Lydia's Penance, page 15
Heat and pain and bliss, and she couldn’t tell which was which anymore.
The sight of Lydia’s pink bottom - still pink, despite the hours since her spanking - with her matching pink pussy glistening beneath, was eroticism incarnate. Isaac had enjoyed her pained mews as she squirmed for him, his fingers tormenting her nipples as her sore bottom pressed into the mattress; but now he wanted to see those agonized cheeks. The sight did not disappoint. Her ass was like a dark heart against her creamy skin and the cream and gold of her bed linens.
The cream glistening along her slit made him lick his lips. The tart, sweet flavor of her pussy lingered on his tongue.
Sliding the head of his cock along her slit, he moaned a little at the slick heat coating his sensitive head. Her body bucked slightly as he rubbed the mushroom tip over her clit. Too impatient to wait any longer, Isaac positioned his cock at the entrance of her body and thrust forward, hard.
Lydia let out a sharp cry as he impaled her from behind, the thick girth of his cock splitting open her tight pussy. Her swollen lips hugged his shaft, stretched obscenely around his length; above that erotic sight, her buttocks quivered and the little dark pink star between them winked at him as her muscles clenched and relaxed. Isaac splayed his hands out over her pinked cheeks, holding her in place against the bed as he pulled back slightly and thrust again, burying the rest of his cock inside of her.
Her pants and moans as she adjusted to his invasion of her barely used sheath filled his ears, matching his own groans as he began to take her hard and fast, fucking her just as she’d requested. Although, he was quite sure she hadn’t realized exactly what she was asking or the crudeness of her request. Her knowledgeable innocence was like an aphrodisiac, even as her wide eyes and dirty mouth amused him.
With every slap of his groin against her body, her rosy buttocks quivered and jiggled. He slid his hands up her waist, holding her slim curves, so he had an unobstructed view of her wobbling, pink flesh. The length of his shaft was coated with her honey, easing his way in and out of her tight, spasming quim, making him groan as his hips pounded harder and faster into that narrow tunnel.
It was hot heaven, silky sweetness, ambrosia coating his cock. Not one word of protest from his wife at his roughness either; indeed, her moans were rising higher and higher with each of his thrusts. She was enjoying being taken like this as much as he was enjoying taking her. Leaning forward, Isaac thrust powerfully, eliciting throaty cries from his inexperienced wife. She writhed on the bed in front of him as her orgasm overcame her senses, pleasure to the point of pain with its intensity. Such were the kind of cries Isaac loved best.
He didn’t stop thrusting, didn’t stop pounding into her, until his balls tightened, the base of his spine tingling, and then he thrust hard and held. The tight muscles of her cunt were spasming, squeezing, and his orgasm was sucked out of him by those tight paroxysms. He panted hoarsely as he emptied himself into her quivering body, her sobbing cries of ecstasy still ringing in his ears.
Slumping over her, he let his hands caress her as she took long, shuddering breaths beneath him, both of them slowly regaining control of themselves. Reluctantly, he pulled himself from her warmth, lifting her and placing her in bed before straightening his clothing, since he hadn’t fully removed anything but his jacket. Retrieving a washcloth, he went into the washroom and ran some hot water over it, returning to wipe off the pink, swollen folds of her pussy. His wife murmured, her lips curving into a smile as she looked up at him.
Although he smiled back, Isaac could already feel himself drawing up emotional shields, barricading them in place. She was too tempting, and too dangerous, all soft and sensually female, looking like pure innocence. Without knowing why she’d trapped him into marriage, he couldn’t let his guard down. He resisted the urge to join her beneath her covers and to sleep at her side, the way he had at the inn.
Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her drowsy lips, blew out the candles by her bedside, and beat a hasty retreat to his own room before his resolve could weaken.
On her side, Lydia frowned into the darkness.
She’d wanted her husband to join her in bed, and for a moment, she thought he would... then he’d drawn away. Not just drawn away, but also withdrawn into himself.
Which had hurt even if, on some level, she understood why. After all, she had her own set of barriers which she’d set between them. It was only understandable, and she didn’t blame him... she just wished it could be different.
Her body still thrummed with the pleasure he’d given her, her bottom still sore from the spanking, and she closed her eyes against the night and the loneliness. After all, she could not have truly expected him to fall asleep in her bed again. There was no reason for him to.
Pressing her lips together against the ache rising her throat, she promised herself she would be the best duchess he could possibly ask for, in every other way. It was the one small thing she could do to make up for her lack of confession to him. Perhaps, in time, even as she made him wait for an answer until Amy married, if she was the perfect duchess, he would realize he could trust her and would open himself more fully to her. Perhaps even begin to hold her in the same regard which she already held him.
Lydia was well aware of how lucky she was he’d been an honorable man when faced with her dishonorable actions; having come to know him better, and having received both punishment and pleasure from him, she considered herself even luckier in her choice of a husband. Somehow, she’d make it up to him. Somehow.
