18. St. Erth
Irritation crept over me like a pox, making my skin feel buzzed and unhappy, and I rode my horse Sampson to Rosewood Village to try to outrun my anger, racing through the fields and leaping low hedges with grim determination.
But I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.
When the fuck was Catherine’s flow going to be over?
I could ride to London overnight, visit the opera house, pay a woman in the chorus to fuck me, or go find any of my beautiful former mistresses, who would be happy to spread their thighs anytime I wanted for a few pieces of jewelry.
But ever since I got married I had no desire to. The thought of another woman didn’t appeal to me. Didn’t even make my cock twitch. I tried to picture their thighs spread, cunts open, but all I could see was Catherine. Her creamy thighs open, her delicious pink perfection spread in front of me, the way she made little moans and whimpers that sent me into an animalistic fever. My mistresses had all been sent away with generous parting gifts and I had no desire for another one.
I only wanted Catherine.
What the fuck had that little witch done to me?
I thought with pleasure about punishing Catherine as a witch. Ripping off her dress until she was standing naked before me, checking for her the witch’s mark, then whipping her until I dunked her in the witch’s stool over and over again. Once her delicate skin was pink with rage, then I would yank her off it and fuck her wet body over and over.
My cock was throbbing, not a very comfortable thing when riding a horse, and I jumped off with a simmering rage when I got to the village. Should I go get some ale at the inn? Maybe it would distract me to get shitfaced.
I couldn’t think of anything except my wife.
Maybe I should fuck her anyway. Fuck my liver! Most doctors were quacks anyways and it probably wasn’t even true that laying with a woman on her monthly flow would make your liver bilious.
Even if it meant admitting I want my little red-haired witch for more than just breeding her. Even though I am craving her belly swollen with my baby so badly it is an ache inside me, I want more.
Suddenly an infuriating thought entered my head as I thought about my little brat wife.
Surely my sweet wife wouldn’t have dared! Surely she’d know how fucking furious I’d be when I found out!
Glancing around, I chose Mr. and Mrs. Elton’s snug little vicarage and I strode angrily over, pounding on the door.
It didn’t take long for a flustered servant to appear.
“My Lord!” she cried, and I brushed past her and into their sitting room.
Mr. and Mrs. Elton were sitting in the comfortable room, Mr. Elton composing a letter and Mrs. Elton at her needlework.
“How long does a woman’s flow last?” I demanded without preamble.
“Your Lordship!” said Mr. Elton, standing up hastily as Mrs. Elton’s mouth dropped open.
“This is not a social call,” I said. “How long does a woman’s flow last?”
She looked uncertainly at her husband, then answered me in a low tone.
“Four. . .four or five days, my lord. Maybe six or seven.”
“What about ten?” I demanded. “Ten days?”
“Not usually,” she replied, looking flustered and embarrassed.
“Indeed,” I returned. “I bid you good day,” I threw back over my shoulder as I stalked out of the room again, my mind filled with what I was going to do to my disobedient wife.
“Will we see you at Sunday service sometime soon?” Mr. Elton called after me. “It would set an excellent example for the townspeople, my lord.”
“Would you really want the devil to come to church?” I shot back at him.
“The best place for him,” Mr. Elton returned, with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.
“You may regret that,” I snarled, slamming the door behind me.
I rode back to Rosewood Manor in a towering temper, and the sun slanting across the endless rolling lawns of the manor gave me no pleasure.
As I neared the manor, I saw Catherine in the garden. My wife was bending over and picking a few roses, looking carefully at each one to get the perfect flower, a pair of small garden clippers in her hand. She was wearing a delicate sprigged muslin gown, heavy long coils of her hair twisted up, with only the tiniest curls escaping against her creamy throat.
I spurred my horse, and as she turned around in surprise, I reached one hand and plucked her bodily up, setting her in front of me on the saddle.
“What are you doing, St. Erth?” she shrieked.
But I ignored her and grabbed harshly at her cunt, feeling the strings of the guard-napkin she wore, my fingers gripping her as tightly as I could with all these goddamn layers of shifts and petticoats.
“10 days of your monthly flow?” I growled in her ear. “Do you take me for a fool?”
She sucked in her breath sharply, then suddenly pitched to the other side as if she was going to throw herself from the horse.
I had to swing myself halfway out of the saddle to grab her, holding her tight with one hand and the pommel with the other.
“Why do I have no time for anything but disciplining you?” I seethed, biting her on the ear because I didn’t have a hand free.
She yelped, and stabbed back at me with her little gardening clippers. They sliced through my breeches, but I didn’t let go.
“Claw me all you like,” I growled, pulling at her ear and yanking at her hair. “I’m not letting you go.”
Once we arrived, I dismounted hastily, throwing the reins at Liversedge, and stalked inside, dragging Catherine by the collar.
“You were so sweet and quiet when I married you,” I gritted out at her as I dragged her down to the hallway.
She only kicked out harder at me, slashing out with the gardening clippers until I ripped them away from her. The wedding band on her splayed fingers made my stomach clench with an angry need.
I didn’t think I could make it upstairs, so I kicked open the library door and slammed it behind me.
Catherine I bent face first over the table, giving her thighs and calves little licks with the riding crop.
I gathered all her skirts up in one angry hand as she wriggled in my arms.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
I pressed harder with my hips and ripped off the guard-napkin, the strings snapping harshly. Then I plunged my fingers into her cunt, rending her undergarments in the process.
Godsblood, this cunt was tight and wet.
I pulled my fingers out and looked at them.
I knew it.
Slick with her wet cunt and no blood.
“How dare you, you little brat?” I seethed through my teeth, flicking her ass with the riding crop now, watching as little spots of pink appeared every place I marked her up.
“I am going to pull all your seed out with my hands,” she snapped. “I’m not having your baby!”
“Oh yes, you fucking are!” I growled back at her, snapping at her ass harder now, her flesh blooming under my angry hands. “You’re going to be marked and filled by me.”
I wanted to keep spanking her ass but my cock was straining at my breeches, aching for my little brat wife.
I let the crop fall with a clatter to the ground and slapped impatiently at Catherine’s legs.
“Let me in. Fuck, Catherine.”
I began to press my cock into her tight passage, groaning loudly. It was godsdamn exquisite, the best fucking cunt I’d ever had. It was also the most trouble I’d ever had getting into one.
Once I felt her wet cunt, I couldn’t stop. With one hand I gripped her hair and with the other I lifted her ass and hips for me to pound savagely into her.
Shit, she felt so unbelievably good. I tried to close my eyes to last longer, but I couldn’t resist looking at her, perfect breasts smashed against the table, her head jerked up, the long auburn waves ripped out of her updo, my bite marks on her creamy neck, the marks of my crop on her ass.
Fuck. My release was building again on my spine, and I wasn’t going to be able to stop, so I only gripped her tight, hair and ass.
“Never lie to me again,” I growled.
Then I released seed into her, my eyes rolling back in my head as my wife took me whether she wanted to or not.
But she hadn’t learned her lesson yet.