Blushing Cheeks Volume Two Page 7

  “Charlotte, my dear, you’re next,” George said, motioning me toward the second horse. I stepped up and did as Ellen had done. The maid bound me similarly and my heart was beating wildly.

  “Don’t worry, Lady Essex,” the Duke said. “You’ll love this game.”

  He dismissed the maid and walked to a large wooden cabinet. I knew it would hold the horses when they were not needed. He withdrew two riding crops and handed one to George. They looked lethal, long and covered with braided leather. Both had a short whip on the end.

  “Now, Charlotte, during this game you will call me Milord Stephen, is that clear?” I replied loudly that it was. “The rules for this game are simple. You ride the horse until you climax. Your husband and myself will encourage you. Let us demonstrate.”

  He motioned George toward Ellen.

  “Ride the horse Ellen,” George said. Ellen began rocking the horse back and forth, her quim coming into contact with the end. George swatted her behind with the crop. “Faster. Faster.” She rocked faster and George continued his assault. She began to moan, begging for more, slamming her quim into the saddle that covered the wood. Milord Stephen stepped up and added his crop to the mix. The sharp slaps made a resounding sound as Ellen continued to rock back and forth. Moments later she cried out in ecstasy and the slaps stopped.

  The Duke stepped up behind her and I watched with awe as he caressed her backside, whispering in her ear. There were tears on her face and a huge smile on her lips. “Thank you Master Stephen, Thank you Milord Essex.”

  Both men muttered “your welcomes,” and then turned to me. The Duke had a wicked smile on his face. Then he turned to my husband.

  “May I whip your wife first, Essex?”

  I heard George laugh and say yes. Moments later the soft leather rubbed against my rear.

  “Ride the horse, Lady Essex, the whipping will stop when you spend.”

  I started rocking the horse, encouraged by words from Ellen and George. The crop hit my behind sharply and I cried out.

  “Goodness, she’s a little jumpy,” the Duke said. “Still very new to spanking. We’ll have to work on that.”

  Slap, slap, slap, slap. “You had best move yourself up and down, or you won’t be able to sit down for a week, Charlotte.” The Duke’s words rang out and I tried to mimic Ellen’s movements, rocking the horse back and forth and slamming my quim down on the saddle.

  Slap, slap, slap, slap. “Ride faster Charlotte, ride faster.” I increased my pace and as I did the crop hit the back of my thighs. I cried out in pain.

  “Faster, faster,” the Duke encouraged. George was standing off to the side, watching with a smile on his face.

  Off to the side Ellen was telling me to “move my quim faster on the saddle. Bring your clit down on it, harder, harder.”

  Each time the crop hit I brought my quim down harder. The heat began to spread and after a few more resounding slaps from the Duke I yelled out in pleasure, earning words of praise from my husband and the Duke.

  “Thank you Milord Stephen,” I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “You’re very welcome pretty Charlotte,” the Duke said. “And now, on to round two.”

  I looked at George who was still standing by the side of the room, laughing. A wicked grin lit his face as he crossed over to us. Immediately he and the Duke began slapping our asses with the crops. Ellen groaned in pleasure and began bouncing on the horse once again. She spent almost immediately and begged her husband to continue.

  Taking her lead I began to bounce, the pleasure mixing with the pain and causing wonderful feelings to spread through me. After Ellen had spent again I groaned as I felt both crops on my behind, sometimes striking at the same time, something taking turns.

  “The whipping ends when you climax, Charlotte,” George said. “Do it soon, or you may have to stand for the remainder of the week.”

  I bounced harder and when I finally spent I thought I would die. The pleasure was unlike anything I had ever felt in my short life of feeling sexual pleasure. Ellen thanked her husband and George, and I did the same. Before they untied us they rubbed cool cream into our burning behinds.

  Once we were free Ellen grabbed me and hugged me, kissing me gently on the cheek.

  “I hope you can come and play again,” she said, looking questioningly at first her husband and then at George. Both men nodded their assent. And after a few moments of silence, I did also.

  **********

  We were still asleep the next afternoon when Cannonberry knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come down now,” he yelled. “We need to talk, immediately.”

  I was walking very slowly. My behind was so sore I felt I could barely move. George tried to talk me into staying in bed but I wanted to hear what was being said.

  Cannonberry and Barton were partaking of tea that had been set before them. Sitting with them was a striking woman in her middle 30s. I knew from the descriptions that I had heard that this was Michelle White. I thought about the things that she had said about Bernard and I wanted to confront her. I didn’t want to believe what she had said, even though George was sure she was telling the truth.

  She stood and bowed slightly to George. “Lord Essex.” She turned to me and didn’t bow. Instead she gave me a sneer. “Lady Essex.” The contempt in her voice was evident. Now I really wanted to confront her, and slap her.

  George moved me toward the couch before I could take a swing at her.

  “Someone tried to kill Michelle last night,” Barton said. “They broke into her rooms and tried to slash her with a knife.”

  “Too bad they missed,” I said, not trying to mask my anger. “She’s playing you all for fools. She lied about Bernard and Geoffrey and she’s lying now. She wants one of you to take care of her, that’s all.”

