Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (20 page)

Charles alternated between caressing Miss
Terrell’s limbs with the crop and striking them. She emitted all
manner of lovely sounds, from sighs to moans. He considered pushing
the crop farther up her skirts. How might she react if he rubbed
the crop along her mound, if the tip should find the pleasure bud
beneath? But such thoughts made the blood pound in his head, and he
wanted no titillation. Nor would he allow himself to touch her
intimately.

He turned to Miss Katherine. “Are you
prepared to join Miss Terrell? Remember that you need but utter
your safety word if you wish to discontinue.”

She nodded and rose to her feet. He had her
lay on the other side of the bed, which was just large enough to
fit the two women. He handed the crop to Wendlesson and wrapped the
second scarf about her eyes, which were not devoid of concern.

“Remember your safety word,” he reassured
her. “I will explain all that will happen. I will bind your wrists
to the bed, as I did with Miss Terrell, and no more.”

She allowed him to wind the rope about her
wrists and secure them to the headboard.

“A fine sight,” said Wendlesson, who stood
at the foot of the bed.

Charles looked upon the scene of the two
women with their lovely arms pulled to the bed, the scarves making
their mouths the most prominent feature in their physiognomies. His
gaze fell upon Miss Terrell’s lips, and he noted how their
suppleness made them protrude. His cock pulsed.

Crop in hand, Wendlesson approached his
wife.

“As Miss Katherine is unacquainted with the
crop,” Charles stayed him, “let us begin first with an ostrich
plume.”

He went to the sideboard and found one for
the viscount.

“His lordship will caress you with the
plume,” he informed Miss Katherine.

Though disappointed, Wendlesson put down the
crop, accepted the plume and touched it to her neck. She giggled.
He drew it across her collar and up her arms.

“Do you savor its rich softness, Miss
Katherine?” Charles asked.

“Yes…” she said after another giggle.

“Yes, Master,” Wendlesson corrected.

“Yes, Master.”

The plume brushed her cheek, and she giggled
again when it tickled her neck.

“Now the crop?” Wendlesson inquired.

“Now your hand,” Charles said, looking over
at Miss Terrell, waiting patiently and silently. “Caress the parts
touched by the plume.”

Complying, Wendlesson stroked her neck, her
collar, her cheeks, and her arms. She sighed.

“Now the same with your lips.”

Wendlesson leaned over his wife and kissed
the length of her arm. He planted kisses atop her chest and
décolletage.

Charles stared at Miss Terrell’s lips. “Now
take the mouth.”

Wendlesson kissed his wife, softly at first,
then with growing ardor. Miss Terrell made no movement, though her
chest heaved as her ears were necessarily filled with the smacking
of lips and the muffled murmurs from Miss Katherine. Charles went
to the bed and untied Miss Terrell. He pulled the scarf from her
eyes and beckoned for her to get off the bed. Wendlesson’s kisses
had moved from Miss Katherine’s lips to her bosom. Charles gestured
for Miss Terrell to take a seat in the chair, which still faced the
bed. He stood beside the chair.

“Bare her legs,” he instructed Wendlesson.
“And remember the plume.”

The viscount pushed up her skirts and
stroked her legs with the feather. Miss Katherine had slim legs
like those of Miss Greta, with thighs slightly wider than the lower
half of the leg. Only the women of southern Asia could claim more
slender legs. Miss Terrell, in contrast, had defined curves to her
legs, especially about the calves and upper thighs. If he were not
cognizant that the time belonged to Miss Katherine, he might have
played the crop upon Miss Terrell longer. There was more of her to
explore.

“Now employ your hands upon those charming
limbs.”

Miss Terrell watched with interest, but he
knew her to glance his way often. Wendlesson reached a hand to the
tops of Miss Katherine’s thighs. He cupped her mound and begun to
rub her. She emitted a lush groan. Miss Terrell closed her eyes for
a moment, imagining or wishing she might be touched in similar
fashion. For the briefest of seconds, Charles considered fondling
her as she watched the erotic scene before her. It might relieve
the pressure at his crotch to touch her. But he shook the thought
from his head. This was her punishment.

