Tempting Gemma 1 Read online

  Hastily, she complied, her mahogany hair spilling out over the leather and her golden brown eyes wide with apprehension. Charles stepped behind her. His big hand smoothed over her bottom, long, hard fingers probing between her thighs.

  “Lift your ass,” he said. His voice thickened. “Higher. Keep it like that and spread your legs wider.”

  She did her best to comply, wiggling until she was in the required position with her bottom in the air and her breasts dangling from her slender frame.

  A gasp escaped her when Charles yanked the thong down to her knees, putting her sex on full display. In that position, Gemma felt even more acutely vulnerable. Her nipples were hard little buds and she was vividly aware of the trickle of moisture slipping down her thighs.

  “Good,” Charles said. “Now you’ll stay that way while I attend to more important matters. When that’s done, we’ll see to your punishment.”

  He took his seat at the desk and ignored her. Time passed. Gemma had ample opportunity to anticipate in vivid detail what form of chastisement her husband might choose. He had already found so many shocking ways to torment her…

  Dark, arousing memories wafted through her mind a she knelt in mingled repentance and trepidation.

  On their honeymoon, Charles had smiled beguilingly as his splayed fingers spread the lips of her bare pussy. With a finger of his other hand, he applied a jelly compounded locally of cinnamon cassia, prickly pear and ginger.

  Within minutes, the merest brush of air against her agonizingly swollen bud had her writhing like a mad woman. She remained in that condition as he fucked her vigorously from behind and for a good while afterward.

  Finally, when he was sufficiently satisfied, he relented and applied a hard spray of water to her clit, washing away the wickedly arousing gel even as the pressure of the spray made her come again and again.

  Lost in her reverie, she was unaware when she began to slump. But however busy he might be, Charles was nothing if not observant.

  “Keep that ass up,” he ordered. “You’re not there to be lolling about.”

  She obeyed instantly despite the embarrassing nature of her position. All too aware of the cool air caressing her exposed privates, Gemma took refuge once again in memories of when it had been just the two of them without all the complications of family.

  The day after the incident with the gel, Charles had presented her with a set of jeweled butt plugs of graduated thicknesses and insisted on trying out each and every one over the course of a very long afternoon.

  With the largest of them still inserted in her, she squirmed throughout dinner. Only to be reminded throughout much of the night that ‘large’ was an entirely relative concept and that her husband’s cock was more than a match for any mere toy. The echo of lingering soreness that had remained with her all the next day still had a disturbingly stirring effect on her.

  But on neither of those occasions had she actually misbehaved. Whatever he was going to do, it was likely to be significantly worse. She would simply have to reconcile herself to that and bear it as best she could. It was the Mary Magdalene way.

  As an innocent school girl, she had dreaded punishment. Now she was bewildered to discover that that the anticipation of it at her husband’s hands was making her even wetter.

  How perplexing for poor, lovely Gemma.

  Finally, Charles walked over, pushed a hand between her legs again and thrust several fingers into her. He chuckled. “Soaking, as always. But we really can’t have you enjoying this too much.”

  As she peeked at him anxiously, he went over to a tall chinoiserie cabinet and opened it. At her first glimpse inside, Gemma paled. Not only did the cabinet hold an array of floggers, canes and other instruments of chastisement, there were ominous looking items the purpose of which she didn’t dare to guess. (A more detailed look at the contents of this cabinet can be found here in Appendix C).

  Charles took his time considering before he finally selected a sturdy wooden paddle. Returning to the couch, he said, “Hold that position. Six whacks, if you move it will be more.”

  Trembling, Gemma reminded herself that she has been paddled before. Infractions both large and small were dealt with sternly at dear old Mary Magdalene. She was fortunate never to have suffered the severest penalties but she was no stranger to a painfully bruised bottom. She had gotten through that and worse; she would get through this.

  Even so, the first strike of the paddle made her yelp.

  “Count,” Charles ordered.

  Gemma managed to do so but by the third blow, her voice was shaking. By the sixth, her bottom burned. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling puzzled. Truth be told, this wasn’t nearly as bad as she had anticipated.

  As her husband replaced the paddle in the cabinet, she struggled to contain her surprise only to fail when he returned with a soothing balm that he proceeded to rub over her rosy bottom.

  When he had finished the task to his satisfaction--although not to hers as it has left her even more woefully stimulated, Charles stood.

  Gazing down at her, he said, “You did well but the lesson isn’t over yet. I want to be sure you remember this the next time you are tempted to talk back to Ismay.”

  Without further preamble, he undid his belt, unzipped his fly, took out his magnificent cock, and straddled her as she still knelt beside the couch.

  Sternly, he said, “Don’t come.”

  His huge member nudged against her opening, stretching her wide. Big hands gripped her hips. In a single thrust, he rammed into her, seating himself fully.

