was riveted on the scene. Obviously the couple’s
deviant thrill was they liked to perform for an audience. As His
Grace lapped his wife’s quim, Gideon realized he had never
performed oral sex on a woman. He never saw to their needs,
caressing, touching, embracing, and kissing. Far too intimate and
negated his own pleasure. Selfish bastard. If a woman
managed to peak while he fucked her, he never gave it further
thought. The duchess cried out, her head back, her long, flowing
sunset hair touching the wood floor. The duke then proceeded to
make a meal out of her breasts. A low, simmering flame grew inside
and slowly spread through Gideon’s whole body. This scene was
exquisitely erotic and damned desirable to observe. By the time
Glenholm mounted his wife, Gideon took a silent bet the duchess
would not be able to accommodate that gargantuan prick. He would
have lost as the duchess took it all. There was no frantic rutting,
no rough, brutal sex. The duke made passionate love to his duchess.
The look on his face as he thrust deeply was akin to awe and what
Gideon supposed could be love. He suddenly felt ashamed for
observing such an emotional and intimate act. Stepping away from
the wall, he was surprised to feel heat flushing his cheeks. Good God, an emotional response. He left the room and went
to the next. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he walked in.
The stark contrast from the tender and gentle
lovemaking he observed to this torture chamber scene was hard to
fathom. He recognized Sir Anthony Tollingham, Knight of the Realm
and a respected judge at Chancery. The older man was completely
naked and restrained by chains hanging from the ceiling. His arms
elevated slightly, he glanced toward the door. Mixed with the look
of trepidation was also expectation. The man no doubt waited to be
birched or flogged. The door swung open and a woman walked in the
room. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite. Lush
and shapely, she wore a black lace bodice with knee high boots a
pirate might wear. Her golden-honey hair hung in thick waves down
her back. The woman wore black leather gloves and in her hand was a
riding crop, which she tapped absently in her palm as she walked
around the judge as a lion would stalk its prey. Her blue-gray eyes
were hard and cold. The look on her beautiful face furious and
determined and Gideon felt the blood rush to his head and to his
cock simultaneously.
“Do you wish to be bloodied?” she asked the
judge, in a tone of voice she might use in the parlor to ask him if
he wanted sugar in his tea.
The judge closed his eyes and
smiled.
“Oh yes, please.”
“Yes please—what?”
“Yes please, Mistress Birch.”
Gideon choked back a snort of derision. These
types of games he may have dabbled in a few times. He did take a
cat-o-nine-tails to a woman once, but he hardly made a mark on her.
He just reveled in the role of master in full control. Come to
think of it, he was the authoritarian person in all his salacious
sex play. Could he submit to this wisp of a beautiful woman and her
riding crop? Not bloody likely.
Before he could form another thought, an
almighty thwack filled the air as the Mistress laid the riding crop
across the back of the judge. The man howled, but the cry ended in
joyous laughter. The riding crop then flayed open the judge’s thigh
and blood dripped to the floor. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock. This he had never seen before. She slid the crop along the
judge’s erect cock and the man moaned in ecstasy.
“One more, where do you want it? Chest? Back?
Your buttocks?” The crop moved back and forth along his stiff
prick. “Or here?”
“Yes! There!”
Gideon tore out of the alcove. Be damned if he
would watch that . He heard the crop make contact and the
judge scream in pleasure-agony. Silence filled the air. He leaned
against the wall. Jesus, he was hard as a pike.
Pan appeared before him.
“Are
deviant thrill was they liked to perform for an audience. As His
Grace lapped his wife’s quim, Gideon realized he had never
performed oral sex on a woman. He never saw to their needs,
caressing, touching, embracing, and kissing. Far too intimate and
negated his own pleasure. Selfish bastard. If a woman
managed to peak while he fucked her, he never gave it further
thought. The duchess cried out, her head back, her long, flowing
sunset hair touching the wood floor. The duke then proceeded to
make a meal out of her breasts. A low, simmering flame grew inside
and slowly spread through Gideon’s whole body. This scene was
exquisitely erotic and damned desirable to observe. By the time
Glenholm mounted his wife, Gideon took a silent bet the duchess
would not be able to accommodate that gargantuan prick. He would
have lost as the duchess took it all. There was no frantic rutting,
no rough, brutal sex. The duke made passionate love to his duchess.
The look on his face as he thrust deeply was akin to awe and what
Gideon supposed could be love. He suddenly felt ashamed for
observing such an emotional and intimate act. Stepping away from
the wall, he was surprised to feel heat flushing his cheeks. Good God, an emotional response. He left the room and went
to the next. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he walked in.
The stark contrast from the tender and gentle
lovemaking he observed to this torture chamber scene was hard to
fathom. He recognized Sir Anthony Tollingham, Knight of the Realm
and a respected judge at Chancery. The older man was completely
naked and restrained by chains hanging from the ceiling. His arms
elevated slightly, he glanced toward the door. Mixed with the look
of trepidation was also expectation. The man no doubt waited to be
birched or flogged. The door swung open and a woman walked in the
room. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite. Lush
and shapely, she wore a black lace bodice with knee high boots a
pirate might wear. Her golden-honey hair hung in thick waves down
her back. The woman wore black leather gloves and in her hand was a
riding crop, which she tapped absently in her palm as she walked
around the judge as a lion would stalk its prey. Her blue-gray eyes
were hard and cold. The look on her beautiful face furious and
determined and Gideon felt the blood rush to his head and to his
cock simultaneously.
“Do you wish to be bloodied?” she asked the
judge, in a tone of voice she might use in the parlor to ask him if
he wanted sugar in his tea.
The judge closed his eyes and
smiled.
“Oh yes, please.”
“Yes please—what?”
“Yes please, Mistress Birch.”
Gideon choked back a snort of derision. These
types of games he may have dabbled in a few times. He did take a
cat-o-nine-tails to a woman once, but he hardly made a mark on her.
He just reveled in the role of master in full control. Come to
think of it, he was the authoritarian person in all his salacious
sex play. Could he submit to this wisp of a beautiful woman and her
riding crop? Not bloody likely.
Before he could form another thought, an
almighty thwack filled the air as the Mistress laid the riding crop
across the back of the judge. The man howled, but the cry ended in
joyous laughter. The riding crop then flayed open the judge’s thigh
and blood dripped to the floor. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock. This he had never seen before. She slid the crop along the
judge’s erect cock and the man moaned in ecstasy.
“One more, where do you want it? Chest? Back?
Your buttocks?” The crop moved back and forth along his stiff
prick. “Or here?”
“Yes! There!”
Gideon tore out of the alcove. Be damned if he
would watch that . He heard the crop make contact and the
judge scream in pleasure-agony. Silence filled the air. He leaned
against the wall. Jesus, he was hard as a pike.
Pan appeared before him.
“Are
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