  As if on cue Michelle White began to cry, loudly. Cannonberry shot me a look and handed her a handkerchief.

  “Someone did break in,” he said defensively. “I saw the disruption in her home when I went to question her again about who could possibly be involved with Edwards. There was blood.”

  George was staring at her. I could tell that he did not trust her. He and Barton exchanged a look.

  “Mrs. White, do you know anyone else that Edwards was involved with?” George’s voice was soft.

  The woman continued to sob and buried her head in Cannonberry’s shoulder. I wondered if she had indeed found her new protector.

  “No, no one milord.” She turned her tear-filled blue eyes on my husband. “He never said there was anyone else besides Bernard. Except he did say once that Charlotte Hudson helped him cover his tracks when he killed Bernard.” She shot me a look of triumph, and then burned her face back in Cannonberry’s shoulder.

  Before I could voice my anger at her statements Barton cleared his throat. “Did Edwards tell you that before you stabbed him, or afterwards, while he lay dying?”

  She pulled her head up quickly. “How dare you sir!”

  A new voice from the doorway rang out. “I will dare say it, Mrs. White. You and Simpson killed Geoffrey Edwards, and had one of Simpson’s lackeys dispose of his body here, to make trouble for Lady Essex.”

  We all stared at Inspector Wilcox. Behind him stood the constable who’d been with him the first time.

  “You see Mrs. White several of your neighbors were very forthcoming,” he continued without missing a beat. “They saw Geoffrey Edwards enter your home on the night of the murder, but never saw him leave. They did, however, see two men known to be in Simpson’s employ enter your home later, and leave with a very large bundle.”

  Michelle White’s face was a mask of fury. She turned on me. “This is all your fault. The plan was perfect. Simpson and I had it all planned out. Once Geoffrey had control of your money I’d get it from him one way or the other, and then we’d dispose of him. But you ruined everything by taking up with him.”

  She jerked her head in George’s direction. Then she turned
to Cannonberry. “Will you help me?”

  She leaned into his shoulder and he pushed her away. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. White. It was I who told the authorities about Simpson’s men being at your home. We were trying just now to get you to say things to implicate yourself. I guess it worked.

  The Inspector nodded. “Indeed, Mrs. White. We had no real evidence against you until now. I do believe your words will be enough to send both you and Simpson to the gallows.”

  Wilcox instructed the Constable to bind Mrs. White’s hands and take her away. She couldn’t resist the chance to once again scream that everything was “her fault,” lunging at me.

  The constable pulled her away and George took me into the comfort of his arms.

  I turned to Inspector Wilcox. “Tell me, Inspector, was what she said about my first husband true? Was he really lovers with Geoffrey Edwards?”

  The Inspector looked at George, and then he turned a look of pity my way.

  “I’m afraid that it is true, Lady Essex. The same neighbors who told us about Simpson’s men also told us that Geoffrey and your late husband were regular visitors at Mrs. White’s house in the years before Hudson’s death.”

  I turned away, tears threatening my eyes. The Inspector shook hands with George and then with Barton and Cannonberry.

  “I thank you for your help gentlemen. Lady Essex, I am sorry for any pain you are feeling.”

  He turned and left. Barton and Cannonberry quickly followed suit and George rang for tea.

  “It’s over, my sweet,” he whispered in my ears, taking me in his arms. I could feel tears running down my cheeks.

  “I always thought there was something wrong with me,” I whispered. “He never tried to kiss me, or hug me. Now I know why.”

  George pulled me closer, picking me up and depositing me on the couch.

  “There is nothing wrong with you my sweet.” He kissed me, his tongue invading my mouth. He sat down and pulled me on top of him so that my legs were on either side of his hips. “And you have nothing else to worry about. I will take care of you, always.”

  I knew that he was right. He would always care for me. And he didn’t want me for my money. To drive that point home he lifted my robe and pushed himself inside me.

  “I love you, Charlotte, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  I sighed as he drew himself in and out.

  “I love you too, Milord, I love you too.”

  Chapter Six

  I fell into a sort of melancholy. The information about Bernard was hard to take. I felt as if he had come back from the grave and kicked me in the stomach. Raymond and Sarah were shocked at the news, at first refusing to believe it. Once the reality set in they were apologetic to me, as if they had something to do with things.

  One good thing about it, however, was Geoffrey Edwards’ father, The Duke of More. He had enough power to cover things up. The trial against Simpson and White was swift and private. Their executions came quickly. No news of either Geoffrey or Bernard made it into the papers. Both men went to their graves with spotless records.

  It was reported that Simpson and White hatched the plan to use Geoffrey to get to my money. I was saved, the papers said, by my loving husband.

  And they were right. George and I were closer than we’d ever been. But I still felt guilty over what had happened. People were talking about me, I knew. I cancelled engagements and refused invitations. George was supportive at first but after a week went by he began to show anger, telling me we needed to go back out into society. I refused and he didn’t push too hard, although I knew that he would, sooner or later.

  A few days before the trial began the dressmaker had delivered my special order. She had not backed down once from what I had asked for. I put it in a box and shoved it in a corner. Now, two days before Lord Buxton’s house party I brought it out. I wanted to surprise George, who was angry at me for my behavior the last week. When George came home that evening it was to find that I had again cancelled our evening engagements. When he came upstairs to ask me why he found me kneeling in the middle of our bed.