Wendlesson pleasured his wife till she was
visibly agitated and panting for more. She writhed softly upon the
bed. Charles had not tied the ropes tightly, but he need not have
with Miss Katherine. Befitting her nature, her body moved in a shy
and demure manner. He had no qualms binding Miss Terrell more
forcefully. Though not much larger than Miss Katherine, Miss
Terrell seemed, nonetheless, to be made of stronger mettle.

“Now you may try the crop,” Charles said,
“and begin with a light touch.”

Wendlesson took the crop and slid it along a
leg. From the corners of his eyes, Charles could see Miss Terrell
squirm in the chair, her cheeks flushed. She opened and closed her
thighs, then stared at his crotch. He could not prevent the blood
from stiffening his cock.

“May I pleasure you, Master?” she asked.

“No,” he replied sternly and as persuasively
as he could.

“Will you touch me?”

“No.”

“Then, may I touch myself?”

“No. You will sit and bear witness and do
nothing more.”

She pursed her lips in displeasure.

Wendlesson had graduated from tapping the
crop against Miss Katherine to an occasional light slap, which drew
little yelps from her.

“Caress her in between the blows,” Charles
reminded him.

Wendlesson did as instructed, keeping Miss
Katherine aroused with one hand while striking her with the
other.

“You allowed me to pleasure myself
yesterday,” Miss Terrell said.

“That was yesterday,” Charles replied.

“But you enjoyed the sight, did you not, of
such a wanton act?”

Ignoring her question, he said, “Today you
are being punished, Miss Terrell.”

“You intend I should sit here for the
remainder of the evening?”

He repeated himself, “And do nothing
more.”

She stared at him like a petulant child
being denied biscuits before supper, then tossed her head. “Very
well. I can do without caressing myself.”

Unsure what she meant, he crossed his arms
before him and focused on Wendlesson and Miss Katherine. The two
seemed to have forgotten others were present. The former fondled
her vigorously.

“May I—may I spend, Master?” Miss Katherine
huffed.

At that, Wendlesson unbuttoned his fall. His
cock had been hard for some time, and he eagerly spread her thighs
and positioned himself between them. He speared himself into her.
Miss Terrell grunted. Charles tried to remain impartial to the
scene before him and the presence of Miss Terrell beside him. As
Wendlesson thrust into Miss Katherine, Miss Terrell continued to
grunt and whimper as if participating in the exertion.

“May I?” Miss Katherine asked.

Lost in his efforts, Wendlesson made no
reply. Miss Terrell had shut her eyes and grasped the arms of the
chair. Curious, Charles turned his gaze upon her. Her breath had
shortened.

“Please,” Miss Katherine pleaded.

Charles stared at Miss Terrell, who sat
still in the chair but whose brow furrowed in concentration.

“Please!”

“Granted!” Charles shouted when he heard no
word from Wendlesson.

A few moments later, Miss Katherine emitted
a cry. Miss Terrell followed with a shudder that went through the
whole of her body. With a long exhale, she sank into the chair as
if…spent. Charles could hear Wendlesson grunting and panting as he
continued to seek his conclusion. The bed creaked beneath his
thrusting. Gradually, Miss Terrell opened her eyes. She looked up
at Charles and her lips curved into a satisfied smile. Charles
continued to stare in disbelief. Had she, indeed, spent or was it
an act? It would appear she had experienced some small paroxysm,
but how the devil had she managed that?

“Please, it-it is uncomfortable,” Miss
Katherine said.

Wendlesson was pounding into her, his brow
beaded with perspiration, the veins in his neck protruding.

“Please. Please!”

Charles expected the man to spend at any
moment, but he continued to shove himself desperately into Miss
Katherine.

“Please! Jean!”

When Wendlesson did not cease, Charles
strode over and barked, “Lord Wendlesson!”

The viscount snapped to attention and slowed
his movements. Charles removed the blindfold from Miss
Katherine.

“It was b-beginning to hurt,” she
explained.

“I’m sorry,” Wendlesson huffed. “I did not
hear.”

He disengaged from her. His shaft, short but
with a wide girth, was still hard.

