She could not stop her thighs from shaking, no matter how much she balled the fabric of her skirt in her fists. Another gasp escaped her when Doyle inserted his finger and probed her insides, pressing up and down, touching places that were sore from the presence of the object, and yet felt as though they had never been touched.
A cool, hard object kissed her between the lips of her cunny, and Doyle rubbed it over her engorged knob, making her squeal and lift her head to gasp for air. She could not hold still, she thought. She simply could not.
“Now,” Dr. Doyle said. “I am going to push this next plug inside of you, Miss Blanchet. It will slide easily, if you relax, and accept it inside of you. It is wider, and longer, and it will stretch you so that you may accommodate my cock when the time comes. Will you enjoy that, Miss Blanchet? Feeling my member inside of you?”
“I will,” she breathed, her chest cool again with anticipation. The cold object was now pressed against her bottom-hole, partially inside of it, teasing the ache that gnawed at her.
Slowly, Dr. Doyle pushed it inside of her. A sharp pain announced its girth, as she was stretched much wider than before, and she gasped. But for as sharp as it was, she wanted to feel it being fed inside of her, pushing in, filling her up.
Slowly, the many inches of the object pushed in, deeper, deeper, until she was certain it could not go any further. Still, it went in, and she mewled until she felt the narrow notch that marked the end of it. Dr. Doyle tugged gently at it, and it pulled like the anal hook had pulled, sending a delicious ache throughout her body.
He pushed on it, and pulled at it, a few more times, as Lina howled very softly into the bed.
“There,” he said at last, and pulled her dress down, over her bottom. “Very good, Miss Blanchet. You are now to sit upon a chair in the library, with your back straight, and think upon how you shall be more obedient in the future. Stand up now.”
She stood up, at first quickly, but when, as she straightened, the object pushed itself about inside of her and ignited again a deep soreness, she slowed.
“Dr... Dr. Doyle,” she whispered. “Sir,master... am I being punished now? Please tell me what I have done to displease Mr. Blackstone.”
He adjusted the dress on her shoulders, and began to tie the laces, pulling them tightly, making her gasp. “I do not believe ‘displeased’ is the proper word for Mr. Blackstone’s current state of mind,” he said cryptically, and she was certain she heard the smile in his voice. He pulled her laces, and she held onto the bedpost. “You are not being punished, Miss Blanchet. You are being trained. And perhaps you might think of it as being used, for our carnal pleasure.”
Lina stared at the bedpost, as a flush of heat traveled over her chest and her neck.
“I shall do my best, then,” she said quietly, “To obey.”
Doyle finished tying her dress without comment, but when she turned her head ever so slightly to see his face, she thought she could see that he was smiling.
* * *
Doyle, he could see, was feeling smug, for he had upon his face that very same self-assured smile as he so often wore when he had concluded something, thanks to the new and bizarre science he called “psychology.” Blackstone detested Doyle’s “conclusions,” particularly those about which he donned such smugness because he was usually—infuriatingly—correct in his assumptions and derivations.
Blackstone held up a hand to silence the man, but Doyle was not the type to be silenced, and he was one of very few men who did not fear Rohan Blackstone.
Doyle inhaled sharply, and it did nothing to make his smug grin fade.
“Before you speak,” Rohan began, but he left enough of a pause at the end of this proclamation to give Doyle even more confidence, for Rohan himself had no idea what, exactly, to say.
“The girl is being properly disciplined,” Doyle said calmly, taking a seat and pouring himself a healthy snifter of whiskey, which he did not sip. “As you requested.”
Blackstone became impatient. “But?”
Doyle lifted his eyebrows but said nothing.
“Good God, man, speak your mind,” Blackstone said irritably.
Doyle lifted the glass to his lips and paused, as if contemplating whether or not he wished to sip the whiskey. Blackstone rolled his eyes; he knew his friend far too well to be fooled by the display.
“You quite evidently wish to discuss some matter,” Blackstone said irritably, collapsing in a chair. “So speak your mind and be done with it.”
Doyle let a long pause linger in the air, which irritated Blackstone and made him glare sullenly at the wall as he waited. All the while, the scent of Miss Blanchet’s skin lingered in his mind, as though she were just beneath his fingertips. The thought of her was arousing him, even as Doyle was arousing irritation, and he very much wished for the moment to get going and be done with.
“I only wonder,” Doyle said quietly, sipping his whiskey at last with great affect.
“If...” Blackstone prompted, ever more impatient, his arousal stirring up a great unease in his body.
“Well, I wonder if perhaps you have been too hasty, perhaps even a bit harsh with Miss Blanchet. I wonder if perhaps you do not regret your choice.”
Blackstone was cold and silent, even as a fire raged inside of him. Of course heregrettedhaving canceled his marriage to Miss Blanchet and turning her over to Laroui.