  I was wearing a black whale-bone corset, laced tightly to enhance my figure. My breasts were bare and I had tied little red ribbons around my hardened nipples. Red ribbons hung from the corset, ending in golden chains. My black stockings were the latest from France, held high on my thighs by red ribbons. A black lace collar was around my neck. Hanging from it was a red ribbon, that ran down between my legs and up my back, tethering at the back of the collar.

  The ribbon was pulled tight so that when I moved it rubbed against my clit and into my bum hole. I had taken one of George’s riding crops from the drawer and when I heard him coming up the stairs I knelt in the middle of the bed, the crop in my mouth, my hands held behind my back.

  When he came in he stopped and stared. Then he smiled and walked over to the dais, climbing the steps until he was at the bed.

  “Looks like my wife wants to play.”

  I nodded in response.

  “I love your new corset, sweet wife.” He climbed up behind me and pulled me back against him. “Did you buy this just for me?”

  I nodded again and moaned as he reached around and began pinching my nipples, pulling off the ribbons.

  “Charlotte needs a good spanking,” he whispered in my ear. “Charlotte needs a good fucking, too.” I moaned and pushed myself against him. Then he bent me over and began kneading my backside, pushing apart my thighs and inserting his fingers inside my wetness.

  “Please,” I whispered around the crop. He laughed.

  “Please what sweet wife?”

  He pushed another finger, and then another inside me, wiggling them around.

  “Tell me what you want Charlotte.” He reached down and took the crop from my mouth, bringing it around to rub against my bare ass.

  “I want you to spank me.”

  “And?”

  “And fuck me.”

  He slapped me with the crop. “Remember your place!”

  “I’m sorry Master George. I want you to spank me Master George.”

  Slap, slap, slap. “Tell me Charlotte, beg for it.”

  He withdrew his fingers from my quim and then reinserted them, slipping them farther inside.

  Slap, slap, slap. “I’m waiting.”

  “Fuck me Master George,” I whispered. “Please.”

  He quickly withdrew his fingers and slapped my ass with the crop repeatedly. I gripped the bedclothes and moaned.

  “Louder!” Slap, slap, slap.

  “Take me, please Master, please.” He continued to spank me, taking me over his lap and bringing the crop down harder and harder. I could feel the welts coming up on my ass. I could also feel the ribbon sliding across my clit and into my bum. The sensation was incredible.

  “This is where you belong, Charlotte,” he said harshly. “Across my knee. You need a good sound spanking every day, to remind you that you belong to me. Bernard is gone, and you will not hide your head in shame over what happened any longer, do you understand me?”

  “Yes Master George, I understand,” I said, tears flowing down my face. I knew he was right. What had happened was not my fault, I had nothing to do with it. I was a victim in the process, rescued by my husband.

  The crop sailed through the air and hit and I repeated my cry for him to fuck me, but he just continued to spank me, over, and over, and over again.

  “We will not hide any longer, do you understand Charlotte?”

  Slap, slap, slap, slap.

  “Yes Master George.”

  “You belong to me, Charlotte, do you understand?”

  “Yes Master.”

  “What? I didn’t hear you.” Slap, slap, slap, slap.

  “Yes, Master, I belong to you.”

  Slap, slap, slap, slap.

  “Don’t every forget it, Charlotte, ever.”

  He moved me off his lap and had me kiss the crop. Then he quickly shed his clothing. I knelt before him and took him in
my mouth, savoring the taste of him, loving the way he moved under my tongue.

  “Lie across the bed, wife.”

  I scrambled up and bent over the bed, spreading my legs.

  “Good girl,” he said softly. “Do you feel your welts, Charlotte? Do you know they are my marks?”

  He covered my body with his and my reddened bum cried out in protest.

  “Yes, Master George, they are your marks. I love you.”

  “And I love you, sweet wife.”

  He entered me quickly, pumping me until I was at the edge. Then he withdrew, picked up the crop and slapped my behind ten more times. He pushed himself inside and slapped my behind while I felt him pulse inside me. I groaned my approval.

  “You are truly mine now Charlotte.” He began to move slowly at first and then more rapidly. He had not removed the ribbon and he grasped it, pulling it tighter so that it slid repeatedly over my wetness as he slide in and out of me.

  Never had I felt anything so wicked, so wonderful. He rode me harder and I felt my climax spill forth, the ribbon pushing into me and causing extreme pleasure.

  “Master George, sir, yes, wonderful.”

  He spent moments later, pushing himself farther inside me and emptying his seed. He pulled us over onto our sides, still buried deep within me.

  He kissed my temple and pulled me closer. I could feel his cock throbbing.

  “Do you promise me that you’ll be good?”

  “Yes Master George, I promise.”

  “Do you promise me that you will stop thinking about Bernard and Geoffrey?”

  “Yes Master George, I promise.”

  “Spankings can go both ways, Charlotte,” he whispered. “Since you enjoy it so much I can deny you a spanking if your behavior does not improve.