My Lady Compelled (2 page)

 

"I cannot believe you did this, Lord Kittridge. S-Saved me! I-I . . . thank you, Drummond." Gabriella St. John voiced demurely, appearing very near to grateful tears.

"Do not thank me, Lady St. John," Drummond uttered curtly.

"B-But, I . . . this is all so embarrassing. I just don't know quite what to say, I . . ."

"Drummond!"

"No, I . . . No, you know that I cannot!" Gabriella cried, obviously more shaken than she had already been.

"Then, I shall see what I have purchased, madame," he continued, relentless. "Now!"

"You have become an arrogant beast, Lord Kittridge," Gabriella exclaimed, appearing more furious and embarrassed now as she tossed her mink muffler onto the wing chair in his study along with her trim mink hat to follow. She eyed him uncertainly through beautiful violet colored eyes, apparently gauging his resolve in this most daring scene, and then she cried, "I certainly could not begrudge you the entire twenty-thousand pounds that it cost you to purchase me!"

Her white gloves came off next, furiously following the mink accessories. "Just what do you intend to do with me?" she exclaimed as her shaking fingers worked on the black pearl buttons of her fashionable silk walking dress. "Make me into your whore," she panted as the dove gray dress slid to her slippered feet and she shuttered in fevered distress. "How you must hate me to do this," she despaired in obvious anguish, jerking down her petticoats one by one, until she stood in only her cream-colored, gauzy camisole.

Drummond saw at once that she was still exquisite after all these years. Infinitely more so dressed in an utterly feminine camisole. The camisole covered only to her creamy-colored upper thighs above her silk stockings held in place by frilly garters of violet satin. The lacy top edge of the camisole dipped into the sultry curves of her magnificent bosom, showing her pink nipples clearly outlined against the fragile silk. She was sumptuous with her auburn hair and purply colored eyes, little did her contemptible husband realize, but he would have paid ten times as much to have her.

"Come here to me, madame, now!" Drummond commanded. Completely ignoring Gabriella's questions and tirade as he reclined imperiously in his high-backed leather chair behind the desk in his study.

"Answer me!" Gabriella exclaimed indignant, even as she came forward with faltering steps. She only tiptoed to the edge of his desk, with one of her hands attempting ridiculously to cover her ample breasts, while the other scrunched between her perfect thighs. He could see the pulse beating wildly in the hollow of her slender throat.

"I do not have to answer to you for anything, madame. It is you, who are now fully and completely beneath my proprietorship." Drummond reached forward.

"Oh, you-you," Gabriella squealed as he clasped her wrist, hauling her unceremoniously into his lap with her back plastered to his chest.

"There is nothing for you to do, madame, . . . no place for you to go." Drummond moved his hand then with bold rapaciousness. He slid his fingers beneath Gabriella's camisole to aggressively capture in his hand her hot flushed little pussy, while she tried instantly to clench her legs together, eliciting a strangled screech.

Then, he uttered harshly. "You may not abandon me this time. You must submit!"

"The streets then, madame, I care not!"

"B-But . . . there is nowhere for me to go."

"Precisely, madame." Drummond allowed his gaze to burn with demand into Gabriella's. "Spread your legs for me now! Place them up and over mine."

"We shall see," Drummond replied intently as Gabriella turned her gaze forward, and then collapsed upon his chest, raising her legs, so slowly . . . faltering, up over his.

Drummond relaxed then. He had routed the first major skirmish and he did intend to win the entire battle. The woman in his arms was everything that he had ever dreamed her to be. Soft, feminine, and gracefully feisty, although she had no chance. Who would have ever thought in the grand continuum of life's events that he would be given this second singular chance? He never questioned the mores of God's greatest design. More appropriate, he molded those events to his own design. But this time . . . This time, lent him nearly to believe in divine providence.

Gabriella's shapely curves trembled where they settled over his muscular frame. Her breathing was agitated, her soft brunette hair tickled his throat from where her head moved, restless beneath his chin. Nonetheless, she struggled no more when he placed both of his palms flatly onto the gossamer flesh of her shivering inner thighs.

"What will you do to me?" she moaned, with a helpless whisper. Still, she did not fight his hands presence . . . nor their right to be there.

Intent, Drummond did not answer her . . . and he would not for a long time to come. Instead, he inhaled deeply, catching the fragrances of light orange blossoms mixed with lavender in her hair, and then the scent of hot woman's flesh beneath it all. All the while, his palms stroked upward, caressing her tender creamy flesh, following the inner curve of her thighs. Spreading her thighs open wider to expose her voluptuous apex.

