Sir Thomas’s Bride_Masterful Husbands_Book One, page 12
Inside the house, Thomas towed Margaret through to the old estates office, which had now become his study, still in the early stages of transition but perfectly adequate for his purpose today. Once inside the room he pointed to the wooden chair set at a right angle to the desk.
"Sit!" he ordered. Margaret glared at him but obeyed and flounced crossly into the chair.
"Kindly explain the events leading up to now." Thomas went and sat on the corner of the large wooden desk and waited for Margaret to compose herself.
After she explained the way she had come across Imogene and the subsequent arrival of her brother and possible intended, Margaret began a tirade against the way young women were kept so entirely innocent before marriage. So much so that they thought kissing alone would produce children! Thomas thought privately that his wife had a point here but they were veering off the path.
He interrupted her and enlightened her about her rude and ungracious behaviour informing her that she would be punished forthwith. He sternly ordered her up to their chamber to await him, instructing her to be ready for him, bent over the end of the bed, with her skirts and petticoats raised for punishment.
Margaret stomped angrily from the study and flew up the stairs. She knew that defying her strict husband would simply mean a more uncomfortable backside for her. However, she was utterly livid. Unlike other occasions when she had been spanked, this was completely undeserved. Why should she be punished for pointing out the error of men's ways! She wondered how Imogene had fared, had she too been spanked as her overbearing brother had threatened? Ooh, it was all so unfair! She entered their chamber and slammed the door behind her so hard, that the portrait pictures upon the wall rattled and shook on their nails.
Unable to control her fury, she picked up her silver hair brush from the dressing table set and hurled it at one of the portraits of a smirking older man wearing a wine red coat. The painting fell to the floor with a crash and the frame split asunder. Shortly after this, the door to the chamber was flung wide and Thomas marched over to where the brush lay on the floor beside the damaged picture. He picked up the brush, grasped Margaret by her upper arm and moved swiftly over to the dressing table stool, whereupon he sat, tugging Margaret unceremoniously down across his lap. Apart from a small defiant kick of her ankle, Margaret did not attempt to fight him, for she knew the outcome was inevitable. Her skirts and petticoats ended up over her head and her bared bottom clenched with nervous anticipation.
What she hadn't expected was the crack across her naked buttocks with her own silver hairbrush and it hurt! It actually hurt more than she could have imagined. Despite being determined to behave in a haughty but injured fashion, to impress upon Thomas the injustice of this spanking, Margaret found herself kicking out and squealing repeatedly, as the blows fell fast and furious, turning her alabaster skin to crimson within minutes.
Her bottom stung and burned. She tried to catch her breath but the spanking was being given at such a speed she couldn't grab a breath or process the pain. Tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and she wept, quite unable to form an apology she knew that might end her torment.
Thomas was spanking deliberately hard and fast. His naughty waspish girl needed this spanking and she was getting it at the pace and vigour her defiance and temper demanded. He would not tolerate childish temper tantrums from the woman who was now his wife and he would make certain sure that she knew that right here and now.
He admired the shivering wave of flesh that the hairbrush produced with each spank and the white oval the brush left behind, which blossomed a fetching pink as each stinging blow landed.
He adored the sight of his wife's upturned bottom, framed as it was by the lace and froth of her petticoats. Her shapely white thighs parted, scissoring every so often as he brought her brush down on her tender flesh there. His stones ached with pleasure at the sight. Yes, Thomas thoroughly enjoyed spanking his errant wife but he also wished to impart his displeasure at her throwing things about whenever life didn't go quite the way she wished it to.
Margaret ended up with a very hot, red bottom. When Thomas allowed her upright, he pointed to a corner in the room and ordered her to stay there until he called for her. Margaret stumbled over to the corner and stood there weeping copiously. Her hands reached back to rub her sore cheeks but when Thomas tsked and tutted at her, she dropped her hands obediently.
