The Blonde Samurai

I couldn’t close my mouth. Did James intend to do the same to me?

“Not before you slide into me, milord,” said the girl called Sally when she moved into my view. I could see a tall brunette wearing a scarlet corset with white laces, her pubic hair blacker than jet and glistening with her juices as she expertly drew a rubber phallus from inside her. (Such an item was known to me by way of a novel I found in the library about a young Parisian’s foray into self-gratification with what she labeled a “dildo.” I don’t recall the name of the story.) I drew in my breath, excited by its length as well as its breadth.

Could his lordship compete with such a wonder?

I couldn’t wait to find out.

I gasped when I saw my new husband put his arms around both girls and squeeze their breasts, twisting their nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and making them moan. He said, “Lord Penmore was correct in his assessment of the talents of you two charmers—”

Lord Penmore. The mention of his name startled me. I should have known by the tone of his letters he was behind this gala interlude. Yet he was also a shrewd businessman. I remember him detailing to my husband a nefarious commercial enterprise surrounding the expansion of the empire into Japan, whispered about then hushed up, he said. I dismissed the item then, though I detail it here to note its significance in my journey, a marker on the game board that lingers under your eye but has not yet been put into play, yet is important to the outcome of the adventure.

Then I was more interested in watching Lord Carlton wiggle his fingers into the brunette, probing and making her sigh with anticipation. I also emitted a sigh, wistful, needy, heat making me want to contract my pubic muscles in a delightful series of spasms. I forced myself to hold back. I didn’t wish to miss a moment of their prelude. For that’s what I told myself it was, a prelude to the moment when my husband would come to my rooms, his body still bathed in sweat, his cock primed for a night of passion with his bride. Naive, yes, as I’m certain you were on your wedding night, but I shaded my view of what I was seeing as if I looked at it through the ornate, opaque lace of my bridal veil. Not to do so would have evoked not only anger in me but disappointment, a far stronger emotion for a young girl to absorb and one I was not ready to deal with on my wedding night, cramped and brooding in a closet.

His lordship finished with, “—though I prefer a virgin to satisfy my needs.”

“I’ve played a virgin on the boards, milord,” said the redhead, turning over and caressing her lower lips, then opening them wide, inserting a finger inside her and wiggling it back and forth and pleasuring herself in a secret spot familiar to her. A myriad of tiny tremors worked their way up and down my spine. I’d never seen such boldness, though I dare say I had found my way to the same spot between my legs on numerous occasions. Don’t gasp and mutter, then pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You do and that’s that. Let’s continue.

“I prefer spending my wedding night here with you, my pretty pink maids,” Lord Carlton was saying, his eyes remaining on the girl’s lower pubic region while he cupped her pussy and held her, pushing his fingers into her while unbuttoning his breeches with the other hand.

To my amazement, out popped his prominent erection, the head shiny and large. I had seen anatomical drawings of the male organ in the books in Lord Penmore’s library, but none like this. Thick, bobbing up and down, he grabbed his cock and pulled on it once, then again, pointing the eye directly at the girl’s pulsating pussy. I was so enamored of the size of him, I leaned forward, failing to illuminate in my mind the dropping of a large dustball onto the tip of my nose. It tickled, but I didn’t brush it away. I couldn’t stop watching them as the girl lay down on a wooden table, then raised her head and shoulders to look at him. Smiling, waiting. He lifted her legs, running his hands up and down the backs of her black stockings as if he were paying homage to her slender calves before pulling them apart to expose her, forcing her pussy to open wider than the expanse of her dainty fingers had dared reveal to him.

Before I could catch my breath, Lord Carlton plunged his swollen cock into her, sliding it up easily against her velvet walls, finding his rhythm, even and smooth, making me sit up and shift my weight off my legs, numb as they were. I dared to inch forward, opening the closet door a little wider, my nose peeking through, my body squirming, the seat of my pleasure full and throbbing as I watched the girl wrap her legs around his hips, pulling him to her and embracing him with an urgency I had dreamed of knowing. Her thighs tightened around him, thumping his buttocks with her heels and sending my husband into a tirade of passionate words, his voice demanding, shouting, his body pounding deep, thrusting into her again and again—

I sneezed.

