The Ravishing Of Constance Ch 07

Enrique's cock was thicker than Rob's, if not so long, and it sundered into her with stretching pain despite the wetness that eased its way. Constance gasped in shock at the feel of him, pushing deep, so big.

He stopped with his cock embedded, his body braced over her. His hair fell around his face in a dark tumble.

"Ah, Constance, at last," he breathed. "At last I'm in you. And your cunny is so tight, so slick."

She turned her head away on her pillow, but he took her by the chin and made her look at him.

"No, you will not wish me away. You will not pretend this isn't happening or think of some other man – of Rob," he added in a snarl. "You will look into my eyes as I fuck you, and I'll look into yours. When you come, I'll see. I'll know. You will not be able to hide it from me."

He sealed it with a kiss, locking his lips onto hers. Then he began to move. Slowly, in short strokes of no more than an inch in and out. The wide base of his cock rubbed maddeningly against her clitoris with each movement, and he seemed to be touching her, inside, in places that Rob had missed.

She moaned helplessly into his mouth, felt him smile. He broke the kiss.

"Tell me you like it."

"Isn't it enough that you do this?"

"No. I want to hear you, Constance. I want you to beg me to fuck you, harder and faster. I want you to call my name as you spend."

In and out, those short firm strokes. His weight pinning her, heat and the scent of musk rising from his skin. His jaw was clenched, his muscles quivering with tension.

And all at once, Constance understood. Enrique was close to spending already, so inflamed by his pent-up hunger for her. He could barely contain himself. It gave her a sweeping sense of power, such as she'd had that night Rob had lain beneath her as she rode him.

So they had made her a wanton? Very well … let them live by it!

"Yes, Enrique," she said, her voice low and husky. "You're in me, at last, after all this time. How long have you wanted to do that? How long have you been watching me, wondering what it would be like to slide your cock into me?"

"Constance!"

Her ankles crossed and held at the small of his back. "Well, here you are. In me. Fucking me. I can feel your cock and it's good, Enrique, so good. Do it quicker now, do it hard."

She'd hoped that this, like applying herself when she had him in her mouth, would get it over with sooner and therefore she'd have less to endure. Yet the very sound of herself talking like that, saying such things, spurred her to a new height. She gripped his buttocks, thrust her hips up to him as he fucked with a faster pace.

"Oh, Constance!"

"Fuck me, Enrique. Make me spend. Make me spend like never before!"

"Ahh! Yes, Constance, yes!"

"Harder," she pleaded.

He was pounding away, battering her with a force that should have been punishing but felt absolutely wonderful. The bed shook and creaked from their violent movements.

"Now, I'm spending now," he said. "Now, Constance, coming in you."

"Oh, yes … fill me with it," Constance urged as her own climax overtook her in a glowing, tumbling crescendo.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" With each of his cries she felt him loose a jet of his seed. He strained, his body a bow, every line in sharp relief, and then collapsed heavily atop her with his breath in hot, panting heaves.

She lay pinned beneath him. They were both sheened in sweat and the smell of their sex. Enrique finally stirred, rolled off her to fall nearly insensate on her bed.

"So," said Rob. "This is how I find you, sister-slut and dearest friend."

Constance sat bolt upright, and a beam of light fell full on her rosy skin as Rob opened a panel in the lantern he held. He had closed and locked the door behind him and stood there, soot and smoke staining his clothes, and his expression was livid with rage.

Enrique sat up as well, but he moved with a lethargy that told Constance he'd been on the brink of falling asleep. He gaped at Rob for a moment before a guilty flush darkened his complexion.

"Rob …" he said.

"Behind my back, no less," Rob said. He set the lantern on a table and shook his head, glowering at the pair. "You could not have waited, could you, Enrique?"

"You never meant to let me have her," Enrique retorted. "You would have found some way to keep her for yourself, I know that now. You'd have made one excuse after another. I had to go behind your back, Rob. You left me no choice."

"Well. Now you've had her. Was she good?"

"Splendid," Enrique said. "As you already know."

"You've betrayed me. My friend, my best friend since boyhood, and you do this. You creep into my house under stealth and emergency – an emergency that my mind must wonder at, Enrique, for they believe that fire to have been purposefully set – when you were supposed to have been well on your way home. I find you here, fucking my sister. And her a willing slut in your arms, at that. Were you in on it, Constance? Was this some plan devised by the two of you?"