"Drummond," she whimpered in a renewed attempt of maidenly protest that fell far short, because it sounded more like a mincing purr, as her flesh beneath his palms quivered and tensed.

"I should have a mirror placed to view you," Drummond murmured wickedly into her ear as his fingertips slid into the dewy, hot crease of her femininity. "I should shave these damp little curls away to see."

"Oh! You shouldn't do-!" she gasped on a throaty squeal.

"The next time I shall, madame," Drummond murmured as he parted the steamy folds of her pussy with his fingers, baring the fragile pearl that he sought. "We shall both watch you writhe just for me."

Aggressively, Drummond flicked his second finger over Gabriella's hot, protruding clitoris. That little bud that he bared to his assault. Instantly causing her to quake, then shiver as she mewled. "I shan't . . . I've never. N-No one has ever touched me, like . . ."

The last of her verse was lost within an involuntary squeal as Drummond rubbed his finger greedily over her thrusting and swollen flesh, using a blatant and sensuous rhythm. He wondered briefly at what she tried to disclaim, then shrugged it aside. He would be a fool to believe that she had not reached a climax at her age. Saints, she had been married for twenty-five years, it was unimaginable that the lady had not . . .

"Oh my god, Drummond," Gabriella mewled, clearly involuntarily as she squirmed on his hard thighs with delicious shivers running through her voluptuous body. Now she was industriously seeking his fingers motion with uplifting and sultry motions of her own.

Drummond allowed himself a satisfied smile. He was secure in the knowledge that Gabriella could not see the momentary crack in his polished veneer, as he used his other hand to finger the juicy, swollen flesh around her succulent vagina. One heady and exploratory roam around this tender circular opening and he speared his second finger straight into her tight sheath. She cried out, arching upward, seating his finger firmly with frenzied, honey-filled gasps escaping her throat.

All of his thoughts were ungodly lustful at how tight and provocative she was as he began to ambitiously fuck her with his finger . . . one . . . then two, while she cried out incoherent and quivered dangerously close to her summit. Her pale knees rose upward, spreading outward toward each armrest with increased expectancy as he inhaled the musky scent of her submission to him.

His control tottered on a fissure as a surge of lustful intent swept through his rigid control for a moment. He was hard . . . he had been hard this entire time, but now his shaft throbbed, demanding to be master. He battled for several straining moments with his cock's lust, as he aggressively dipped his fingers in and out of seeping heaven. But his willpower was victorious in the end . . . as always. Later perhaps, he would be surprised at his loss of control, but for now, he only wished to fulfill a private dream and with his control in check, he settled back to relish this lifetime's fulfillment.

Gabriella's mind fractured, just as her loins exploded into star bursting rapture. She could not control her body's spasms. She did not want to! She only desired to yield and follow the convulsing tide of pleasure as Drummond's wicked-wicked fingers continued to move inside her. Stroking her, while she moaned embarrassingly out of control. Unable to catch her breath, she heard Drummond's husky aristocratic voice command.

"Again."

She was fire. An impassioned body of flesh and bone to be molded to this arrogant man's whims. But he had the right to be arrogant, she thought incoherently, with his devilish fingers. He had a right to be anything that she could beg him for!

"Oh, Drummond," she whimpered, caught within the throes of passion, for the first time in her life.

"Yes," Drummond whispered in a throaty tenor against her ear, while his wide hand curved inward, cupping over her loins and taking her entire plumpness, possessively into his hand. She arched her loins upward, shamelessly against his palm as he stroked and rubbed her womanhood decadently with his fingers once again. This time her body eagerly encouraged him with undulations of its own, gnawing to feel that incredible bliss of rampant release that was ruling her now beneath its newest awakenings.

She could not think that she lay, straddled scandalously, backward over this man and exposed completely to the room . . . to him. Mindless, she wished her pompous and cruel husband could see her now, finding passion in a man's arms, writhing brazenly for this man's touch.

"I shall have you this way, madame, anytime that pleases me," Drummond averred into her ear. "Anyplace that I wish it."

"Bent over my desk, madame. In my carriage or at my dinner table. You will yield your pussy to my hand, my mouth, anything that I desire," he murmured, hitching her up higher on his lap with his arm beneath her breasts as his fingers continued to tattoo a dance in the folds of her womanhood.

"Oh-h-h . . . ," Gabriella cried, tottering once again on the molten summit.

Gabriella sobbed Drummond's name as the passion rippled through her, stronger and more intense this time. Shaking her very limbs! Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gasped at the raw pleasure, twisting . . . tickling . . . bursting from her loins!

