Frayed Bonds (5 page)

The whip came down again, and this time Peter moaned. His
anguish sounded somehow different, but she couldn’t interpret the tenor of his
cries. He held her tight, tucked her body in close to his. “Amy,” he moaned.
“Don’t be afraid.”

The whip sang out once more and she felt something hard jab
the small of her back. Peter’s cock was erect, aroused by the whipping.

She gasped, and her husband chuckled. “Always so dominant,
always the one in charge, always the whip hand, Peter. Even at school. You
never bent over for the older boys. You were always the one on top. Well look
at you now.”

“Please, John,” she begged. “Let him go.”

“He doesn’t want to be let go, my love. Those flimsy chains
were meant for you. They’re too slender to hold him if he wants to get free.”

Peter groaned in her ear and rubbed his cock against her.

Tregarth cast the whip aside, grabbed Peter’s free hand,
released the end of the manacle attached to the bed post and chained both his
hands behind his back.

Amy, her left wrist still tied to the bed post, drank in the
sight of the man who had just dominated and pleasured her, his hard, lean body
kissed by the whip, kneeling submissively at the feet of her husband.

“John,” she gasped in wonder. Oh how she loved him, how she
loved this. “John, please,” she said, “I want you.”

“Peter’s training has clearly left much to be desired. You
speak when spoken to.”

She thrilled to her part. “Yes, John.”

He untied her wrist, kissed her with punishing force and
ordered onto the center of the bed. She complied eagerly, climbing up on the
counterpane, scooting to the center of the bed and lying down on her back.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

She felt wanton and luxurious, lying on her back in the
middle of the bed, but it wasn’t enough. Responding to some inner instinct, she
raised her hands above her head and brought her wrists together, to bind if he
desired.

“Amy.” She could hear his breath catch in his throat. But he
didn’t join her on the bed. Instead, he dragged Peter, still manacled, from his
place on the floor. “Kneel on the bed beside her,” he ordered.

Amy resisted the urge to reach out to Peter, to comfort him.
She marveled at how quickly the power in the room had shifted, how John had
come to dominate them both and thrilled to it.

Her husband climbed onto the bed, took a fistful of his best
friend’s hair and forced his head down between Amy’s legs. “She’s not to come,”
he warned.

John had used his mouth on her before, but she’d felt
nothing, driven by her fear into a hard cold place where she could feel no
pleasure. Now it was different. When Peter’s tongue touched her, the sensation
was like an explosion. She’d thought she was wrung out, that her passion must
be spent after the pleasuring Peter had delivered earlier with the dildo and
the frighteningly intense penetration she had just endured. She’d known he had
tempered his desires with her, foregone thrusting into her ass in order not to
frighten or injure her, but it had been terrifically intense all the same.
She’d never have dreamed she could be roused again and certainly not so
quickly.

But Peter’s tongue was skilled. He flicked her bud with
short sharp licks then laved her with long strokes then stabbed at her achingly
empty passage with his tongue.

John was not idle. He offered direction, encouragement,
criticism. Then he ordered Peter to stop. “I want you to watch me with her, as
I had to watch you.”

John opened his britches, took his cock in his hand and
speared Amy before she had a chance to think or speak. Then she lost the
capacity for thought and speech and gave herself up wholly to John’s mastery.
He fucked her in long, slow strokes, taking his time, asking her what she
liked, how she wanted it, encouraging her to writhe beneath him until she found
her sweet spot.

Then she was spiraling up and up toward something deeper and
more satisfying than the other climaxes she had experienced that day, and when
it came, it was blinding in its intensity. She fell almost immediately into a
sated and blissful sleep with her husband’s head pillowed on her breast and
Peter’s head resting on her thigh. She knew, as she slipped into dreamy
unconsciousness, that everything would be right amongst them now, amongst all
three of them.

* * * * *

When he was certain his wife slept, John Tregarth slipped
silently from the bed and released Peter Mainwaring’s manacles. He helped him
to dress and walked him down to his carriage.

Peter did not speak until he was climbing into the carriage.
Then, he reached out and gripped John’s shoulder. “Did you mean it, what you
said? About being together, the three of us?”

Tregarth looked up at the window of the room where his wife
slept. “Yes. If she wants it. But not right now, not for a month at least. I
want time alone with her.”

“Of course. Come to Herridon, in a month. Or two. She’ll
like it there. Whenever you are ready.” Peter could not contain his eagerness.

“Peter,” Tregarth warned, “I won’t bring her to Herridon.
Things have to be different. You have to accept this. When you are with Amy and
me, I’m in control.”

The other man hesitated. “It’s not in my nature,” he said at
last.

“Agree, or you’ll never touch her again.”

Peter wavered for a second, looked up at the window where
Amy lay sleeping, then lowered his eyes, conquered. “I agree.”

Diana Thorn loves to read and write erotic romance,
particularly with a historical or fantasy setting. In the past Diana worked in
the art world, but now she’s putting her Ivy League education and MFA to use
creating spicy Regencies.

Diana enjoys hearing from her readers. You can find her
website and email address on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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