Silver Silk Ties Read online

Once inside the other room, he looked around, curious to try and see it through her eyes.

  Not overlarge, it held few furnishings. Those it did contain were not the sort of things one would expect to see in a bedroom occupied by a member of the ton. Indeed not on show in any room.

  On the far wall a large ornate bed was positioned. It was on here Ara had stretched out as he commanded. From each corner long ties were fastened, waiting to be used. Above was a set of ropes, fashioned into a swing, more elaborate than the one downstairs. Across from the bed sat a padded bench and rail, and a few feet away, a long cupboard had a mixture of crops paddles and ribbons on it top. Only he knew what secrets were inside.

  Ara's skin gleamed with the evidence of her arousal. Her eyes were shining, her breathing rapid. The tantalizing pulse in her throat was beating out a rapid message. 'I'm ready, take me.' He would, and soon.

  Felton picked up a soft silk crop and walked towards her. It was designed to stimulate rather than sting, and he knew the touch of it on her body would arouse and frustrate her.

  "Take hold of the posts, Ara. I will not tie you. I want to see how you respond to directions. You will not speak, or come until I say so. Are you happy with that? You must vocalize your answer then remain silent."

  "Yes, sir."

  Were there ever two more glorious words?

  He waited until she took hold of each post. It stretched her arms, almost to their length, and her breasts tightened as she did so, her nipples peaked and hard. Then with studious care, Felton rested the tip of the crop at the entrance to her channel. He let the ties trace a delicate pattern on her bare mound, and across her thighs. She squirmed, and her juices coated the silk, darkening the color.

  Felton swished and snapped the crop so it snaked over her quim. Ara bit down on her lip. The sensation she would be experiencing would be akin to a feather tickling, or a set of soft wet kisses, creating a trail over her. He would be hard put to make a mark of any kind. For all that, he had no intention of reddening her skin with it. The idea was to raise her awareness, to arouse her to screaming point before he moved on. Again, he snapped and flicked.

  "Good girl," he praised her as he watched her struggle not to speak. "It's so hard, isn't it? You want more, don't you? Do you want to feel the sting, Ara, the pleasure pain of something with a little bite to it? Shall I give it to you?" He wondered how she would respond, given he had told her not to speak.

  She nodded. He stroked her channel once more. The ribbons of the crop were damp with her juices, and he wanted to lift them to smell her essence, and add his juices to hers.

  "Then I shall reward you. Roll onto your stomach." Felton didn't wait to see if she obeyed. He dropped the crop into a bin—he had many more, all made especially for him—and picked up another one. Instead of all silk flails, this had a mixture of silk and leather. It was still not one that would inflict great pain. Felton had long acknowledged he had no taste for that. He preferred a long, slow, teasing arousal, and a hint of pain. This, he knew, would deliver both. It also, produced a satisfying noise when he moved it. In fact, he mused as he walked back to the bed, where Ara was now on her front, the fear of what that noise could mean, was conceivably a greater stimulus than its touch.

  "On your knees, and take hold of the bed head." He waited until she had moved and placed a high pillow between her breasts and quim. "Is that comfortable? Flex your hand if it is, speak if not."

  Her hand flexed. Satisfied, he moved her hair so her back was uncovered, and trailed a series of nipping kisses down her spine. She arched upwards to seek more, and he pressed her down with one hand. With the other, he spanked her soft rear, and then slipped his fingers between her legs to thrust one finger inside her soaked channel.

  Felton looked at his cock now covered in pre-cum and standing out proudly from its nest of dark curls. Soon, he promised himself.

  Without warning, he brought the crop down hard on her arse. The sting would be no more than that, but the unexpectedness, he knew, would make it feel more than it was.

  She moaned, and he bit back his chuckle.

  "Ah, dear Ara, you were commanded not to vocalize. I'm sure I heard a moan. Does that mean you disobeyed me?"

  She was silent. Then slowly nodded.

  "And if you disobey me, what then happens? You will vocalize this."

