The Highwayman's Lady (17 page)

“If you say so, sir.” I am so relieved that he has relented; I do not press my case at all. The spanking is undeserved for I did not betray him, but I will take it.

“You will position yourself across my lap and you will remain quiet until I tell you we are done. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I murmur, rolling onto my side.

Gray seats himself beside me on the bed and pats his knee. I shuffle awkwardly to my feet, still horribly sore from the three strokes with his belt and hampered further by my bound hands. As I stand my chemise drops back to cover my bottom, the fabric harsh against my heated skin. I hiss in pain, glance up to meet his rather amused gaze.

“You will not wish to wear anything for the next few hours and I can promise you will not sit in comfort for days.”

“Your mask,” I exclaim. “You are not wearing your mask.”

His lip quirks in a lopsided grin. “I think we are rather past that stage, would you not agree?”

In the months since we met I have somehow managed to quell any attempt on the part of my over-enthusiastic imagination to invent features for my masked rescuer. I could not have done him justice in any case—Gray is quite simply perfect.

His deep mahogany eyes and rich brown hair I already knew, but I could never have conjured up the straight, aquiline nose or the sensual mouth that reminds me of the soft, lingering kisses he bestowed upon me with such generosity during the night we spent together. His lips part in a smile to reveal even, white teeth. His jaw is firm, and I detect the hint of a beard just starting to appear as though he has not shaved for a day or perhaps two. His countenance speaks to me of humour, and of passion, desire, and dominance. I blurt out the first words that occur to me.

“You are handsome. I knew you would be.”

His answering grin sets my quim to dripping again. “Thank you, but fair words will not lessen your punishment.” He pats his lap, his requirements clear.

Stoic, I flatten my quivering lips and resolve to bear this as best I can. It will hurt far less than the whipping he originally intended and now he knows about the baby he will temper his punishment still more, surely. I stumble forward to lie down across his thighs.

“A little further over. Lift up your bottom for me. I expect you to submit to this and present your derrière for your punishment.”

I wriggle forward and place my feet on the floor, my bottom angled over his knee and duly raised to receive the spanking.

“That is good. You may move, but each time you do I will stop spanking you and require you to return to this position before I continue. You will endure the spanking until I decide your punishment is concluded. I prefer you not to make a lot of din for the reasons I have already made clear, so if you wish I will gag you.”

“No, sir. I will be quiet.” Such humble acceptance, such humility. What is it about this man that inspires my absolute surrender?

“You are a brave girl. I am proud of you.”

His words of approval warm me and some of the tension leaves my body. Some, not all. I may be brave, I am pleased he thinks so, but that does not mean I am unafraid.

He lays his palm over my bottom and strokes me in large circular movements, first one buttock, then the other. I hiss again, the burn of the earlier leathering not subsided at all.

“Open your legs, Imogen.”

I obey, without hesitation. He slides his fingers between them to explore my moist folds.

“You are wet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you are still wet after your spanking, I shall fuck you. Which do you think you will be, Imogen? Wet or dry?”

“I believe I shall be wet, sir.”
Sweet Lord, did I really say that?

He chuckles and my belly clenches with desire. “Let us hope so.”

He starts to spank me, not so hard at first but gathering intensity fast. My bottom is smarting already and the sharp slaps he peppers all over my buttocks and the backs of my thighs soon have me writhing against him. He stops frequently, saying nothing, just waiting for me to collect myself and settle into position again. As I start to let out mewls of discomfort, then squeals of real pain, he interlaces the fingers of his free hand with mine secured behind my back. The touch is comforting, grounding me.

He increases the intensity yet more and I cry out.

He stops. “Shall I gag you, Imogen? We are not nearly done yet.”

I groan to myself. I know I cannot take any more without screaming out loud. Miserable, afraid, my inner resolve battered into submission, I nod my head.

He uses my other silk stocking, rolling it into a ball and shoving it into my mouth. I bite down on it, desperate now for this to be over and hoping with my entire being that I am still wet by the end of it.

