Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle) (10 page)

Jane jolted and shivered at the unexpected sensation, and her nipple tightened even more. With a faint sound of satisfaction, Marcine flickered the brush over the other nipple, lighter and in a more prolonged fashion. She glanced up at Jane, amusement lighting her cold blue eyes, stroked slowly and carefully around the nipple, and then flicked the soft sable brush hairs across the sensitive tip, over and over, back and forth, ever so lightly until Jane had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.

“It’s clear why he chose you,” Marcine commented, resting the brush back on the tray. “You’re not only lovely to look at, but you have a responsiveness most men would kill for—in themselves as well as their women.” She tilted her head to one side, a little smile curving the corners of her mouth.

As she looked at Jane, holding her gaze, she reached forward and slid her hand down along the gentle swell of Jane’s belly. Her fingers brushed lightly over her soft, perfumed skin, trickled through the patch of short, trimmed hair and over the sensitive bare skin of her mound, and then moved down to cup her quim. Jane tensed even as the familiar rush of pleasure surged to her sex, and she couldn’t control a little quiver.

Marcine’s hand remained there, warm and steady and still, with just the slightest bit of pressure upon the lush folds there. She watched Jane, her gaze critical and cool, as she held her there—literally in the palm of her hand.

Jane’s heart began to thump harder, and she couldn’t control the reaction of her body to that soft, steady, confident pressure. Her breath grew rough, and all of her concentration, all of her awareness, focused on Marcine’s hand. She was aware of herself swelling and tightening against the woman’s palm and fingers, of growing damp and hot, and of the deep-seated burn of lust building and building until she needed to move and writhe and shift…

When Marcine at last adjusted her hand, sliding it softly and slowly down and over the full, wet folds, her fingers were slick and wet. Jane shivered, shuddering with restrained need. Then one digit moved, sliding just the barest tip inside her, and found the underside of her tiny, ripe pearl. Then, leaning a little closer, her expression passive, Marcine pressed hard, up into her as the pad of her finger twitched once against Jane’s burgeoning clit.

A single stroke. And all at once Jane’s body let go, and she came, a flood of heat and pleasure washing over her as she stood there, cupped by Marcine, helpless to deny the convulsions of her body, hot and weak and wet.

“My goodness,” breathed the other woman, whose eyes had never left Jane’s face. “You are a delight.” She removed her hand and Bernice offered her a cloth to wipe her fingers. “It’s no wonder Kellan wanted you—and for so long.” She paused, looking at Jane with consideration. Then she smiled, still cool and amused, but now with a layer of heat in her eyes. “I look forward to further exploration.”

She turned back to the tray and selected another brush, then gestured for Jane to step up onto a stool Belinda had brought over. Still a little trembly in the knees, Jane nevertheless climbed onto the stool. This position put her hips and belly at Marcine’s eye level, and for a moment, Jane felt weak. The woman’s mouth was right…
there
.

She looked down and saw Marcine watching her, a knowing light in her eyes. But apparently the blonde had other plans, for she nudged Jane’s thighs apart a little and began to paint another set of small adhesive dots on the bare skin of her nether lips. More jewels followed there, and then Marcine directed Jane to bend over.

She walked around behind her as Jane obediently put her hands on her knees. Jane tried to keep her mind away from the image she must present to Marcine: her full, wet, red pussy, on display and eager for more pleasure. It was all she could do to keep her self from growing full and wet again at the thought of what the other woman might do.

When Marcine touched her, Jane flinched…but it was only the damned brush again. This time, Marcine made feather-light dots on the backside of her quim, and affixed the tiniest of diamonds and rubies there, around the edge of her opening.

“There. Quite delectable, you are. Kellan will be pleased. Belinda, you must finish her hair and eyes, then it will be time to deliver our lovely Jane to her master.”

As Jane was helped down from the stool—it would do no good for their handiwork to be ruined if she fell or moved awkwardly—Marcine eyed her once more. “’Tis a pity I won’t be there to enjoy the entertainment tonight. I’ll have to speak with Kellan about changing that in the future. Oh, and Bernice—the gloves and stockings, please.”

Jane was positioned in front of a long mirror as the final touches were attended to: her hair braided in one long, loose braid that hung over her shoulder or down her spine, black liner drawn thinly around her eyes, then their lids painted green and blue in a design not unlike butterfly wings. Marcine added two more diamond crystals, one at the corner of each eye, and then a single, fingernail-sized one just below Jane’s left collarbone. She brushed soft pink color onto her lips, and then turned to Bernice to take a bundle of cloth.

Black lace stockings and matching black gloves were the only articles of clothing Jane was allowed, and then her entire ensemble was covered by a flowing, silken black cloak.

“The finishing touch…” Marcine moved to stand behind Jane.

The next thing she knew, something dark and black went over her eyes and was tied tightly in the back. Just as Marcine finished, somewhere in the house a clock struck six.

“Perfect. You are just ready. Come now, girl…let us go to meet your master.”

And Jane, blindfolded, enveloped in a sensuously silken cloak, was led from the chamber.

— VIII—

As Jane walked along,
the innermost parts of her upper thighs rubbed against her sex. Because of the addition of the jewels there, Jane felt even more pressure than usual on her sensitive clit and swollen quim.

Every step was a little tease of potential pleasure, and with the silken cloak sliding over her tight nipples at the same time, she felt as if her body was slowly coming alive and aware.

She couldn’t help a sense of trepidation as she was prodded along to meet Darkdale, for how well she remembered his threat of last evening: that she was to be punished tonight…with the help of his guests.

What sort of punishment could he have in mind? One of unbearable pleasure, or a tortuous one of frustration and humiliation? Or some combination of both?

