The Wicked Confessions Of Lady Cecelia Stanton (novella) Page 2

  ‘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.’

  I remembered the fierce fullness of my husband’s manhood locked betwixt my thighs and shuddered. ‘I think pleasure from that act is a fanciful dream, and not one likely to be realised – not in my marriage bed at least.’

  Again Bess clicked her tongue at me, as one may at a horse or dairy cow. ‘Silly girl, I shall prove you wrong,’ she laughed, then continued her ministrations.

  Her finger brushed past that particularly sensitive part at the apex of my womanhood and I gasped once more. I had thought to tell her to cease clicking at me, but I found myself speechless.

  Rhythmically now, her fingers brushed over that sweet sensitive spot, and I felt something spark to life deep in my womb.

  For a time, words were impossible, but as her rhythm quickened, I found my body once more plundered, however, this time by Bess’s fingers.

  I cried, my voice keening. Her invasion was sharp, but sweetly so. I could feel my body tense, as if some uncontrolled part of me was climbing to an elusive and unknown pinnacle. I writhed, struggling to find my breath. What was she doing to me? How was she doing this? I could find no cogent words to ask, and her fingers continued to dance their magical dance in the damp nest between my legs.

  Then it happened. My body broke with the sheer sweetness of her caresses. I had never known such pleasure, not from food nor wine, and I fell into exquisite rapture. If heaven had been a place on this mortal earth, I believe I found it that night under Bess’s knowing hands.

  Chapter 3

  I do not know how long I lay there with my maid’s hands entwined between my damp thighs, but eventually I roused. Intense feelings of guilt and shame replaced the delights of passion.

  ‘Bess,’ I began to speak, but she must have read my face.

  ‘Milady, I will leave you now.’

  I moved swiftly however, and gripped her hand. I was disturbed to feel my own body’s slickness coating her rough fingers, and released her just as fast.

  ‘I must know, how did you do it? Did Carter teach you these things?’ I asked, holding her gentle gaze steady. Bess was much more worldly than I, and I knew at that moment, she’d had more men that merely horse-toothed Carter.

  She smiled shamelessly at me then, as Bess often did. ‘Whatever gave you that notion?’ she asked. ‘Men will not teach you what a woman needs in the bed. Only a woman can teach you this. Milady, have you never touched yourself there?’

  ‘Clearly not,’ I replied and hesitated. ‘At least, not in the same manner.’ I felt exposed by the turn in the conversation pulled a blanket across my nakedness.

  Bess’s eyes lingered on me, a heady, long moment and I found myself wondering if she expected the same ministrations from me. The thought made me nervous, though I cannot quite explain why.

  Bess smiled again, and I felt at ease once more. ‘Do not look so concerned. You have been a good mistress and friend to me, always. I wish you happiness and satisfaction in your marriage. With my help, I can teach you things that will please you and your husband alike.’

  When she had said such a thing earlier in the evening, I did not believe her and though she had shown me her words could be true, something sat ill with me.

  ‘Do not take me for a fool, Bess Miller,’ I said. ‘You have been my closest friend for such a long time.’

  Her face grew puzzled. ‘I have never taken you for a fool.’

  Yet I continued to worry. If word of this moment ever were found, it would shame my family and prove to society my marriage was farcical. Perhaps I have a worrisome nature, but an insane fear struck me. If I allowed Bess to instruct me in pleasurable arts, I would be giving her license to blackmail.

  ‘To offer me education in these matters would require something in return. What is it that you wish of me?’ I asked.

  I am a woman who prides herself on an almost masculine practical-mindedness. So I was under no illusions that Bess must wish something in return for her favours.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied simply. ‘You mistake me for a man, for I wish nothing in return.’

  ‘Nothing?’ I repeated like a simpleton. ‘Not money? Jewels? Reciprocal affection?’

  It was Bess who hesitated then. ‘Perhaps in time, if you wished to offer reciprocal affection I would receive it gladly. If you do not, then all I wish is to retain my station as your maid. I could not hope for a better position.’

  ‘Bess,’ I chided, ‘you do not have to this to keep your employ secure. Not now, nor ever.’

  As I spoke the words, I realised their truth.

  She smiled. ‘And it is this kindness that makes me wish to be your instructor in these matters. There are no ladies quite so deserving of this pleasure than you.’

