The Stolen Heartstone Ch 04

This is a non-consent story, although the non-consent isn't quite as strong as in previous chapters. If that's not your thing, please move on to the other great stories.

Ellinda is a member of the upper nobility, engaged to be married to a wealthy merchant in a month, when she learns that a heartstone has been made illegally and provided to an upscale pleasure house. Heartstones force the owner to obey, but attune gradually, with the first commands taking weeks to take effect. The more often it is used, the more rapidly the commands take effect.

Chapter 3 ended with her virginity having been auctioned off and the winner having offered to help her solve the heartstone question, in exchange for enjoying her privately.

Chapter 1 https://www.literotica.com/s/the-stolen-heartstone-ch-01

Comments & feedback very appreciated, and great for motivation to keep writing here.

******

One week and then two weeks passed. Ellinda had hidden the blank card with the transponder number under her mattress, careful to push it far enough back that it wouldn't fall out when the staff made the bed. Then she'd pulled it out at least twice a day to stare at it, as if staring would somehow make the number give her the answers she wanted.

It didn't.

Fortunately, or perhaps not, she couldn't quite decide, she stayed busy with last minute preparations for the wedding. She had never succeeded in meeting the tailor's apprentice, despite making far more excuses to pass by his shop than was necessary. Yes, they were using the buttons she had selected, and no they didn't need another fitting since the one yesterday. Once she had looked in the window to see a young man bent over a large swath of fabric. From the half-view of his face, she couldn't tell if she had met him before or not, though she was certain he had never sewn for her. Would a man she'd never met have reason to trap her like that? But then, perhaps he had seen pictures. Perhaps he had gleaned whatever it was he needed from the fitted pieces for her dress.

Tarin had, gratefully, respected her proclaimed superstition that the bride and groom couldn't see each other in the weeks before the wedding. How would she be able to face him when her wedding night came? Could she fake that she had never been with a man? Should she tell him the truth? Not the whole truth, not about the heartstone, but that a man had forced himself on her while she fought. Or if she didn't tell him, simply kept it a secret and pretended, would he be able to tell that he wasn't her first? Could a man feel the difference? Surely they must, or Delron's auction wouldn't have had any success.

And again, the only person she could think to ask was the man who had left the blank card she'd hidden under the bed, the man who'd paid to use her while she was in this position to begin with. Even if she was to call him, transponders couldn't be trusted. She'd have to meet with him, and being seen meeting with strangers ran the risk of passersby listening in.

It was the third time that day that she'd held the card, staring at the numbers she'd long-since memorized, when the sound of servants' voices rising in anger drifted to her from the staircase. At first she ignoreed them, but with nothing to distract her but the card, she finally stepped out to put an end to the squabble.

The voices stopped when her door clicked open, but she went anyway. It was her father's assistant and her brother's valet.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked, wishing she didn't have to get involved.

The valet shook his head and spoke for both of them. "Nothing of consequence, Lady. We apologize for disrupting your afternoon."

The assistant nodded. It was like listening to children bickering on the playground. "There is nothing to apologize for. I was simply reviewing some details. But still, there shouldn't be strife in the house. Please tell me what you were discussing."

They exchanged awkward glances, and this time the assistant spoke. "Markus was going to the city, and I asked him to help me by doing another errand. Nothing more."

She looked to the valet. "It seems a reasonable request. Why did you not want to do it?"

"It would be a reasonable request on any other day, but his errand would take at least an hour. I have several deadlines to meet today, and don't want to be late with them."

"And what was the errand specifically?" Why were they avoiding it?

The two looked at each other again and it was the assistant who spoke, dropping his eyes as if it was a confession. "It was making final arrangements with the hotel for the wedding guests."

Well, that at least explained their reluctance to tell her. Their tact, at least, was commendable. "Ah, I see." She turned to the valet. "Well, I think my brother owes me a bit of his time for having helped him as I have been, wouldn't you agree?" The valet was the only other person alive who knew she was the one who'd been doing the bookkeeping for him. He would agree. She didn't need to wait for him to say it. "If he complains about your not completing your tasks for today, explain to him that I asked you to do this, and that I thought the extra time I'd saved would help him with the time."