After being directed for what seemed like an interminably long walk, Jane was pulled to a halt. Still blindfolded, she could see nothing—not even a crack of light from beneath her black sheath. There was silence for a long moment, and she wondered briefly if she had been left alone.

Then suddenly there was a soft clapping sound. “Brava, Marcine.” She recognized Trevor’s voice. “He will be well pleased.”

“Naturally,” was the woman’s throaty reply. “Has he returned?”

Before Trevor could respond, there was the sound of a door opening, and a gentle waft of outside air followed. Now Jane recognized where she was: back in the octagonal room where she’d been left on her hands and knees for hours yesterday. The room one could see just beyond the main entrance of the house, where Darkdale sat in his chair and she sucked him dry.

“I see you’ve finished your task.” Darkdale’s voice was accompanied by brisk footsteps that drew near then stopped. Along with him came the scent of London—dampness and coal smoke—mixed with his own male essence.

Jane stood silently, feeling his presence as he circled around her. The edges of her cloak were pulled up and away, presumably by one twin on each side, as he examined her.

“You are well worth the extravagant expense, Marcine,” he said. “She is even more lovely than before, and yet has adopted an appropriate air of mystery as well as passion.”

Marcine gave a husky chuckle. “A feat that is captured in the amount of my bill, Kellan.”

Darkdale laughed in return—a satisfied sound—and Jane felt him brush against her as the edges of the cloak fell back into place. As the silken covering settled over her once more, she sensed that the woman had led Darkdale a short distance away.

Marcine murmured something low and provocative, then he gave another laugh, this time of surprise. “What a splendid idea. Indeed, I shall arrange that with all haste. That will be a night I shan’t forget.”

“Very well, then, Kellan. If you have no further need for my…
services
”—this was said with that low timbre of invitation—“then I shall take my leave.”

Jane heard Marcine and her two maids walk across the chamber, then the sound of Trevor bidding them farewell from the front door. She stood unmoving, trembling slightly as she waited to see what Darkdale intended to do with her.

“I must wash up and dress for tonight,” he said. “Trevor, see that Jane is prepared to greet our guests.”

Jane was shocked at the twinge of disappointment she felt at the announcement that Darkdale didn’t intend to…well, to do anything to her at this time. Perhaps she’d expected him to want to enjoy Marcine’s work.

But she had no chance to dwell on these shameful emotions, for Trevor approached her. She could tell it was him by the sound of his footsteps and the way he moved. Jane couldn’t help but tense in expectation, but unlike every other man—or so it seemed—who’d been near her, Trevor didn’t touch her in any intimate way.

Instead, he took her wrists and slipped them through armholes in the cloak. Then he brought them together in front of her, wrapping them with some sort of soft, velvety material in a figure-eight pattern, then bound them together at her belly. He released her, and Jane stood, still blindfolded and now bound, growing slightly more apprehensive due to his silence.

Moments later, she heard a soft noise above her, and then her arms began to rise of their own volition—pulled up by the bindings on her wrists. Her hands rose above her head until her arms were taut and she was standing on her tiptoes, and then, mercifully, the ascension ceased.

Jane licked her lips, her belly fluttering nervously and her heart pounding, waiting to see what would happen next.

But nothing did. Silence reigned. She wasn’t even certain whether Trevor—who seemed to move soundlessly—was still in the chamber.

There she stood—very nearly hanging by her wrists. It was only the tips of her toes that touched the ground and kept her from spinning slowly in a circle. She was stretched, long and lean, still in darkness, with the silken cloak molded to her curves. She could tell it was open only slightly in the front, due to the brush of air on her belly and throat, but where it touched her body it felt heavy and cloying.

She waited, and waited—just as she had last night, in this very same chamber, on her hands and knees—wondering when or if someone would come, and when they did, what they would do to her.

At last Jane heard the distant sound of a door closing, and the soft pad of footsteps she recognized as Darkdale’s. As they came closer, her heart leapt—and at the same time, she felt a shaft of lustful hope dart down to her sex…and then she immediately was ashamed, and attempted to banish that dark desire.
Zaren
. She should think of Zaren. He was the man she loved, the man who should cause her heart to skip a beat and her body to become warm and ready…

But when Darkdale drew near and she smelled his familiar male scent—a combination of the pomade he used on his hair, the herbal water he splashed on his face when bathing, and whatever essence clung to his clothing—Jane’s breathing quickened.

Her skin prickled, and she felt herself warm and dampen…everywhere. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the feelings as he came closer, brushing against her cloak, sliding it over her sensitive skin…

“What a lovely sight,” he murmured, and covered her lips with his.

His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, and heat and lust surged through Jane as he kissed her, long and sleek and hard. As she dangled there, stretched and long and helpless, as he devoured her, mauling her mouth with his tongue, sweeping inside it with strong, firm strokes, her body yearned to press against his… She needed his mouth and hands on her, his cock inside her. Jane gave a soft, desperate moan as he pulled away, arching and lunging awkwardly toward him.

Her lips throbbed and her breathing rasped as she waited, helpless, blind, and ready. Would he take her now? Would he touch her and tease her into a frenzy of need?

Half of her wanted it—wanted to beg him for his touch, wanted him to slide his fingers up inside her, to stroke her and then fill her with himself—and the other part of her despaired of her lusts, of her desires, and wanted to be left alone. Untouched.

She wanted to wait for Zaren. Tears stung her covered eyes and she was overwhelmed by grief and fear. Would she ever see him again?

Would she ever find pleasure from a man who wanted nothing from her but to give it to her?

And to love her?

Then Jane heard that sound again, and all at once, the tension on her wrists eased ever so slightly. She was able to lower her straining calves so her feet were on the ground, and her arms loosened so her elbows had only the slightest bend…and the noise stopped.