Thomas shook his head and grinned, he would never tire of his naughty girl. Margaret would keep him frequently on his toes. He watched as she sniffled in the corner, her hands disobediently slipping behind her to rub away the sting in her bottom. He walked over to her and took her hands in his, placing them on top of her head.
"Lace your fingers together and keep them there; that way you won't be tempted to rub and soothe your punished bottom. I want you to feel the sting and know why I spanked you. I won't tolerate rudeness to my friends or defiance toward me. Nor will I tolerate childish tantrums and stamping feet. Is that understood, Margaret?" When she was slow to answer, Thomas smacked her sore backside with his open palm.
"Yes, sir, I understand!" Margaret sang out quickly.
"Good. I shall return in a short while and I shall expect you to be here where I left you, contemplating your apology and possible atonement, is that understood?"
"Yes, very clear, sir."
Thomas crossed to the door opened it and closed it. Margaret immediately lowered her arms and rubbed her aching bottom with a low groan of relief. It was short lived relief and a most dreadful shock when strong arms pulled her away from the wall, bent her forward and tossed up her skirts. Painful spanks rained down on her already sore rear end and they continued falling until Margaret sobbed and begged to be forgiven, finally ending with her pushed to her knees in front of Thomas.
He ignored her crying and loosened the laces at the front of her dress. Scooping out her breasts he rolled her nipples roughly betwixt his fingers. Next he freed his rampant cock and offered it to his disobedient wife. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and opened her mouth obediently. Thomas thrust inside her wet warmth and drew his swollen length repeatedly in and out of her mouth.
His hands cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples until they ached. After a few moments of this he pulled his pego out from her mouth and yanked her dress down over her shoulders freeing her breasts completely and trapping her arms. He grasped her breasts in both hands and pushed the soft pillows of flesh together. Leaning downward, Thomas drew a hardened bud into his mouth and tormented it with teeth and tongue, then he repeated his actions with her other nipple. Finally, he thrust his cock into the tight valley he had created between her breasts and thrust repeatedly until with a sigh, a jet of creamy fluid coated Margaret's chest.
Thomas helped Margaret to her feet and guided her back into her corner, her hands upon her head.
"You will remain there just as you are, until I tell you otherwise. Hopefully, I have reinforced the message that I am in charge and when I tell you to do something you will not simply ignore my instructions because you think I have left the room. My very essence brands you as mine, Margaret, and as mine, you shall obey me!" With a final slap on her arse for good measure, Thomas went into the dressing room to tidy himself, leaving Margaret feeling chastened but extremely aroused standing alone in her corner.
After Thomas had changed out of his travelling garb, he soaked a flannel in lavender water from a silver toped crystal bottle that stood upon Margaret's dressing table. He sat on the dressing table stool and called his wife over to him. He cleaned her with the sweet smelling water and then pulled her down upon his knee. He tugged her chemise and dress back up her arms, covering her breasts and then he laced up the front of her gown. Margaret wriggled about a little to accommodate her sore behind.
"We shall partake of supper together and then retire early to our bed. I have a hunger in me for more than food this night, my errant wife!"
Margaret blushed. "I am sorry, Thomas, that you felt I was rude to your friends but..."
"Stop there, but with no buts, pray continue."
Margaret gulped, she was not sorry for her action in standing up for Imogene today and she felt that her treatment had been somewhat unfair, however she realised that her husband was waiting for an apology and her bottom was afire already. If she didn't apologise she could expect more punishment and she could not face that.
Thomas had more or less told her he would make love to her later that night, which she discovered she inexplicitly craved after she was spanked and so she took a deep breath and apologised as prettily as she could. Thomas appeared to accept her contrite words at face value and she breathed a sigh of relief when he kissed her cheek and bid her accompany him downstairs to join him for sherry in the withdrawing room.