  All the breath rushed out of Gemma as her husband began thrusting, so hard and fast that her body lurched back and forth across the couch. To her dismay, her arousal mounted swiftly.

  She struggled with all her might not to come but Charles didn’t relent. He kept up her punishment until finally she was undone. Her orgasm seemed to go on forever and triggered his own.

  Her cunt was still convulsing when, with an unmistakable note of satisfaction, he said, “Bad girl.”

  Standing, he spread the lips of her pussy, the better to observe his cum oozing out of her. “You really weren’t supposed to come.”

  When she didn’t respond at once, he slapped her ass. “Were you?”

  Mortified, she shook her head.

  He sighed and stood but didn’t yet zip up.

  “Get up. Take your thong off. Give it to me.”

  Quickly, Gemma scrambled to do so. She stared as he used the scrap of white lace to clean the last of his cum off his still semi-erect cock, then tucked himself away.

  “Open your mouth.”

  Stuffing the thong into her mouth, he smiled.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your bottom is a delightful shade of red, your face is tear stained and my cum is running down your legs. You’ve never looked lovelier. Now I do believe it’s time to join the others for dinner.”

  Gemma frantically shook her head but he ignored her.

  “Sitting is going to be a bit uncomfortable and with that gag in you won’t be eating. But the family will be happy to see that you’ve been properly chastised. It’s not just us tonight; all the uncles, aunts and cousins are coming. I’m sure Ismay has been regaling them with tales of your misbehavior during our absence. You’re certain to be the center of attention.”

  A soft, barely audible wail escaped Gemma. Charles laughed and patted her on her tender bottom, urging her out the door.

  Chapter Three

  With her abused bottom throbbing in the chair and unable to eat or drink with the thong in her mouth, Gemma could do nothing but endure throughout the family dinner. It was just as well because the conversation robbed her of any appetite.

  “You’re too easy on her,” Brother Harold said sullenly. “If it were up to me, she wouldn’t be able to walk for a month.”

  Mother cackled and sneered at Gemma. “Straighten your shoulders, girl. Push those titties out. You know all the men like to see them.”

  V
arious uncles, great-uncles and male cousins nodded vigorously.

  With a muffled sigh, Gemma obeyed.

  His gaze locked on her bosom, Brother Harold wet his lips and said, “The Tate Modern has a new art installation on exhibit. The model lies above it, out of sight with just her breasts hanging down in view. People are free to touch, squeeze and fondle them however much they like. It’s quite popular.”

  “Is that why you’ve been going up to London, boy?” One of the uncles guffawed. “To cop a feel?”

  Brother Harold reddened rather alarmingly. Gemma wondered suddenly if he might be subject to bouts of apoplexy. He was young for such a condition but one could hope.

  Turning to Charles, he said, “We should do something like that in the gallery here.”

  Charles shrugged. “Can’t say I have much use for art. Not that I don’t like a nice picture of a horse or a dog.”

  Eyeing his wife, he added, “Or a pussy, for that matter. I should have a painting done of you, Gemma. What do you think? Those lovely legs spread wide, perhaps a strategically placed flower or two. That would look splendid.”

  A chorus of approval rang out around the table, save from Sister Ismay, who snorted.

  “You’d be better advised to concentrate on training her properly. Otherwise, she’s just going to keep misbehaving.”

  With a glance at his errant wife, Charles asked, “What do you recommend?”

  Sister Ismay didn’t hesitate. Clearly, she had been giving the problem of her sister-in-law some thought.

  “An electric cattle prod. Judiciously applied, it makes training a snap.”

  “She isn’t a cow,” Charles said mildly. “Do you have anything else?”

  Still staring at her miscreant sister-in-law, Ismay licked her lips.

  With a nasty smile, she said, “Fine then. If you haven’t noticed, she has a tendency to slump. There are any number of well-designed systems that will correct that.”

  “What do they involve?” Charles asked, his curiosity piqued.

  Warming to the subject, Ismay said, “A sturdy steel corset with a bar down the back and attached cuffs. Lace the corset tightly, pull her elbows back, secure them in the cuffs and she will be compelled to remain perfectly upright. For good measure, I’d throw in a high leather collar that will force her chin up. Keep her like that twelve hours a day and you’ll be amazed at how quickly her posture improves.”

  Gemma squirmed in the chair. She was horrified, of course, but also to her secret dismay oddly aroused.

  “I have such a creative family,” Charles said drily. “Don’t you think so, dear?

  Gemma shook her head emphatically. To her great relief, the conversation moved on but very shortly, she had reason for new concern.

  “Is it true you’re planning more renovations?” Brother Harold asked, spooning syllabub into his mouth.

  Ignoring his own dessert, Charles nodded. “I’m considering it. Now that I’ve taken on the responsibility of a wife, I want to make sure that she’s kept properly occupied. There are any number of possibilities.”

