His Dark Obsession (16 page)

With a dark look of promise, Pierce simply said, “Yes.”

Sarah whimpered from fear and cold. She had been kneeling in the nude on the upholstered bench in his photography studio for a quarter of an hour. When they returned home, Pierce gave her strict instructions to proceed to the third floor. She was to take off all her clothes and wait for him on the bench. Rather, the punishment bench as he called it. If she failed in any of his instructions, the punishment would be far more severe. Sarah believed him. She fled to do his bidding. And now she waited.

After another quarter of an hour, she heard movement on the other side of the door. Pierce entered.

Sarah let out another whimper.

Placing the objects he carried on the nearby table, Pierce slowly walked towards her. Dressed only in black trousers with a bare chest and feet. Without the trappings of civilization, he looked even more powerful and ominous. Primal. Untamed.

Placing a finger under her chin, he raised her head to meet his gaze. Taking in her beautiful green eyes bright with unshed tears, he asked, “Why do you cry?”

“I don’t want to be spanked,” sniffed Sarah. “It hurts.”

“I’m not going to spank you.”

“You’re not?” she asked with a ray of hope.

“No, I have a much more special punishment for you this time.”

“Please, no,” she whined.

“You put yourself in danger. You doubted my care for you. You must be severely punished so you never do either again,” he stated with emotion.

Sarah lowered her head, knowing there was nothing she could say to deter him. It would probably only serve to make her punishment worse.

Pierce looked down at his prostrate little one, bare to his scrutiny. A shining onyx curtain of hair, gently provided some modesty. Falling over her shoulders and covering her breasts. He could just make out the small, pink tips of her nipples poking through. Her slender thighs hid all but the barest hint of the soft curls at their apex. Her full lips trembled as she struggled to appear poised.

Pierce reached behind him for the brownie camera. Taking the small black box in hand, he captured the image. The perfect contrast of wanton innocence. Of fearful anticipation.

Anticipation. Through her fear, he knew there was anticipation. He could smell the heated musk of her arousal in the close room. She may not enjoy the punishment but she loved being punished by him, of that he was certain.

Sarah shivered as she watched him cross to the large wooden cabinet. He returned with a long purple silk sash in his hand…but no riding crop. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

Pierce stood before her. Reaching out, he grasped one thick curl. Pulling the lustrous length across his palm, he looked down into her upturned face. “You are mine. Do you understand that?”

Sarah nodded.

Pierce gave her hair a fierce tug bringing tears to her eyes from the sting.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Yes, my lord,” she breathed.

Pierce circled around her kneeling form, gathering her dark tresses up into one hand, he twisted…and twisted again. Fisting her hair, he yanked her head back and whispered roughly into her ear, “I’m going to make sure you never forget.”

Sarah’s back arched as his purple silk covered knuckles ran down its center. Stopping at the top curve of her bottom.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered gruffly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sarah obeyed. She felt the cool silk sash envelope her slim wrists, giving a small gasp when he pulled it tight.

Following Pierce with wide anxious eyes, she watched as he moved across the room to the table by the door. Picking up a delicate porcelain bowl, he returned to her side. Placing the bowl on the bench, Sarah could see it was filled with whipped butter.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed.

Once she complied, Pierce placed his hands on his hips. Slowly, watching every nuance of her reaction, he moved to unbutton his trousers. The fabric slid down his muscled thighs. His rigid shaft mere inches from Sarah’s mouth. She stared. Fascinating by its almost sinister appearance. It was so long and thick. The bulbous head adding to the girth. The shaft widened at the base, ending in a tuft of black hair. She watched as his strong hand wrapped around the staff, slowly moving up and down its length. A small drop of cream formed at the head. Without thought, Sarah licked her lips.

Picking up the bowl, he scooped some of its creamy contents onto the tips of his fingers.

“Open your mouth.”

Her lips fell open, slightly.

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Sarah opened her mouth, wide.

Pierce pushed his fingers into her mouth. Coating her tongue with the butter. He scooped up more and repeated the gesture.

“This is sweet cream butter,” he explained.

Sarah could taste the honeyed cream as it melted on her tongue.

“You are going to use your mouth to coat my cock with the cream.” Then leaning in close to her mouth he taunted, “Do a good job, little one. It is the only balm you will get before I force my cock deep into your bottom.”

