Page 42 of In Service to the Duke

Blackport’s movements are mesmerizing as he takes the pen knife and slides it across the thick flesh of this vegetable. Each stroke is purposeful, masterful, as if preparing for a dinner instead of punishing me. I shouldn’t ache as I watch him, shouldn’t want him to touch me in such a masterful way… especially since I don’t even know what that entails.

After several agonizing minutes, he removes the outer bits, revealing the pale interior. From there, he continues to whittle away, morphing it into something only he knows the shape of. It has a bulbous head but then narrows, only to flare out again.

It confuses me. When preparing this food for dinner, I cut it into thin slices. Never did it ever look this way. Without saying a word, he leaves from behind his desk and once more takes up residence behind me. Soon, his fingers graze my backside, the touch gentle and intimate.

When it drops lower, touching that part of me no one is supposed to even look upon, save a physician, I jerk forward. He’s touched me here before, and each time it’s made me ache in the most agonizing yet delicious way. The way I crave his fingers as they stroke me only adds to the guilt staining my soul.

If only he can just punish me and let me drift away. As if he hears my silent prayers, he drags his fingers away, taking some of that blasted liquid with him. As he’s done in the past, he skims my bottom hole, forcing a whine to erupt from my throat.

It’s barely audible as I bite down on my lip, doing my best to keep quiet. But I know he hears it. He sees and hears everything. Nothing ever seems to escape his watchful eye.

Ignoring my protest, he presses his finger inside, fanning the flames until I’m nearly engulfed. Memories of my dreams pound in my brain, making it hard to understand what’s real and what’s just a mirage. This time, when I moan, it’s not for him to stop.

Unable to help myself, I arch my hips, impaling him even more. It’s as if my body knows and understands what my heart and mind cannot. In and out, he pumps his thick digit until I’m panting. Dropping the ginger next to my head, he reaches around and gently tugs on my lip.

“I want to hear you, sweet girl. I want your cries of pleasure to fill my ears. But don’t be too loud, or everyone will know what naughty things we’re doing behind these closed doors. You wouldn’t wish to entrap yourself, would you?”

At his words, I freeze. Everything stops for a moment as I try to process what he just said to me. I’m not the one at fault here. He’s the one taking liberties with me.

“Shhh, sweetling,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand against my bottom. “I only say this in jest. But I do require you to continue being quiet. This part is indeed in earnest. Can you do that for me? Can you continue to be my good girl and grant me the gift of your pleasure where only I can hear it?”

How can I resist that request? Looking over my shoulder, I note the intensity in his gaze. It steals my breath and makes everything clench. Even my bottom hold tightens around his finger, drawing a gasp from my lips.

“Yes, Your Grace,” I manage to rasp out, digging my nails into the desk. “I can certainly try.”

“That’s its,” he purrs, pulling his finger out. “I knew you could do it for me.”

The instant he leaves my body, I miss him. I want to be filled, to have him remove this ache which continues to build. But then, knowing him, this is all part of my punishment. To make me burn hotter than the sun, only to take away the warmth.

After a moment or two, something else prods that forbidden hole. Something wet and cold. Instantly, I realize it must be the ginger. He’s not going to force me to eat it after all! And yet, having him put it there feels so much worse. It’s far too humiliating to contemplate.

He presses it deep inside me, stretching me open. My tight ring burns as it accommodates the girth, and yet, I find I want it to hurt even more. As he pushes forward, he grants my wish.

The bulbous head feels enormous. My fingers scrabble along the wood as I pull forward, desperate to flee. Blackport wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me in place as he relentlessly shoves this vegetable inside me.

“Please,” I cry out, tempering my voice to stay low and quiet despite the hysteria racing through me. “I- I can’t. Please.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Gillet. I think you can. You’ve taken almost half of it up your arse. Almost there. Be a good governess for me and take your punishment. Breathe for me.”

I suck in a large gulp of air.

“That’s my good girl. Now relax. It will hurt far worse if you fight it. Don’t fight me, love. Let me punish you. Allow me to grant you absolution.”

My body drops against the desk as I will the fight to leave my body. Based on the way he melts against me, I did the right thing. His heat infuses me, enveloping me until I have no choice but to calm down.

Again, he pushes the ginger into me, his movements slow but purposeful. The burn as he opens me up floods my body, twisting me about until I’m panting underneath him. Thankfully, before I can cry out, begging him to stop, it slips the rest of the way in.

Now I understand why he cut it the way he did. My bottom hole snaps shut around the smaller part, keeping it lodged inside me. Panting, I writhe beneath him as my mind tries to make sense of the sensations flooding my system. But I can’t think. Nothing wants to work.

Pulling me off of the desk, Blackport gazes down into my eyes. His are nearly black. I should be frightened, but I’m not. I feel no fear when I’m in his arms. Breathing in deeply, I scent him, just as scandalously as he’s scented me.

Beneath the pine and honeysuckle, there’s a darker scent. It’s earthy and wild, like a storm brewing in the forest. A shiver races down my spine. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the need to flee niggles at me. Somehow, I know that look bodes ill for both of us.

He moves away from me, the sudden emptiness making me sway a bit. I watch the muscles play across his back as he walks over to a basin and washes his hands. When he comes back, his eyes look almost normal again, as if he had to collect himself.

Resting his hands on my shoulders, he pushes me down until I’m kneeling before him. But this is nothing like church. My pulse races, pounding in my ears as I look up at him.

My bottom hole aches and stretches a touch more in this position, reminding me of the ginger lodged up in there. Moments go by where he watches me, but neither of us says a word. After a bit longer, I squirm about as heat blazes from my back entrance.