The Forbidden Room (Fairy Tales Behaving Badly) Read online

  With a gasp, Melisande turned. Standing before her was a dark-haired man, tall enough that her head only came up against his chest. His eyes were an intriguing shade of green, like a cat’s, and he had a handsome, intelligent face that hinted of cruelty. The intensity of his gaze pinned her to the spot, and she felt her legs grow weak, unable to summon the strength to move or run even if she tried. Surely this must be the Marquise of Eddom. Her fiancé.

  “I am sorry,” she blurted out, her cheeks burning, from the things she had seen in the room, from the shame of having been disobedient, and from the fear of what he might do to her now that he has discovered her where she should not have been.

  “I come home early from my trip, eager to meet my betrothed, and this is what greets me. It would appear you are not quite as docile or as obedient as I had been led to believe.” His eyes studied her, and what she saw there sent an unexpected thrill through her body, at the mixture of possessiveness and lustful anger in his gaze.

  “It will never happen again,” she whispered, unable to think of anything else to vindicate her actions.

  “There are the rules to consider, kitten. Did not my servant tell you all who step inside this room must receive punishment?” The way he lingered on that last word made her shiver. “Did you not agree to this?”

  “Yes,” she whimpered.

  “Then I must be a man of my word. Raise yourself onto my table.”

  There was a long wooden table in the room, suggestively bare. Trembling, she did as he had instructed, settling herself on the edge of it, looking back at him with frightened blue eyes.

  “Lie down,” he said, stripping himself of the dark gloves he wore, “and open your legs.”

  Melisande closed her eyes, letting her thighs fall apart. She heard him approach, felt him lift her skirts up over her waist, exposing the small, plain shift she wore underneath. She felt him rub against the cloth, pressing up against her soft places, and she whined despite herself.

  Almost immediately, a sharp slap was administered to her buttocks. “Did I tell you to make a sound, Melisande?” Another smack followed, and her body jerked.

  “No, my lord,” she moaned.

  “You will make no noise, my little slut.” The word sent another thrill through her, the obvious need in his voice inflaming her own. “Lift yourself up. Watch me punish you.”

  She complied, whimpered again, when he forced her legs close only long enough to draw the smallcloth down her legs, and then spread them apart again. She made herself watch as the man reached down, tracing a finger along her mound, at the pink valley within. She watched as he slowly opened up her nether lips, stroked at the round nub there with his rough thumb, flicking against the sensitive flesh. Melisande bit her lip in desperation, and it took every fiber of her being not to cry out and risk more penalties. He moved lower, the tip of his finger probing into her, and she shuddered, at the feeling of being pierced there for the very first time.

  “Have you done this before, Melisande?” The finger pushed deeper into her, and she had to lift one hand for her teeth to sink into, muffling the little groans she made. He rubbed against her tight walls, which clamped down on the intruding digit, gripping it hard. “Have you ever taken a man inside your beautiful little pussy?”

  When she did not answer immediately, his other hand moved to smack her buttocks again, hard. “Answer me!”

  “No,” Melisande moaned out as he added another finger, forcing her tight walls to stretch around them until he reached the barrier that was her maidenhead. “Ah, and there is the proof,” he rasped. “You disappoint me, Melisande. I would have taken you properly like a good husband, made you come on our marriage bed the way I would a proper little wife. But as you have disobeyed one simple order…” He withdrew his fingers, and she whined, feeling empty. She was unaware of what he intended until she felt something cold and metallic locking into place around her ankle. There was a small chain built into the table, she realized, and it now held her leg immobile.

  “… now I have no choice but to fuck you like the little wanton whore you want to be.”

  He did the same to her other leg, affixing another chain there, leaving her spread-eagled and helpless. Now he returned to the curls between her thighs, parting her there once more.

  “Never disobey me again, Melisande.”

  She nodded, and bit her lip as he used both his thumbs to spread her lips, so sure he could see all the way into her depths. He leaned forward, his face burying itself between her legs, and his tongue darted out.

  “Oh!” Melisande bucked up, as he lapped at her pink folds, tracing the quivering little nub there before sucking gently on it. She could not stop the cries from spilling out of her mouth as he increased the pleasure, teeth grazing against her most delicate flesh. She squealed when he added his finger again, sawing back and forth inside her even as his mouth drank in her dewy wetness, even as his tongue swirled and stabbed.

  And then she felt another finger, wet from her juices, pressing against the puckered entrance between her cheeks.

  “No!” She tried to struggle. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined that anyone would seek to - to put it inside her that way….

  He responded with another slap, her buttocks already red from his previous abuse. “You swore to obey me, little slut!” He snarled.

  Her backside burning, Melisande could only moan this time, but did not resist while he continued to open her up, the finger penetrating her inch by burning inch even as another slid into the wet depths of her willing entrance. “Do you know what this is, Melisande? Here are two of my fingers, sliding their way into your willing pussy. Say it for me, Melisande. Tell me what my fingers are doing.”

  “They’re… they’re sliding up my… “ she moaned, “oh! My willing pussy.”

