When the assault suddenly ceased, she almost didn't notice. Her bottom was throbbing so badly that it felt like the slaps were continuing; it was more the cessation of sound that caught her attention. Tears continued to fall as she cried, almost dizzy from the pain and her upturned position.
Then the Earl's large hand rested on her bottom, much cooler than that glowing surface, and she shuddered all over at the intimate touch. To her shock, his hand began to slide downwards, his fingers moving inwards towards the crease of her bottom, and then touching the swollen folds of her quim. As soon as he did so, she realized she'd had her usual reaction to being spanked, as inexplicable as it was.
And a man was touching her for the first time. Not just any man, but him.
Cynthia moaned as the Earl's fingers slipped easily between her folds, torn between humiliation at his discovery, extreme arousal, and shock that he was touching her in this way. Her hands batted at her skirts as she tried to squirm away, but he secured his tight hold on her body and the layers of fabric effectively trapped her so that she couldn't even attempt to push his hand away. And that just made her even wetter.
Touching herself and having someone else touch her was completely different. She couldn't control or even anticipate where the Earl's fingers might go, and the uncertainty seemed to make the sensations even more intense as he stroked her. Cynthia gasped as the inquisitive fingers stroked up and down her slit, all the way up to the little pearl at the apex which was surely swollen beyond anything she'd ever felt before. Her wetness had completely soaked her pussy lips and, as the Earl continued to caress the sensitive folds, was even now spreading to the tops of her thighs as she became more and more excited.
Very dimly, she heard the Earl chuckle and murmur something. She couldn't make out what he said, but he sounded pleased. Normally she would have been infuriated by his amusement when she was in such a position, but right now she didn't care what he did as long as he didn't stop touching her! The need that was growing inside of her core was more intense, more demanding than she'd ever felt before.
His other hand curved over her bottom and she groaned as he squeezed the tortured flesh, igniting the sharp bite of pain again... it mingled strangely with the pleasure that his stroking fingers were creating in her pussy. Enhanced it even, the way eating something bitter made sugar taste all the more sweet.
Then one of his fingers pressed to her opening and slid inside of her. Cynthia cried out, her hips wagging up and down at the shockingly delightful sensation. His finger was much longer and thicker than her own, moving back and forth, deeper and deeper as the rest of his fingers continued to play with and stroke her folds. He began squeezing her reddened bottom in time with his finger thrusts, causing the burn and ecstasy to collide deep inside of her until she couldn't tell which was which.
“Oooooh…” she cried out.
This was wicked. Sinful even. Far worse than any of the other rules of propriety that she’d ever broken, and yet she had no control over it – which was a heady sensation. Cynthia had always been in control of what rules she broke and how she broke them; suddenly having it taken away from her was beyond exciting.
A second finger joined the first and she gasped at the stretch of her inner muscles, of the probing invasion of a man’s fingers. Something pressed against her clitoris and she bucked and heaved as the Earl’s hand squeezed and his fingers stroked. The shocking rapture blossomed outward unexpectedly, her first climax at the hands of someone other than herself and all the more intense and surprising because of that.
The pain from the spanking and the incredible ecstasy from her climax was almost too much. She cried out, gasping for air, fighting back blackness that edged in around her vision; the feeling that she was going to faint grew stronger as the Earl’s fingers continued to stroke, wringing every last ripple of pleasure from her squirming body. He pushed her far beyond the edges of pleasure that she found for herself, leaving her sobbing at the strength of her orgasm.
Finally the movement stopped and Cynthia slumped over his lap, shuddering as his fingers slid from her quivering pussy.
******
Beautiful.
That was Wesley’s first thought. Cynthia’s bright, glowing bottom was a thing of absolutely beauty, the wet swollen folds beneath it only adding to the attraction. His cock surged, but he beat back the impulse to lay her against the opposite seat in the carriage and take his pleasure. Still…
Leaning back, Wesley shifted Cynthia just enough to allow him to unlace his breeches, freeing his cockstem from the tight confines of fabric. With a groan, he fisted the hard rod in his hand and pumped, several times. That was all he needed for great white streams of cum to spray across the flaming surface of her bottom, making it look even redder than before in contrast. The pleasure of release left him groaning in satisfaction, more satisfaction that he’d had ever since he’d arrived in Bath.
