The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton (2 page)

I choked and flushed at his words. ‘My stays are too tight,’ I whispered in shame. Mortification made my words thick, and eyes glisten. Is that what he planned to do to me? Bess had never done such a thing – not that she’d divulged to me at any rate.

He sobered minutely. ‘No matter. Let us rid you of the beastly garment then! But rest assured my dear, if you wish to walk about looking as though you’ve a cock in your arse, you need not wear tight stays. I shall gladly accommodate you in that regard.’ His laughter boomed around the room and he swatted playfully at my derriere.

The sharp slap brought a paroxysm of surprise rushing through my body and I cried, ‘My lord,’ at the unfamiliar contact and stepped away. ‘I am quite ill-used to this bawdy talk. Forgive me, if I cannot join in your merriment.’

William rolled his eyes, chuckled some more before he stripped off his shirt. It danced to the floor in the flickering lamplight.

‘I offer you no apologies, Ceecee. You shall become used to my manner, I hope, and if I do say your rump looks ripe for a rogering…’ He smirked.

What did he mean? Though Bess had educated me in many of the ribald vocabulary of the lower classes, I was not entirely certain of his implication, and nor on this occasion did I care to investigate.

My husband freed me of my clothing then, stating that the feminine form was too beautiful to be encumbered by cloth at times such as these. I personally disagreed and began to say as such. Alas, as he was wont to do, William laughed at my prudishness. His deft fingers made short work of my garments and soon, I stood naked before him.

The candles in my room flickered and my body felt taut and uncomfortable under his licentious gaze. How many other women had my husband eyed like this? Many, I knew. His hands reached towards my breasts and with both hands he gripped them, hefting their weight as one might with a ripe peach or melon. His fingers grazed across my nipples. His touch was rough, but curious. I stared down at the hands that captured my breasts and realised belatedly that he was the first to ever touch them. Something warmed betwixt my legs.

‘Lovely teats,’ he murmured, bending down and suckling on each pebbled tip. He looked into my eyes then with a look of pure wickedness. ‘See how I stroke and kiss them?’

I nodded, my breath caught in my throat and he nuzzled at them again. The caress made my body tighten and yearn. For what, I was uncertain.

‘I want you to stroke and kiss my cock like this.’ His breath was hot and laced with wine, brushing against my face.

For a moment, I scarcely was able to breathe.

He truly was a philandering beast.

William’s hands left my breasts and he unlaced his breeches and pulled them off.

It was then that I got my first glimpse of his cock.

It was
nothing
like Mister Thistleswaite’s limp horror. Nor was it as Bess had described Carter’s squat hairy thing.

My lord husband had what could only be described as a rather impressive staff. It jutted high and thick from the hair that dusted his groin. He gripped my reluctant hand and dragged it towards his length.

I was torn with the twin desire to touch it and run away. I was certain it would never fit inside me – any part!

However, his grip made the decision for me.

Under his strong, guiding hand, my fingertips grazed the ruddy, swollen head and circled around the gaping single eye. I heard my husband groan, and I ran my fingers once more around. In response to my caress, his phallus seemed to leap forward in eagerness.

Absurdly, I felt my quim begin to pulse between my legs.

He was scorching hot, as soft as brushed velvet beneath my fingers, and as I watched, a pearly bead of seed swelled from its eye.

‘Would you so bold as to kiss it?’ My husband’s voice drew me from my reverie.

I looked up and caught his twinkling eyes. He winked.

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

‘No.’ I withdrew my hand and turned away, though his suggestion made my mouth water.

I heard William click his tongue. ‘Shame,’ he replied.

Without warning his hand came around and gripped my buttock, he squeezed it hard and the pain flashed through my entire body. I gasped out aloud. Despite the grinding weight and heaviness in my womb, a sure indicator of my body’s interest in him, I was growing increasingly fearful.

‘To the bed with you, good woman,’ William cried with gregarious chivalry.

He must have seen the stiffening in my demeanour for he gently drew me to him. Pressing bodily against my husband, with his member jutting eagerly against me, did little to calm me.

I could hear his heart pounding in the lean planes of his chest.

