The Punishment of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 3) by Sierra Simone Page A
Authors: Sierra Simone
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“I only ask that I be the only one to fuck her.”
And then I stepped back. As soon as my hand left her, she visibly tensed, and I knew this was something that both scared and secretly delighted her, the strangeness of having many mouths and hands on her, the vulnerability of being exposed and exhibited.
Silas was the first to step forward, with a wink at me, and then he leaned down and whispered briefly in her ear. I saw her relax the slightest bit. She trusted Silas; he was a known—and charmingly kind—quantity. He told her something else as his hand brushed lightly over her stiffened nipples and she gasped, squirming unconsciously toward the stimulation. Soon others came closer, caressing her limbs and dropping kisses on sensitive sections of flesh. Spikes of jealousy flashed through me, sending jolts of arousal straight to my groin. It was delicious torture, watching this, watching others tease her into arousal and then coax that arousal into climax. It made me feel violent and possessive and so very, very in love at the same time. It was like the pain and envy highlighted the lines and borders of my feelings for her, like a contrasting dye on fabric, making every sensation sharper and more vivid.
Ah, never mind. I couldn’t even properly explain it to myself. Who can ever really explain the parameters of lust? Or what sparks arousal? By its very nature, it doesn’t make sense logically or empirically. It’s something that speaks to the deepest parts of our minds and bodies, something that bypasses reason, societal mores, and even our sense of shame. All I knew was that I was ravenous with the desire to watch Ivy come on this table, and come hard.
“She’s quite beautiful,” the Baron murmured.
“She is,” I agreed, watching her hands grip their ties as someone finally brushed against her pussy.
Gravendon put a hand on my shoulder. “I hope you’ve finally found happiness, Julian. You deserve it.”
I looked at this man, my mentor in so many things. Though he was only older than me by a few years, he had already been completely settled and secure in his desires and practices when I met him as a young man, still reeling from Arabella’s death. It was as if while the rest of us had to wrestle and realize and continually rediscover who we were, Gravendon had simply sprung from the ground fully formed, a muscled god of sex and power. He had found me, grieving and confused by these impulses that I couldn’t control, and had shown me his world. It was then that I saw who I really was, what I couldn’t deny myself being. He had helped shape me more than my parents.
I answered, “Yes, I think I finally have.”
“Good.” He said it warmly, with great affection. “And anyway, her aunt is asleep in my bed, and I very much would like to have that be a repeat occurrence. So you’re not allowed to alienate her niece.” He smiled the smile of a man who’d just discovered a new treasure.
“You and Esther…” I had been right after all. She was one of us.
As if reading my thoughts, Gravendon said, “Yes. She’s quite a treat. A natural submissive, a true submissive. I only have to speak and she can’t help but to act.” There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes that I rarely saw when he talked about his partners—generally the Baron only engaged in sex, not anything resembling emotional attachment. “She’s never been properly taken care of before. She nearly cried with happiness afterward.” He shook his head. “It was quite gratifying.”
“Congratulations. That’s quite a conquest.”
“It was unexpected, to say the least. I plan on asking her to return. Or to stay.” He looked over at Ivy, who was now panting. “May I?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
He smiled at the irony and walked over to the table. Ivy seemed to sense there was something different about his touch, because she froze as he moved a wide hand from her neck, down between her breasts, to her cunt, which
And then I stepped back. As soon as my hand left her, she visibly tensed, and I knew this was something that both scared and secretly delighted her, the strangeness of having many mouths and hands on her, the vulnerability of being exposed and exhibited.
Silas was the first to step forward, with a wink at me, and then he leaned down and whispered briefly in her ear. I saw her relax the slightest bit. She trusted Silas; he was a known—and charmingly kind—quantity. He told her something else as his hand brushed lightly over her stiffened nipples and she gasped, squirming unconsciously toward the stimulation. Soon others came closer, caressing her limbs and dropping kisses on sensitive sections of flesh. Spikes of jealousy flashed through me, sending jolts of arousal straight to my groin. It was delicious torture, watching this, watching others tease her into arousal and then coax that arousal into climax. It made me feel violent and possessive and so very, very in love at the same time. It was like the pain and envy highlighted the lines and borders of my feelings for her, like a contrasting dye on fabric, making every sensation sharper and more vivid.
Ah, never mind. I couldn’t even properly explain it to myself. Who can ever really explain the parameters of lust? Or what sparks arousal? By its very nature, it doesn’t make sense logically or empirically. It’s something that speaks to the deepest parts of our minds and bodies, something that bypasses reason, societal mores, and even our sense of shame. All I knew was that I was ravenous with the desire to watch Ivy come on this table, and come hard.
“She’s quite beautiful,” the Baron murmured.
“She is,” I agreed, watching her hands grip their ties as someone finally brushed against her pussy.
Gravendon put a hand on my shoulder. “I hope you’ve finally found happiness, Julian. You deserve it.”
I looked at this man, my mentor in so many things. Though he was only older than me by a few years, he had already been completely settled and secure in his desires and practices when I met him as a young man, still reeling from Arabella’s death. It was as if while the rest of us had to wrestle and realize and continually rediscover who we were, Gravendon had simply sprung from the ground fully formed, a muscled god of sex and power. He had found me, grieving and confused by these impulses that I couldn’t control, and had shown me his world. It was then that I saw who I really was, what I couldn’t deny myself being. He had helped shape me more than my parents.
I answered, “Yes, I think I finally have.”
“Good.” He said it warmly, with great affection. “And anyway, her aunt is asleep in my bed, and I very much would like to have that be a repeat occurrence. So you’re not allowed to alienate her niece.” He smiled the smile of a man who’d just discovered a new treasure.
“You and Esther…” I had been right after all. She was one of us.
As if reading my thoughts, Gravendon said, “Yes. She’s quite a treat. A natural submissive, a true submissive. I only have to speak and she can’t help but to act.” There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes that I rarely saw when he talked about his partners—generally the Baron only engaged in sex, not anything resembling emotional attachment. “She’s never been properly taken care of before. She nearly cried with happiness afterward.” He shook his head. “It was quite gratifying.”
“Congratulations. That’s quite a conquest.”
“It was unexpected, to say the least. I plan on asking her to return. Or to stay.” He looked over at Ivy, who was now panting. “May I?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
He smiled at the irony and walked over to the table. Ivy seemed to sense there was something different about his touch, because she froze as he moved a wide hand from her neck, down between her breasts, to her cunt, which
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