The valet glowered, but loyalty to her brother held his tongue. It wasn't blackmail. Not really. But he wouldn't risk prolonging the discussion, either, and so instead he simply nodded. "As you wish. I trust you'll explain why I am gone longer than he planned should he ask after me?"

"Of course." Did he really think she wouldn't? Then the thought struck her. She wasn't deciding to meet with the foreigner. There was no commitment to do so. But this was a chance to make it possible. "Also," she said, working out the explanation in her head as she spoke, "I have a cousin who might be coming in this week. Would you see that there's at least one room available in case she does?"

"As you wish," he said, the tone still tight. It wasn't what he wished, but it was important, and the request truly wasn't unreasonable.

"Thank you." She gave him a smile, hoping that would smooth things over.

He gave a curt nod and turned to leave. Things hadn't been smoothed over.

#

Back in her room, she finally took out her transponder and typed the message she hadn't wanted to send. Sending a message didn't mean she'd have to with meet him, after all.

This is the

she paused. How could she identify herself? She tried typing again.

I am the noble lady you proposed the business arrangement to. I do not agree to the arrangement, but would be open to meeting to discuss it.

Ten breaths later, she pressed send, hoping that he would exercise discretion when he replied. Hoping he wouldn't reply. Hoping that he would.

The hands on the clock barely moved as she waited. Every time her transponder beeped, she jumped to check it. Once it was a message from the florist to say the flowers would be delivered on time, once from her brother asking about her notes, twice it was simply a notification. Then finally, when it beeped and she forced herself to reach for it slowly, a controlled gesture, she saw the message came from an unnamed number.

I am willing to meet if you agree to the price. I have some information I think you'd be interested in."

Her heart stopped. When she finally remembered to breath, she wasn't sure if it was because she wanted the information or because of the payment. Carefully she typed back,

Meet at The Bridges tomorrow.

It was the hotel she'd had the valet make extra bookings for. She hadn't agreed to the payment, but by suggesting the place, he'd likely come. Once there, she could try to persuade him to give her the information for some other price. It was a plan, at least, and a safe one. He didn't seem the kind to force her to do anything.

#

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed much too quickly, and she stayed busy enough with preparations not to have to think about the next day too much. At least the responsibility for researching heartstones was lifted, perhaps. She could also put off trying to determine who made it until she knew how it was made. It would be much easier to play the role of the detective when she knew what to look for. She sent a message to her cousin telling her the hotel was arranged and she'd be welcome any time she arrived. It would be good to talk. She almost wished she could explain the whole story, unload to someone, but she knew she couldn't.

The next day, she dressed in as many layers of clothing as she could without drawing attention, black slacks, a black turtleneck—tighter than she wished-and a red sweater over it. Nothing for him to misinterpret. The pilot dropped her off at the caterer's, which unfortunately wasn't anywhere near The Bridges, but she didn't want any suspicions.

She stopped at the desk, told them she was here to inspect the rooms for the wedding guests, was given the key, and went to the side stairs. They would have no reason to think anything was out of the ordinary.

The room was, unsurprisingly, made up immaculately. She checked the bathroom, and the closets, and sat on the sofa, adjusting the pillows behind her. She read as she waited for her transponder to beep, again holding her breath until it did. She'd read the paragraph for the third time when the beep came, reverberating louder than she expected. Surely louder than it normally did in the empty room.

I'm outside the entrance. Where are you?

Was she really going to tell him? It would be easy to walk away at this point, to disappear out a side door and never call him again. But if she did, would she be able to find the information herself? She didn't have those kinds of connections.

Room 341. The door is unlocked

she messaged back, her finger pausing only briefly before she clicked the send button, then unlocked the door to prevent anyone seeing her greet him at the door when he got there.