Chapter 22
Hockley had slipped quietly off to the Dowager House as soon as Sir Thomas had leapt from the coach on their arrival at Longetlestone. She had found the Lady Amelia gratifyingly pleased to welcome her. Hockley gladly filled her employer in with the intimate details of the methods Sir Thomas's used to control Lady Margaret's temper and behaviour. Lady Amelia was agog with the details and determined to separate her daughter from her husband as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
She decided that she would have to disgrace Thomas, have the King dissolve their marriage and then she would use Margaret to her advantage to ensnare a higher ranking member of their set. Her original plan to marry Margaret for money and prestige may not yet be lost. If only Mortimer had played his part and married Margaret in the first place, as he was supposed to do, none of this would have become necessary. She had expensive tastes and had lived well above her means. She needed to add more coin to her nearly empty coffers. Margaret's huge dowry money left to her by her father in his will was now under Thomas Wiggington's control as Margaret's husband. Lady Amelia could not get her hands on that money.
Lady Amelia sat at her secretaire and put pen to paper, writing at once to Queen Charlotte with the shocking and hitherto private details of Margaret's marriage to Thomas. A small smile tugged at the corner of her wide, toad like mouth, as poison poured from her quill.
* * *
Margaret awoke and stretched her arms above her head. Her body felt refreshed but languid. Her bottom cheeks still stung, her breasts felt heavy and achingly pleasant, her nipples sensitive against the linen sheets. She felt decadently loved and completely fulfilled this sunny morn. Thomas had indeed loved her the previous night, again and again, until they were both too spent to do anything other than sleep.
The door of the room flung wide and Thomas himself strolled in, wearing nothing but his banyan and slippers. He was balancing a tray of breakfast and his face split into a roguish grin at the sight of his wife's naked body tangled in the bed sheets, her silky mussed hair and her swollen lips testifying his use of her throughout the previous night. He set the tray down upon a dresser and went to her bed side. Bending his head, he took Margaret's mouth with his own and proved that they could both be persuaded to yet more pleasure while content to allow their breakfast cool awhile. His shaft lengthened, iron hard and he broke his kiss to pull the covers away from his wife's perfectly formed breasts. Her nipples told the same story as her lips, swollen, rosy and utterly irresistible to him. He had to taste her sweet fruits and so he did, breaking away only when she squirmed and moaned for more.
Hastily he threw back the covers, she parted her legs allowing him to admire the glistening pink folds that welcomed him and with no preliminaries he slid between her legs, mounting his wife. Margaret sighed with pleasure and gasped as Thomas rode her hard from the start, arousing her so that they spent together quickly and easily, smiling into one another's eyes in the glowing aftermath.
"I never thought to enjoy the marriage bed as much as I do, Thomas. I cannot seem to get enough of your loving, um is that... well, normal do you suppose, Thomas?"
Thomas preened, a slow smile spread across his face. "I am glad that you acknowledge my skill at pleasuring you, Bee m'dear. For myself, I cannot get enough of your pert delights." Margaret smacked his shoulder and was rewarded with unexpected tickling, that soon had her giggling and squealing for mercy.
"Come lets us break our fast while our food is still warm. Then I thought a picnic today, what say you, Margaret?"
"That sounds absolutely delightful, Thomas. I shall inform cook."
"No need, I have spoken with her, it is all in hand. Enjoy your chocolate while it is still hot." He handed her a cup and poured one for himself.
"Margaret?"
"Hmm," she mumbled her mouth full of tepid scrambled egg.
"When I spoke with the doctor, he mentioned some scandal happening here, I think some few years back. Do you recall any such thing?"
"I cannot think of any scandal, no..." She paused to think. "And I don't recall any such event, sorry. Did the doctor not elaborate?"
"No, but I think I shall ask him about it when next I see him."
"Why, when will you see him again?"
"Hmm, I am to join the Henfield cricket club and the doctor plays for Edenbridge. Apparently we are to play a friendly against his team. Mortimer plays for Henfield, as does Weston. Mortimer is Captain. You should come to a match and enjoy the tea arranged by some of the good wives of the cricketers. Rose Mortimer will be there so I am told."
"Actually, Thomas, I think might enjoy that."
