Humbling His Bride Page 4

  She found herself panting over his lap, barely repressing floods of tears that threatened to break through her veneer of self-control. This man was taking her to her very limits. Her curls had loosed themselves around her head and were obscuring her vision, her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her bottom and thighs felt as though they’d been dipped into a molten inferno. Still he was not done.

  “When you are told to kneel, you will kneel. When you are told to touch yourself, you will touch yourself, and when you are told to come, you will come,” he said as his palm landed solidly across her cheeks. “Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Lydia replied.

  He stopped spanking for a moment, clearly catching something in her tone. “You understand? Or you agree?”

  “You asked me if I understood what you said. I do.”

  “You brat,” he said, slapping her bottom soundly. “You are trouble, aren’t you, Lydia. A smart little aristocrat who thinks she can trick her way out of trouble.”

  His words were harsh and judgmental, but there was something lighter in his tone. Not quite approval, but perhaps some kind of affection. It was strange to hear in the middle of the first punishment she had ever received. His palm swept back and forth over the rise of her cheeks in a soothing motion that did not do much to assuage the pain, but was better than being spanked.

  “Are you ready to follow my orders now?”

  Lydia hesitated before giving her response.

  * * *

  The young woman over his thighs quivered with rebellion. Tristan could feel it coursing through her as he palmed her bottom in a silent reminder of the consequences of disobedience.

  Lydia was a fascinating, feisty little creature and he was quite enamored of her. Tristan had seen many of these spoiled brats go through the choosing process. Most of them were meek and compliant, some resisted but soon complied once they tasted a little leather, but this young woman had a certain quiet dignity and spirit that was not touched by either pain or punishment. He could have taken a harsher implement to her, but instinct told him that it would be completely counterproductive. She would likely resist a cane far more easily than the slapping of his palm. If he was to gain her respect and obedience, he needed her trust, and there could be no trust where there was brutality.

  “Are you ready to behave yourself and do as you are told?”

  He watched her squirm in place, her motion increasing as the question sank in. Her wriggling was not determined by the heat in her bottom so much as the emotional discomfort she was clearly experiencing as she considered the possibility of obeying him. There was still a tell-tale gleam between her lower lips, a sign of arousal she didn’t seem to be aware of.

  Tristan let his fingers drift down between her legs and played them across her soft mound. Lydia let out a little moan and her hips lifted toward his hand, a response she couldn’t control. He smiled as he let his fingertips slide up and down her lower lips with a teasing touch he knew would not satisfy and yet rewarded her for at least taking her spanking well.

  She was a curious mix of stoicism, rebellion, and desire. From the way her eyes had flashed at him when she refused his order, to the sinuous motion of her hips now squirming over his thighs, she was utterly intoxicating. He thrilled to the idea of taking her, taming her, drawing out the sensual demons he knew resided deep inside her. Tristan had seen many aristocrats come and go. A few he had entertained privately, but none had made his blood sing quite like Lydia Leon. Though he had only known her a few minutes, he also knew with absolute certainly that he would not allow this one to slip through his fingers. This one was his.

  “I’m not hearing the proper response from you,” he said, pulling his fingers away.

  There was a little whine of complaint that probably embarrassed her, given the way she quickly fell into silence.

  Tristan cupped her bottom and gave the left cheek a tap. “Lydia,” he growled.

  “Very well,” she sighed. “What would you have me do?”

  “Reach between your legs and touch yourself. Rub your clit for me. I want you to come. Do it for me here and now, Lydia.” He rubbed her hot, swollen bottom gently. “Show me your pleasure.”

  * * *

  Surely there could be no humiliation greater than this. Held over his knee, her bottom still so sore she could barely stand it, her teased pussy wet with excitement and with absolutely no choice other than to obey, Lydia slid her fingers beneath her body, between her legs, and made tentative contact with her clit.

  “Good girl,” he praised, his voice making her body react with a flood of fresh excitement. She pressed her fingers harder against the button at the apex of her lips and rubbed it with quick little circles, wanting to conclude the matter as quickly as possible. He wanted her to orgasm, and so she would.

  She felt his hand sliding over her bottom, encouraging her. She felt him press between her cheeks and then a moment later his fingertip touched an even more sensitive part of her—her anus. Lydia let out a little squeal and for a moment her fingers left her pussy.

  “Keep touching yourself,” Tristan admonished her. “I want to see you rubbing that naughty little cunt of yours.” His words were coarse and direct and they ripped through her psyche, opening up a crevasse of desire that was yet to be filled. Her fingers returned to the task of pleasuring herself as he tapped his finger against her bottom hole, a gentle spanking against that tight bud.

  It was unthinkable, what she was doing, but that was because thought had no place in the realm of pure sensation. Lydia’s legs spread wider as her fingers slid from her clit further along her pussy and found the entrance of her body. She very rarely touched herself there, but her clenching inner walls demanded that she did. She wanted something inside her, even if it was only her own slim fingers.