I try to count, but soon lose my train of thought as the slaps blend one with another. I hurt everywhere, my bottom and thighs flaming as he punishes me. He is thorough, leaving not a sliver of my skin unscathed. My screams are muffled by the silk in my mouth, but some sounds emerge even so. I am desperate for him to stop, for this awful episode to be over. I could work the fabric from my mouth if I choose; it is not secured in place. I could scream for aid and the household would surely come running. But I will not. Whatever he may do to me, I do not wish to have Gray captured, seized, imprisoned or worse.

I can endure this. I will. As the last vestiges of resistance seep from my quaking limbs I sag, boneless, over his lap and give myself up to whatever discipline he chooses to mete out.

A few seconds pass before I realise the spanking has stopped. His hand rests on my inflamed buttock, but he is stroking me, no longer slapping. It hurts and there is something else too. His touch brings me a deep, perverse pleasure. I rub my bottom against his hand, seeking more of the burning friction.

“Spread your legs again for me, little one. Let us see if your fortitude is to be rewarded.”

Oh, please.
I part my thighs, sighing as he fondles my weeping slit. He slips a long finger into me and I squeeze it, hoping he will not decide even now that this is not to be, that I may not claim my prize.

“So hot, Imogen and so tight. And so very, very wet. Despite your squeals, I do believe you to be one of those precious females who respond beautifully to pain. You and I will get on well, since I intend to thoroughly explore that aspect of your nature.”

The gag excuses me from answering and in truth, I have no idea what I might say in response. He means to hurt me again and for my part, I have little doubt I will moisten for him most dutifully.

“You may spit out the gag, then climb up onto the bed. You will kneel and lean forward to press your cheek onto the mattress, your pretty pink bottom in the air for me.”

I work my cheeks and tongue to expel the fabric, then attempt to straighten my upper body. I am struggling to comply, so Gray assists me to my feet, though this time he tucks the back of my chemise up around my waist to leave my spanked bottom exposed. I am glad of his consideration.

I stand before him, chastened, helplessly aroused, yet still afraid of what is to come. “Are you still angry with me? Do you mean to be rough?”

He shakes his head. “I am not angry, though I might subject you to a spot of rough lovemaking if I feel so inclined. Is that what you want this evening, Imogen?”

A tear trickles down my cheek. I make no attempt to stop it. “No, sir. I want you to be kind to me.”

He catches the tear on the pad of his thumb and wipes it away, then cradles my face between his hands. “I am not a kind man, not especially, but for you I will try.” He brushes my mouth with his and I part my lips, seeking more from his kiss. He spears his tongue into my mouth, angling his head to deepen the contact. I yearn to wrap my arms around him and cling on, but I am still bound. As though sensing my wishes, he reaches around me to loosen the knot and sweep the silk away. Free at last, I reach up and tangle my fingers in his long, soft hair, releasing it from his queue.

He breaks the kiss to grin at me. “Ah, such a wanton little minx. I trust you will provoke me on a regular basis in order that I may punish you soundly. We will both enjoy the fruits of it, though your bottom may be in a state of permanent discomfort.” As though to demonstrate his meaning he cups his hands beneath my buttocks and squeezes.

“Aagh, sir—”

“On the bed. Now.”

I scramble to do his bidding, pausing only to tug the chemise over my head and drop it at his feet.

Gray wastes no time in divesting himself of his own clothing, a performance I watch with undisguised curiosity. I had no opportunity to observe him back at the inn but do so now. Coatless already and barefoot I note, he flings his loose-fitting shirt over a chair then peels away his breeches. His cock springs free, jutting proud and thick, its solid, red-veined girth impressive even to my untrained eye. And utterly terrifying. Were it not for the indubitable fact that I have taken him before, I would back off in dismay. As it is, I kneel on the bed and chew on my lower lip in trepidation. Perhaps he was less aroused on that previous occasion. Perhaps spanking me so soundly has made him somehow more… more…

“Turn around, Imogen and lean forward. I do not appreciate having to repeat myself whilst you sit there ogling my cock.”

His tone has darkened, now incorporating that steely core that I have come to recognise as demanding instant compliance. He shall have it from me. I turn and position myself as instructed.