"Jolly good!"
He beamed at his dishevelled wife. She was so delightful after she had been thoroughly spanked and very well loved. If only she could be like this all of the time, but then, he had wanted a wife that kept him on his toes so to speak and Margaret most certainly managed that!
They picnicked in a high meadow on Longetlestone land, surrounded by buttercups and the drowsy drone of busy bees. After partaking of chicken and veal pie, hardboiled eggs and asparagus dipped in mayonnaise, they ate pretty coloured sugared almonds and strawberries.
Thomas lay on his back his head pillowed on his wife's lap. Margaret played with his queue, slipping the black ribbon from his straight hair. She ran her fingers through the thick light coloured strands, her nails dragging pleasantly over his scalp. Thomas sighed blissfully. He did so love his hair being played with. Margaret smiled and willingly massaged her husband's head. His eye lids drooped drowsily and soon fell shut.
Margaret gazed about her, the sun was warm on her back and an occasional breeze lifted the tendrils of hair at the back of her neck pleasantly. The final dusting of pink cherry blossoms swirled gently like pale confetti all around her as they fell from the tree, some landing on Thomas's thick locks. Carefully she bent her head to remove each tiny petal and was startled when a hand swept up behind her head and brought her face down to Thomas's, whereupon he kissed her sweetly on her lips.
"Do you know what day it is today?" he asked her as his lips left her wanting. She shook her head, her forehead furrowed slightly as she thought about what day it might be.
"No, do tell me."
"It is our six-month anniversary today and I have a small gift for you." Thomas sat up and reached for his green coat, which lay upon the edge of the picnic rug. He rummaged in a pocket and pulled out a small tooled leather covered box, which he handed to his wife with a flourish.
Margaret took the box and noticed the gold chased lettering upon the top. "Master Heming! Why Thomas, he is jeweller to their Majesties King George and Queen Charlotte!" Thomas grinned at the look of astonishment on his wife's face.
"Well don't just stare at the box; open it, Bee!"
Margaret carefully lifted the tiny hinged lid on the elegant box and gasped with delight. Inside it laid the most beautiful brooch. A bumble bee made of yellow gold. The black stripes on its body were made of tiny pieces of shiny jet but the yellow stripes were all made from pretty, cushion cut, yellow diamond chips, which glittered and glinted brightly, catching the sun, mirroring the myriad of umber colours within the hard gems. The workmanship was exquisite and Margaret loved it on sight. Thomas helped her to pin it onto her pretty, pale forget-me-not blue morning dress.
"You haven't yet asked me, why a bee?" Thomas cocked his head and watched Margaret tilt her head and make a moue of question with her lips.
"You call me Bee?"
"Yes, and shall I tell you why?"
She nodded, a smile played about her mouth.
"When I met you, you were a nasty stinging wasp and as one does with a wasp, I swatted you. Now that you are my little honey bee, I sup your nectar regularly."
Margaret gasped, giggling. "Thomas, you are quite dreadful—what a ditty and it rhymed! I do so love my gift, thank you, my darling, and she reached out cupped his chin moving her thumb over the rough skin; how she loved the feel of stubble on his masculine face. She held either side of his head with both her hands and kissed him fully on the mouth. Tenderly he returned her kiss, until they were breathless and more than half aroused.
"Come let us walk awhile," Thomas suggested so he had a chance to cool his rampant ardour. They strolled through meadows and discussed renovating their rather dull drawing room. A mild disagreement began over styles but Thomas acquiesced over his preference for the Greek style, agreeing that perhaps it was not a style that would suit a house such as Longetlestone. Next they bickered about colours, Margaret favoured pale green but Thomas argued that would be too cold and suggested a pale buttercup yellow.
As they reached the gate into the next field, Thomas was intrigued to see, at the far end, a crumbling mill house, charmingly set beside a gently flowing stream. An old water wheel, attached to the side of the house, still dipped brokenly into the murky race waters. "Who lives here, Margaret?" he asked curiously.