Chapter 9
The tour of the house took up all of Lydia’s morning and afternoon. Although Isaac waited for her to break his fast, she took her afternoon tea alone. Which was fine, as it gave her time to compose her thoughts. Once the tour in the afternoon was completed, Mrs. Huffington went through the menus for the next week with her, most of which Lydia approved immediately, only making a few minor changes. She could tell Mrs. Huffington was already making note of her preferences.
Dinner in the evening was much the same as the night before, although Isaac also asked her if she wanted to make any changes to the house. She confessed there were a few rooms she thought could use some small updates in décor - a few pieces of furniture which could be reupholstered and some decorations which didn’t appeal to her. When he gave her permission to do whatever she wished, she was pleased - more at his trust in her than at her ability to redecorate to her heart’s content. Knowing she could change the rooms at will did make her feel more like this was her home as well.
There was some ghastly wallpaper in the drawing room she wanted replaced as soon as she could. It would have been all the fashion a decade ago, but the pink stripes made her feel as though she was trapped inside a lolly pop.
After dinner, they spent some time playing chess, where Isaac discovered she actually did knew how to play. He’d been shocked the first round they’d played; Lydia had realized he wasn’t truly paying attention, expecting her to be a negligible player, and she’d taken the opportunity to wipe the board with him. Halfway through the game he’d figured out what was happening, but by then it had already been too late. After that he’d insisted on a second round and played with interested competitiveness, never underestimating her again, and – even more importantly to her – without any anger that she’d trounced him at first. He was ruthless and quite skilled, challenging her much more than any other opponent had in recent years, and she found it quite enjoyable. While she lost the second game, it was a close run thing. At the end of the evening they’d retired to her room, where he’d stripped them both down and then lay on his back on the bed, showing her how to mount and ride him.
Lydia knew from looking in the mirror that any visible evidence of her spanking had disappeared, although her bottom was still sore when gripped by firm fingers, as she discovered when he did so, bucking underneath her on his way to completion. Riding him was a glory all of its own as she had been able to set the pace - at least until he’d lost his patience and taken her in hand, which was when his fingers had dug into the soft flesh of her bottom, as he’d assisted her rise and fall above him. Afterwards, he’d given her a kiss and retreated to his room again, leaving her to sigh into the darkness.
On Saturday he took her out riding on a horse, which made her blush whenever she thought about the night before, although of course she wasn’t riding her mare astride. Lydia was a disciplined rider, although not an accomplished one, but the gentle mare he put her on helped settle her nerves. The big brute he rode, named Sampson, was much more of a handful, prancing about as if showing off for Dolly, Lydia’s mare. The mare remained unimpressed, although Lydia was quite impressed by Isaac’s firm handling of his steed.
They rode a circuit through the fields surrounding the estate, taking them by each of the tenant houses. As Isaac introduced Lydia to them, and she was welcomed in turn, she received the impression that they were all very happy with their lord. They deferred, they were respectful, but they were also proud, both of themselves and of him. They certainly welcomed Lydia warmly.
At one household, the young wife, Mrs. Clark, was overwhelmed by her children who were all under the age of four. The babe was fussing as the other two clung to their mother’s skirts, shyly staring at the new duchess. Juggling the baby, Mrs. Clark gave an exasperated sigh as her two other children burrowed against her.
“I’m sorry, Yer Grace, they’re used ta the duke, but they never seen a duchess afore.”
Smiling, Lydia crouched down, holding her hand out to them. “Hello. I promise I’m not very scary once you get to know me.”
The little girl, a flaxen-haired, chubby-cheeked two year old, giggled and strode forward on pudgy legs, reaching out for Lydia’s hand. Not to be outdone - as well as already showing signs of protectiveness towards his younger sibling - her older brother quickly followed. With them out of her skirts, Mrs. Clark was able to focus on the baby with both her hands and her full attention.
Out of the corner of Lydia’s eye, she could see Isaac and Mr. Clark, deep in conversation, pointing at something out in the fields.
“My name is Lydia, what’s yours?” she asked the two children in front of her. The little girl had her fingers wrapped around Lydia’s while her brother hovered protectively just behind her.
“Penny,” said the little girl shyly.
“Noah,” said her brother.
Lydia smiled broadly at both of them. “It’s very nice to meet you, Penny and Noah.” Penny’s fingers squeezed hers as the little girl moved closer.
As much as Isaac was trying to attend to what Paul was saying about the fens and the mill, he found it much more difficult than usual to concentrate on the land. His grey-eyed temptress had coaxed the two Clark children to come and speak with her - something which had taken multiple, consecutive visits from him - and Penny was burbling something happily in her baby voice. Once she’d decided she liked someone, she was quite the little talker, even if her mouth couldn’t quite form all the words she attempted.
Seeing Lydia talking with the two children was causing an unexpected and unsettling reaction in Isaac. He’d never cared whether or not a woman was interested in children, because, of course, he’d never thought about having children with a woman. As his wife, Lydia was already in an entirely new category of woman for him, and seeing her interacting with two young children, supplanting them in his mind with his and her children...
The tight warmth that filled his chest, the sudden rush of blood to his loins... well, it wasn’t the reaction he would have predicted. Just watching her took his breath away.
