Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

ELIZABETH

I sat in a chair sipping my tea only half listening to them talk until I heard my name.

"I understand you had an infatuation for my Elizabeth at some point."

I looked up.

Although he said it in a conversational tone, I recognized when Richard was baiting someone, toying with them. Why would he say such a thing? It implied I had been improper in some way. Perhaps that was why Lord Radfoot kept implying throughout dinner that we knew one another and shared some sort of intimacy.

Was this from the time before I entered the asylum? The time Richard said I confused with just fantasies and dreams?

My cheeks burned.

I had heard often enough that the hysteria of my heated mind caused me to behave like a harlot and it was only through Richard's punishments… no… through his careful instruction that I kept hysteria at bay. I needed the firm guidance of a man's hand and his help in releasing the sinful demons that plagued my thoughts and affected my body, especially between my legs.

Lord Radfoot looked from me to Richard and back again. He held up his hand as he measured his words carefully. "Are we breaking character here? Or is this still part of it?"

Breaking character?

What was Mike talking about?

Mike ?

My heart began to race. Why did I just refer to him by a Christian name? And not even his proper one. His name was Lord Arthur Radfoot and it was highly improper of me to even think of his Christian name. But why did Mike sound right?

I could feel anxiety begin to twist and turn in my stomach. The hysteria must be returning. The confusion felt worse than before. My corset felt tight and began to itch as I felt a bead of sweat trickle between my breasts.

I began remembering Lord Radfoot in strange attire. We were both on an actor's stage together but not Shakespeare's Globe like I had seen in books. There were people all around us. Rose was there but I remembered calling her by a different name. Jane! I remembered calling her Jane.

I tried to block out the memories. They were not real. Just fantasies and dreams brought on by my hysteria.

London. Cars. Jeans. Coffee. Noise. Cell phones. School. Friends. Martinis. My flat. Dancing. Internet. Noise. America. Television. Pizza. Fitbit. Noise. Electric light. Computers. Game of Thrones. Disneyland. My parents.

It all swirled around my head like a fast-spinning carousel filled with noise and flashes of color.

It's not real.

This is not real.

It's not real.

This is not real.

"Sure, I like Lizzie. Who wouldn't? She's hot and also great, but I can't compete with billions of pounds, can I?" snarked Mike.

The corners of Richard's mouth lifted. No one would call it a smile. "No, you can't. Then there's that nasty little business from that trip you took last year to Thailand."

Mike paled. All bravado left him. "How could you possibly know about that?"

"As you said, it's hard to compete with billions of dollars. Money buys a man a lot of things but one of the most important is information. Leverage over those around him. The power to do whatever the fuck he pleases," responded Richard coolly.

Mike slumped back into his chair. "Fine. You've made your point, Richard."

"I haven't but this will."

I was barely following their conversation. Nothing made sense to me right now. I rubbed my temple. I could feel the hysteria building. I longed for the blessedly quiet fog to return. Things were so much more peaceful inside my head when I focused on what Richard wanted and not on trying to decipher the meaning behind my strange dreams and seeming memories.

I needed his guiding hand. I needed his instruction on how to stop these spinning thoughts.

"Elizabeth, please come here."

Grateful for his command, I left my seat where I was perched a little away and to the side of them and approached him, stopping when I was standing directly in front of his seated form.

"Get on your knees."

I didn't stop to even think about the request. Lifting my skirts, I immediately fell to my knees, arranging my skirts about me.

Yes. This is what I need, to follow his command. I don't need to think, only obey.

I watched as Richard freed his cock from his trousers. Focusing on the rhythmic pump of his hand as he fisted the shaft and began to move it up and down, up and down, cooled my hysteria and shifted my thoughts to between my legs.

"Open your mouth."

Mike stood. "Fuck you, Richard." He started to storm out of the parlor.

"I didn't give you permission to leave," barked Richard. "Sit down."

I knew better than to turn my head to see if he obeyed but I assumed he did. Everyone obeyed Richard's commands.

Richard placed his hand on the back of my head.

I knew what was coming. Keeping my mouth open as wide as I could, I braced for the assault. He pulled my head violently forward, forcing me to take all nine inches till my nose touched his stomach. His cock hit the back of my throat then continued to press till it plunged deep. I choked and gagged but he kept the pressure on.

"Eyes on me," he commanded.

I raised my tear-filled eyes. My jaw ached and I felt like I was going to retch. Finally, I felt the pressure on my head ease and I surged backward, gasping for air. There was only a moment's reprieve before he once more grabbed my head and pushed it onto his cock. Richard didn't like the tease of a blowjob. There were no coquettish licks of the head, or tickle of the balls. There was no running my tongue over the sensitive ridge or up the underside of his shaft.

There was only dominance. Him fucking my face as if it were my cunt. This was how I showed I had learned my lesson and was trying to be a good girl. By opening my throat and allowing him to thrust in deep over and over again. By proving to him that I no longer needed the gag to keep my mouth open. I was particularly proud of that part.

It had taken several instructions in the siege d'amour chair with me secured upside down with my head dangling between the stirrups and him plunging his cock into my mouth while he kept his fingers pressed into my cheeks to make sure I didn't bite down. If I did, he forced me to keep his cock in my mouth while he whipped me between the legs with the leather belt.

Once, I bit down from the pain while he was whipping me. I didn't like to think about what happened afterward. It was days before I could leave my bed.

I continued to allow him to use my mouth. Several times I reached between my legs to ease the tension but the full silk skirts and petticoats prevented me from feeling much. It was okay; Richard never failed to make sure I also achieved release, even if he tortured me by making me wait for it.

I gloried in the deep guttural sounds he made each time his cock bottomed out down my throat. I even liked how the hairs on his abdomen tickled my nose whenever I was able to take it all the way down. As I desperately tried to get the slightest bit of air through my nose, I would also inhale his sandalwood cologne mixed with the musk of his arousal.

This was all pleasurable to me because, as a lady, I was doing my duty, There should be no greater fulfillment in life than knowing you had done your duty, according to the books Richard had been giving me to read.

The scrape of a chair leg on the polished wood reminded me that Lord Radfoot was still in the room. I felt this sick feeling twist in my stomach. It shouldn't bother me that he was watching because it wasn't my place to have an opinion. It was what Richard requested. Yet, there was this small niggling feeling that it did bother me. That it should bother me.

It was like there was a small bird trapped in my chest. It was furiously flapping its wings against my heart and lungs trying to get my attention. Trying to get me to remember, to react, to something… but what? It was there. Just past the fog in my mind.

"Fuck, Richard! She can't breathe!" exclaimed Lord Radfoot… had I called him Mike earlier? I think I had.

Richard ignored him and only pressed my head down on his cock harder.

I could feel it begin to swell. His balls cinched up to brush against my chin. This was my favorite part. Not only because the torment was over but because it was obvious how much I had pleased Richard.

"Fuck, Lizzie! Yes!" he growled. Thick salty streams of come coated my tongue and face as he marked me. That was what he liked to call it, marking me as his.

In that moment, I felt as though I had been doused in freezing cold water.

My mind shattered. All thoughts crystalized with more clarity than I had felt in weeks.

Lizzie.

Richard called me Lizzie.