  “You should start with the old dungeons,” Mother suggested. Squinting at Gemma, she added, “She’ll be much more tractable after spending some time down there.”

  “You really shouldn’t let them go to waste,” Brother Herald urged. “Most of the shackles and chains, the cages, water wheel and so on are probably still perfectly usable.”

  Gemma tried her best to stop listening. Shortly after returning from their honeymoon, Charles had shown her around the estate. However, he hadn’t said anything about dungeons, much less any other such nasty places. Instead, he had taken her to a pretty little pavilion overlooking a lake.

  Designed to resemble a Greek temple, it was exquisite in itself but what it contained was intriguing. Was the black onyx slab balanced on a matching pedestal meant as a work of art or a table…even possibly an altar?

  Was the large half-circle of metal weathered to a pleasing green patina and set within a matching stand an abstract sculpture? Or did the bars and what looked oddly like shackles incorporated into it hint at a more utilitarian purpose?

  There had been no opportunity to ask as Charles had promptly pressed her up against one of the pillars, hoisted her legs around his hips, and proceeded to fuck her thoroughly while burrowing his head between her lovely breasts, sucking vigorously on her nipples and rubbing her clit until she was once again screaming in ecstasy.

  Diverted by such memories, Gemma quickly acquired a rosy glow that drew her husband’s gaze to her repeatedly. It would be fair to say that they were both relieved when the meal was finally over.

  Chapter Four

  In the ordinary course of events, after dinner the ladies would have left the gentlemen to enjoy their brandy and cigars. However, with everyone eager to continue observing the chastened bride, they all adjourned to the drawing room instead.

  As one of the cousins tickled the ivories on a piano that was more or less in tune, and several other members of the family gathered around the card tables, Charles settled on a couch with Gemma beside him. She drew her legs up and tucked herself against him, enjoying the cozy sense of his nearness and strength.

  Barely had she done so than Mother snapped, “Look at her. She’s such a lazy thing. Ismay and I have the worst time getting her to do anything.”

  Accepting the whisky brought to him by a footman, Charles said, “She’s new to all this, Mother. Give her a chance. Besides, she pleases me well enough.”

  Mother scoffed. Harold tittered. Ismay rolled her eyes. None left any doubt that they knew exactly why Charles was pleased with his little wife.

  As thick as the walls of Ardsley Manor were, they were insufficient to contain the couple’s vocal declarations of carnal pleasure. ‘Going at it like howler monkeys’ might be an exaggeration but it was not entirely off the mark.

  “That’s all well and good,” Mother said. “But I can’t think what they taught her at that school. Considering the reputation Mary Magdalene enjoys, I expected her to be a good deal more obedient.”

  Gemma’s eyes widened. She had never heard any criticism of dear old MM before, at least none spoken so openly and emphatically. But truth be told, she herself had nurtured secret, furtive thoughts of her alma mater’s shortcomings.

  Somewhere back in the misty realm of her pleasant childhood, Gemma had conceived the notion that women were capable of doing more than merely serving their male superiors. She could not have said where such a shocking idea had come from. It certainly had not originated with her mother or grandmother, both of whom were models of feminine propriety.

  Nor could her nanny, whose interests were confined to nappies, early bedtimes and the proper wielding of a hairbrush against a naughty bottom have had anything to do with it. No, she rather suspected that the gardener’s wife was responsible.

  That good lady, whose knowledge of botany was vastly more extensive than her husband’s, was the true genius behind the lovely gardens that were little Gemma’s delight as she was growing up.

  Perhaps sensing a kindred spirit in the child, Tillie Fenster had taken a personal interest in her and taught her a great deal. Between the proper preparation of soil and the art of tree grafting, Gemma had absorbed a sense of her own potential that simply would not leave her.

  That first heretical chink in the wall of proper female obedience had nearly proven her undoing. Like Eve tempted by the serpent, she had bitten deeply of the apple of forbidden knowledge, including during her time at Mary Magdalene.

  First had come the surreptitious reading of contraband newspapers authorized only for the staff. Then, the resorting to illicit books hidden in the bowels of the school and passed hand to hand amid anxious whispers. And finally the conceiving of her mad plan to go to university and beyond, to actually fight for the rights of women.

  Until, of course, the inevitable moment of discovery--caught in the act of reading “A History of the Women’s Movement in North America�
� by Elizabeth Stanton, a direct descendent of a 19th century founder of the outlawed women’s suffrage movement who had been executed in Chicago. It was, to say the least, eye-opening.

  Several cold, hungry days naked in the punishment cell had followed. It could have been worse, of course, and no doubt would have been but for the fact that her father had already bartered her to pay his debt to the Ardsley family. How pitifully relieved she had been when she learned of that. How grateful to be released back out into the world of sunlight, food and warmth.

  And then Charles had come to see her for himself. How vividly she recalled their first meeting. How he had looked, what he had said. How he had touched her.