile.

She might have intended to speak further, but the door opened once more and Trevor stood there. “He is waiting.”

Marcine glanced at Jane. “On your knees.”

Jane dropped immediately, gathering up her translucent cloak so it wouldn’t be trapped beneath her as she scurried out of the chamber in Marcine’s wake.

She wasn’t surprised when the other woman led her to the same chamber in which Darkdale had entertained his guests last evening. The sight of the large, bare white wall against which she’d been whipped made Jane’s belly drop and her insides flutter with a strange combination of apprehension and anticipation.

Darkdale was waiting for them, whiskey in hand. When they entered, he went to Marcine and kissed her on the cheek, then handed her a glass of the golden liquid. “Make yourself comfortable, my dear. At least for now.” His voice was heavy with anticipation, though he hardly spared Jane a glance.

“Oh, there’s no need to delay things on my account,” Marcine replied with a Cheshire Cat smile, which made her scarlet lips appear even more startling. “I’ve been anticipating this evening all day. The sooner we begin, the more pleased I shall be.” Her husky chuckle sent a little shiver down Jane’s spine.

“Very well, then. Far be it from me to dissuade you.” Darkdale sounded particularly pleased, and he went to adjust one of the massive leather armchairs so it faced the large bed in the corner of the chamber.

Marcine went to one of the cabinets on the far side of the room and opened the top drawer. “Perfect,” she purred, and pulled out a strange-looking item with leather straps and buckles. She glanced at Jane, and then smiled. “Let’s wait for this, shall we? There are other things to be done first. Kellan, my dear, did you hear about Hampstead?”

“Hampstead? What do you mean?”

Marcine crooked her finger at Jane. “Come. And take off that ridiculous cloak. I want to see you unhindered.” As Jane obeyed, her mistress turned to Darkdale. “Apparently the son of the missing heir has returned. So there is a new viscount, and poor George Lumley is now merely Mr. Lumley and has reverted to being the uninteresting—and poor—Hampstead cousin once more.”

“That must be quite the disappointment for the bastard, after having availed himself of the pleasures of the Hampstead estate—not to mention the funds—for two decades. Pity the poor fellow.” Darkdale didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic.

“At least you are a self-made man,” said Marcine, drawing Jane to her feet. “Absolutely delicious, if I do say so. You have exquisite taste, Kellan.”

“I cannot argue with that either, my dear. Shall I suggest Bentley invite the new viscount to our masquerade? If Lumley is to be replaced by the true heir, we should also replace him in our social gatherings as well. After all, he won’t have the funds to continue anyway. I’m certain if the new viscount is anything like Lumley, he’ll find our forms of entertainment quite…
satisfying
.”

Marcine seemed to be paying more attention to Jane than to Darkdale. Her eyes had changed from cool and anticipatory to warm and feral.

Jane couldn’t control a shiver as the other woman reached out to brush a fingertip over her upthrust nipple. Marcine smiled, her eyes narrowing with delight. “So incredibly responsive. Was she always like this?” She slipped her hand down to cup Jane’s quim as she had done yesterday.

“Always. According to Wheeling, anyway.”

“Incidentally, do we know whatever happened to dear Jonathan Wheeling?” Marcine slipped one finger inside Jane’s warm, wet vagina, and gave her own delicate shiver. “Very nice. Tight and ready.” She pulled away and then, as Jane watched, sniffed her glistening finger, then slipped her tongue out to swirl around it.

Jane’s breath clogged at the unexpected eroticism, and before she could look away, her gaze was caught by Marcine’s. There was heat, delight, and determination there—as if she were about to embark on some delightful but exhausting task.

“From what I’ve heard, our old friend Jonathan Wheeling has met a very bloody end at the hands—or should I say claws—of an angry lioness. His greed finally caused the death of him, as I had so often predicted.”

The fact that Darkdale and Marcine were speaking of Jane’s former fiancé in such blithe terms had little effect on her. She’d long come to realize that Jonathan had never truly loved her—for it was due to him that she’d been given to Cold Eyes and his villagers in payment for a map to a diamond mine.

