Chapter 7 #2
And Frederick knew just the right way. Suddenly, his comment about having been a libertine made sense. Only a man of significant experience could have her writhing on the seat with just one lick.
“Do you like it?” he asked from between her legs, his lips looking wet and swollen. Some of that must be…oh, it was too humiliating to contemplate!
Frederick’s head blocked Marianne’s legs when she tried to close them, and they rested against his ears ineffectually. He held them in place and rubbed his end-of-day stubble over her skin.
“Oh, it feels so…”
“Yes, I assume it does,” he said with a smirk. “Now, why don’t you tell me what got your lips wet?”
Marianne swiped at her mouth before realizing he meant somewhere different.
He laughed and then held his tongue over her nub, not quite touching it, teasing her with the promise of what would happen should she obey her husband.
She had only just promised to obey him, witnessed by a good portion of London society, hadn’t she?
“I enjoy…walking in a garden,” she started.
“Tupping in a garden,” he said with a chuckle, rewarding her with a lick.
“Oh no, not!” she exclaimed before breaking into peals of laughter. When had her husband become so funny? Maybe he’d always been so, and she simply didn’t know him yet. Given their rush to the altar, that made more sense.
Perhaps he was the friend she’d been hoping for when she composed that lonely song. It had seemed too much to hope for then, and even when her handsome duke materialized to claim her hand. Could he be the person she’d wanted all along?
Frederick buried his face betwixt her thighs with obvious, comedic relish.
He made little noises as if devouring the most delicious meal with no thought for manners.
It was a heady experience for a girl raised with bourgeois morals and limited understanding of sex — until playing at that mysterious townhouse.
She admired his thick, perfectly cut hair and longed to touch it. Would he permit her to do it? Marianne faltered. It was bold, but compared to the service performed between her legs right now, it hardly seemed a breach of protocol.
Lowering her hand to just over his crown, she wove her fingers through his strands so gently he might not even notice.
But he noticed. Frederick’s movements paused, and he looked up at her.
“Do you like it?” he asked, breathing hard.
“I simply wished to touch your hair,” she said, worried she’d caused some offense.
He glanced down at the spot he’d been tasting and then looked up. “Good. Tug on it to direct me.”
“Tug?” she squeaked when he resumed lavishing her with open-mouthed kisses there.
At first, she tried to caress his beautiful locks. But he grew more and more gentle until she longed for his earlier, lusty licks. If Frederick spoke the truth, the way to remedy this lay in her hands. Well, her hand.
She tightened her hold on his hair and directed him to that nub that he sucked so well into his mouth. The reaction was immediate: she stopped even trying to play the harp with her free hand and used it to steady her shaking body as the duke lavished her with worshipful kisses.
“Frederick, it’s so fast, I’m going to—”
“That’s right, you are,” he said before returning to his ministrations, placing his hand over hers so she couldn’t drop it from controlling his head.
With the other, he wiggled one finger into her channel as he continued to lick and suck. The wet sounds were loud even to her ears, and Marianne looked around the room, noticing the open doors the staff could pass at any moment.
“What if someone sees or hears us?” she asked frantically as something grew tighter and closer with every stroke of his tongue and fingers.
“They’ll say the duke is in love with his new bride.”
Those words! Her heart swelled with hope and fear of hope, all while he pleasured her as if to prove he was not lying about having been a libertine.
“Your little puss sucked me when I said that,” he said, smiling from where he looked up. “You like it, do you?”
“Yes, Frederick, yes,” she gasped as he twisted that clever finger.
It was all too delicious, and the only thing that would make it more so was if he were pinning her down, making her submit to his will, and shoving himself inside of her. All while wearing a stag mask.
Marianne didn’t modulate her scream of pleasure as she exploded on that seat where she’d expected to play lonely songs all night. Frederick licked and sucked her bump as if unwilling to stop, drawing out the shakes that made her fearful of landing beside him.