She picked up the book again, but couldn't read, crossing and uncrossing her legs and fidgeting with the pages. All too soon, the door clicked and she saw him. She could look at him more easily now than before when she'd been sitting naked in front of him, obligated to make him happy whatever was required. He still had the light complexion and sharp features of an easterner, still looked like he spent a good deal of time working out. He wore the tailored overcoat and low cut top hat that the merchants had come to wear nowadays. It was his most likely status.

He moved to sit on the armchair across from her before she had a chance to invite him to. He should have waited. It was proper when in the presence of someone of higher status. He surely knew that. He surely didn't care.

"Thank you for coming," she said, trying to take charge of the conversation and keep it a business meeting, regardless of the fact that it was a hotel room. "You said you had information?"

"I do, if you agree to the price." His accent caught her off guard, although she didn't know why. It wasn't as if she hadn't known he was a foreigner.

"What information?"

He leaned back comfortably, controlling the space around him. "It's enough that you'll want to hear it,"

"And the price? I can assist you in a number of ways here, including connections or handling business covertly if that's what you're looking for."

"You know what I'm looking for as payment."

She sighed, and went on with her offer. She had to try. "If your interest is women, I can arrange that for you."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not really interested in other women."

"Well, then, what information do you have?"

"I have a name and a means of contacting her. You'll find it worth your while. But I do expect to be paid."

She didn't answer for a bit. Did it really matter if she agreed? Initially, she'd wanted to hold off until her wedding, to save herself for Tarin. But she'd failed. What did it matter if she waited now? He couldn't take anything more from her than what he'd taken already.

Still, she couldn't just give up, give in to him. Proper ladies didn't do that. "Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?" She tried stalling.

"I'm from the east," he said, his voice taking a tone commonly associated with generic answers.

"And what are you doing here, then?"

"Work."

"What kind of work?"

"You're starting to ask a lot of questions. I think we should start negotiating payment, don't you?"

She most assuredly didn't think they should start negotiating payment. "Very well. I'll do one thing in exchange for you answering my questions."

He nodded slowly. "We can do that." At least he was agreeable.

"So, what kind of work do you do?" She repeated.

"Take off your sweater." His words were calm, quiet, as if it were part of the normal conversation.

She felt her eyes roll of their own accord, but she pulled the sweater off and folded it neatly beside her. She was still perfectly well covered. "Very well. Now answer the question." If she could learn more about him, perhaps she could pursue the leads without him.

"I work in acquisitions and trade."

"What kind of merchandise?"

He hesitated, again with the vagaries. "The kind of merchandise that can be hard to procure, but which leaves me well placed to inquire into heartstones."

"And so why did you start inquiring before I even contacted you?"

He tipped his head. "I had a feeling you'd reach out to me, and I thought I'd see what I could learn before then."

"So you started investigating without payment?"

"I did, with the expectation that you would be paying me."

"And if I just walked out the door and left?"

He shrugged. "You could do that, of course. And I would simply drop the matter. I believe you're the one who needs this arrangement, though, and if I did drop it, you wouldn't know where to search."

She nodded, hating that it was true. "What is her name?"

A moment passed. It had been a foolish question. Then he answered. "Her name is Sola. If you try to contact her, she'll disappear. She doesn't deal with people like you."

"And yet she'll deal with you." She made it a question as much as a statement.

He nodded once without words.

She paused, trying to think of other questions. He waited, and she cringed, imagining what he was thinking, expecting.

"Why would she talk to you?" It was a stupid question. She knew the answer.

He sighed. He knew she was stalling, too, but answered nevertheless. "She would have reason to know I could be trusted." He leaned forward as if to stand. "But it's up to you. I can walk away if you're not interested, and take the information with me."

Was he bluffing? "No. Fine. Stay." The words were out before she'd thought about something better to say.

The hint of a smirk crossed his face. A smirk! How dare he. "Well, I've given you a lot of information, and we made a deal."

He stared at her, waiting. She waited back at him, scanning the chair, and the walls, and the ceiling, and anything that wasn't him. "The designer for this room had poor taste. The colors are very poorly chosen," she commented, as if she were a particularly poor guest at a dinner party.