Charles untied her from the bed. “You
performed remarkably. Would you not agree, my lord?”

“Yes, yes.”

“You must be pleased with her progress.”

Wendlesson nodded. “Yes.”

Charles assisted her from the bed. “Miss
Terrell will accompany you to the dressing room and assist you with
your toilette.”

She nodded, then looked with concern to her
husband, who sat upon the bed, stroking his erection.

“Is there more—should I—?” she asked of
Charles.

“Your lesson for the evening is concluded,”
he replied and handed her over to Miss Terrell.

After the women had left, Wendlesson said
gruffly, “You sent them away, but I have yet to spend.”

“The pleasure of the submissive takes
precedence.”

“That may be your priority. It need not be
mine.”

“It is for her sake that I agreed to these
lessons, not yours.”

Wendlesson glared at him.

“You will find her more apt to accept
your
terms if there is benefit for
her
,” Charles
tried.

“Very well. Then send for Miss Terrell. I
will spend before I leave.”

Charles stiffened. “Can you not attend
yourself?”

“It would take far too long,” Wendlesson
snapped. “When I was younger, it was not a difficulty, but in past
years, I crave something more. I crave their screams of pain. That
will send me over the edge.”

“And that alone will bring you to spend?”
asked Charles, stunned.

Wendlesson nodded. “What you witnessed was
little different than what transpired on our wedding night, only
she was in much greater pain, and I doubted she spent. It is not
enough for me to be in her cunnie, you understand? And if I am ever
to have an heir…”

“I see.”

Silence fell between them. Charles heard and
saw the anguish in his lordship’s situation, but he could not rush
Miss Katherine.

“Your wife is a promising student,” Charles
said at last. “If you give her time, I believe you will have your
wish.”

“For tonight I will take Miss Terrell.”

“Her function tonight was to assist your
wife, not see to your pleasure.”

“I don’t give a damn what her function was.
I need tending to.”

“Then find another means of doing so. I
doubt Madame extended her approval to include—”

“She need not know.”

Charles shook his head. “I will not be party
to any such deception.”

“
Your
involvement is hardly
necessary.”

Charles felt his jaw harden. “Miss Terrell
is spoken for.”

“Not by you, though one would think you Miss
Terrell’s keeper. One might even think you
jealous
.”

“Jealous?” Charles echoed, affronted, even
as he realized the accusation was not entirely false.

“Though you may consider yourself above
desiring her, you are not immune—”

“I have no interest in Miss Terrell.”

“No?”

“Her qualities do not compel me as much as
they do you. If I had any interest in taking a submissive here at
the Red Chrysanthemum, I assure you, it would not be Miss Terrell,
even were she the last woman remaining.”

“I, too, am not enamored of her dark
coloring, but among her kind, she is tolerable. And she has the
requisite parts to satisfy me at present. If you’ll not send for
her, I will.”

“You would do this while your wife
awaits?”

Wendlesson rose to his feet. His nostrils
flared. “Do not presume to preach fidelity to me, Gallant.”

Charles kept his stance, half expecting to
come to blows with the man. But Wendlesson no longer looked at him
and, instead, gazed past him toward the door. Charles hoped it was
Miss Katherine the viscount saw. His lordship might then be
compelled to take his leave.

But it was Miss Terrell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T
hough her heart
throbbed—it seemed with more discomfort than any crop might impose
upon her body—Terrell recalled herself. It would not do for the
gentlemen to realize she had overheard the final moments of their
dialogue. She did not want the awkwardness that would follow, the
tense attempts on their part to apologize, which would only fuel
her anger or, worse, bring tears to her eyes. Suppressing the ache
in her chest, she forced a smile and leaned against the doorframe,
using her curves to provoke. She eyed Wendlesson’s erection.

“Gentlemen, do I sense tension?” she asked
with as much gaiety as she could muster. “Perhaps I can put you at
ease.”

Both men appeared relieved, no doubt
thinking that she had just come upon them.

“Where is Miss Katherine?” Gallant
asked.

“Tippy is assisting her,” Terrell replied,
closing the door behind her. “I returned to see if I might be of
further service?”

She glanced at his crotch to give him an
indication of what she meant.