Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle) (9 page)

Her mouth began to water at the sight of his purple-red cock, its head smooth and proud and ripe. She felt her heart pounding so hard her breasts thudded too, and that telltale moisture began to gather between her legs.

Darkdale didn’t say a word. He merely perched on the edge of the bed, spread his legs, and leaned back on his elbows.

Jane took that as the invitation it clearly was, and scooted into position between his knees. She scooped him up in her hands, gathering his heavy, tight bollocks into her palms and gently fondling them as she scraped her fingernails over the hair growing there. He sighed and shivered, and once again Jane was reminded that she did indeed have at least a modicum of power and influence on the man.

She just had to learn how to wield it to her advantage.

One way to begin was to take his cock in her mouth and slide down, all the way down, until he bumped the back of her throat. His velvety length was heavy and hot, and its girth stretched her mouth and jaw as she worked up and down, slowly and deliberately.

Her saliva coated him, allowing her to move faster and with the same slickness he enjoyed from her quim, which was becoming hot and wet all on its own. The wetness from her mouth dripped and pooled at the base of his rod, where she fondled his stones. Jane curled her fingers tightly around the bottom of his cock, stacking her fists on top of each other beneath her lips, and used all three to stroke, faster and faster. She sucked and pumped, her hands tight and slick, her mouth sliding along in rhythm with them until he gave a sharp groan. Darkdale arched up abruptly as he shot a hot wad into her mouth.

When she was certain he’d finished, she licked him clean and sat back on her haunches. Her lips were puffy and throbbing, and her nipples were tight and thrusting with readiness. Her own juices dampened her inner thighs, and her sex pulsed softly…waiting.

Darkdale rose from the bed, patted her head, and reached to ring a bell. Despite her best intentions, Jane couldn’t keep her attention from following him. She wanted him to touch her, to penetrate her, to taste and lick and suck her into the same frenzy she’d just done to him.

But she was bound to be disappointed.

The bedchamber door opened and Trevor entered. Behind him was an elegant blond woman. She appeared to be in her late forties, and her hairstyle matched her stylish and expensive clothing. She looked like a wealthy woman of the gentry making a social call—a woman who’d just dismounted from her mare, if one were to judge by the riding crop in her hand.

“Good morning, Kellan.”

“And good morning to you. You’re prompt as always, Marcine.”

“Naturally. And you must be Jane,” said the woman, reaching to take her by the chin. Her grip was hard and cruel, and even though she wore gloves, her nails dug into Jane’s skin. “You are a lovely one, I’ll grant that. She appears an excellent choice, Kellan,” she added, sounding dubious as she released Jane’s chin.

“There is work to be done, to be sure.” Darkdale stood passively as Trevor buttoned up the shirt he’d just donned. “I trust you’ll do your part.”

“It will be my pleasure.” She transferred her attention back to Jane. “Come with me.”

She made move to rise, but Marcine reacted immediately, and the riding crop snaked out. Its slender tail whipped sharply into the side of Jane’s hip, and she reared back in shock and pain.

“Have you not taught her even the barest of humility, Kellan?” she exclaimed, then struck out again with the crop. This time it striped down her arm, and Jane couldn’t mask a whimper of pain. “Who gave you leave to rise?”

Jane bowed her head, fighting tears and the sharp stinging on her skin.

“She is a clever one, and more than a bit stubborn,” Darkdale commented as Trevor tied his neckcloth. “My darling Jane has already been punished several times since our arrival—which, I might remind you, Marcine, was only yesterday.”

The woman made an exasperated sound. “Well, the more clever and stubborn ones usually turn out to be the most worthwhile. Still, I have no patience for impudence, girl. You had best mind your manners when you’re with me. The last thing I wish to do is mar that beautiful skin of yours—but make no mistake. I have forms of punishment that will leave no marks. Now come with me. I expect utter obedience and obeisance.” With an angry huff, Marcine swished out of the bedchamber, leaving Jane to keep up with her fast pace.

She glanced at Darkdale as she left the chamber, but he seemed to be paying no attention to her…and for some reason, that made her even more apprehensive.