He scanned the room, nodding slowly. "I agree."

"The pictures would do better if they picked up the blues from the carpet."

He nodded again, spoke slowly again, drawing the words out in his eastern accent. "Yes, they would."

He waited and the silence hung in the air between them. "Stand up and get undressed." His words were calm, quiet, assured.

She didn't move, as if he would somehow forget the entire matter, let her avoid doing it somehow. The not-blue pictures closed in on her. At last he gestured, a small tip of his hand, palm up, fingers moving for her to stand.

And she obeyed, turning away from him. Taking a breath, she steeled herself and reached for her blouse, feeling the smooth fabric under her fingers. She wouldn't look back, but imagined she could hear his breathing deepen as she lifted it slowly over her head. With a start, she realized she felt a tingling between her legs, realized she wanted his breathing to deepen. Carefully, she folded the blouse and laid it on top of her sweater, still with her back to him, still feeling the place between her legs.

From across the room, he said, "keep going."

And so she did, reaching back to unfasten her brazier and hiding it under her other clothes.

"Come here," he said, voice still quiet.

When she didn't move, he repeated. "I said, come here."

This time she turned. She couldn't delay. He leaned back in the chair, legs wide, relaxed, as his eyes traveled her body without even the decency to pretend he wasn't. When he gestured for her to approach, her legs obeyed, crossing the room in a few steps to stand in front of him awkwardly. His arms rested on his own chair, but he stared at the floor, his meaning clear.

She remained standing, staring back. If he was going to make her do it, he could at least speak, not expect her to jump to his silent commands like some trained animal.

His eyes narrowed, but she held firm, refusing to back down in this silent battle. At last he broke. "Kneel." His tone was quiet, but a fraction lower. She'd irritated him. That knowledge brought a small sense of pleasure. Nevertheless, she bent one leg and the other. If she'd come this far, there was no point in protesting. Ultimately, she knew what she'd do, and the tingling continued.

"You know what to do." This time, he spoke as if chiding a child. "If you want the information, you're going to pay for it. Don't make me have to keep telling you to obey."

Would he walk away? He likely wanted this nearly as much as she did, at least in one way. But if she annoyed him too much, he might take what he wanted and then walk away, anyway. If she was going to do it, she'd need to make sure he continued, that he wanted to come back.

She reached toward his groin, hardly believing she was doing it, but the anticipation started to shoot through her. Through his trousers, she felt he was already growing larger, harder. She looked up at him, eyes searching as if to assure he really wanted her to do this, as if maybe he would have changed his mind. His eyes met hers, holding them, and he shifted, moving himself closer.

"Take it."

She fumbled at the ties, slowly, careful not to let her fingers move too quickly, not to let herself look eager. At last she held it in her hand, still trying to see if he would accept her actions as payment. She cupped its length in one hand, running the other along the length of its smoothness, then let her fingertips circle the bulb at the end, tracing the ridge and spiraling toward the tip, then back downward.

"That's it, girl. You like that, don't you?"

She didn't answer as she kept stroking, feeling the tip start to moisten and slide more easily under her hand. As it did, she found herself reaching with her other hand, grasping it tighter as she circled her in opposite directions. His body stiffened and he raised his hips towards her. For a brief moment, she realized she did like it. It was a new kind of power to hold over a man's body.

But just as suddenly as the realization came, it was gone. He pushed her backward and stood, his trousers falling to the ground. He stepped out of them and grasped her head, intertwining his fingers in her hair and jerking her to his groin with a force that belied the aura of calmness just moments before. Her mouth opened as if by reflex, and he shoved his member into it. The force choked her and she jerked back, but his hands held her in place. He began pumping into her throat, building a steady rhythm that forced her back. To hold her balance, she reached her arms around behind him, grasping a cheek in each hand, feeling the muscles' hardness beneath her hand as she struggled to stay on her knees, taking his thrusts as she gagged for air.