George tapped his feet agitatedly, eyeing his pocket watch. It was midnight already. Millicent was late.
The last month had been torture, seeing his little mouse everywhere, but being unable to touch her. She had grown wise since he last took her in her uncle's home. She stayed in large groups and sought the spotlight more than ever before, all so he could not wrench her into the shadows with him.
But she would no longer be able to avoid him, for Vivian had asked her to journey with them to Harfold for the wedding and she was too kind to say no. His sister had been a terrible influence on her, almost getting her arrested recently, but in this, he was thankful to the brat.
Once at Harfold, he had pulled Millicent aside and told her to meet him in his study later that night, or else risk him coming to her bedchamber again. She had nodded meekly at the time, but hours had passed, and she was still not here. He wondered irritably if she had fallen asleep due to sheer exhaustion, given how ill she seemed to look these days. Had the damn woman given up on food and sleep entirely? Did she not realise that she belonged to him now and it was her duty to ensure she was healthy and able to slake his lust?
As his thoughts grew blacker, he heard a quiet scratching on his door, before it opened to reveal her. In the dark, she was all skin and bones, her eyes seeming even larger as they gazed up at him fearfully. The nightclothes, which had hugged her curves the first time he had kissed her, now hung loose over her frame and she looked smaller, more fragile.
Tamping down on his fury, he regarded her impassively. "You are late."
"I'm sorry," she had not yet started to stammer, but already her fear was palpable, a potent aphrodisiac that made his cock throb with need. "I was with Viv till she slept."
"I will let you make up for your wrongs, Millie," he said. "Get down on your knees."
Almost as though her body had given up on supporting her meagre weight, she dropped to the floor and began to crawl towards him.
"You look hungry, little mouse. Are you hungry?"
She shook her head.
"Nevertheless, you shall eat. And I know just what to serve you for the first course."
He pulled out his cock and grabbed her hand, forcing her to touch him, to stroke him up and down as he groaned. His other hand moved towards her face, but she flinched away.
"Please, do n-not hurt m-me," she stuttered.
"But you have been a bad girl, Millie, and you need to be punished."
Pressing his fingers into her cheeks, he forced her mouth open and stuffed his cock inside without preamble. He had waited too long for her and was not of a mood to be gentle.
"Take it all in, as deep as you can go," he commanded.
She was not able to reach more than halfway so he grabbed her hair and thrust deep inside, hitting the back of her throat. The way it gagged and clenched around his cock caused a twinge of pain but so, so much pleasure. He wondered if this is how she felt when he was ploughing her. Perhaps more pain than pleasure. The very notion made him even harder.
Swearing under his breath, he pulled his cock out and smacked it across her face, making her gasp. Still clutching her hair, he forced her to stand and then dragged her back to a chair, where he sat, drawing her closer until his legs rubbed against her inner thigh. He heaved and she was splayed upon him, the juices from her hot cunt seeping over him.
"Lower yourself onto me," he urged.
When she resisted, he physically pulled her up and pushed her down onto his cock.
With a soft cry, she fell forwards to muffle herself against his shoulder. He began to thrust under her, encouraging her to move along with him, and after a brief pause, she started to follow.
"Just like that," he hissed, "ride me like the whore you are."
This made her stop and, enraged, he slapped her face. "I said
ride
me!"
Eyes shining with unshed tears, she started to move again, her small body moving atop him with awkwardness mingled with desperation.
He tugged her banyan and then her chemise off and sucked in a breath at her naked body. Even with the weight she had lost, her plump breasts bounced with each thrust.
His hands grabbed them, feeling their pliant cushiness give way as he squeezed, drawing a cry from her. He kissed her mouth with hard, wanton need, tongue probing at hers. "I know you like this, little mouse. Show me how eager you are for my cock."
She kissed him back in despair as her hands moved towards the buttons of his shirt, pulling at them until a few tore loose.
He spanked her arse, causing her to squeal into his mouth. "That was my favourite shirt, Millie," he said, biting at her lips angrily.
She gasped, her movements becoming frantic and uneven as she started to chase her climax.
"That's right, fuck my hard cock, you dirty whore," he said, thrusting up in tandem with her motions. "Tell me how much you love it."