“I have my own desires,” Darkdale continued in his mellow voice, “but they are more for flesh and blood than cold, hard stones.”

“But wasn’t Jonathan feared lost in the jungle? Isn’t that why you went to Madagascar with—oh.” Marcine’s laugh was one of admiring comprehension. “It was never the diamond mine you were after, was it, Kellan? It was our darling, luscious, delectable Jane here, wasn’t it?”

“Indubitably.” Darkdale sipped from his drink. “You understand me so very well, Marcine.”

“Of course. We are two of a kind.” She turned to Jane. “Bend over that stool there, arse up, knees wide. I want to see your hot, wet cunt showing while I undress.”

Jane’s flutter of anticipation was immediately eclipsed by a stab of apprehension as she went to obey. The stool was rather large, and cushioned with purple velvet. She bent over, lying on the padding on her belly with her breasts tumbling just over one side, bracing herself with her hands and knees.

She arranged her legs as directed and felt the edge of the stool pressing lightly against her suddenly ripening clit. When she heard movement behind her—she recognized Darkdale—Jane couldn’t help but tense. His trousers brushed one of her calves, and suddenly she felt the familiar, gentle slide of something hard and slender down her spine.

The riding crop.

“Shall I warm her up a bit for you, Marce?” he asked, slipping the flexible little rod down between her arse cheeks.

Jane closed her eyes as the two little nubs on the Y-shaped end of the crop slid down over her moist folds, then bumped their way across and over and around with slow, sensual movements. She quivered as he found her sweet spot, the hard little nub where all her pleasure was centered, and gently stroked it with the tip of the crop, and then
thwack!

She gave a soft shriek and reared up a little, one leg bumping into his foot. Her buttocks stung on one side, particularly tender after last night’s abuse. Panting, she focused on the carpet just below her nose and waited for the next blow to fall.

But it didn’t come. Instead, she heard more shifting and then suddenly, “Stand up, Jane, and come here.”

Wary, she pulled to her feet, very aware of the fullness of her quim and the slide of her juices between her legs. When she turned, she found Marcine standing in front of her, completely naked and with her long blond hair unbound.

She still wore the red gloves, which covered her from fingertip to past the elbow, and her scarlet lips blazed with the same color. Jane couldn’t help but notice her small, tight breasts with hard nipples, her pale white skin, and the thatch of blond hair between her legs that had been trimmed and plucked to nearly nothing. She also wore laced-up boots like nothing Jane had ever seen, also in the same bright red color. They had long, slender heels that looked like ice picks.

Jane swallowed hard, aware that her lungs felt constricted and her head felt light. She couldn’t suppress a sharp twinge of attraction and interest as she looked at the high, rose-tipped breasts and the interesting apex at her thighs.

On trembling legs, Jane walked over to Marcine as she’d been commanded, aware that Darkdale had resumed his seat in the chair and appeared ready to watch.

When she got close enough, Marcine stepped up to her, slid her arm around her waist, and pulled her against her own bare torso. Before Jane could react, she wrapped her other hand tightly in Jane’s hair, then covered her mouth with hers.

Jane had never been kissed by a woman before, and her first reaction was a stab of revulsion and horror. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but Marcine was stronger than she looked, and she easily held her in place. Her tongue thrust, strong and bold, swiping inside Jane’s mouth, deep and wet and rough.

It was the oddest sensation—both erotic and disconcerting—to have her breasts pressing up against another pair of hard-nippled tits. She felt Marcine’s bush and the press of her mound rubbing against her hipbone as the other woman kissed her, nearly mauling her mouth as if wanting to inhale her.

At last, Marcine pulled away and stepped back a little. She released Jane’s waist but kept a good grip on the fistful of hair she had, and yanked back so Jane’s chin jerked up sharply. Hardly able to swallow, barely breathing, she couldn’t move as Marcine trailed a finger down over her breast to circle a nipple. Then, without warning, she dipped her head and began to suck on it.

Jane squirmed and shuddered, but she couldn’t shift away as the sensation grew stronger and more intense. Heat rolled down through her body, centering at her throbbing, wet sex as she remained helpless under Marcine’s onslaught.