"Again," Drummond commanded hoarsely.

"Oh God, Drummond!" Gabriella cried.

"Yes," he growled in near savagery.

"N-no, I c-can't," she whimpered.

"Yes! You will!" he commanded.

 

 

Gabriella realized immediately that she must have truly lost consciousness in the last explosive throes of raw passion that Drummond commanded from her body, because she came awake reclining on a settee. Drummond was standing over her, languidly smoking a spicy smelling cigar. His slate gray eyes revealed nothing. There was not a modicum of tenderness in their reserved depths.

Gabriella quickly crossed her arm over the transparent material that was covering her breasts, placing one hand modestly between her legs as heat flooded her cheeks to burning. She was so confused, feeling indignant, shameful, and yet completely sated . . . somehow. She never imagined in her wildest dreams that a man could bring a woman to such passion!

"Maidenly modesty does not become you at this moment, madame." Drummond raised a perfectly sculpted silver-gray eyebrow in reprove. "Nor shall I allow it to become a part of our newest relationship." He puffed lazily on his cigar with his gaze demanding that she move her arms.

Gabriella huffed, flustered with her familiar and graceful composure, thoroughly in shreds as she floundered, not knowing where or how to act. In one short afternoon her life had completely changed. Nothing seemed of herself anymore and she did not know where to begin to regain the pieces that had become lost or irrevocably changed.

"They prohibited slavery years ago, Lord Kittridge," she exclaimed, principally to halt the words that she would have spoken, begging Drummond to comfort her. Still, she lowered her arms as he silently commanded and she realized in a moment of panic what possession he held over her now.

Drummond ignored her comment wholly, as appeared to be a trait of his, while his gaze boldly studied her barely concealed breasts. "It could have been worse, madame. It was only by chance circumstances that I learned your husband had intentions to sell you. Quite a barbarous ideal, selling one's wife, however, for my purposes, effective."

"Your purposes?" Gabriella questioned in a whisper, holding forth little hope that Drummond would answer her inquiry.

"And to a lower class patron no less." he paused, tilting his head upward for a slow stately puff on his cigar. "Imagine my surprise?"

Gabriella shuddered, but offered no verbal comment as her gaze irrevocably slid down over the length of Drummond's tall frame, while he was not looking at her. Even at his age, he was still the most attractive man that she had ever seen. He was muscular and trim with short cut, silver-gray hair, adding a dramatic and handsome maturity to his tanned and hawkish features.

"And for what?" Drummond mused. "This claim that you are barren?"

Gabriella's mind suddenly fired from its confusion as pain and deep humiliation flared in her breast. She came upright, off the settee, with jerky and angry motions. Remaining mute, she stood and quickly gathered her clothing, holding it before her like a shield. She would not even take the time to dress. What difference could it make after this horrible day? She would find her cloak quickly and that would be enough.

"I choose the streets," she muttered, gazing downward at the shambles of clothing in her arms. Just like her life. She did not hear Drummond's approach, until suddenly he clasped his warm strong hands around her bare upper arms as he turned her to face him.

"That is no longer an option for you, madame."

Her gaze shot to his face. Somehow, he had rid himself of his cigar and she thought she detected a fleeting second of sympathy in his charcoal-gray eyes, coming and going so quick that she was sure she had just imagined it.

"Your husband will no longer have you, madame. That paragon, whom I might mention was chosen over myself twenty-five years ago. You have no further family alive, no money, and the papers signed this day between your husband and myself, while not entirely legally binding, are enough so that if you breach the contract by leaving me without my consent, I could stretch the situation enough to have you arrested, until a lengthy courtroom battle could ascertain the ramifications."

"Jail," Gabriella whispered, horrified.

"The Gaol to be exact, Lady St. John." Drummond paused searching her gaze intently as if to ascertain her complete understanding, then he released her and strode toward his desk saying, "I shall expect you to join me for dinner at seven. Your clothes have been delivered to my chambers where you may go now and refresh yourself. Rest if you need to, madame."

Gabriella remained mute, watching in horrid fascination as Drummond sat in his high-backed desk chair, facing her nonchalantly from across his inlayed marble-topped desk. His gaze was inscrutable, his mouth outlined in perfect masculine firmness, as he casually lifted two of his fingers up to his regal nose, and he inhaled. Then, he licked the tip of his second finger . . . slowly. That same finger that had touched her-her!

Gabriella gasped and fled the room before Drummond's warm, masculine chuckling.