Susan Johnson (19 page)

“ ‘Virtue is its own reward,’ ” she said softly.

“ ‘Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow.’ ”

She repeated the phrase, her eyes on his, the heat of her desire capable of melting the polar ice cap, her voice throaty with passion.

“Very good, you’re a dutiful student.” And he kissed her then, an intrusive, heated kiss in response to her purring, suggestive reply. “Have you ever lain with a man?”

“Yes.”

“Disgraceful, shameless.” His pale eyes narrowed so that he was scrutinizing her through his heavy, dark lashes. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

His brows rose as an astounded young man’s might when stunned. “And did he”—the question was a slow, meditative conjecture, his hand slipping under her petticoats—“touch you here? You aren’t wearing drawers.” His tone was a perfect blend of fascination and amazement. “How naughty. Are you waiting for me to touch you?” His fingers brushed against her honeyed sweetness, slid in easily, and as her eyes closed in ecstasy he said, “Answer.”

“Yes,” Empress breathed, a long, drawn-out sigh, and arched fiercely upward. “Oh, yes.”

“And does it feel good when a man makes love to you?” His fingers were stroking, sliding in as far as they’d reach, then sliding out again, in a slow, bewitching rhythm.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, her eyes shut.

“Look at me.” Dutifully her eyes opened. “Do you like to make love to a man?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

She whispered, “I like to make love to a man.”

“That’s a good girl. Would you like a kiss?” And when she nodded and lifted her mouth, he kissed her, a hard, bruising kiss, and his fingers continued their caresses. When he withdrew his fingers a moment later, she cried out softly.

“You must obey your tutor,” Trey said very low, “or I won’t allow you to take this confining dress off and give you your prize. Now say, ‘I want to make love to my tutor.’ ”

And she did.

“ ‘And I won’t make love to any other man.’ ”

She repeated it quietly, reaching for him again.

“And who’s your tutor in everything?” It was a man’s question, no sophistry allowed.

“You are,” she breathed.

He smiled, satisfied. “You’ve been so respectful a student, you can sit on me for a short moment.”

At his low, quiet words Empress could feel the pulsing increase, as though he were inside her already.

Trey pulled up the petticoats and billowing yards of skirt, pushed them aside, and lifting her, settled her slowly on his rigid manhood, seating her sideways across his lap, both her legs pressed close together. “Can you feel that?” he murmured, and surged slightly upward.

The penetration was rapturous, and Empress, moving slightly to experience the staggering pleasure, turned to put her arms around Trey.

“No,” he said, taking her arms down from his shoulders. “You must sit perfectly still. If you move, you won’t be allowed to keep the prize.”

She became very still.

“Your report card is going to be excellent, Miss Jordan,”
Trey said, stroking her jutting breasts, pressed high above the restrictive corset. “Tell me if you can feel this.” And he tugged firmly on her nipples. She gasped as the glorious spasms raced downward and shifted slightly at the heightened pleasure.

“Don’t move,” he warned curtly, and the next time he caressed her breasts, she sat immobile while the delectable hushness washed over her. “Your cheeks are flushed, Miss Jordan,” Trey whispered. “Are you warm?”

“Yes,” she murmured, drifting in her own blissful enchantment, insulated by hot waves of passion, reason superseded by feeling.

“Yes, who?”

She hesitated.

“Yes, my tutor,” and he waited till she said it.

“Would you like this tight dress loosened?” His hands smoothed over the plump fullness of her breasts, bound repressively by the fabric, and squeezed slightly as he swelled upward into her clinging heat.

She stifled a low moan of pleasure and whispered, “Yes, oh, yes,” careful not to move as instructed, careful to do exactly as she was told so she didn’t lose his magnificent fullness, buried deep inside her.

He slowly unbuttoned several inches of pearl buttons down her back, easing some of the tightness across her shoulders. “Is that better?” he asked quietly.

“Some,” she replied softly.

“Is it still too restrictive?” His splayed fingers ran down the trimness of her waist and smoothed over her hips, the light boning sewed into the seams, tactile beneath his brushing fingers, compressing her waist and hips, sharpening her posture, pushing her breasts upward in a magnificent exaggeration of their rounded abundance. They were suspended like a bounteous sensual offering above the rigid framework imprisoning her form.