When her husband eased her to the floor with him and arranged her skirts, she was so drunk on her orgasm that he could position her like a doll without resistance. Frederick roughly opened his trousers while looking at the mess he’d made of her.
Marianne wanted to cover herself and show some decorous shame, but she simply moaned.
“It might make me bad, but I enjoy seeing you wet, boneless, and intoxicated by pleasure,” he said softly, lowering himself over her.
“I love it,” she sighed, letting him arrange her limbs as he liked and enjoying the sensation of his gigantic body coming over hers.
“You almost look defeated.”
“I am. Like a fox at the end of a hunt.”
“And yet you seem to like it,” he said, his cock out now, his hand stroking it to full hardness as he surveyed his wife’s body. “The fox doesn’t fare well at the end of a hunt.”
“Chase me down,” she mumbled, not bothering to think about how her words might sound. “I suspect that with you, I’d fare very well indeed.”
Frederick’s eyes widened and then he was a flurry of movement. His cock was at her entrance. It slid in with a speed and depth she’d not expected.
“You feel that?” he asked, his mouth over hers.
Her shoulder blades pressed against the carpet on the floor as if pinned back. And he speared her inside with what turned out to be a very substantial male member.
“It feels different,” she said.
“I gave you more this time.”
“More? Not all?” she asked, panic setting in.
He shifted his hips and went deeper. “Do you feel that, my little vixen? Do you want that now? To feel like a fox? You want your husband to chase and hunt you?”
“Oh, Frederick,” she moaned. “You do not know how I’ve dreamed of that.”
His face turned from confusion to fury in an instant. At first, she thought he was angry. Instead, lust consumed him, and he used it to move in and out of her at a punishing pace.
“Is it too much?” he grunted, all while continuing to open her for his pleasure. She’d felt nothing of the like, her body suddenly under his control completely as she moved incrementally over the woven fibers of the carpet because of the strength of his thrusts.
Their bodies came together in ways Marianne couldn’t have imagined, the noise percussive and wet, a consistent beat over which their moans played.
“It’s not too much,” she gasped, her stays no match for the way Frederick was making her breasts bounce from his thrusts.
He held himself on one muscular arm and brought the other to her neck. Running the backs of his fingers over her throat and then carefully wrapping his hand around a good deal of it, he asked, “And now, is this too much?”
Was it too much to have one’s husband come home and turn into the dominant beast of dreams? The only thing that would make this better is if he chased her in truth.
Her body must have responded in a way that signaled her pleasure because Frederick broke into a toothy grin, looking quite the predator.
“You like it,” he said. “Or at least your little pussy does.”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“I wonder what other unexpected things you might like, my lovely harpist.” He looked down at her adoringly, gently squeezing her neck and then releasing it.
“I like this,” she said in a small voice, finding that she rather enjoyed being held down while taking his enormous cock.
“Do you want other men?”
Her eyes widened. “You would do that? But your heir…”
“I’d give you anything your heart desires, Marianne. Maybe I’d fill your womb and send you to them with my child thickening your belly. Would you like that?”
She thought of that townhouse where men shared their wives with masked stags. It was close to what she wanted, but not quite.
“I think I’d like to do this only with you,” she said, reaching tentatively to touch his face.
Her husband couldn’t conceal his smile. “Is that so?”
“Yes, but…”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I wonder if you have an estate in the country. One with an extensive park. You see, I’ve been having thoughts,” she said.
“Have you now?”
Frederick hoisted her thigh and leaned in close so Marianne might pour her filthy visions into his ear. When she made a particular request, he bucked into her hard and unleashed a moan that seemed to continue for ages.
The duke applied his thumb to her nub and stroked that spot until Marianne fluttered to a paroxysm that sent her back bowing off the carpet and channel milking her husband’s thick member. He kissed her neck in a way somewhere between soothing and nipping.
“We can do that, my wife. I’ll see to making all of your fantasies real.”