  Tristan let out a little growl of masculine approval as she pushed two fingers inside herself. The angle at which she had to work was slightly awkward but she made it work as well as she could, thrusting down to the first two knuckles.

  “Such a good girl,” Tristan praised, his tone guttural and ardent as he watched her lower lips stretch around her fingers. She began to work her hips against her fingers, impaling her pussy with shallow strokes, grinding her clit against the heel of her palm. As the arousal and pleasure flooded her body she began to forget the very notion of modesty. She wanted more. She wanted to feel the pleasure peak, she wanted to fuck herself harder, but the position was not suitable for it and so all she could do was writhe against her hand, bucking over his lap in a completely shameless display of lust as he watched her work herself into an erotic frenzy.

  Tristan began to spank her lightly, his swats activating the heat and the sting already in her bottom. She found herself lifting her bottom to his palm and then grinding down on her own hand in a seesaw of pure ecstasy that made her body begin to shiver with impending orgasm far greater than any secret pleasure stolen in the dead of night.

  He pressed his finger more firmly against her bottom hole and suddenly, as if she were a machine reacting to an input, it was upon her, a climax that made every muscle in her body react. She reached a peak of pleasure that took the nervous energy she had been struggling with and turned it into an avalanche of release. She came, quivering and squirming, legs spread wide, her pussy pressed hard against her hand, her entire body covered in a sheen of sweated desire.

  Before the final shivers of ecstasy had melted away, before her conscious mind could return to full control, Tristan gently helped her slide from his lap and kneel between his thighs where a large erection was tenting the front of his pants quite obviously. As she looked on with desiring eyes, he lowered the zipper keeping the beast at bay and it sprang out, at least nine inches of turgid male arousal.

  Lydia had never seen the male member in person before. She had no concept of how very large and thick it was, or how it throbbed with what seemed to be a life of its own. The thick head of his cock was glistening with the f
luid of his arousal.

  “Take me in your mouth,” he said as his fingers tangled in her hair.

  Refusal did not so much as occur to her. She parted her lips tentatively at first and let her tongue flicker across the underside of his cock. He let out a soft growl and gave a light tug at her hair, encouraging her further. The taste of him was not at all unpleasant, and she allowed herself to explore him more, lapping at the head of his hardness where the little slit gleamed with traces of desire. He tasted salty and masculine. She looked up at him, licking her lips slowly as she met his dark gaze.

  “More,” he urged.

  He was being gentle with her and allowing her to slowly experience his cock, but she could sense the desire and need in his voice and she knew by the grip in her hair that, had he wanted to, he could have forced his cock upon her, pushed it deep into her mouth and even into her throat.

  She wrapped her lips around him and let her tongue play about as much of the shaft as she could reach. He seemed to enjoy it when her soft, hot, wet organ lapped at him in slow circular motions, and even more when she lowered her head and took him deeper into her mouth, several inches filling her before she pulled back in a sensual retreat.

  “Yes, Lydia,” he moaned softly. “Yes…”

  Lydia looked up to see him looking down at her with hooded eyes, the strain of pleasure written on his face. The tension between allowing her to take her time and the conquering urge to simply have her was clear even to her relatively innocent and completely virginal self.

  She could feel his cock pulsing in her mouth, and she could feel the power of the thrust of his hips even though he was being very careful not to push too deeply or overwhelm her as his hips began to roll back and forth in shallow thrusts. There was a sense of deep care from him even as he fucked her mouth, his cock surging over her tongue time and time again as she lapped and teased and suckled at the thick rod.

  When she dared glance upward again, she saw that his face had become a mask of desire. His dark gaze burned down at her, his lips curled with pleasure. He was fully intent on her, her mouth, her body, herself in a way nobody had ever been so consumed before.

  “Good girl,” he purred. “It’s… I’m…” That was all the warning she got before he stiffened, losing his grip on her hair as his cum filled her mouth, warm seed spilling over her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed out of reflex, feeling his essence trickle to her belly.

  Tristan’s fingers slid back through her hair, caressing her scalp gently as he leaned down and kissed her, the taste of his cum mingling between their mouths. He broke the kiss and gave her a look of passion and possession that took her breath away.

  “You are to be mine, Lydia. From this day forth, as long as we both shall live.”

  The words were archaic, but she recognized them nevertheless. If she understood him correctly, he was invoking the old custom of marriage, and he was making her his bride. Lydia could barely believe it. She was so overwhelmed from all the sensations and intimate experiences of the day she wasn’t sure she could trust her senses.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, pulling her gently onto his lap and cradling her against his chest, his large palm soothing her still sore bottom with soft circular strokes, “that you are to be my wife.”

  Could it be as simple as that? Of course it could be. What the president wanted, he took, and he had taken her. Lydia could not quite believe it, but as she pressed her cheek to his broad chest, she found herself excited at the prospect of being the president’s wife. Her mother and father would no doubt approve. Even if they did think Tristan Kane was a scoundrel, he was still a scoundrel in power who could ensure that they kept their assets.