  "I am to be punished," she said huskily, her passion evident in the slurred words. "As you so desire, sir."

  "True, so, how do you think I should punish you? Do I redden your arse with a paddle or my hand? Or do I demand you do not come whilst you bring me to climax with your mouth?" Her eyes widened. Felton wondered if that meant it was something she enjoyed, or something new to her. "It may be that I’ll fill your arse and fuck you until I spill and my cum runs out of you and coats your legs? So many choices. Or do I tie you and let you ponder on your indiscretion? What do you think? No," he said as he correctly interpreted the confused look in her eye, "it is no trick. You moaned when I told you to stay silent. You will be punished. I will let you decide how." He hoped she would choose that which she desired most. It would be an interesting experiment. "Vocalize."

  "Um. Well if I am to be honest, I would be most punished if I did not feel your prick in me. I long for that. Your spanks arouse me, and although you may deny me my climax, I have to tell you, I have learned the art of bringing myself to that state." Her eyes were now full of laughter.

  She has? Felton knew he would demand to watch her do just that, and soon. His body shook with his excitement. He was ready to spill.

  So, chastisement. If he did not plunge his cock into her, it may be punishment for her, but it would serve him in the same way. It seemed the expression ‘hoist with your own petard’ fitted him to perfection.

  To give himself time to think, he used his hand to place two hard spanks on each perfect glob of her arse. The skin colored delicately, like a rose in first blush if its bloom. She wriggled and sank her upper body deeper into the mattress, raising her arse, silently asking for more.

  Felton ran his finger up her crack, and around the puckered hole. "Soon, love, I will fill you here, push my cock into your dark warmth, and fuck you. However, it is our wedding night." He had almost forgotten that fact, he was so intent on their activities. "Therefore, our first time should perhaps be conventional. After that, damn conformity, we will be as unorthodox as we choose. Maybe another few passes of the flail first? What say you? Vocalize."

  "Yes please, sir."

  He caressed her cheeks, outlining the glow and wanting to increase it. Not this night, but soon. Once they discovered more about each other. He brought the crop down across the middle of her bottom, and she jumped and sighed. He decided to ignore that. In truth, he preferred to hear her reactions to his attention. That was a first in his life. Never before had he been bothered, preferring a silent companion.

  Twice more he teased her before running the handle between her legs to tantalize her there. It was enough, he had to have her.

  "Roll over, and re-grip the same place," he ordered, and moved back to let her accomplish it.

  She did with an alacrity that both pleased and amused him.

  Felton threw the crop to the floor. He would not need it anytime soon. This would be hands on and cock in.

  "Spread your legs." As she did, he knelt on the bed between them, and touched her quim. The smooth curl-less skin was wet. As he kneaded the flesh, a fresh gush of arousal coated his fingers.

  "You are so ready for me, love. What would it take for you to climax?" Her eyes widened and she looked at his cock as it twitched its intentions. Ah, I have forgotten to revoke her silence.

  "Speak," he said. "No more silence. In truth, I wish to hear how what we do affects you."

  "Then I expect once you touch me, I will fly. I am teetering on the edge, but I wish for your touch to throw me over, not my mind."

  "Then in this, my love, we are in accord." With one swift thrust, he impaled himself in her cunt and pulsed
deep and hard. Ara was true to her word. She clenched her muscles to hold him tight inside her, and wrapped her legs around his waist. The moment she did so, she began to shudder. Her fingers latched on to his nipples and pinched. It was enough encouragement to move harder and faster, not that it was needed. As he thrust in hard, her skin became covered with a rosy flush. She matched his movements, and his cock grew ever ready to release his seed. All of a sudden, she keened, and chanted his name over and over. Her body juddered next to him, the movements all around his prick, enticing him to let go.

  With one last push, he opened and his seed filled her. His cock pulsed and he saw stars. Never had he felt such an immediate and intense climax.