Sarah moaned afraid to speak. She tried shaking her head, pleading with her eyes.

Pierce gripped her jaw, pushing her mouth open with one hand before placing a final dollop of sweet butter cream on her tongue with the other. A small drop of melted butter slid down her bottom lip. Pierce caught it with the tip of his finger, bringing it to his own mouth. “Sweet,” he murmured with a wink. “Time to start your punishment.”

Keeping his hand on her jaw, Pierce placed the head of his cock between her lips. Feeling the cooling cream caress the sensitive tip, he pushed further in. “Swirl your tongue around the shaft,” he commanded. His voice hoarse with desire.

Sarah struggled to accept his cock. It filled her whole mouth. Her tongue swished under the shaft as she struggled to breathe through her nose. The heavy head pressed further in, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to jerk forward on a gag, her teeth scraping against his shaft. Pierce only groaned and thrust his hips forward. Sarah could feel the melted butter slide down her throat as the head of his cock followed, choking her.

She pulled on her binds in a desperate attempt to free her hands so she could push him away. She arched her back, moving her head away. Pierce fisted her hair and forced her head forward. Sarah’s scream was muffled as his shaft slid past her unwilling lips, pushing, thrusting, pushing until it thrust deep. Her nose touched his abdomen. He relented, pulling free. One frantic gasp of air, and his cock was back in her mouth. His hand at the back of her head, pushing her forward. Her tongue swirled and swished, trying to push him out to no avail. Once again, he pulled free.

Scooping the last of the butter, he placed it in her gaping mouth, “Last chance to coat my cock,” he warned. Sarah desperately tried to obey, pushing the dollop of butter around in her mouth, over and under his shaft. “Good girl.”

Pierce gently pulled free. Using the hand fisted in her hair, he pushed her head all the way down to the upholstered bench. The movement caused her to teeter forward on her knees.

“Put your bottom in the air. Arch your back,” he ordered harshly with a quick warning smack on her exposed bottom cheek.

With her mouth free, Sarah began to cry and plead. “Please, I’m begging you don’t do this! I promise I will never run away again!”

Pierce spread open her bottom cheeks. Observing her tight back passage as it trembled and clenched, he said, “I intend to make sure you never do.”

Placing the tip of his sweet cream coated cock at her entrance, he pushed. She resisted. He pushed harder. The tiny hole began to weaken. Placing his thumb against the end of his shaft for more support, he thrust harder. Breaking through the muscled ring, the head slipped into her bottom.

Sarah let out a screech at the sharp, stinging pain. She tried dropping her hips, lowering her bottom to escape the pain.

Pierce enclosed her slight hips with his large hands, holding her in place for his assault.

Slowly. He thrust his hips forward. Watching as her tight hole widened to unwillingly accept his cock. The delicate pink skin stretching and straining. Inside her bottom clenched and pulled, surrounding him in tight heat.

Sarah’s fingers fisted and twisted against her binds as she tearfully cried into the plush bench. The pain was unbearable. Unlike the burning stinging of the ginger, this was a straining fullness that felt wrong. Her stomach cramped. Her toes curled. Her whole body shook.

“Please, my lord! No more! Please,” she cried. “It hurts. Oh god it hurts!”

Pierce remained silent knowing her pain was just beginning. The melted butter would only provide so much balm to her tortured bottom hole. She would soon feel the harsh burn of him thrusting into her. Still holding her cheeks open, he pushed. Her bottom was compelled to accept more of his rigid shaft. Giving a harsh final push with his hips, he buried his full length.

Sarah bit the cushion of the bench as she screamed in pain. Her stomach twisted into knots. It was as if he had speared straight through her body. Everything hurt. There was a building pressure. The fullness stretching her. Her body straining, resisting.

Pierce gave several slow, full thrusts. Opening her.

Finally, he pulled free. The head of his cock just resting at her now open back passage. He reached for his ever-present camera. Placing the tip at the entrance to her forbidden hole, he released the shutter. Then he thrust forward to the hilt. The movement causing Sarah to rock forward, moaning in despair. Pierce took another photograph of his shaft buried deep in her sore bottom.