"No," she said. "No, it wasn't like that at all. He came into my room, and …"

"And raped you?" Rob sneered. "A likely story. Do you know how long I was there, watching you? I saw more than enough, dear sister. More than enough to know that you begged him for it. Harlot!"

"If I am, you made me such!" she shouted, no longer caring whether the household, or Lord Cuthburt, or all of Veradoga might hear. "This was all your doing, Rob, from the beginning. You cannot in good faith stand there and say that the blame is none of yours to bear when you were the first to fuck me!"

The ire in her voice took all of them by surprise, Constance included. She threw on a dressing-gown, cinching the belt tight around her slim waist, and tossed her tangled fall of hair defiantly back from her face.

"That may be," Rob said, each word clipped. "But I had expected better from Enrique. Put your clothes on, man, before we're disturbed. It's a fair wonder that the house entire wasn't alerted by your rutting beast-calls. At least you had the foresight, or accident of luck, to distract them all with your little fire."

"Do not be angry with me," Enrique shot back. "It was all your fun, was it not, to dangle your sister's sweet fruits before me as Hades did to Tantalus? You made a mockery of my need, Rob. You set this between us. You drove me to it."

"Ah, well, it's all Rob's fault, is it? All Rob's fault that he has a rampant whore for a sister and a back-dealing louse for a friend? Yes, by all means, let it be Rob."

"Let it be!" Constance said. "For it is!"

He slapped her, a hard and stinging blow that knocked her across her bed and turned her cheek into a fierce sheet of pain.

"And you," he said to Enrique, who had retrieved his clothes, speaking in a tone not reserved for a much-loved friend and companion but for a simpleton, or a dog. "I wish you to leave my house this very instant."

"You're turning me out?" Enrique demanded.

"I am, and count yourself lucky I do not speed you on your way with a pistol," Rob said.

Enrique's brows drew down stormily. "You would fight me."

"I would whip you through the streets like a cur," Rob said. He pointed at Constance. "She was mine."

Swiftly, perhaps sensing as Constance did that the murderous temper of the room was no erroneous imagining, Enrique dressed and buckled on the belt that held his own pistol and long knife.

He made for the door, with Rob stalking after. As he reached it, he stopped and turned to regard Rob with a mixture of defiance and pity. "You cannot keep her for always, Rob. She is not yours. I will still marry her, for that is a matter decided between your father and mine. Neither will disagree, and Constance shall be my wife. Mine."

A blood-curdling roar issued from Rob. He leapt at Enrique and the two of them, tussling, flew through the doorway and into the hall. Their curses and the sounds of fists striking flesh and bone resonated through the house. A knife flashed silver. Blood sprayed against the wall. Constance screamed.

In mere moments, the hall was filled with people. Servants of both the deGranvilles and Lord Cuthburt milled around, no one knowing what to do as Rob and Enrique rolled and thrashed and pummeled each other. Rob stabbed again with the knife and Enrique, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, batted it away.

"Here now! Here!" bellowed Lord Cuthburt, descending on the scene. The rotund older man had evidently been in the process of washing up, some soot still discoloring his doublet. He surveyed the scene and waded in, calling orders as he went.

Various manservants hastened to obey. Under Cuthburt's direction, they parted the two combatants and divested them of knives and pistols. Rob was held against one wall and Enrique the other, and they glared venom across the intervening space.

"Boys, boys," Lord Cuthburt said, shaking his head. "What on earth is the meaning of this?"

Rob spoke first, with a sly relish. "I caught my dear friend attempting to take indecent liberties on the person of my sister!"

All eyes turned to Constance, who was in the doorway of her room. She saw herself as they must see her, face wet with tears and red from a slap, hair mussed, the very picture of a damsel roused from a sound sleep to find her virtue under attack.

"I only thank God I was in time," Rob went on in the utmost of righteousness.

"Good heavens!" Cuthburt said. "Constance, my dear girl, are you all right?"

She nodded. What else could she say? What could either of them say? Rob had trapped them neatly. Enrique blustered as if to protest, but said nothing. What would he do, tell Lord Cuthburt all of it?

