Puritan Passions

Puritan Passions
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ISBN:  9781907976186
Author:  Kate Benedict
Word Count:  71,536
Format:  eBook

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Arena of ShameArena of Shame
Punishment ExercisePunishment Exercise
Sinful SeductionSinful Seduction
Wages of SinWages of Sin

He reached out again and seized her by the upper arm, flinging her facedown on the bed. As she struggled to rise he hauled her skirts above her waist, trapping her in the clinging folds. Grabbing her flailing hands at the wrist he wound his belt round them and fastened it to the bed-head so she was stretched out helplessly before him, naked from the waist down.
   He ran his hand over her pert buttocks, enjoying the way her flesh cringed at his touch and feeling his manhood swell. Dont run away, sweetheart, he panted. I shall be back, with a little surprise for you.
   She lay there frozen in the muffling darkness as his footsteps retreated, her heart pounding with horrified anticipation. What was he going to do?

England is under the rule of Oliver Cromwell, and young Lucinda Carstairs, daughter of a Royalist family, is in a state of limbo as her betrothed, James Happington, is in exile in Europe with Charles Stuart.

Lucinda unwittingly attracts the eye of their elderly neighbour, Ezekiel Watkins, a Puritan who acquired his estate through his support of Cromwell, and when her brother is seen on a secret visit home to raise money for the Royalist cause, Watkins uses this to blackmail her into marriage, and to her horror she finds that his puritanical mask hides a monster of sexual depravity, and that her life with him is a living hell.

But on the news that Charles has been restored to the throne after Cromwell's death, the loathsome Watkins dies of apoplexy and she is free to marry her beloved James - only to find he has acquired somewhat 'exotic' tastes whilst abroad, and things may have gone very much from bad to worse.

The final straw comes when James takes to using Lucinda to entertain his associates and settle his gambling debts, and so she must at last try to find a way to freedom and independence...