Tossing the camera aside, Pierce once more took hold of her hips. Staring down at the soft, round curves of her bottom. The creamy expanse of her pale back. Her hair falling in waves around her sloped shoulders. He thrust. She whimpered. He thrust again. She moaned and shifted her bottom. Holding her steady, he began to move his hips in a slowly increasing rhythm. With each stab of his cock, her bottom weakened a little more. She opened. She accepted his mastery.

Pierce pressed the advantage. Prodding her with more force, more violence. Unleashing.

Sarah’s body rocked back and forth with the force of his thrusts. She opened her mouth on a silent scream. Her breath caught. Her lungs seized. Her whole body bowed. Her back painfully arched as he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled. Still he thrust. The balm of the butter long gone, her opening began to burn from the stretching and strain. Still he thrust.

Raising his hand, he lowered it for one hard painful spank on her vulnerable right cheek. As the imprint of his hand glowed an angry red on her flawless skin, marking her, he found his release. Gripping her hips, he pushed deep, pouring his seed deep in her bottom before collapsing on her smooth back.

He quickly shifted to her front. Clutching her to his chest as she cried. Reaching behind he loosened her binds.

“Hush, hush, my love. It is all over now.”

“It still hurts,” she whimpered petulantly. “I promise I will never do anything to make you punish me like that again.”

Pierce did not think it was the time to tell her he would be taking her bottom often whether she deserved it as a punishment or no. Instead, he stroked her hair and bare hip as he whispered soft nonsense into her ear.

After her tremors stopped, Pierce moved to stroke her cunny. “Would my good girl like her reward for taking her punishment so well?”

Embarrassed, Sarah snuggled deeper into his side…as she nodded her head yes.

Pierce was in his study several days later when he got the news he had been waiting on. He had sent word to his barrister to look into Victoria. While the information provided was startling, it did confirm his suspicions.

Victoria was the murderer…and he was the reason why.

Opening his bottom desk drawer, he withdrew a heavy, polished mahogany box. Using a key from his pocket, he unlocked the box and stared down at the contents. A matched pair of percussion locked French dueling pistols. Leaving strict instructions with Parker that he is not to let Sarah out of his sight Pierce left for Mrs. Needham’s, but not before he sent a footman to fetch a few constables to meet him and another footman to ask his Brotherhood for help.

~*~

He found the entire household in an uproar. A hysterical Mrs. Needham flew into his arms. “Lord Warrington! You have to stop her!”

Quickly scanning the formal parlor, he took in the ruined chaos. Curtains ripped from their rings. Large angry slashes in the chair upholstery. A small table smashed to pieces.

He didn’t bother to ask her who, he already knew. “What happened?”

“A private inspector was here earlier asking about a Victoria Weald. I told him we had no such person here but we did have a Victoria Lightwood. I went to search for her but she was nowhere to be found. Then as soon as he left she came tearing up from the kitchens. It was horrifying. She had Cook’s butcher knife. She started slashing everything and screaming nonsense.” Mrs. Needham grabbed the lapels of his frock coat. “Her mind has come unhinged!”

Steadying Mrs. Needham by the shoulders, he asked urgently, “Where is she now?”

Mrs. Needham waved her lace handkerchief in front of her face. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“St. Bride’s church,” same a small voice from the corner of the room. It was Elma. “She’s at St. Bride’s Church. I’m certain of it. She goes there on her free days.”

Pierce nodded his thanks and turned to leave. He felt a tug on his sleeve.

Elma held fast. “It was her wasn’t it? Florence and…and Sarah?”

Pierce only nodded.

“I’m so sorry I made Sarah think it was you,” she tearfully apologized.

Pierce placed a reassuring hand against her cheek. “You were only being a true friend. You thought she was in danger and you were willing to protect her. You have nothing to apologize for.” With that, he left.

~*~

St. Bride’s Church, Fleet Street

The church was silent. The sanctum only disturbed by his own harsh breathing. Pierce waiting, listening. Finally, he heard it. A low scrabbling sound. The spire. He ran towards the back of the church to the stairs he knew led to the bell tower.

As he climbed the rickety wooden stairs, he could hear humming. A soft tune.

When he reached the narrow ledge top of the spire, Victoria was there…a horrific sight.

Dressed in a costumed wedding gown, she looked out over the dark London sky, softly humming Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. As she swayed, she slowly twisted and turned the sharp point of the butcher’s knife into her side. A crimson blossom was slowly seeping through the gown, covering her side.