"I love fucking your hard cock!" she breathed frantically as he nipped the skin at her collarbone. "I love it. Oh George - I'm so close - oh!"
And then she collapsed upon him, shaking and clenching, but he was not done. Pulling her off his body, he pushed her to the floor roughly and entered her again, fingers digging painfully into her body. "You do not come until I give you permission to, Millie."
She held on to him for dear life as he ruined her cunt, her fingernails raking his skin and leaving scratches. He could tell she was close again.
"Please George," she begged. "I n-n-need to come."
"Not yet," he growled, wrapping his fingers around her throat and squeezing. "Not until you tell me to fuck you harder."
"Ahhh," she moaned, "fuck m-me harder, George, please."
"You are my fuck doll, my whore."
She nodded. "Yes, your whore. Please George, I'm so close!"
"Come for me, little mouse," he said then, rotating his hips so he hit her deepest spot, and she came with a shudder, weeping as wave after wave of ecstasy threatened to overwhelm her.
She was so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at her. He clenched his eyes shut at the overwhelming pleasure threatening to rip him apart, until it did, and he spent himself at her opening, unable to pull out in time.
She gazed down in horror. "Is this - will I -?"
"No, shh," he hushed her, "we'll clean you right up. Just... give me a minute to catch my breath, little mouse."
Her body, all knees and elbows, was not a comfortable resting place, so he got up and cleaned her with his kerchief. And then he propped her up, dressing her in her clothes as though she were his doll to play with, which he supposed she was.
I have tamed you and claimed you as my own, and now I am responsible for you.
"Come," he said sternly.
She trembled as he opened the door to the study and the cool air hit her heated body. "Where are you taking m-me?"
"To the kitchen, to fix you something to eat, and I swear to God, Millicent, if you ever neglect your health again, there will be hell to pay."
***
Dear Reader
As Spring approaches, so do the nuptials of Lady Vivian Applefield with Sir Phillip Musgrave, "and not a moment too soon!" her father was heard to exclaim. After all, just last Monday, he was forced to intercede when the Constabulary attempted to arrest both her and Miss Millicent St Vincent for staging a protest outside Parliament.
The two ladies were safely bundled off to the Applefield estate in the quiet countryside the next day. There, it is hoped that they will hold off on further mischief at least until the wedding. The ceremony is expected to be small, attended only by the closest friends and family of the bride and groom, but worry not, Dear Reader, for this author will hunt down all the details and present them for your edification one way or another.
In other news...
Mr James Rawls stopped reading the ridiculous tattle sheet and chuckled in spite of himself. He had followed the two ladies' antics since his Oxford days, when Phillip had forced him to read Mary Wollstonecraft together so as to impress the notorious Lady Vivian. And while the red-haired firebrand had found a permanent space in his friend's heart, his own thoughts would frequently stray towards her friend. The seemingly quiet wallflower who existed on the fringes of society at parties, but who was fiercely outspoken when it came to the rights of the downtrodden, reminded him of himself in so many ways. Even with only her ghastly caricatures in Mrs Pennyworth's articles to go by, he looked forward to seeing her that night.
Or perhaps their meeting would have to wait until the next day, he realised, as the carriage finally pulled up before Harfold, the stately estate of Lord Applefield.
It was egregiously late, and the house seemed dark, save for one harried looking woman at the doorstep, who introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs Greene, before setting off at a fast pace up the stairs, forcing him to lug his own trunk behind her.
"Your room is ready with a fire going, Sir," she said coldly. "Everyone else is already asleep, but I stayed up on account of being told you was coming."
He beamed at her most disarmingly. "Thank you, Mrs Greene. Your warm welcome has been a panacea after my harrowing journey."
She half sniffed, half smiled, unable to fully resist his warmth, and stopped on the landing of the second floor. "You are in the Blue room, Sir. 'Tis the fourth door to the right."
With a brisk nod, she turned and hurried back down, leaving him to rue not telling her that he was the cousin of a baron, and not a mere parson. Perhaps then she might have bothered to see him to his bedchamber. Charming smiles and twinkling eyes only took you so far, after all.