“A little.”

“That’s all I can do until our next lesson, but if you follow directions properly, I’ll let your breasts free. Do they hurt, lifted so high and bound so tightly?”

“Slightly.”

“I think if you stand up, you’ll be more comfortable.”

She didn’t move.

“Stand up,” he repeated.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered softly.

“Does your lascivious little bottom want to stay filled?”

She nodded dreamily.

“But you must obey, Miss Jordan, or you’ll never feel me again. Do you understand? You must be compliant and submissive.” And he lifted her off his lap and placed her standing before him. “An assertive young lady is inexcusable,” he went on in prudish irony. “You must learn obedience, Miss Jordan, and then you’ll always be able to make me ready for you. Would you like to have me always ready for you?”

Empress’s gaze was bewitched by Trey’s upthrusting manhood, framed by the elegantly patterned black brocade. It was splendidly formed, capable of bringing her incredible pleasure. He stood, held her by her shoulders, and bending low, kissed her gently. “You’re nicely docile, Miss Jordan, an asset in a young lady.” His fingers brushed across her shoulders and slid up her throat until he held her face lightly in his hands. “Do you feel empty inside, Miss Jordan? Would you like me to satisfy your luxuriant needs? Would you like to have a very proper tutor allow you gratification?” His words were like rich promise, meltingly warm, husky, a foretaste of lavish sensuality.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he murmured, “Kneel,” and eased her down in front of him. When she looked up at him, her pale hair fell in luxuriant profusion down her back. “If you perform this properly, I’ll supply the fulfillment your heated body longs for. But you must do it right. Take hold of me, Miss Jordan, and open your mouth; you’ll be able to taste your sticky sweetness on me.” His hands lay lightly on her hair, and she did as instructed, sliding the hard length of him into her mouth, her thighs pressed tightly together as the pulsing wetness between her legs flowed with the flame of desire. “Now you must move very slowly, so it goes in all the way to the back of your throat and then out again until your lips nearly lose hold. If you execute my orders diligently, I’ll let you feel me inside you. If you don’t, all that hot longing will be unresolved. Do you understand?”

She nodded, running her tongue over the swollen crest of his manhood, and felt him swell against her lips. He felt solid
and hot and so very large; the promise to feel him inside brought her senses trembling to a quivering peak of violent need. She must have him or die, and if she could so easily bring him to such enormous length, it was searing pleasure to anticipate his offer.

Trey’s eyes closed against the rush of electrifying sensation, and he stood very still while Empress’s soft lips and playful tongue moved over and around and rhythmically against him, slowly as he’d commanded. The excruciating delight was almost more than he could endure, and after a moment more, before it was too late, he reached down and pulled her up. “Are you ready?” His voice was deep and hushed, the inquiry an offer of repletion.

Empress’s eyes were half closed in passion, her full lips wet with the taste and feel of him, her legs closed tightly beneath the petticoats and gathered skirt, so the ripe sensations building with each pulse beat were irresistible. She nodded in answer to his question, swaying her hips in invitation, promoting a heated, spiraling bliss that caused a breathy whimper.

“Do you think you’re wet enough, Miss Jordan? Ease your legs apart, Miss Jordan, and let me verify your readiness.” She didn’t want to because she’d lose the splendid pleasure, but he scowled, said, “Obey,” and reluctantly she did. He lifted her skirt then, so she was naked from the waist down, her slender legs slightly separated, the straight-laced dress bodice contrasting erotically with her nakedness offered for view. “You seem moderately aroused, Miss Jordan. Is this normal for you … this lavish profusion of compelling need?” Wetness was evident inside her thighs. He slid two fingers forcibly inside her, widening the entrance to accommodate his large, long-boned fingers, stretching the delicate flesh to oblige the addition of a third finger. And then he pressed upward and said, “You must be a too familiar young lady. Are you?” His tone was stiffly indictive, a mixture of moody lust and decorum.

“Oh, no,” she murmured, “never,” and moved against the thrust of his fingers, impaling her with false propriety.

“Ah, that’s a proper, virtuous answer,” he said in better humor, mock ethics assuaged. Brushing his fingers up the milky liquid dripping down her thighs, he lightly stroked the swollen,
distended entrance to pleasure. “Does it feel wet enough to you?”

