“I couldn’t wait to get undressed or even take off my shoes. I unbuttoned my trousers only enough to free my dick and then I worked myself harder and faster than I have since I was a schoolboy. I wanted one of your dresses then to climax in. I wanted you to watch as I did it.”
His hand moved faster now, and I could hear the fabric rustling as it brushed against the chair and the wool of his pants. “I had to settle for my hand, of course, watching cum spill over onto my fingers and onto my waistcoat when I knew, even then, that it belonged in your cunt, on your tits, in your hair.”
My fingers were gripping his thighs so hard that I knew they’d leave marks. I also knew that he liked it, he liked it when I repaid his dominance with fierceness, when I submitted but with teeth and scratching and twisting.
“Watch now,” he said. “I’m going to come on this dress. I’m going to mark it. Destroy it. Because you are mine now. You wear the dresses I give you. You climax when I say you can.” His breath was ragged now, rough like unpolished granite, rough and lovely. “Say it,” he said. “Say that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathed. “My body belongs to you. My pleasure belongs to you. Only you.”
His other hand caught my face once again. “Only me.”
“Only you, but please, I need—” My hands were already sliding off his legs. I couldn’t help it. I had to touch myself, had to. I was almost weeping with the agony of it.
Effortlessly, he grabbed both my wrists, his long fingers keeping them pinned together at his knee. His eyes glittered green with triumph. “Here it comes,” he growled. “Watch.”
And watch I did, as ejaculate spurted in thick, white ropes onto what used to be the most expensive dress I owned. He made no noise, his hips stayed still, his hand still a vise around my wrists. But he came hard and long and by the time he was done, my eyes were burning with tears and wet desire was beginning to slide coolly down my thighs.
His cock pulsed one last time and we both watched it together. Then he looked at me, kneeling and trapped, shuddering uncontrollably with the need to be fucked, my dress pooled in his lap, laced with his semen. He looked so powerful, and I was confronted once again with the almost princely virility of him, the raw strength of body and will, and the shudders shook me harder.
He tossed the dress to the side. “You wanted to learn, Ivy. Today, I will teach you the meaning of the word need. And it won’t be an easy lesson.”
He must have seen the horror in my face as I realized that he wasn’t going to fuck me or even bring me off with his fingers or tongue. I started wrestling against his grip then, no plan in mind other than to get my hands free and end this consuming roar of desire. He grinned at my fruitless efforts, and then leaned forward, whispering in my ear, “If you are a good pupil, if I feel satisfied with your progress, then I will reward you.”
“Reward me now,” I said, my voice strangled. “God, Julian, I can’t—”
His mouth slanted against mine, sealing me off from speech and air and thought. He broke off, breath ragged, and when he sat up, I could see that he was getting hard again. “I like it when you call me by my name,” he said throatily, and for a moment, I glimpsed that vulnerable, tortured soul that I loved so much, as much as I loved the brusque, dominating mask he wore over it.
He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Come,” he said, leading me by my wrists to the door. I felt a flash of apprehension when he opened the door to the hallway—what if a servant saw us? Him pulling me along like a prisoner, me completely naked? But I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the thought also incited more lust. I wanted other people to know how he owned my body. I wanted the whole world to know. And I wanted the whole world to see how I owned him when he was inside of me, how only I got to see those rare moments of human desperation and vulnerability.
The hallway was empty and we were inside my room after a short walk. Mr. Markham let me go, with a glance of warning at my hands, and then began searching for a new dress. After he’d selected a dress, a fresh corset and all of the other assorted underthings, he laid them on the bed. I moved to pick them up, but he stopped me with a hand on my bare stomach.
“I will dress you,” he said. “We’re taking a bit of a journey and I want you attired in a certain way.”
“We’re going somewhere?” No. That couldn’t be. I couldn’t go anywhere like this, certainly not somewhere public…
“We have errands to run in York,” he said. “You must be fitted for a wedding gown, and I have arrangements to make with my bankers for our honeymoon.”
“Dress? Honeymoon?” These things had slipped out of my mind this morning, everything had slipped out of my mind, everything but the sight of Mr. Markham stroking his cock.
“You haven’t forgotten in such a short time?” he asked, looking diverted. “You are going to be my wife. And I want you to have the best of everything I can give you—a gleaming wedding dress, a tour abroad that never has to end if you don’t want it to.”
The idea of marrying Mr. Markham still thrilled me, excited me, but I didn’t care about dresses or travels. “I don’t want you to buy me things,” I said. “I want you to fuck me.”
He laughed, clearly delighted by this.
I was not as amused as he was. “We agreed that I wasn’t to be your whore. Why do you insist on getting me things I don’t want?”
“Because you are mine and it is in my power to give you things. It makes me happy. Will you consent to this, for the sake of my happiness?” He leaned his forehead against mine. “Do it for me, Ivy. Because I am completely at your mercy. My happiness, my fulfillment, my soul, it is all yours to make or destroy.”
He brushed his lips against mine, and I couldn’t help it—I tried to rub myself against his leg, whimpering when he pulled away. “Julian, I’m begging you,” I gasped. “If you must take me to York, fuck me first. Otherwise, it will be unbearable.”
“You only think it’s unbearable. Imagine what suffering it will be for me to restrain myself. Now, hold out your leg, it’s time for us to dress.”
I refused, tucking one ankle behind the other. His eyes glittered and suddenly his hand was sliding down my stomach, his fingers finding my clit.
I moaned, melting against him, my legs falling open as the sensation of him caressing my bud overwhelmed me.
And then he stopped, smug.