Panting, he took his sore hand – sore from spanking her bottom, so he could only imagine how said bottom felt at the moment – and rubbed the white rivulets of seed into her red skin. The friction of his hand against her sensitive cheeks made Cynthia whimper, a sound he could barely hear through her skirts.
With another groan, Wesley secured his breeches and then brought Cynthia up to a sitting position, seating her back on the bench she'd started out on. She was sniffling, her nose red, her eyes pink and wide with shock. The expression on her face was rather dazed as she stared across at him. Her breasts had come out of her low cut dress and Wesley reached forward, cupping them in his hands and pinching the hard little nipples as he stared into her eyes.
Cynthia shivered and moaned, rocking slightly on the seat, which was surely very uncomfortable right now. Hearing movement outside, Wesley tamped down on his desires to continue playing with her and he drew her dress back up over her breasts. The image remained seared in his mind, however, and he looked forward to being able to enjoy those luscious mounds with a more thorough examination later.
Opening the carriage door, he gave a nod to the coachman who was obviously pretending momentary deafness. Good man. Taking Cynthia by the hand, he pulled her out of her seat and gathered her up in his arms, ignoring her muffled protest as he cradled her body against his. With one arm behind her back and the other tucked under her knees, there really wasn't any way for her to resist him even if she hadn't been so dazed. She was a nice, soft armful; she felt right snuggled up against him.
"Thank you, Lordan," he said to the coachman, before swinging his ward around and heading for the front steps. He made a mental note to ensure that the man got a bonus tomorrow. There was nothing like cold, hard cash to help ensure silence. Even if he planned to marry her, he didn’t want his Countess to have a sullied reputation or for anyone to think that he was marrying her because he had to.
There was no one on the street; it was too early for most of the fashionable of Bath to be returning home, which was good since there would be no one to gossip. And he trusted his mother's staff to keep their lips sealed, especially once the betrothal was announced. The only person they would tell was his mother herself, and he intended on
speaking with her first thing tomorrow.
Cynthia murmured and wriggled a bit as he went up the stairs, obviously beginning to come out of her pleasure induced stupor.
"Stay still so I don't drop you," he said, rather lightly as Manfred opened the door. The lines of disapproval in the old man's face were deeply drawn. There was definitely one servant who wouldn't hesitate to tell the Countess everything, but Wesley knew he'd be forgiven once he explained. And there was every chance that Manfred would wait till tomorrow to inform the Countess anyway. Telling her tonight would only disturb her sleep, and Manfred wouldn’t do that. So all Wesley had to do to evade a scene was ensure that he reached his mother before Manfred tomorrow morning.
Murmuring something again, her words too indistinct for Wesley to make out, Cynthia snaked her arm around his neck to further secure herself in his arms as he made his way for the stairs. Grinning, he could nearly feel Manfred's eyes boring into the back of his head. He knew exactly what kind of picture he and Cynthia made. Manfred obviously thought Wesley rather thoroughly ruined his ward, in the carriage, right in front of his mother's house.
Well, that wasn’t too far from the truth. He had certainly ruined her although not as thoroughly as he might have liked. And considering that no one but the servants knew, it's not as if she was truly ruined anyway. But enough that he would have been forced to make a proper woman out of her, if he hadn’t planned to already.
Having maneuvered his way up the stairs, Wesley headed towards Cynthia's room. She was snuggled into him now, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingertips lightly playing with the hair on the back of his neck. As long as she knew that it was him carrying her and she wasn’t thinking of some other man, then he certainly didn’t mind. And his desire was already rising again as the back of his neck tingled under her touch. Knowing that underneath her skirts she had a very red bottom with his seed pressed into it didn't help. He really shouldn’t have done that, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.
It had soothed part of his possessive jealousy, as though he’d irrevocably marked her.