“Now, shuffle back toward me, right up at the edge of the bed. Spread your legs wide. Wider. Offer me your wet cunt. Invite me to touch, to lick, to fuck you.”

I do it. I do all of it, whimpering in my need. I want him inside me, I yearn for him, so desperate am I that I can all but taste it.

I sigh in gratitude as he places the wide, blunt head of his cock at my entrance. I press back against him, only to shriek as he slaps my poor, abused bottom.

“Be still. I will tell you if you are to move.”

“Yes, sir. I apologise. I was just… oh!” I abandon my babbling as he drives his erection deep into me, filling me to the hilt in one powerful stroke. It is just what I wanted, exactly what I yearned for. It is—perfect.

He withdraws, then plunges into me again. At this angle, in this position, he is able to penetrate me more deeply than I recollect from our night spent at the inn. My quim stretches to accommodate his unaccustomed width, the friction delicious as he strokes my inner walls. The fit is tight, almost too tight, but I would not have it other. I want to feel him within me, every hard, invading inch of him. I regret my pleas about rough lovemaking. In this mad, impulsive moment, my senses overwhelmed, my lust overflowing, I just want to be fucked, hard and fast and furious.

“Gray, please…”

“Am I not being kind enough, Imogen?” He slows his strokes, almost stopping.

I mewl in frustration, gyrating my hips against him. He slaps my buttock again and I go still.

“If you want it hard, you must say so. If you need to be used like a slut, you must ask me, my little wench. Or would you rather I treat you like a lady, fragile, delicate, likely to shatter if I thrust too hard?” He stops again. “Which is it to be, Imogen? Are you a slut tonight, or a lady?”

“A slut, sir. Your slut.”

“My slut. How delightful. Let us see how you shape up then.”

He places his hands on either side of my hips to steady me, maybe even hold me still as he batters his cock in and out. Each stroke is long, direct, caressing and straining my inner walls, the friction building to a delicious crescendo. I pant and groan as the sensation mounts and I edge toward fulfilment.

“Gray, sir, please!”

“You are not to climax until I tell you.”

“What? I do not understand.”

“Yes, you do. You know what I mean this time and you
will
obey me.”

I grind my teeth together, my cunt clenching, spasming wildly around his thrusting cock as I seek to elude the crest that threatens to engulf me.

“Gray, I cannot. Please…”

“Wait.”

I whimper as elation, lust, and despair conspire to mix a heady cocktail as my climax looms ever closer. I am desperate to obey. I crave his approval, but it is too much.

“Now,” he whispers. The command is accompanied by Gray reaching around and under me to rub my quivering, swollen bud and I am lost. My body convulses in wave after wave of sensual pleasure. I am swirling, drowning in it, panting as my inner walls clamp hard around him and he goes still within.

He mutters an oath the like of which I have only heard once before and in a very similar situation as his cock lurches inside me. His seed is hot, bathing my cunny as it pumps into me. I breathe a deep satisfied sigh and slump forward onto the mattress. Gray follows, his weight pressing on top of me for a brief moment before he rolls to the side and wraps his arms around me.

“I’ve missed you, little wench. So, now that we have the preliminaries over with, shall we discuss this bairn of ours?”

The soft, pliant body snuggled against me stiffens. Imogen turns her face toward me, her expression hesitant.

I drop a kiss onto her hair by way of encouragement. I do not mean to take issue with her over the pregnancy, nor do I intend to dispute the circumstances leading to it. She was a virgin when first I had her and whilst I cannot readily pinpoint the reason for my certainty, I would stake my life on there having been no other man since. The child is mine, of that I have no doubt, but this does not necessarily mean that I will be seeking a marriage licence and shepherding my little Imogen down the aisle with all due haste. Apart from anything else, my chosen profession makes for a most unpredictable future and I have no wish to sully the reputation of my wife and child, or worse still, implicate them in my crimes. It is but a matter of time until that tenacious officer in the red coat sniffs out my trail again, and I may not escape him on another occasion.

“How did you find me? And why are you here? Really.” Her voice is small, but carries a tightness I do not especially care for.