  Still he thrust, determined to be milked dry, and to ensure Ara was sated. Their coupling may have been short and sweet, but Felton was sure he had never experienced one so perfect. Beneath him, Ara writhed and sobbed, eyes closed, as, he thought, the last tremors filled her.

  "Tell me, love, tell me your feelings." He pinched one rosy nipple and she screamed.

  "Ah, no, no, It is too much, I am I am…" Her voice trailed off as her shudders subsided. He moved until she lay still under him, and with one last thrust, pulled out and slumped over her.

  "I am sated." Ara slurred the words, and lifted her hand to let it fall limp by her side. "Oh, my lord, I have moved, but I cannot move my arm back. I am boneless." She let her other arm follow the first, and opened her eyes a little. "Please do not chastise me. I could no more accept punishment as I could appear on the stage at

  Drury Lane

  ."

  He laughed, lifted his body off her, and rolled to one side, gathering her close. With one swift movement, he then lifted her to lie on top of him. His cock made a half-hearted attempt to rise to the occasion and failed miserably.

  "No, not this time. I too am sated. And pleased. I think we will make a formidable team. What say you?"

  Ara giggled, and wriggled over him. He swatted her arse and she moaned.

  "Oh, I say…" She paused and kissed his nipples and then his lips. "I say yes sir."

  Epilogue

  Jeremy Viscount Willingham looked down at the skeleton of a man in the bed before him. He felt no emotion, no pity for what the man had become. He might be related by blood, but as far as Jeremy was concerned, that was a pity. If his sister, Ara, hadn't begged him to be there, to ensure he received all his inheritance, Jeremy would have never set foot in the family house—it could never be called a home—again.

  On the far side of the bed two other gentlemen stood. One glowered, not happy that the other, more respected, physician was also in attendance. It would have suited Stanley Welles, Willingham's cousin, to ensure the old man had died before Jeremy arrived, and therefore not fulfill the terms of the will. Stanley would have benefitted to the tune of several hundred thousand pounds. Sir Greville Griffiths arrival had put aid to that.

  The old man opened his eyes." Willingham? You here?"

  "Unfortunately, yes." Never would Jeremy call him Father.

  "They found you? Where?" He coughed and closed his eyes for a second. "No matter, I wish only you to remain. I have need to speak to you." Jeremy nodded towards the door, and smothered a grin as Stanley was manhandled, protesting, out of the room. Once they had gone, he addressed the man in the bed.

  "We are alone. Are you not scared I will smother you?"

  His parent gave a weak bark of laughter. "No need. I will not last above the hour. Soon you will be the earl, whether you want to or not. I suspect not."

  Jeremy inclined his head. "As you say, sir."

  There was silence, broken only by the rasp of a coal as it slipped in the grate, and the tic of a grandmother clock on the side cupboard.

  Jeremy hated the room, it reflected his father. Old, uncaring and unloved.

  Was he ever going to say why he needed to speak to him alone? Or would he die, his message unspoken?

  "So where were you?" The old man opened his eyes and glared at Jeremy.

  "Number

  Six Silk Street

  . You see, you never did beat my un-natural tendencies as you called them, out of me." Jeremy's body tightened as he remembered the scene he had been pulled out of, to be dispatched to that room. He would much rather be there, experiencing a physical lashing, than in the stuffy overheated room and expecting a verbal flaying.

  It did not come.

  "So I believe." His parent coughed weakly. "No matter. It may aid you. You have to find her, ask Dalrey to help. Much as I dislike him, for all I know he is the only one who can now Suster is dead. Find her. I beg you. I have sinned…" His voice stopped and once more, he closed his eyes.

  You can repeat that, as oft you like and I will never contradict you.

  "Find who?"

  The voice was so thready he had to bend closer than he wanted to hear the reply.

  "Marina…find her. She is your f…" His head fell to one side, his eyes wide open and sightless.

  The End

  www.ravenmcallan.com

  Other Books by Raven McAllan:

  www.evernightpublishing.com/raven-mcallan

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  Evernight Publishing

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