She sighed and nodded, too absorbed in the shuddering ecstasy to respond more actively.

Withdrawing his hand, he dropped her skirt and petticoats, covering her once again, and his damp fingers lifted her chin, the odor of wanton need warm in her nostrils. “Say ‘Yes, sir,’ ” he insisted, pressing her to respond past the focus of pleasure inundating her brain.

Forcibly bringing herself back to reality, she whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“And you feel you’re wet enough to accommodate me now that you’ve made me hard with your dutiful mouth?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and she quickly corrected herself. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you want your dress unbuttoned first so your breasts are free?”

“Please, sir.”

He reached around her and unbuttoned a dozen more buttons, slid the dress off her shoulders, and eased the fabric down over her breasts. They quivered softly, free above the stiff boning of the dress that supported the underside of her voluptuous breasts. “You must say ‘Thank you.’ ”

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered gratefully.

“Your breasts are presented very invitingly, Miss Jordan. Are you shamelessly trying to attract my attention?”

“Oh, no, sir, I would never be so forward, sir. That would be brazen.”

Trey touched one distended nipple softly, and her breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body was trembling, a heartbeat away from consummation, every flame-hot inch of her flesh ripe for the taking, her mounded breasts pink with arousal, elevated like ready candidates for caressing. “You have a very cordial nature, Miss Jordan. Your nipples are eager for my touch.”

“Oh, sir, if you wished to, but I would never dare to suggest it.” And her full bottom lip pushed out invitingly, like a compliant coquette.

“Perhaps another lesson in obedience would enrich your character. Offer your nipples up for me, Miss Jordan.” Placing her hands under her lavish breasts, he raised them high, the
hard, peaked pink crests angled upward toward his mouth. And when he lightly bit on the closest tantalizing peak, her knees trembled briefly with the stabbing pleasure.

“If you let men caress your breasts, Miss Jordan, suck on your engorged nipples, some might say you’re lacking in propriety. It’s not seemly behavior for a young lady. You shouldn’t let any man suck on your nipples. Your large breasts will never squeeze back into your schoolgirl frocks if you let men stimulate them so. Your eagerness is very improper. You understand, if anyone knew what you were allowing me to tutor you in, I’d have to deny everything. I have my reputation to consider, Miss Jordan. I have a position in the community. And though I’m willing to see to your education zealously, your propensity for physical stimulation is really quite immodest. Now say, ‘Suck on my breasts, sir,’ and I’ll see that you not only get an
A
in deportment but my unstinting attention to your education.”

It was a passion-hot, teasing dalliance where paradox met morality and pleasure scorned convention, where two adults pressed the perimeters of rapture and, upon reaching those limits, leapt the barriers.

“And if you give me an
A
, sir,” Empress purred a moment later, her voice so ardently heated, the sound vibrated in the quiet room, “I’ll see that you never forget this winter day as long as you live.…” The lust in her eyes matched his, and the teasing game was over. But the unforgettable morning had just begun.

The dress was discarded, along with the brocade robe, and in a mutual, unrestricted giving, they made the morning memorable. And irrevocably ruined the velvet covering on the chaise.

The following afternoon, the house began filling with guests, and Trey and Empress no longer occupied their private Elysium. Trey was carried downstairs for dinner, dressed casually in dark trousers and a loose silk shirt. Empress accompanied him, attired in the emerald panné, suitably altered to fit. They sat near each other but couldn’t touch. Sensual vibrations from their heavenly week of privacy still remained in their consciousness, and one look would rekindle the sweetness.
With effort they smiled and chatted and parlayed questions neither cared to answer. It was torture to have to share each other with dozens of other people, all bent on intruding into their very private thoughts.

Much was made of Trey’s rapid recovery, and Empress, as his savior, was forced to accept kudos from everywhere. All modestly and shyly acknowledged. She didn’t know any of these people, knew less what they were thinking. Cared very little what their reasons were for appearing. The conversation was all political. Heated conversations continued in the parlor after dinner, and with thankful blessing Empress heard Trey plead fatigue at ten. Blue and Fox carried him upstairs in one of the armchairs—a precaution, perhaps, since he walked well. But Blaze was worried about her son overdoing.