"I told him to leave this house, and he was in a fury," Rob said. After a malicious pause, he added, "I suspect him of starting the fire this evening just to have a chance to catch Constance alone and unprotected."

"And you the son of Don Carlos! He will surely hear of this." Cuthburt wagged a finger at Enrique. "You had best be going and hope that he'll be more lenient with you than I would! If a son of mine … oh, I'd give him the beating of his very life! As for you, young Rob, you'd do well to choose better companions. Your own dear sister might have … why, it is too horrible even to mention!"

"Yes, sir, it is." Rob bowed his head, but not before Constance saw the grin on his face.

"Escort him out," Cuthburt said. "You there, girl, what's your name? Jane. Yes, good. Jane, you see to poor Constance."

A trio of men led Enrique away. The look he gave Rob was deadly, their friendship over as surely as if it had been a glass shattered on stone. Constance was sick to see that look. Enrique swiped at the blood trickling from his cut forehead, and allowed himself to be taken out with no further objections.

Jane, an apple-cheeked girl who helped in the kitchens, came to Constance and ushered her back into her bedroom, closing the door against the inquisitive gazes of the rest of the staff. "Oh, miss, what a terrible night," she said.

Constance hardly dared breathe. The room still smelled strongly of sex. Could Jane smell it? Would she know what it meant? And what if Jane meant to help her bathe? Enrique's seed was damp on her thighs.

But Jane gave no sign of anything else being amiss. She had water brought to fill Constance's tub, then stayed outside the screen. She flitted about and set the room to rights as Constance sponged away the proof of Enrique's pleasure, and laved her aching body.

Gradually, the noises of the household returned to their nighttime norm. Constance stepped from the bath when the water had cooled, and allowed Jane to bundle her into a clean nightgown trimmed all around with eyelets and lace and ribbons the color of blushing roses.

Jane brought her some tea, which Constance drained although it was bitter and not sugared quite to her liking.

She sat before her mother's mirror as Jane combed out her hair. Although she had no right to, Constance felt well and content. Her life was in a worse plight than ever, as now the lust for her had turned best friends into direst enemies.

"Thank you, Jane," she said when her hair had been brushed into golden waves that curled damply around her face and shoulders. "You may go."

"Do you want me to stay, Miss Constance? I don't mind. You must have had quite a fright."

"I did, but it is over now. All is well." And all she wanted was sleep, hours and hours of deep and dreamless sleep.

Jane left. Constance got into her bed, made up with pristine fresh linens. She sighed as her head touched the pillow, and her eyes drifted closed.

A sharp pinch woke her. She was groggy, her head feeling stuffed with cotton, but the sudden pain in her breast – her nipple felt caught in a claw – brought her to a semblance of consciousness.

Constance tried to open her eyes and could not. Something was covering them, something soft but implacable. She raised her hands to feel what it was and they, too, would not move.

It was then that she realized she was no longer in her bed. No longer in her nightgown, nor reclined comfortably as she'd been when she went to sleep.

She was face-down on her belly across something that felt like a padded bench, her breasts hanging free in the cool night air. Her knees were on a pillow, and bands circled her ankles, bracing them an indecent distance apart. Similar bands held each wrist, tied to what might have been the legs of the bench.

"Finally awake, are you?" came Rob's whisper.

A gag prevented her from answering.

He chuckled. "Nothing to say, Constance? No excuses, no blame for Robert now? Oh, you've been a bad girl, sweet sister-mine."

Muffled noises, too low to carry more than a few feet, were the best she could manage. He chuckled again and something touched her back, trailed along it.

"The draught I slipped into your tea did its work, I see. Now it's time for me to do mine. Do not hope for rescue, either. The hour is late, and I took the precaution of seeing to it that everyone had a nice, calming cup of tea before bed. We may as well be alone, Constance."

He pinched her other breast. She jerked in her bonds and made a plaintive sound in her throat.

"I was very, very disappointed with you this evening. Fucking with Enrique like that when you knew –"

A searing line of pain striped her buttocks. Constance jerked again, and a scream rang in her ears but could not breach the gag.

"When you knew I meant for you to be my own plaything," Rob said. "Didn't care for that, did you? It's a switch, Constance. I mean to switch you until you've learned your lesson. Perhaps when your tender bottom is a burning red, you'll remember what it means to go against my wishes."

