Page 31 of Bought and Enjoyed

Instead, almost of their own accord, my fingers drifted back down, softly probing, tenderly exploring the still-swollen lips.

My… my…

“Cunt.” I whispered it aloud, shocking myself.

No. Not mine.

I bit my lip hard. A tiny whimper escaped as I remembered.

Not mine. His.

“Monsieur,” I breathed. “Please,Monsieur.Please… oh… oh, no.”

I gasped softly as I encountered the evidence of Lucas’ passion—my pussy felt puffy and sensitive, the entrance still slightly stretched from accommodating his impressive girth. As I explored further, I felt a warm wetness and for a moment I wondered if it might be my keeper’s seed rather than my own rampant, mortifying need. I blushed fiercely as I analyzed the thought and found that it thrilled me… that I longed to find Lucas’ semen inside me… longed for a reminder of how thoroughly he had claimed me.

My breath quickened as I recalled the sheer intensity of our encounter, the moment when he had shot his essence into me. The way Lucas had bent me over, spread me open, whipped my most intimate places. The burning sting of the martinet, followed by the exquisite pleasure of his skilled tongue and fingers.

Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers had found my clit. I circled it gently, biting my lip to stifle a moan. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this—Lucas had made it clear that he meant to keep the pleasure of my body as his private property. That thought, though… the very idea that my cunt belonged to him, and he would punish me if I stole its delights for myself…

My fingers moved faster, moving down to push inside, then up to rub the swollen bud that made my hips jerk at every new pressure. I let out a tiny whimper as I imagined Lucas catching me in the act. In my mind’s eye, I saw the bathroom stall door flying open, Lucas’ imposing figure filling the doorway. His ice-blue eyes flashed with anger and desire as he took in the sight of me, hand between my legs, face flushed with arousal.

“You naughty little slut,” fantasy Lucas growled, reaching in to grab my arm. “Touching what belongs to me.”

I whimpered as in my imagination he yanked me out of the stall, my legs wobbling beneath me. With effortless strength, he would bend me over the bathroom counter, pressing my cheek against the cold porcelain. I would catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror—eyes wide, lips parted, hair disheveled.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget,” Lucas would snarl, flipping up my skirt to expose my bare bottom.

His large hand would come down hard on my tender flesh, the sharp crack echoing in the tiled room. I would cry out, my hips jerking forward against the counter’s edge. My keeper would spank me again and again, until my bottom felt hot and swollen.

“Please,” I would sob, though of course, I wouldn’t be sure if I was begging him to stop or to continue.

“Please what?” Lucas would demand, pausing with his hand raised. “Please punish this disobedient cunt?”

Before I could object, he would answer his own question. He would start to spank my pussy. There in the stall, I let out a little sob I couldn’t have held back for all the money in the world. The fantasy shifted, suddenly: Lucas wasn’t a soccer player but rather a marquis, and I was a peasant girl… a scullery maid whose naughty cunt, so well fucked by her noble master the night before, had distracted her from her duties in the kitchen.

I had gone to the garderobe, in my marquis’ castle… I had told myself I needed to pee… but really I had wanted to touch myself in the forbidden place where he had claimed me the previous night…

The marquis, tall and strong like Lucas… a blue-eyed warrior on the battlefield just as Lucas did battle on the field at the Stade de France… he had many other duties, a wholepaysto take care of, but he… he had fallen in love with the naughty scullery maid… me. He had wanted to know how I was doing, the night after my first whipping, my first fucking, my first hard ride on his massive cock…

Oh, no… please…The scullery maid whispered it on the hard seat of the castle garderobe. I whispered it in the bathroom stall of the medieval university where my own warrior had made it possible for me to study.

The marquis… he had come to the kitchen in search of me, and the cooks had told him with a sneer that he could find his little fucking piece in the garderobe… no, they would never disrespect their lord that way, would they? The cooks would tell the Marquis de Moreau, though… they would tell him he could find hispetiteAlice in the garderobe, and he would stride thither on those huge, purposeful, powerful thighs.

Oh, God.My fingers between my legs worked so frantically over the abused, terribly sensitive flesh of my pussy that it hurt. I couldn’t stop, though. I didn’t even want to… I wanted to make my…hiscunt feel like my lord had taken it, possessed it so thoroughly that I wouldn’t walk comfortably for a week.

The marquis’ footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, growing louder as he approached the garderobe. My heart raced, knowing I would be discovered at any moment. I tried to stop, to compose myself, but my treacherous fingers kept moving, driven by an insatiable need.

The heavy wooden door burst open. I gasped, caught in the act, my hand still between my legs. The Marquis de Moreau stoodthere, resplendent in his fine doublet and hose, his eyes blazing with fury and desire.

“You wanton little strumpet,” he growled, crossing the small space in two long strides. “Touching what belongs to me.”

His large hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me off the privy seat. With effortless strength, he bent me over the rough stone ledge that served as a washbasin. The cold, damp rock pressed against my cheek as he flipped up my coarse woolen skirts.

“My lord,” I whimpered, “please, I?—”

The first slap of his hand against my bare bottom silenced my protests. The sharp crack echoed off the stone walls, followed swiftly by another, and another. I squirmed beneath his punishing palm, my hips grinding against the unforgiving edge of the basin.

“You dare pleasure yourself without my permission?” the marquis snarled, punctuating each word with a stinging blow. “This cunt belongs to me. I thought I had made that clear enough to you last night.”

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