The Surrender of Lady Charlotte by Lizbeth Dusseau Read Free Book Online Page B

encumbrance, though still awkward, was a blessing in warding off the most serious advances of these knaves. She soon understood that in this back world of Ilusian society, a woman’s virginity was much ado about nothing. Such silly slips of skin were only important to nobles and proud men.
    Days into this new life, she thought she might settle into it—except for the curious aching that began to plague her. Her groin would enliven the moment some dashing fellow walked by her toiling body—and more still if he took note of her. She was still fair enough, with a pleasant grin; and those not put off by the short fuzz of blonde covering her head found her a most attractive woman—even for a slave. They flirted with her as they would other slaves and servants; and Charlotte found their attentions invigorating her body.
    Time advancing, she scrubbed floors and cleaned the scullery with feverish abandon, her passions building with an increasing fervor. Such desire brewing, surely it was far more than just the occasional playfulness from a randy rogue that had her so aroused. Her loins knew the answer to this perplexing state of stimulation. In his despicable and ruthless fashion, the scoundrel Lord Mountbane had enjoined her body to relish the physical release in the crude and often painful turns it took. Unable now to hold back her desire, her mind was driven to the cruelest fantasies—all without any promise of release. The damned chastity harness prevented her from playing with her roused crotch! And so, she was caught in a sexual bind from which she could not break free.
    This new misery increased. Each day, the desire plagued her more relentlessly than it had the day before. She slept fitfully even in exhaustion. If her hands could only touch her hungering womanhood as Mountbane’s had and bring about the satisfaction her body craved! He was a beast, a monster, the rudest of villains to have arranged this misery!
    Increasing her plight more, Charlotte found herself serving food in the castle’s main dining room—waiting on the very author of this great trial as though she were truly just a lowly kitchen slave. When the task was first assigned, she worried that she’d once again be fair game for his typically mocking tirades; but instead, and to her utter amazement, Mountbane made no note of her—not a glance, a comment, even the faint flicker of recognition in his brow or eye.
    If that were not enough to unnerve her sense of peace, worse yet were the bawdy debaucheries in his dining halls and private rooms where she’d carry pitchers of wine to the assembled, and was forced to observe the fornicating bodies poised in all manner of sexual activity. Placed in this unfortunate position, her heart began to bleed with another pain as she noted how this man—her husband—made love. Tenderness and passion boiled in his blood. His hands would rove the female form with an artful flair that both aroused his sumptuous lovers and nurtured them as well. His kisses looked like sweet confections. His brooding waltz about a tethered beauty felt like bliss to the needy Charlotte. Strikes of leather struck her as well. And the orgasmic waves of ecstasy she witnessed seemed to ride right through her body as though they might take her along with them.
    How kind he was! What sincerity he offered those he loved—or simply used! There was no falseness here. Could she be jealous of these harlots that he took to bed?
    Charlotte remembered then the times he came to her, glorifying them in her heart and feeling a bittersweet longing brewing dangerously close to the surface of her emotions. Had he been so kind to her, too, and she’d refused to feel it?
    Most painful of all were the penetrations. The thrusting, heaving, groaning, panting copulation of bodies—what she’d never known. A woman’s head thrown back in the throes of bliss nearly made her own body leap to a climax of its own. The kind of shuddering ends she observed in silence