‘I’ll be gentle,’ he murmured, ‘but only if you want me to be.’

I nodded, feeling as skittish as an unbroken horse, and allowed him to guide me to the bed. It was my first night in Stanton, and everything felt terribly unfamiliar. I sank down atop the blankets, and William swiftly covered me.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut. I could feel him writhe betwixt my thighs until his manhood was situated firmly between the juncture there.

To my surprise, I found the threat of his invasion not in the least unpleasant – quite the opposite. The position in which we lay spoke of promise, passion and excitement, though I remained chastely reluctant.

‘Will it hurt?’ I whispered, my face buried beneath my husband’s broad shoulder.

‘I would like to say it won’t be more than a little prick. Alas, Ceecee, that would be a lie.’ He laughed then, and his member moved closer towards my sex with each guffaw.

I remembered Bess’s descriptions of her first act with Carter. She had told me the initial discomfort was more than tolerable so I struggled to calm my wildly beating heart. If Bess willingly sought out such a discomfort, surely I would not find it too unbearable.

‘Are you ready?’ William asked, and I looked up to see him staring down at me. He gave an experimental thrust between my legs and I winced, expecting something terrible. Alas, his dart did not find its target and slid awkwardly in a more northerly direction.

William laughed, and his hand slipped between us, and he repositioned that hot, hard length once again at the correct juncture.

Again, his heat there was not unpleasant, but still I did not wish to prolong the inevitable. ‘Please, let us be done with this,’ I whispered.

I saw William’s face momentarily lose its amused expression and something more sombre replaced it – disappointment, perhaps.

I watched and waited for my husband to impale my maidenhead.

William’s face contorted in concentration, as if the act we were about to partake in required considerable thought. Then, he lunged forward.

One moment the thick head of his staff was nestled between my thighs, a hot, strangely pleasant sensation, and the next it was embedded so deeply within my sex, I thought I might be split asunder.

The pain was so sharp I could not help but release a scream of anguish. I struggled beneath him for escape, but he pinned me still with his hips. His lower body pressed down so firmly against me, I could feel the roughness of his nether hair meeting the stretched, torn flesh of my womanhood. Yet though I tried to escape, I found myself unable. I could do nothing but endure the wicked, unrelenting pressure and pain between my thighs.

‘William, oh, please, release me at once.’ I heard the words before I realised I had even spoken.

‘The pain will ease, I have been told.’ His tone was not jovial, but aggrieved and almost pained. He held himself still. ‘But Lord, you are very tight,’ he grunted. ‘Do not fear. It will be over soon.’ He sounded defeated and began to move once more. He withdrew, and thrust forward, and repeated the action. It was an exquisitely cruel form of punishment. Every time he removed himself from my sex, my body felt relieved, but then in the very next instant, he would force his entry once again. He pushed on with ruthless abandon against the torn gates of my womanhood with faster and more urgent thrusts. I closed my eyes, trying not to think of the searing, stretching burn, or his animalistic grunts as he worked his staff into me, over and over again.

Blessedly, but a moment later, William convulsed, thrusting and bucking against me as if possessed. Then finally, gratefully, he stilled and collapsed.

As he did, he pushed the wind from my chest and lay atop me. I remained still, for his manhood was still locked deeply within me as it pulsed and pumped its last. I could feel the frantic rhythm of his heart pound against me for several long moments.

I said nothing, and waited.

Eventually, William stirred above me. The fullness of him had lessened, and with a warm slipping sensation he withdrew and knelt between my legs, gazing down at me with a decidedly pleased expression.

‘Thank you,’ he said, glancing down between my legs. His pleasure faltered. ‘Well, the mess leaves me in no doubt of your virginity at least.’

The heat returned to my cheeks. I could not think of a possible response and thus remained silent.

William laughed cheerfully, and slapped my thigh. ‘You have pleased me very well, wife.’

My leg stung from the slap, and I felt my eyes begin to water. Some remnant part of me realised the gesture was one of affection but it only worked to depress my mood further.

