Rite of Passage

Rite of Passage
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ISBN:  9781780801322
Author:  Rhea Silva
Word Count:  65,564
Format:  eBook

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For All TimeFor All Time
Taming MariaTaming Maria
The Darkest MasterThe Darkest Master

  

Verity stood in the doorway, unable to move, all too aware of her exposure to a dozen pairs of lustful eyes. She was a captive; a victim of circumstances beyond her control. It would have been better to be a beggar-maid, a farm-hand, anything but a lady condemned to obey her father's ambitions and desires.

Lady Verity Mandeville has just attained the age of majority and her father, the autocratic Earl of Tremadock has an unpleasant surprise for her; she has been betrothed to the ruler of a remote Eastern European country. Just as she is beginning to taste all the delights that Restoration England can offer, she is to be whisked off to marry Duke Marec.

What she finds when she arrives in Crocovia far exceeds any excess she could have imagined, for Marec is cruel and dominating; ruling his people with a rod of iron and taking his pleasure with any girl he chooses.

Slowly Verity comes to realise that the forests around Marec's castle hold a dark secret. But she must bring it into the light in time to save herself from falling under the spell of Marec's dominance, for she finds a strange pleasure in submitting to his every cruel whim.

Verity stood in the doorway, unable to move, all too aware of her exposure to a dozen pairs of lustful eyes. She was a captive; a victim of circumstances beyond her control. It would have been better to be a beggar-maid, a farm-hand, anything but a lady condemned to obey her father's ambitions and desires.
   Marec rose from the ostentatious bed and came towards her, his brocade robe rustling. He leaned over her and his garment opened. He seized her and dragged her against his naked body. Her breasts were crushed to his chest and she could feel the hardness of his bare phallus pressing into her belly. She could smell him, a mixture of sweat, perfumed oils and the feral odour of aroused male.
   His arms enfolded her and she was comforted by their strength.
   'There is nothing to fear,' he murmured. 'Tonight you shall know joy mixed with a modicum of pain, but only if you desire it.'
   'How could I ever want to be hurt?' she asked, her voice trembling.
   She felt laughter rumbling through him. 'So young and green. My dear, I like you that way. I shall teach you how a little sting can add piquancy to the act.'
   She buried her face against his naked, hairy chest. It felt good, the fine pelt caressing her cheek. He moved back towards the bed, his arm around her, walking her along. The girls who had shared it with him had been given orders to vacate it. Verity sat down gingerly, attempting to cover herself but without success.
   Marec's companions were noisy, consisting mainly of young rakes, though there were one or two older ones. Women had been provided for them. Some were clothed, some stripped. Some were bound and gagged, while others occupied chairs, bottoms up for penetration, or knelt between masculine thighs, slurping at exposed pricks, fondling testicles or reaching up to tweak hard nipples. Not only females. There were several pretty youths similarly occupied. This was Marec's temple where he offered untold delight to those whom he chose to call friend.
   Now they paused in their activities, staring at him and his virgin bride. He had promised them sport. Several moved closer, dragging their lovers with them. Their shirts were unbuttoned, their breeches wide open, their cocks fully erect. Verity could not avoid seeing these rampant weapons. Long thick ones, short fat ones, but none as large or powerful as her husband's.
   'Get on with it, Marec, old boy!' urged one red-faced, brawny individual.
   'You're English!' Verity exclaimed.
   He bellowed with laughter. 'A compatriot indeed, dear lady, all the way from that cesspit of sin, London.'
   'For the wedding?' She tried to avoid the sweaty hands with which he was making free with her.
   'Good God, no! Marec and I have known one another for ages. We met in Madame Elvira's brothel in Vienna.'
   She had hoped for a moment that he might help her. Now she saw this as a vain hope. He groped her between the legs, but Marec thrust his hand aside. 'Not yet, Richard. Maybe when I've done with her.'
   Marec drew Verity down beside him among the black silk sheets and pillows. His lips trailed around her neck and teased her ears. He seemed inspired by having an audience and rubbed his erection to even greater proportions. This action fired his comrades to attempt such a feat with their own tools. Some needed the stimulation of pain to achieve this. Dominating females strode among them, dressed in nothing but high-heeled thigh boots and carrying paddles. They brought these down across bare male backsides, producing the desired effect of larger pricks.
   Verity was utterly confused, wishing that she and Marec were alone on their bridal night. There were too many people participating in it. She wanted to leap up and defend the cowed girls who were at the receiving end of canes and floggers. Their vulnerable flesh quivered under the lash, bare breasts and thighs and hinds crisscrossed with livid marks. The sights and sounds excited Marec. He found her hand and bore it to his genitals. She recoiled, unwilling to touch him in front of this lecherous crowd.
   'I am beginning to find your bashfulness tedious.' Marec's slap across her rump sent fire coursing through her. 'Come, wife, it is time I took what is rightfully mine.'
   In spite of herself, his harshness, his experienced handling of her most sensitive regions and the heated atmosphere of lust that permeated the room was acting on her like an aphrodisiac. Madness seized her, blinding her to all reason. His finger parted her cleft, finding the moisture within and spreading it over her clitoris. Verity moaned and rubbed her breasts against his chest, trebling the delightful sensations. Marec smiled down into her eye and spread her limp body out for all to see. She no longer cared, her legs wide open, her sex exposed as she played with her crimped nipples.
   She writhed, out of control, murmuring, 'Take me! Take me!'
   'You mean this? Did I not tell you that you'd be begging me to do it?'
   'You devil! Have you put a spell on me?'
   'Nothing but your own lust, aided by a draft slipped into your wine at table.'
   'A drug?' She could well believe that he would stoop to such a thing. The glass she had shared with him at the wedding feast had had a peculiar aftertaste. And now she found herself dizzy and disorientated, wanting nothing but that he bring her to climax swiftly.
   He leaned over, his black hair falling like a curtain, and he possessed her lips, his tongue penetrating her mouth as his cock would soon enter her love-channel. He shrugged his shoulders out of his robe, completely naked. His body vas superb, honed by hard riding, fencing and swimming. He kept it in prime condition. Verity sighed as his hands closed over her breasts. He knelt above her and lowered His pelvis. She felt his cock-tip pressing against her curly mound. He unfastened the sash that kept her garment fastened. It fell apart.
   'Go to it, Marec!' encouraged Richard.
   The others shouted gleefully, each leaning forward so as not to miss a second of his penetration of her untried passage. Desperate for relief, she brought her legs up and fastened them round his waist, drawing him ever close. He reached between them and stimulated her clitoris. Verity forgot everything as her climax approached. She heaved against him, trapping his finger, sobbing as her orgasm peaked and sent pleasure to every part of her body. He grabbed her by the buttocks, no longer restrained, thrusting against her hymen.
   Verity cried out in agony. He was too large, too forceful, impaling her. He withdrew slowly, and then thrust again, reaching her very core. Pain subsided and she was aware of nothing except her husband's phallus moving inside her, touching pleasure zones she never knew she had, his roughness exciting her. He was losing control, moving faster and faster and she clasped him to her, babbling love-words, wanting another orgasm.
   He came like an animal reaching fulfilment. There was a moment's hush, and then he withdrew, pushed a lawn kerchief into her throbbing vagina, and held it up with a flourish for all to see. Red stains dappled its whiteness.
   'Look!' he shouted triumphantly. 'It is smeared with virgin's blood. Her blood!'

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