Jane scurried down the corridor in Marcine’s wake, trying to ignore the discomfort of her knees traveling over a variety of bumps and sharp edges. The woman led her toward the back of what turned out to be a house that was much deeper than it was wide.

“In here.” Marcine flung open a set of double doors.

Inside were two women wearing simple gray frocks that could only be described as uniforms. Judging by their gray hair and facial lines, they appeared older than Marcine by at least a decade. Each had hair that was scraped back into a tight bun high at the back of the head, and they stood as if at attention, waiting for a command.

The room was furnished in a manner Jane had never seen before. There was a large square tub made of tile situated in the center of the chamber—large enough to hold three or four people. It was filled with water so hot steam rose from it. Piles of fluffy white towels sat near one edge, and at the other was an array of small pots, jars, brushes, tubes, and other items she couldn’t identify. Some pleasing, musky scent wafted from the pool and filled the room.

Elsewhere in the chamber were trunks and wardrobes, mirrors lining one wall, and a large platform-like bed draped with blankets, cushions, and furs. One wall was lined with cupboards, drawers, and shelves.

“You may stand now,” Marcine told Jane, then took a seat in a large, plush chair that looked more like a throne than a mere resting place. She gestured languidly as she picked up a notebook and pencil and began to peruse the open page. “It makes it easier for Belinda and Bernice to attend to you. And, I would say, they most certainly have their task cut out for them. Wouldn’t you, ladies?”

The women—possibly twins—made assenting sounds as Jane pulled to her feet more slowly than she would have liked. She was sore. She wondered if the tub was for her, and recalled Darkdale’s words that she needed to be bathed. A bath would be welcome, as long as it didn’t entail the sort of ministrations she had been subjected to while being cared for by the women of Cold Eyes’s village.

She shuddered at the memory just as Belinda and Bernice approached. Uncertain what was expected of her, Jane waited passively. No one would be shy about telling her if she was wrong.

The twins walked around her as if she were a prize mare—or a statue—and examined her from head to toe. They lifted her hair and tsked over the slender red welts from Marcine’s riding crop, and the less noticeable ones from Darkdale. They pored over her hands and toes then poked and pinched her in more than a few places.

“I’ve half a mind to cut it all off,” said Marcine when she noticed the two women using their fingers to comb randomly through Jane’s tangled curls as if to sort it out. “But I suppose Kellan would be annoyed. So I’m afraid you’ll have to work through it. I’ll be certain to charge him extra.”

“Into the bath with you, then,” said one of the maids. “And don’t slip on the tiles. ’E wants to be the one to put any bruises on you ’imself.”

Despite those foreboding words, Jane eagerly climbed into the tub. Even though she hissed at the bold heat, she sank in as quickly as possible. The aroma was that of lavender and sandalwood, and it was soothing and relaxing. For the first time since arriving at Darkdale’s home, she felt blissful as her muscles loosened and she warmed up pleasurably.

However, her contentment lasted only a short time, for no sooner had she submerged up to her shoulders than the two women were “attending” to her.

One began to work on her hair, shoving Jane’s head unceremoniously beneath the water and holding it there longer than she would have chosen. Then the maid scrubbed and soaped, rinsed, then scrubbed and soaped again. After that, a thick, sweet-smelling paste was massaged into her hair from scalp to ends, and Jane’s head was wrapped in a cloth with all her hair tucked up into it.

Meanwhile, the other woman bustled around, laying out items on one of the tables, showing options to Marcine, who either approved or declined as she sat in her throne chair and sipped tea—which had been brought to her by an unusually subservient Trevor.

Once she was thoroughly washed and her hair was rinsed of the paste, Jane was brought from the tub and settled on a far less comfortable chair than Marcine’s. Still, it was better than being on her knees, and she knew better than to complain—even mentally.

Here, her hair was combed out (none too gently), her toenails and fingernails clipped and lotioned, her skin buffed and moisturized. During this process, Marcine deigned to rise from her seat and walked over to check on the progress.

“She cleans up well, I’ll grant him that.” She pursed her lips as she circled Jane, then finished by standing in front of her and pointing directly at the bush of hair between her legs. “That must be attended to. And beneath her arms, and her legs as well. And then you’ll have just enough time to do the bejeweling, for Kellan bade me to have her prepared by six o’clock.”