‘Ceecee, I feel I should state that I do not intend to sleep apart from you. I am a man of prodigious appetite.’ He looked down at his half-hard member, and the damnable thing stirred before my eyes. ‘I may well require your tight little quim again this evening.’ It stirred, twitched and stirred once more. ‘In fact, I have little doubt.’

I felt my heart falter at this statement, and a feeling of dread grew within my breast. Surely he was speaking in jest?

Alas, no.

He continued blithely unaware of my increasing discomfiture. ‘I shall call your maid to assist you, and return later.’

I weakly nodded my agreement.

I needed Bess. I wanted Bess.

‘Again, wife, you please me.’

It took William only a moment to don his clothing once more and leave. I lay as he left me, not daring to move for every slight motion sent a sharp spear of pain through my body once again.

The air was cool in the room as the door creaked and Bess entered. She was still dressed in her uniform. Her broad kind face creased with concern as her gentle eyes found me.

‘Oh, milady,’ she said her tone hushed. ‘Was it all that bad?’

‘It was worse,’ I sobbed, and Bess walked calmly towards me.

‘Did you gain no pleasure from this act? None?’

I shook my head and buried myself in my arms. I felt utterly wretched. The notion that I may have to endure such misery over and over, made me unspeakably miserable.

She took me in her arms and I laid my head on her breasts as she rocked and hushed me. I do not know quite how long I remained in her embrace, but eventually she pulled away. ‘Let me clean you up, and change the bedding.’ I watched Bess’s eyes linger on the bloodied sheets and my even bloodier thighs.

I nodded and crawled from the bed. Every step was agony. I bit my lip and attempted to stifle a cry before I curled up on the lounge beside my window.

‘Come now, milady. You’re strong, it will improve. I promise you shall have your pleasure.’

‘How can you say such a thing?’ I finally cried. ‘There is no pleasure to be had. He has verily torn me asunder. If ever pleasure could have been had in such an act, his brutality has ruined me entirely and eternally!’

I am dramatic. I know.

Yet I could not fathom how she could speak so. Was she mocking my most intimate discomfort? She must have been able to read my expression because her face softened and she continued making the bed. There was a knowing glimmer in my maid’s eye then, and I knew from her wicked expression that she had some plan.

‘Come back to the bed, milady. With your permission, allow me to show you how to gain pleasure from this act. Though I warn you, it will require that I touch you where your husband’s cock finds its satisfaction.’ She gestured between my legs.

I hesitated. What wickedness did she speak of? I knew in some deep, God-fearing place in my heart that I should dismiss her and grasp whatever slumber I may be permitted before my lusty husband returned. But I confess, I felt something tighten in my abdomen at the very thought of Bess touching me there. I found myself nodding.

It was then that one of the chamber maids arrived with a bowl of steaming hot water for my bath.

‘Let me clean you first,’ Bess spoke, and I watched her wring linen out in the bowl of water and step towards me. ‘Open your legs,’ she said softly and I did, though I was reluctant to display my battered sex to her. I felt ashamed, embarrassed perhaps.

Bess clicked her tongue and brought the flannel to the skin of my inner thighs, with a tenderness that warmed me, she began to wipe the blood and my husband’s spent seed away.

The material was hot and I gasped as it grazed over the swollen, tender lips of my womanhood. The sensation was unfamiliar but strangely exciting.

‘May I continue, milady?’ Bess asked, after rinsing the cloth and pausing before reapplying it to my sex.

As she had washed me, I found myself relaxing under her ministrations. It took me a while before I was able to murmur, ‘Yes.’

‘Much pleasure can be had in the marriage bed, milady,’ she whispered, and I heard the washcloth fall into the bowl, discarded. ‘With the correct touch, even pain can become pleasure.’

Her fingers danced over my flesh, and slipped through my nether curls to caress my bruised flesh.

I heard myself inhale sharply.

‘Bess,’ I murmured and moved her hand. ‘This is not appropriate.’ Though I confess the inappropriate touch was a mightily pleasant one.

Bess offered me a beautiful but sad smile. ‘It is not appropriate that my lady weeps at her husband’s touch. I can teach you to take pleasure from it.’

‘How?’ I asked.

‘By teaching you to take pleasure from yourself so that in time you will take it from your husband.’