“Turn around,” Mr. Blackstone ordered.
Lina did as she was told, and found herself facing a wall of implements of all shapes and sizes, most of which were not recognizable to her, but some which were—whips, of a sort she had never seen before, with many thick leather straps and elaborately carved handles. There were many ivory objects carved into shapes that looked very much like a naughty picture drawn in the courtyard of her building back in France. The picture had caused all the women to laugh, but the children had been forbidden to know what it represented.
The memory made Lina’s cheeks burn, for while she had not known then, and did not know now for certain what these objects mimicked, she suspected very much that it was a man’s “manhood.”
“Disrobe,” Blackstone said.
Lina turned quickly, shocked, her mouth open in protest. Blackstone was no longer standing where he had been just moments before, but had, as was typical of him, disappeared into the shadows.
“Mr. Blackstone, I—”
“For your disobedience now, I shall take my hand to your backside five times, Miss Blanchet. Part of your training, which we simply must make progress in, is that you must understand the role of your master, and your unquestioned obedience to him. I am your master. Face the wall as I requested and disrobe.”
Lina turned back to the wall and closed her eyes to the assortment of objects for a moment as she reached for the laces of her frock. She fumbled for a moment, and tugged at the laces, but with her shaking hands was unable to loosen the tight knots the maid had formed.
She was nearly sweating when she at last gave up.
“Sir,” she whispered. “I wish to obey you, but I...I can...I cannot...”
She heard Blackstone’s movement as he rose, and she turned her chin subtly to the right to catch a glimpse of him.
“Face the wall,” he growled, and she snapped her eyes back on the wall of devices. She could feel his presence behind her, even though she did not know how close he was. Her skin tingled without him even touching her.
His fingers went first to her neck, brushing lightly over her skin and sending a scandalous current of pleasure down her spine. She knew that her skin had turned to goose-flesh and hoped that he did not see it.
He tugged, first pulling hard on the ribbing of the dress so that it squeezed her tightly, before tugging at the laces to loosen the corset.
His fingers brushed over her shoulders, making her tremble, and he slid the dress from them with a soft caress over her skin.
The material slipped down her arms, and then her waist, and her hands flew instinctively to cover herself.
His arms encircled her suddenly, rock-solid and warm through his shirt. She could feel his muscles flex with their coiled strength against her forearms as he encircled her wrists and pulled at her arms, peeling away her futile act of modesty. “You shall keep your arms at your sides, or wherever I command you to place them,” he breathed.
His breath was hot against her neck, right where his fingers had touched. Her eyes felt very heavy, and they closed slowly as she exhaled sharply, trying to contain the sensations bubbling inside her body. He enclosed her wrists, behind her back, with the wiry strength of only one hand, and she could feel that resistance against him would have been as futile as resisting iron chains.
Yet, the primary feeling that moved inside of her was not the one she expected. Even worse, it was a feeling that was decidedlyimproper.The cool air against her bare breasts was exhilarating, and she could see, with a glance down, that the ache in her nipples must have come from the peculiar change in them: they had hardened into tight knots that were longing, as if they were a separate part of her mind and body, to feel Mr. Blackstone’s fingers brush over them as his breath had done to her neck.
A whimper nearly escaped her throat, but she doused it the best that she could. Still, Mr. Blackstone reacted to the soft sound that hummed in her throat, by squeezing her wrists more tightly, and tugging them down so that she had no choice but to arch her back and tip her neck slightly, thrusting her nipples up even more immodestly.
“I have not begun, Miss Blanchet,” he growled, next to her ear, and her body gave a shudder that was not at all unpleasant.
In an instant, however, she was being turned around, Mr. Blackstone staying behind her with her hands in his fierce grip. Once she faced away from the wall, she could see the rest of the room, largely occupied by a low, leather-upholstered piece of furniture that looked very much like a bed, with four tall posters at each corner. But where a mattress and bedding might have been, there was only the fine leather upholstery.
Ominously, from each of the four posters hung chains with leather cuffs at the ends.
Her mouth opened and a very small gasp escaped her. Perhaps she might have said something at that moment, if only she had been able to think of what to say. Mr. Blackstone pushed her forward, and so she stepped out of the crumpled dress as she moved with his will, until her thighs were against the cool leather of the bed.
“Bend over the bed and place your hands on either side of your head. I will administer your discipline before we begin, so perhaps you may consider giving greater weight to my instructions as we proceed.”
His fingers released her wrists, and they slid limply to her waist as she stared at the mattress. The implications of the bed fluttered about in her mind: a bed was a place where men and women did the very naughty things that only married men and women did, and while no one had ever spoken of such naughtiness, she was certain that she knew something of what was to take place.
Or at least that it was very, very forbidden.
“I—” she began but cut herself off.
She had no choice, she remembered. If she disobeyed Mr. Blackstone, she would only feel more of his unrelenting punishment on the still-burning skin of her bottom, and perhaps worse.
But bending over seemedobscene.