Noting his distraction, Paul grinned. “Yer Grace? This tisn’t urgent, if you want ta talk ‘bout it later. The missus ’n I don’t want ta get in the way of newlyweds.”
Isaac cleared his throat. “Yes, well... ah, perhaps it would be best if we finished this discussion at a later date.”
Nodding his head in a way that was almost like taking a small bow, Paul’s grin broadened. “As ye wish, Yer Grace.”
Collecting his bride from the children, Isaac helped her to re-mount and they were on their way. He was gratified by the way his tenants welcomed her and immediately included her in conversation. As they rode, he asked for and received her observations, which was helpful as the womenfolk obviously felt more comfortable talking to another woman. He’d needed to know that Mrs. Shannon needed help with her large brood of children, as she’d recently been ill and was still recovering, and that Walter Coney’s eldest son was courting Michael Hood’s middle daughter. Isaac would send someone from the manor to assist Mrs. Shannon until she was back to full health, and he would keep an eye on the courting, and think about where to set aside some land as a gift to the newlywed couple. Somewhere far enough away from both families that they could feel some independence, although close enough on his lands that they could visit easily.
He pointed out the mill, pumping water out of the fens, and the nearby creek which fed a much larger river, only a few miles away. They rode past the orchards and the barley fields, and eventually into the small town where they had a light repast at the White Bells Inn. Although it wasn’t up to usually tonnish standards, Isaac had always enjoyed the hominess of the place, and Lydia didn’t even lift an eyebrow when he escorted her through the door. She was nothing but smiles and curiosity and as charming as ever when they were greeted by the proprietors.
All in all, Isaac felt he couldn’t have chosen a better bride. She fit him, she fit the lands, she hadn’t turned her nose up at meeting his tenants or treated them with any snobbishness, and she’d been truly interested the entire day.
If only he had actually chosen her.
Whenever he found himself thinking how perfect she was, that one fact would come rising up again in the back of his mind, as though it was stuck in his craw. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t push away the ramifications of it. Which was probably for the best, because he didn’t want to forget how their marriage had come about... not until he understood why. Until then, it was still a possible threat, and ignoring it wouldn’t make that threat disappear.
Impatience pressed in on him, and he did his best to shrug it off as they rode back to the stables. Lydia’s eyes were bright from the exertions, a similar brightness that lit them at night, when he’d escort her to her bedroom. The feeling of being betrayed grew.
“I’ll see to the horses,” he said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be, after he helped her down from Dolly’s back. Immediately, the brightness in her eyes dimmed a bit. A similar dimming which he ignored every night when he left her bed for his own. Part of him was glad to see she was put out by his behavior - as he was by hers - another part of him hated to see her brightness dim and hated his petty enjoyment of it even more. Trying to soften his initial statement, he cleared his throat. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner this evening.”
Her lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I as well. Thank you for today, it was lovely.”
Then she turned and walked away, her heavy riding skirt shushing back and forth as her hips swung. Isaac watched her go only for a moment before taking the reins of both horses and leading them into the stables. Immediately, one of the grooms came forward to take Dolly, the others hung back, waiting to see if he would nod for one of them to come and take Sampson.
Wanting some peace, and needing some space from his wife, Isaac had no intention of leaving the stables anytime soon. As if sensing his disquiet, Sampson knickered and nudged his nose against Isaac. Patting the horse’s neck, Isaac shushed him.
“Sorry old man, nothing you can help with.” He sighed and went to work, removing Sampson’s saddle, saddle blanket, and reins so he could curry and brush him down. As he did so, his thoughts whirled, centered - as they always seemed to be lately - on his wife.
Dinner with Isaac was a little awkward. Lydia wanted to smooth over the strangeness which had sprung up between them, but she was still feeling a bit hurt by his rebuff in the yard. Not that she’d reached out to him, but he’d pushed her away anyway.
She hated it.
She wanted her husband to like her, as she liked him. He was impossible not to like. A bit stodgy at times, but Lydia liked that he was dependable, she liked that he was proper (at least, outside of the bedroom). She’d liked him even more for the respect he’d engendered in his tenants and the respect he had for them in turn. While there was no questioning his authority, he was also no mean tyrant.
When he forgot how she’d trapped him - and he did, sometimes, she could tell - he was everything she could wish in a husband. Gentle, caring, kind, but with a hungry gleam in his eye that spoke of his desire for her. His passion inspired hers, even when his hands were no longer gentle, and she rather enjoyed when his needs would so overcome him that he would be rougher with her, holding and touching her with needy hands and fingers. Outside of the bedroom, their conversation flowed easily, enjoyably, and she could tell he appreciated her intelligence and her knowledge. He never called her a blue stocking, no matter what they were talking about; he didn’t even seem to care that sometimes she knew more about a topic than he did, but instead would listen with interest. She felt like she could be completely herself with him - right up until he remembered.
Then his dark eyes would shutter, like windows closing, the corners of his mouth would turn down, and a little wrinkle would appear in the center of his forehead. And Lydia’s heart would ache, because she immediately knew why, and knew there was no one to blame but herself.