Careful to keep his voice low, Pierce said, “Victoria?”

She turned with a start. Holding out a pale hand stained with blood, she called out, “Pierce! I knew you would come for me! I knew if I came to London you would find me.”

“Victoria, let’s go down into the church.”

“No, I want to stay here. Isn’t it romantic under the stars?” She started to hum the Wedding March again. Swaying to and fro.

“Please, Victoria. Come with me,” he urged.

Baring her teeth, eyes blazing with malice, she shouted, “I said no!” Then in a sickeningly sweet singsong voice, she sang, “I want to stay here. Under the stars. Where the bodies are. Where the bodies are.”

Pierce was at a loss. Her mind was fractured.

Pointing the knife at him, she laughed, “You almost had me fooled you know. Pretending you didn’t remember me! Remember we were engaged! I don’t blame you, dearest. I blame that whore, Sarah. I tried to warn her away. She wouldn’t listen! She wouldn’t listen! She wouldn’t listen!” Victoria started to smash the knife hilt against her forehead, causing it to bleed.

“Of course I remember you, Victoria,” Pierce coaxed. “Your father was a tenant on my father’s farm. We grew up together. How could I not remember you?”

“I knew it! I was only ten years old when I left but I knew you wouldn’t forget me! I knew you would find me. We are meant to be together. I’m sorry I hid away when I knew you were coming to Mrs. Needham’s. I wasn’t pretty enough that day. I needed to be pretty for you.”

“Yes, your father passed away and they took you from me to live with some relatives.” Pierce thought the only way to get her to safety and the help she desperately needed was to play along with her delusion. The truth was he didn’t remember her. He only remembered the name Weald. It was a family who had lived on his family’s land for generations. He vaguely remembered the patriarch dying suddenly and the rest of the family moving away. He did remember they had a young daughter.

Victoria started to laugh again. The sound sending a chill up Pierce’s spine. “Papa didn’t die silly! I killed him!”

Pierce’s stomach churned.
My god, her mind has been warped from the beginning.

“I told Papa I wanted to marry you.” Victoria stroked her long blond hair, turning it pink from the streaks of blood on her hand. “He told me I was the most beautiful girl in the county and of course you would marry me. I knew that me being a crofter’s daughter wouldn’t deter you but Papa started to brag to the other farmers in the tavern. He kept telling them you were going to marry me one day. Everyone laughed. He was ruining everything! They weren’t supposed to laugh! They weren’t supposed to know! It was going to be our romantic secret.” Swaying with her anger, she screeched, “It was our romantic secret not his!”

Pierce could hear the soft creak of the stairs. Detective Constable Chuzzlewit was below.

“Yes, Victoria, our secret. Just like Florence’s death.” He needed her to confess to help save Sarah.

“Oh no! That doesn’t have to be a secret, dearest. No one will care I killed her. They will know I did it out of love. Love for you!”

There was a loud crack. A wooden stair cracked under the pressure of Chuzzlewit’s substantial weight.

“What is that?” “What is that? You! You! You! You!” Victoria started pacing wildly, waving the knife in front of her. Her side started to bleed in earnest now. “You’re lying! You’re lying! You didn’t remember me! You don’t appreciate all I have done for us to be together.”

Pierce realized now there would be no reasoning with her. He carefully moved forward. If he could just grab her.

“I’ll show you! I’ll show you!”

She stepped up onto the stone ledge.

“Victoria, no!” Pierce called out lunging for her.

With a horrifying laugh, she spread her arms wide. “I’ll marry you in hell, Pierce Warrington.” With those final chilling words, she leaned back and fell out of sight.

Pierce ran to the ledge. Her body landed with a sickening thud on the flagstones beneath. The wedding veil stretched out beneath her. Pierce turned away. Chuzzlewit joined him. Shaking his head he said, “Poor thing. Mad as a hatter that one.”

His hand covering his mouth, Pierce could only nod his assent.

Placing a comforting hand on Pierce’s shoulder, Chuzzlewit consoled, “Go home to Sarah, Lord Warrington. I will take care of all this.”

“And the charges? The magistrate?”

Chuzzlewit nodded his understanding. “I’ll square it with the magistrate. I’ll get him to drop the charges against Sarah Grey.”

