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She flinched when he hooked his fingers through her laces. However, she said nothing as he drew the gown down, revealing another bodice as well made as the one he’d removed the previous day. The silky gown rippled and formed a circle around her feet. She was laced at the front, and tightly too. He pulled out the cord, releasing the bodice, then dragged it off her shoulders. That too landed on the floor.
The cottage was clean. He kept it that way diligently. Well swept, dusted, and free of cobwebs. He was proud of his abode. She was probably used to grand salons and chambers, but here, she would have to make do with the one room. If she stayed, of course. Whether she did or not would depend on how she took to being spanked hard and taken in the arsehole. He rather fancied she’d like the latter, but probably not the former, which wasn’t a big surprise since she’d probably never had a thrashing in her life.
She tossed her head to one side and refused to look him in the eyes. She kept her arms folded across her chest in a worthy act of defiance and her knees pinned together. Yet not a word came out of her mouth. If this was the sum total of her protest, it was pathetic and unlikely to dissuade him.
“Move them hands, or I’ll rip this off.” He pinched the thin cotton of her chemise.
She shook her head.
“I’m warning you. It will cost you extra.” He wanted to smile. She was courageous and wondrously defiant in her pout.
“Very well.” The chemise wasn’t that important and easier to replace than a dress. He grabbed the cloth at the shoulders and tore it off her. It split down the middle like tissue paper.
She gasped. “How dare you, sir.” She was as naked as a newborn baby. She clasped her hands before her privates. Her neat breasts were generous and in keeping with her likely age; probably no more than twenty. They stood out and not down; they’d never had a babe sup on them.
“I dare.” He took hold of her pale arm and marched her to the table. “Over you go.”
Her lower lip trembled beautifully. “Not your lap?”
He chuckled. There was no way he’d let her feel his hardness. He was a stiff as a wooden stake and aching to exercise it. “That’ll have to be earned,” he said gleefully.
The pout extended. She refused to budge.
He knocked her feet apart and pushed her firmly between her shoulder blades. She folded and landed face down on the oak boa
rd. She hammered her fists on the surface and kicked her legs about.
“Be still, or it will hurt more.” He held her down, keeping his left hand spread across her shoulders while she humped the table in an unladylike way.
She was so pale that her skin was as white as chalk. He’d caressed it last night, felt its silky smooth finish, and glided his cock over her belly. He was as rough as iron filings, kept that way by hard work and little opportunity to relax. The contrast between her delicate body and his thickset one could not be more pronounced.
Before she could wriggle out from under his hand, he walloped one of her fulsome arse cheeks. She hollered and stilled. The shock of it was what took the breath out of her lungs. He could hit far harder than that, but it would do more harm than good. The print of his hand left a deep red mark. The other pale cheek needed to match. He walloped that one too.
She screamed. “That’s enough.”
He laughed. “Enough? I’ve just started. Once we’ve got this arse turned hot and red, I’ll get my belt and stripe it. Then some butter on my knob and you’ll be as good as gold while I sort that tight arse of yours out. Or all you have to do is tell me the name of your husband so I can return you to his godly embrace.”
“I shall not.” She buried her head in her arms.
“That’s what I thought.” The slaps he dished out covered her bottom and he worked around each taut globe methodically. Throughout, she kicked and cried out, called him a brute and a bastard, which he knew were both lies, and continued to keep her bent over with a firm arm.
Eventually, when he reckoned he’d given her a dozen or so spanks on each arse cheek, she ceased the caterwauling and wriggling and kept her toes on the floor. It happened, he’d seen it many times before. Once they gave in, they found it easier to take. The toasting he was giving her was warming her heart and belly as much as her arse.
The temptation was too great. He stopped the rapid fire of smacks, which had turned her arse crimson, and removed his hand from her back. She didn’t move.
“Good girl,” he said. With both hands free, he performed an inspection. Crouching behind her, he eased apart her quivering cheeks and examined the foliage between. Her bush would need a good trim; the hairs were fair enough and framed her sex. He licked his finger and ran it along the furrow between her buttocks. The puckered entrance flexed, as he’d hoped.
“Tight little hole that is. Will take some breaking, but I think you can manage my cock.”
“Please, sir, it will not take you.”
“I can judge for myself.” He moved down to her puffy lips. Pink and flushed. He pinched each one between thumb and finger. She winced. “These lips are fat with lust, girl. You can’t hide it from me.”
“My lips?” she queried.
Her ignorance was his bliss. He was enjoying educating her. “Labia, they’re called. Knows you not your own body. Tut, girl. These are the folds that protect your cunny.”
“Such vulgar language, sir,” she said.