Several blows landed in quick succession. He beat her buttocks and thighs, the swish of the rod slicing the air and striking with a vicious whipping sound against her flesh. Her tears soaked the blindfold. She yanked on the cords that held her wrists and ankles and only hurt them as well.

At last, Rob stopped. He laid a hand on the welts, and even that touch was agony. Constance drooped limply over the bench, wracked with silent screams and sobs.

"You don't much like that, do you, Constance?"

She shook her head.

"It hurts you? It makes you want to beg for mercy?"

She nodded as best as she was able.

"Well," he said in a mock tone of grief, "I'm afraid there's no mercy yet. Do you recall when we spoke of saving your pretty little ass for your husband?"

Icy fear engulfed her. She shook her head again, frantically, making smothered cries into the gag.

"You've grown much more worldly these past few days, Constance. Not all that long ago, you wouldn't have known what I meant by that. Now, I see that you do. You guess correctly, sweet sister. As you and Enrique chose not to honor your part of the bargain, I see no reason to honor mine."

His fingers, cold with some greasy substance, parted her buttocks. Constance fought to free herself, wrenching her bound body side to side.

"Only a bit of butter," Rob said. "I am not so cruel as that. Be still, do not struggle, and it shall be over soon enough. You may even come to enjoy it as you've enjoyed the rest, slut that you are."

The butter warmed on her skin. She cringed as he found the opening and worked a greased finger inside. The sensation was slippery and awful, an unnatural violation. She wept with relief when he withdrew his fingers, and went faint with horror when he replaced them with something else. Something meaty and stiff, feeling gigantic. How could his cock seem so much bigger there?

"Here it is, Constance," Rob said. "We'll go slowly, shall we? Just the head at first. Here. Feel it going in? Ahh, but you've a snug arsehole, haven't you? A little more … there!"

The head of his cock felt like it was tearing her open as it pushed and pushed. It popped in and wedged there, her sphincter closing behind it on the remaining length of his shaft.

"Oh, that is nice," Rob said. "You should see it, Constance. Your pretty buttocks all white and striped with welts, all spread open, and my cock going in between them. I'm going to put more in now. I could do it all in one thrust, seat my cock all the way. Would you like that?"

She made more muffled outcries and shook her head again. Her hair, formerly so smoothed and neat, was dangling in her face.

"I did not hear you," Rob said, and slapped her bottom.

The pain of the slap on her lashed buttocks was so great that she barely noticed when he buried half his cock. Only when it subsided was she splittingly aware of him, and his steady invasion.

"Halfway now, Constance. Do you know, I could reach down here, under you like this, and give your cunny a tweak?" His buttery fingers did just that.

She bucked to get away from him and he chose that moment, aided by her reaction, to thrust his cock the rest of the way in. She felt the wiry tickle of his pubic hair on her abused bottom, and what seemed a bar of hot iron stuck up inside her.

"There you are," he said hoarsely. "Entirely in, Constance. Now, what was it you were saying to Enrique? Harder, faster? I think I'll oblige."

One hand cupped her cunny, the thumb inserted up it while the fingers rested on her clitoris. His other arm snaked around her waist and he commenced a rapid, forceful fucking.

Constance howled into the gag, sure that he was going to kill her, that he was going to tear her apart. His thumb and fingers jabbed at her, not coaxing pleasure from her but hurting.

"Ready, sister-mine?" Rob panted. "Spending yet, you wanton little whore? No? That is a shame, because … unh! Oh!"

He lunged against her all the more brutally as he came. Everything was pain. She thought he might rupture something inside her, and she'd die, die with her buttocks stinging from the lashing he'd given her. His torso beat against the welts, his body bearing down and crushing her onto the bench.

At last, it was over. He rose from her and smacked her bottom once more, contemptuously.

"Well, Constance. I do hope you've learned your lesson."

Rob undid her bonds, removed the gag, and lastly the blindfold. She couldn't look at him, kept her head bowed as her tears rained onto her bare breasts. He left without saying anything else, closing the door behind him.

She moved carefully, feeling as though her insides might simply slide out. She washed, and saw her nightgown where he must have left it.

"No," Constance said. "No more. Anything would be better than this. Anything."

She went to her wardrobe instead, and chose clothes suitable for traveling.

Suitable for a sea voyage.

***

Continued in Chapter Eight