Pierce heard the statement with relief, knowing she would not be Sarah Grey for long. If he had his way, she would be answering to Lady Sarah Warrington before the week was out.

~*~

“Never fear good lady, we have come to save the day!”

Sarah looked up at the three strange elderly gentlemen who entered the parlor. Parker had been trying to keep her entertained all evening with games and books. It was no use, she was worried about Pierce. Nothing would be fine until he was home again, safe.

“It’s night,” said one of the gentlemen.

“What?” said the first.

“I said it’s night. You should have said we’ve come to save the night!”

“That doesn’t make sense,” griped the third.

Sarah looked to Parker for an explanation.

“Miss Grey, might I introduce, Lord Robinson, Lord Van der Weyde and Mr. Davison,” offered Parker.

Lord Robinson was a portly man who favored puce garments. His suit, waistcoat and frock coat all sporting the rather lurid color. He was holding what appeared to be an old family sword which certainly had, until this night, spent more time perched above a mantle than in actual battle. Lord Van der Weyde was thin, wiry and looked to be a hundred if he was a day. This poor gentleman was experiencing great difficulty holding a constable’s heavy wooden truncheon. The final man, a Mr. Davison, was the youngest of the small chivalric party. By young, he was teetering towards seventy, Sarah was sure. His weapon of choice seemed to be a large book.

Each man held up their weapon of choice and bravely announced in unison, “The Brotherhood of the Linked Ring, at your service,” before providing a courtly bow each.

“
You!
You’re the Brotherhood of the Linked Ring?” asked an astonished Sarah. From Victoria’s warning, she had, of course, envisioned a sinister group of brawny rakes roaming the vacant streets of London at night in search of innocent prey…not…well…not
these
gentlemen.

“We are, miss. Pierce, that is Lord Warrington, was supposed to meet us at the club this evening but sent word he was off to accost a murderer and asked that we rally to protect you!” announced Lord Robinson.

“Well, the note actually said to keep you company.” This from Lord Van der Weyde. He was also incidentally the gentleman concerned with night and day.

“Subtext, my boy! Subtext! This is why your photographs always lack substance!” scoffed Mr. Davison.

“My photographs! This from the person who couldn’t properly light a candle in sunlight!” rejoined Lord Van der Weyde.

Sarah was having a hard time taking it all in. “So you all enjoy taking photographs like Lord Warrington?”

“Of course! That is what the Brotherhood of the Linked Ring is founded upon. We are photography enthusiasts who believe a photograph is art no different from a painting and of course, not just some idle hobby.”

“Good, True, Beauty! The three rings. Our founding belief!” said Mr. Davison proudly.

“Since we are here whiling away the evening, perhaps you could show us Warrington’s new toy? He has been playing with it for weeks and refuses to share,” offered Lord Van der Weyde with a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye.

“His new toy?” said a confused Sarah. After a moment’s thought, she exclaimed, “Oh you must mean the Brownie camera!”

“Ah ha! I told you Robinson! That old dog Warrington sweet talked George Eastman into giving him one of his new-fangled small cameras!” announced Mr. Davison.

“Might we see it?” asked Lord Robinson of Sarah.

Sarah blushed a scarlet red as she remembered the photographs that were on the paper film inside the camera. She did not know enough of about photographic equipment. Would they be able to see the photographs if they opened the black box? Best not to risk it she thought.

“
Dang it
! Er…I mean dash it all. I believe he keeps it in a locked cabinet and neither I nor Parker have a key,” lied Sarah.

All three men looked visibly crestfallen.

“May I offer you gentlemen some of his lordship’s best brandy?” asked Parker, acknowledging Sarah’s grateful look with a quick nod.

That perked them all up immensely.

“While we are waiting for Warrington’s return, I have brought my photographs of the Welsh landscape to keep us entertained,” offered Mr. Davison excitedly.

Lord Robinson and Lord Van der Weyde stifled a groan. Accepting a brandy from Parker, they both settled down before the fire to wait for Warrington. Perhaps he will be so grateful for their protection of Miss Grey, he will let them play with Eastman’s new camera.

Sarah shared a smile with Parker. She already liked these three peculiar gentlemen and was grateful for their company. Now if only Pierce would come home…all would be well! He would protect her, of that she was certain. He had promised and Pierce always kept his promise.