  As for her, well, she would live in a palace. She would be like a queen. Lydia could not stop smiling at the notion. After a harrowing day and more uncertainty than she had thought she could bear, she was certain that she had landed very much on her feet.

  “I am glad to see you smile, Lydia,” he said. “But I hope you are aware that being my wife will not always be easy. There will be many challenges, some of which I doubt you are prepared for in the slightest.”

  “I am well accustomed to the halls of power,” Lydia reminded him.

  “But it is not the halls of power you will need to concern yourself with,” Tristan replied. “Rather your responsibilities will be the affairs of the home.”

  Lydia was not entirely certain what he meant. Homes more or less ran themselves, and certainly the palace would be well staffed. She said as much to Tristan, and grew dismayed as he shook his head at her.

  “We will not be living in the palace,” he said. “My home is outside the city limits.”

  “Ah, a country estate,” she beamed, having visions of a country palace surrounded by extensively manicured gardens, with fountains, statues, mazes, and croquet lawns to occupy her time, perhaps even a small farm with cute animals to play with.

  “In a manner of speaking, perhaps.” His expression grew solemn as he looked down at her. “Lydia, you are about to see things I doubt you are ready to see, but you must open your eyes to the world as it is, not as you imagine it to be.”

  Lydia looked at him, utterly confused. Had she not pleased him? Had she somehow earned his anger? She could see it brimming in him, of that there was no doubt. His energy had shifted and he suddenly seemed very solemn.

  “I do not understand…”

  “Of course you don’t. How could you. But you will soon enough.” He took her hand in his and helped her to stand. “Come, Lydia. Come and see the world outside these gilded doors.”

  Chapter Four

  After being clothed in a lovely white silk gown, Lydia left the palace with her hand clasped in the hand of the most powerful man in New Paris. In spite of his ominous warnings, she could not stop herself from beaming as a gleaming vehicle was brought around to them and a soldier stepped out, saluted to Tristan, and turned the car over to him.

  “I have never been outside the upper arrondissements,” she said as she settled herself into the passenger seat. She had not spent much time in such vehicles either. The neighborhoods she was familiar with could be easily walked, and their borders had always been protected by sentinels. Motor vehicles such as the one she found herself sitting in were somewhat archaic technology themselves, but the new regime had brought them back along with numerous other old things.

  “There is a very large and much less privileged world outside them,” Tristan said as the motor roared into life like a caged beast. He piloted the car down the tree-lined streets between grand old buildings that had been the backdrop to Lydia’s life for as long as she could remember and headed directly toward the line of soldiers at the end of the road, guarding the barrier between areas.

  Lydia drew in an excited little breath as the soldiers saluted and raised the arms to allow them to pass. This was it, the beginning of a grand adventure. She sat upright and looked out of the window with bright eyes, which soon dimmed into confusion as over the next few miles the state of the city declined.

  “Oh, my!” She let out a gasp as they drove past what had once been a great piece of architecture but was now a crumbling, burned-out carcass in which nobody could hope to live. She could see into the very insides of the building, wooden floors split and sagging toward the rubble of the walls that had once contained them. The fine paper of the interior was curled and peeling, fungus grew visibly on discarded carpets and rugs.

  The next building was even worse, and the one after that and the one after that. Here and there were signs of attempts to create some kind of dwellings, bits of iron and wood nailed in haphazard fashion to old doorways and windows.

  The streets seemed to be deserted aside from piles of rags arranged around burning barrels. It took her several minutes to realize that the piles of rags were actually people huddling around the fires for some kind of warmth. They seemed dejected and ill. A few of them turned to watch the car drive by with e
yes that seemed to Lydia to be devoid of any human hope.

  She had never seen people in such a state. She had never imagined that they could be in such a state. Truth be told, Lydia could barely fathom what she was seeing. It took several minutes for her to be able to formulate a question.

  “What happened?”

  “Major malfunctions happened,” Tristan said. “Neglect of the machinery by a generation who took it for granted until it broke under the strain. You’ve been living in a bubble, Lydia. The world beyond your front door has been crumbling for quite some time.”

  “But Father said…”

  “What your father said is irrelevant,” Tristan replied, his jaw hard with clear anger at the mention of her father. “He lied to you the way they lied to the people when the food production system broke down.”

  “There’s no food?” She was shocked all over again.

  “There’s food for you and your family and a few other lucky souls,” Tristan replied. “Some of the synthesizing machinery remained in order and the off-world deliveries keep the food synthesizers running, but there has been none for the common people for several years. People eat what they can scavenge, steal, or hunt. Thousands have died. These streets used to bustle with people. The buildings you see around us housed families and stores. Now there are only a few hardy souls, those brave enough to try to make a living scavenging from the old buildings or other unsavory activities. These are lawless wastelands.”

  “I had no idea,” Lydia said, feeling very emotional in the face of such horrible revelations. “I would never have suspected for a second that this could be happening here in New Paris.”

  “A matter of blocks from your pretty streets,” he confirmed. “Beyond the lines where the soldiers have stood for so long. Did you never wonder why there was so much security?”