Jane’s eyes widened at her words, but she had no time to speak or otherwise respond. Bernice and Belinda ushered her from the chair and directed her to a narrow, backless sofa. She was directed to lie on her back, and while Bernice arranged her newly combed hair so it wouldn’t tangle, the other twin pulled her legs apart.

Jane tensed, prepared to be manipulated, teased, and mastered as she had been in the past, but Belinda’s touch was utterly impersonal—even detached—as she began to do…
something
down there.

At first, all Jane felt was a little bit of tugging and prickling. When she was finally able to lift her head, she saw that the woman was snipping off the bright red hair that grew at the apex of her thighs. Quickly and with cold efficiency, Belinda cropped the tight, coarse curls until they were short and neat.

Meanwhile, Bernice roughly lifted Jane’s arm and applied some sort of thick, sticky paste over the hair growing there. Then she placed a strip of cloth over the paste and ripped it away. Jane gasped in shock and surprise, but before she had a chance to react (really, what could she do anyway?), Bernice moved to the other side and did the same there while Belinda conducted the same process on Jane’s legs. This was more painful, and by the time the twin was working on the second leg, Jane was blinking back tears of pain. The last two strips of cloth were the worst, for they were aligned over paste that had been painted onto the outside of her labia. Thankfully, Belinda and Bernice each pulled one strip at nearly the same time, which left Jane nearly sobbing with shock and pain, and completely denuded of hair except for a narrow strip down the center.

She wasn’t certain whether she preferred this form of torture, or the one she’d succumbed to at the hands—and mouths—of the women in the jungle.

“Much better,” mused Marcine when the two maids finished their task. “Now, I suggest you take some time to rest whilst your hair dries and your skin settles. You shall need all of your strength for tonight, and in the meanwhile, we have other preparations to make.”

She gestured to the large bed and Jane gratefully went over to it, surprised that she should be afforded such a luxury. Without a backward glance, Marcine left the chamber, taking her two maids with her. At the door, she paused. “Lest you should entertain any thought of leaving, I shall lock the door. So do yourself a favor and rest when you can.”

The door closed behind them and Jane heard the ominous sound of a heavy bolt being thrown. As she lay on the soft bed, she looked around the chamber, wondering if this was some sort of test or trick. But after a while, her eyes drooped and she did ease into sleep.

It was a light, restless sleep, for at some level she feared being tricked or otherwise disturbed awake…yet it was a repose filled with images and thoughts she’d tried to protect: worry, fear, and love for Zaren and her papa.

But Zaren would not be banished this time, and his amazing blue eyes cast upon her, filled with love and warmth. Though he desired her, his gaze was not at all filled with the bald lust and cold lasciviousness of Darkdale’s. In her dreams, Jane reached for Zaren, begged him to save her, wondered if he still loved her after all she’d given up and all that had happened to her…but he was always just out of reach.

She cried in her sleep and in her dreams and despaired of ever seeing him or her papa again.

***

Jane startled fully awake when the door’s bolt was thrown open. Marcine and her companions paraded in as Jane noticed that the light outside had dimmed. It was past afternoon and into the evening, and she was surprised she had slept at all.

“Now,” said Marcine briskly, “let us see what we can do to make you even more lovely.”

They prodded Jane to her feet and gave her a spoonful of mint leaves with which to chew and clean her teeth. As Belinda began to do something to her long tresses, Bernice came to stand next to them. She was holding a silver tray with a variety of jewels, tiny pots, and brushes arranged on it.

As Jane stood silently, Marcine used a brush to dab some sort of clear liquid onto one breast, making several dots around the edge of her areola. Then, using tiny forceps, she picked up jewel after jewel and affixed tiny, lentil-sized gems to the dots she’d made.

When she was finished, there were six tiny emeralds winking in a circle around Jane’s left areola, which had shriveled and tightened beneath the woman’s ministrations. Marcine moved on to do the same to the other breast, taking her implements and supplies from Bernice’s tray. Jane’s nipples thrust strong and hard from inside the glittering circles, and when she finished her task, Marcine used the tip of a different brush to stroke over one of them.