  I understood her words, but my doubts did not sway. I was torn and unsure whether to believe her.

  ‘If you speak truth, then I thank you,’ I began, ‘but if ever…’ My words were left incomplete. Instead, I reached and caressed the line of her lips. Her eyes closed at the simple touch. My chest tightened, and I leaned forward replacing my hand with my lips. I kissed her lightly and closed my eyes, relishing the soft, sweetness of her lips against mine. I never realised until that moment how very long I’d wished to kiss her.

  I felt her lips curl with a smile and I pulled away, feeling heat stain my cheeks. I opened my eyes and saw her shake her head gently. I took comfort in the fact that Bess had never shown me any enmity; in fact, she had always been my most stalwart friend. Guilt plagued me. Was I a terrible person to have suspected her of foul play?

  ‘I will leave you now, my lady,’ she whispered, and her hand gently patted my thigh. ‘Goodnight. And if your husband returns to you this evening, relax and allow him access. Nothing good ever comes of a wife denying her husband his rights.’ Her face turned hard, and I realised with some conviction that she did not look well upon my rakish husband.

  I nodded, thankful that after Bess’s ministrations the terror of having my husband once more, no longer seemed so great and overwhelming.

  ‘Thank you, goodnight,’ I murmured, as Bess gathered her skirts and backed from the room.

  I lay awake for many hours after. My husband’s parting words had lead me to expect him to visit once more, but as the candles burned to piteous stubs, my room fell to darkness and sleep swiftly overcame me.

  I awoke to the chambermaid having opened the curtains and a meal waiting on a silver tray. I was perplexed.

  ‘Does my husband not wish to break his fast downstairs with me?’ I asked, for in my family home, the morning fast was always broken as a family in the dining room.

  The maid, a fresh, ruddy-cheeked woman, looked at me surprised perhaps that I had spoken.

  ‘Forgive me, milady, I’m not privy to his lordship’s mornin’ habits. I’m only the chambermaid.’

  I could feel my brow wrinkle and watched her for another moment. The skirts of her uniform rustled as she moved, and I noticed her ears were inordinately pink.

  ‘What is your name?’ I asked as I sat up in the bed, and the maid placed the tray upon my knees.

  ‘Daisy, if it pleases you,’ she replied, her blue eyes noticeably avoiding my own.

  Strange girl. I disliked her immediately.
Then felt bad for my negative musings.

  ‘You may leave,’ I said and she hurried to obey.

  When the door closed, I looked down at my tray. The ornate silver platter displayed sliced fruit, tea and bread. I had little appetite. My body, unaccustomed to the ravages of conjugal duties, was uncomfortable and I seemed to be plagued by a dull pulsing from my most intimate place.

  I picked at the fruit a nibbled at the buttered bread. The latter, I found particularly pleasing so consumed it all.

  It was just as I finished my cup of tea that there was a knock on my door.

  ‘Yes?’ I called leaning to my left and placing the tray on the small bedside table.

  The door opened and I found myself greeted by my husband’s mischievous smile.

  ‘Good morning, my dear. I hope you find breakfast to your liking.’

  I inclined my head. ‘Good morning. I do.’

  He hesitated and closed the door behind him, his smile faltered very briefly. ‘My dear,’ he began and walked towards me. ‘I come this morning to, ah…’ He paused and rubbed his chin in a gesture of awkwardness. ‘To see how you have faired after the events in this room last night.’

  To say I was surprised by this enquiry would be an understatement. My husband is a known rake, and yet to show such consideration for my wellbeing left me feeling absurdly touched. ‘I am tender,’ I responded. ‘As any maiden would be after her wedding night.’

  ‘Quite,’ he agreed, and I dare say I saw a blush stain his shaven cheeks.

  Perhaps it is absurd, but it was this that first began to endear him to me. I started to wonder if he was not quite the scoundrel many have taken him for.

  I hesitated then. ‘Is there any more you wish of me?’

  He laughed then, and threw his head back. His teeth flashed white in the sunlight from the open curtains. ‘My sweet, there is very much more I wish of you.’

  It was my turn to blush and he stepped closer to the bed, sinking down on the soft mattress beside me.

  My heart hammered and my breasts tightened beneath my nightdress. His eyes traced the lines of my throat and lingered at the hollow there. His gaze had weight. My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed, my throat dry with fear or anticipation or a blend of both.