Loud.

And out I tumbled from the closet, landing at my new husband’s feet.

Staring straight up at his nude buttocks.

2

Chaos followed. Cursing, Lord Carlton stopped pumping the redhead, she screamed, he pulled out of her and the brunette dropped the dildo. No one paid attention to the hard rubber object landing on the plush carpeting at his lordship’s feet. They were too busy staring down at me.

Steadying myself, I brushed the dust and mold off my silk wrapper and stood in front of the unholy trio, all three completely baffled by my sudden appearance. I imagined they believed me to be an apparition. I couldn’t believe the power of a sneeze had unmasked me. I wiped my nose with a delicate swipe of my fingers, and a whiff of my own sweet scent reminded me I was just as guilty as they in my pursuit of delights. Still, I refused to be humiliated by my new husband in front of these two motts. I was determined to act as the lady of the manor and not a female libertine pursuing her own pleasures.

I got to my feet, careful to avert his lordship’s cock slick with juices and dangling close to my lips. He made no attempt to push it away. The sod. My confidence shaken, I quaked inside with an insecurity at assuming my new role as Lady Carlton under such circumstances. But, being the girl I am with the sassy mouth, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind without weighing the consequences.

“I’ve no doubt you possess the stamina to pleasure two women in the due course of an evening, my dear husband,” I began, wrapping the silk tighter around me. “But I doubt if your capabilities include three, so I shall leave you to play out your sordid games.”

I don’t know why I dared to speak to him in such a manner, except to say I’m an O’Roarke, a proud breed more oft than not given to brandishing a fierce will that puts us in a strange state of persistence. We don’t give up, no matter what. What I didn’t know was that James had a game of his own in mind. A game that included bedding his new wife in a very public manner.

“So my bride has fire in her veins after all,” Lord Carlton said with a note of pride as he stepped in front of me, blocking my exit, his tall, nude muscular body leaning slightly to one side, his raw masculinity holding me hostage with a power I vowed to resist.

“Let me pass,” I demanded, chin up. I ignored a trickle of sweat making a slow journey down the length of my neck and into the valley between my breasts. My husband did notice and traced its path with his finger. His touch mesmerized me. I couldn’t move.

“No,” he said coldly. “You shall stay.”

Panic washed over me, telling me to flee, but his voice stirred a magic within me that yet resided in my romantic soul. When his hand moved down to cup my breast, in spite of my resolve not to let him pleasure me, I moaned. Loudly. His touch sparked a reaction in me that made my knees buckle. Damn, I hated showing weakness in front of him.

Knowing he’d made his point, he said, “I shall prove you wrong, milady, about my capabilities. This is my wedding night and I intend to make the most of it.”

“I won’t allow you to touch me again in front of these women,” I cried out, regaining my courage. “Debasing what should be pure and godly between us.” I grabbed a flogger off the wooden table and threw it against the padded wall with the force of an avenging angel. It barely made a sound.

“Would milady prefer to be on the receiving end of the whip?” he ventured, a curiosity creeping into his voice that unnerved me.

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner,” I shouted, a strange fever gripping me. “I’m not a cheap girl off the streets—”

“If I may be so rude as to interrupt your ladyship,” the redhead said, indignant. “Me and Sally don’t come cheap. We was recommended by the best gentleman’s house on York Street.”

“That’s right, milady,” chimed in the brunette. “We can take the crop all night long without smudging our lip rouge. Ain’t that the truth, milord?”

“I’m more interested in seeing what Lady Carlton will do when she tastes the sting of the whip.” Lord Carlton narrowed his eyes. “Will she scream and beg for more?”

I inhaled deeply when my husband picked up the flogger and swept its smooth leather tails across my breasts swathed in silk, tantalizing me with its sweet promise and making me squirm.