Dinner was appalling. Instead of having it in one of the smaller rooms, Master Watkins had obviously set out to impress, with ludicrous results. They sat stiffly at each end of the long dining table in the main hall, so far apart that conversation was almost out of the question unless one was prepared to bellow. Lucy was not, so the meal passed in stony silence.
  The food was what he no doubt referred to as 'good, plain fare'. It would have been had it been cooked properly. Unfortunately the roast beef was tough and stringy, the winter vegetables boiled to mush and the wine - his one concession to festivity - was thin and sour.
   Lucy pushed the cold, unappetising food round her plate, but forced as much of the wine down her throat as she could, in an attempt to anaesthetise herself for what was to come.
   It was useless. For all the effect it had, she might as well have been drinking water.
   When the last plate had been taken away he cleared his throat. 'Well, madam,' he announced loudly, 'it is time to retire.'
  'Already?' she said desperately. 'But it is early yet. Perhaps we could sit before the fire a while? Enjoy a game of cards and another glass of this excellent wine?'
   He stared at her as if she were mad. 'Cards, madam?' he thundered. 'Cards are the Devil's picture books. I'll have none of your evil ways in this house. Now get to bed. I shall be up shortly.' Stomach churning, she did as she was told.
   Back in the bedchamber Mistress Blackstock had been about her duties. A dull fire glowed in the grate, candles were lit and the bed was turned back. At the foot lay a voluminous nightgown, and despite her fears, Lucy smiled wryly as she held it up. It was almost as bad as the old one of Martha's she'd intended wearing. No doubt the housekeeper had gloated over her cleverness in making her rival as unappealing as possible, not realising she had actually done her a favour.
   Shivering despite the fire, Lucy undressed and slipped the thick garment over her head. Her emerald pendant was still about her throat, and she was just about to unclasp it when the door swung open. She whirled round, her hands still at the nape of her neck.
   Master Watkins stood on the threshold, his eyes focused on the jewel. 'What frippery is this, madam?' he snarled. He strode across the chamber, reached out and tore it from her throat, making her gasp with pain. Her hands flew to her neck, then she remembered the ring and attempted to hide them behind her, but he was too quick. Seizing her wrists he pulled them back. 'So what else are you hiding?' he snarled, found Jamie's ring and wrenched it from her finger. His eyes glinted with greed as the jewels gleamed in the palm of his hand. 'A fine dowry, madam,' he gloated. 'These will bring a good price when I sell them.'
   'And bring the Sheriff too, if you dare,' spat Lucy, her lips curled in a sneer. ''T'would be a fine thing were the saintly Master Watkins to be taken up for a common thief.
   'What do you mean?' he demanded.
   'They are not mine,' Lucy lied. 'They are my mother's. She lent them to me for my wedding day.'
   'See that they are returned to her, then,' he snapped, flinging them down beside the mirror. 'And get into bed.' He stalked into the adjoining dressing room, leaving her to slip between the cold sheets. Biting her lip, she lay there rigidly, dreading what was to come.
   He did not take long, and when he returned her eyes widened at the sight of him in his nightshirt. She fought back an hysterical giggle at the sight of his hairy shanks, but it died in her throat as he climbed in beside her.
   Turning towards her he dragged her thick nightgown up to her neck and began pawing at her. He groped her breasts, twisting her nipples until she whimpered with pain, while his mouth came down on hers and his tongue thrust its slimy way into her mouth, making her gag. His breathing became heavier and she could feel his swollen manhood pressing against her through his nightshirt.
   Worse was to come. Pulling her legs roughly apart he knelt between them, lifted his nightshirt and pushed clumsily against her. She groaned as he thrust his cock roughly inside her, his scrawny buttocks clenching as he forced himself on her. At her groan he jerked convulsively and was done. He rolled off her and lay there, mouth open, gasping like a stranded fish.
   Lucy sighed in relief that, thankfully, it was all over. It had been extremely unpleasant, but mercifully brief - just as she had expected.
   But she had not expected what came next.
   Instead of falling into a satiated slumber, he got out of bed, threw back the covers and stared down, his face turning black with fury. Then before she could lift a hand to protect herself he leaned over and slapped her face so hard her head rocked.
   'Wh-why did you do that?' she gasped, holding her cheek, and in answer he dragged her from the bed, seized her by the neck and thrust her face towards the sheets.
   'What do you see there?' he hissed.
   'N-nothing!' she stammered in bewilderment.
   'Exactly!' he snarled. 'Slut! You were no virgin when you came to my bed!' He shook her like a rat. 'Who had you first, eh? The stable boy? One of the servants? Some drunken traitor?'
   'My betrothed!' she spat back, shaking free and glaring at him. 'And he's twice the man you'll ever be!'
   'You'll pay for that, you little whore,' he hissed. His hand snaked out, caught the neck of her nightgown and tore it from her body, leaving her naked and defenceless. He caught her by the hair and dragged her down over his knee, and then there was the harsh sound of flesh meeting flesh as his hand swept down.
   She went rigid with shock and humiliation as the soft flesh of her buttocks quivered beneath the blow. His handprint stood out red against her white skin and he licked his lips lasciviously. Savouring her helplessness he lifted his hand again.
   The second made her gasp and jerk, the pain more intense as he connected with already spanked flesh - and by the third and fourth she was shrieking and writhing with the pain. Her bottom was scarlet now, but it was nothing to the white-hot pain that seemed to radiate through her entire lower body. Tears poured down her cheeks yet still he continued to beat her relentlessly, his breath coming shorter with each blow.
   Worse still, she could feel his rigid member sticking into her belly. Her struggles to break free had aroused him again!
   But the worst humiliation of all was her own reaction. As the heat spread through her belly the pain transformed into something much more insidious. She fought against it, but she could feel herself moisten and the throbbing in her bottom transferred itself to her vulva, making her ache with the need to satisfy it. She moaned again, but this time it was a moan of need.
   He pushed her from his lap and she fell to the floor, still moaning, but he had not finished with her yet. Seizing her by the shoulders he pulled her onto her knees. 'Pray for forgiveness for your sins,' he thundered, and whimpering she knelt against the bed, hiding her face in her hands to conceal the disgust she felt at her body's treacherous reaction.
   He looked down at her in satisfaction. Naked and sobbing, with her head bent in shame, she didn't look quite so proud now. His eyes lingered on the full curves of her buttocks, scarlet from his beating, and lust overwhelmed him again. Pulling off his nightshirt he flung himself down behind her.
   She gasped as one hand snaked round her body to fondle her breasts, pinching and kneading her nipples until they rose hard and firm against his touch. The other plundered roughly between her thighs, finding the hot wetness there. He thrust his fingers inside, making her whimpered again.
   'Bitch!' he panted against her neck as he pushed the lips of her sex apart and rubbed the hard head of his prick between them. 'Whore! Slut! You want this, don't you?'
   'Yes,' she moaned, despite her loathing of the man. 'Yes… yes!'
   In answer he thrust inside her again. This time he slid in easily and she took the whole length of him, pushing back to force him even deeper. She rocked back and forth, impaling herself on his sturdy cock as he withdrew then thrust again and again, faster and faster until he exploded inside her, triggering her own release.
   Then he pulled himself free, got to his feet and looked down at her with contempt. 'Lady indeed,' he sneered. 'You're no better than a tavern whore. And to think I made you my wife.'
   She raised her head and mustered what little defiance she could. 'I didn't ask you to marry me,' she countered. 'You got what you wanted. Now keep your side of the bargain. Give me the parchment.'
   He threw back his head and laughed in genuine amusement. 'You stupid little trollop,' he scoffed. 'Did you really think I would give it up?' Ignoring her horrified look he stooped, picked up his nightshirt and pulled it on. 'Now make yourself decent and come to bed, wife. We must be up early for morning prayers.' He climbed into bed and was snoring in moments.
   Shivering, Lucy got to her feet. Pulling the remnants of her torn nightgown about her she slid into bed and lay as far away from him as possible. Her spanked body throbbed and she stared into the darkness in shame and humiliation. She was tied to a man she hated, and it had all been for nothing!
Average Rating (2 Reviews):  
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Rating:  
Another gem!
Monday, 11 January 2010  | 

Kate Benedict's done it again. Puritan Passions is deeply erotic and beautifully written. It's far superior to other novels in this genre. The intellect and talent of the author shine through and make this a read you won't forget.


Rating:  
Classy erotica
Monday, 11 January 2010  | 

If you like your erotic fiction to have an air of quality about it, this is for you. Not simply a series of loosely linked sex scenes, this one has a proper story that Catherine Cookson would have been proud of (probably), and a feisty heroine with a definite personality. There's also a real period feel to the novel, (the period being England under Oliver Cromwell), both in terms of social structures and archaic names and dialects.


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