“You’ll never find out!” I said, aware of an offensive scent as he waved the flogger under my nose. Black shoe polish came to mind.

“Won’t I?” he asked, tossing the flogger aside and grabbing me around the waist, then pushing me down on the rough wooden table, startling me. My backside hurt, bruised by his rough treatment, and the soles of my bare feet stung when I scrapped them on the chipped wood.

Determined as I was to fight like hell, I was outnumbered when he ordered the two girls, squealing and giggling, to shackle me. ’Tis a pitiful plight for any bride on her wedding night to find herself shivering in the midst of confusion and disarray, waiting to consummate her marriage with her eager husband, but not like this. Two prostitutes pulling on my arms and holding me tight in their grip, fastening leather restraints around my wrists and drawing them through the iron rings embedded in the wood, making them so taut I could hear the leather crunch in my ears.

“You can’t do this, James,” I cried out, tossing my head back and forth, pulling on the restraints, chaffing my skin until it was raw, but I couldn’t free myself. “I’m your wife, dammit. Stop!”

“All the more reason to explore your lovely body,” he said, my actions inflaming his desire. I looked down and knew why. My arms were pulled up, forcing my shoulders back and inducing my breasts to stand up in a most provocative manner.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, James ran his hand up and down my neck, my face, then slid his hands down over my breasts, my midriff, setting off a slithering wave of anticipation within me and a sensual warmth that swept over me, making me ashamed that although I detested his deviant games, I couldn’t stop the white heat pulsating in my lower region.

Before I dared to take another breath, he ripped my wrapper down the front, exposing me to his view. I gasped. Loudly. Round and bouncy, my breasts spilled out over my corset. I gritted my teeth when he squeezed them, pulling on them, rubbing them against each other, then pinching my nipples and flicking them back and forth between his thumbs and forefingers. I protested his assault upon my person, but he merely laughed then picked up the crop and drew the instrument of pleasure across my bare breasts, flicking it over my taut nipples, stinging them with a sensation that both aroused and frightened me.

I shudder as I write this passage, remembering that night. I was in the most awkward and alarming predicament. Imagine yourself in my position, dear lady reader. I was about to be whipped by my new husband and I couldn’t do anything about it. I ask you, what would you do? I’ve no doubt several of you ladies are licking your lips and wiggling about in your chairs, thinking, wondering, anticipating this delicious treat about to be rendered upon your bare bottom. I, too, would have found such an idea interesting and provocative, not to mention naughty, had I been with a man I trusted.

Lord Carlton inspired no such emotions within me with his brusque manner and sharp orders.

Why not induce a fainting spell? you ask. It worked for me when that old lecher, Lord—leaned over and put his nose down my cleavage last week.

That wouldn’t stop James, though I was grateful I wasn’t wearing my new cuirasse corset, the silk ribbons laced up so tightly you can barely breathe. I surely would have succumbed to unconsciousness, then his lordship could have done whatever he wished with me and—

Enough about the damn corset, you insist, fretting about, twisting the fringe border on your overskirt until you pull it off. Get on with the scene.

I shall, but first I must explain to you that should I have not come up with a grand scheme to extradite myself from his lordship’s domination game, I never would have gone to Japan and you would have no story to titillate you, so please allow me this moment to catch my breath. Putting words down on the page is not easy, decidedly so when the memory is not a pleasant one.

It didn’t help my thinking process when he rubbed my nipples back and forth, then took them between his teeth and bit them, not hard, just enough to make me cry out with more pleasure than pain.

Was his hand wielding the whip just as provocative? Enticing me to take pleasure in such a deed instead of being repulsed? What other roguish certitudes would he undertake to engage my emotions?

I had no intention of finding out. No matter how my body betrayed me with delicious sensations slithering up and down my spine, a flogging was not my idea of romantic love. Many of you would have no doubt fainted, then opted for the cathartic effect of Seidlitz powders to purge his evil deed from your body and purify your soul. I searched my mind for another alternative.