  “Good girl. And where is my other finger, my dear?” The digit flexed inside her, making her squirm.

  “It… it’s inside my… backside.”

  “In your ass, Melisande. My finger is fucking your sweet little ass. Say it.”

  “Your finger is… fucking my… my sweet, little ass.”

  “Good.” His mouth came down on her again, and Melisande was lost to the feelings that took her all at once. Two fingers, moving in and out of her pussy. Another finger, stretching the dark entrance between her cheeks; so much more harder and rougher than the others, skewering her with long, furious strokes. And then his mouth, his expert tongue flicking at her sweet nub, coaxing her into greater and greater heights… until Melisande exploded, arching off the table with a long scream as her walls clenched around him, so intense she wished for it to stop, and yet at the same time to never do.

  She was limp and quivering by the time he withdrew his fingers, the evidence of her wetness pooling at the edge of the table and dripping down into the stone floor. “Very good, Melisande.” Her would-be husband said, and she felt him undo the metal clasps that bound her ankles. “You have done well. But I am afraid I must now complete the rest of your punishment.”

  He forced her on her hands and knees so that she was facing away from him, her buttocks lifted off the table. In this position he chained her ankles again, moved up to also chain her wrists, so she could not move her body at all. Frantic at what he might do to her, Melisande tried to look behind her, and saw him with a black riding crop in his hands. “No,” she gasped, her struggles increasing.

  “Yes,” he mocked, taking pleasure in her fear. “Do not be too afraid, my sweet. This is a special invention of mine, built for pleasure as much for pain.” She could feel the rough leather sliding up her bare thighs, coming to rest against her core, and she groaned. “Permit me to demonstrate.”

  The tip of the crop flicked against her, and Melisande’s body jerked forward, straining to get away from it despite the futility of her actions. Her fiance showed her no mercy. Again and again, the torturous whip landed against her buttocks, sending shots of electricity through her. It was pain, but one that carri
ed with it the promise of ecstasy. Her cheeks were red and sensitive to the touch by the time he was done with her, and it only took a finger running along the shape of her thighs to make her moan in desperation. Her hips were gyrating without her knowing it, unconsciously seeking out more.

  “You liked it, didn’t you?” She heard him say. “See how wet you are. See how drenched your cunt is.” A finger rubbed against her, and she screamed from the sensation.

  “Do you know why I chose you, Melisande?” She could barely shake her head. He moved in front of her. “I saw you at the marketplace one day. You were beautiful and demure. Fool that I was, I stopped by the market nearly everyday, until I could determine your habits, remember the days you would come to sell your vegetables. I inquired about you, learned of your village and of your sweet nature. I wanted you from the first day I laid eyes on you. Do you remember me? You dropped an apple, once, and I returned it to you.”

  Melisande shivered at his confession, the heat between her thighs still unquenched. She remembered that day. The stranger had been hooded so that little of his face could be seen, but his smile as he gave her back the apple she had lost had been slow and knowing. His hand had lingered by hers, and she had stepped closer to him without thinking, her body taking in the light musk, the spicy masculine smell of him. She realized what she was doing just in time and stepped back, cheeks flushed. She had behaved poorly that day, but the stranger had not seemed to mind, bowing to her before taking his leave.

  “I knew you would never consent to be any man’s mistress, no matter how much money he might lavish on you. And yet I could tell there was passion underneath all your sweetness, one I could shape to my own desires. I suspected my reputation would frighten you, so I sought other means. Until then, I could not stop thinking of your face, the way your body had leaned into mine, tempting me. I wanted you that day, would have thrown you atop the nearest table in that marketplace and drove my cock into you if I could. Have you seen my latest statue? I had it commissioned shortly after.”

  He gestured at one of the bronze statues in the room that was closest to the table, and Melisande gasped. It was the statue she had been exploring when the Marquise had entered; the statue of a girl constrained in the same way she was now, on her knees and elbows with her backside thrust into the air. She saw the look of pleasurable excitement in her expression. It looked so much like her, Melisande realized now, recognizing her features in the bronze woman’s. The man behind her was in the process of plowing his thick cock into her, his face lesser defined, but seemed to carry with it the Marquise’s arrogant bearing.

  “When I heard of the plague that swept through your village, I had feared for you. I sent healers to your village with the express instruction of saving you, though I am sorry they could not save your father and mother.” Melisande gasped softly. So it was the Marquise of Eddom who had been responsible for saving so many of the villagers, many who may not have made it had they not come. “I had wanted to take more time and introduce myself to you, to court you as you deserved. I knew you loved your village, but I knew you were struggling. In time you might leave, or accept another’s proposal. And so I acted. I took advantage of your good heart and your misfortune, but I am not sorry, for I would do it again. Can you still bear it, living with such a man? Will you choose to take your chances elsewhere - or remain with me?”

  She looked up at him then, and something in the look in his eyes, in the twist of his mouth, told her that if she chose to leave, he would set her free in that instant, despite all his desires, for all his tender harshness. “I would like to try,” she whispered, a swift tremor passing through her at her own words, and his green eyes darkened.

  “Are you willing to give up your body to me, Melisande, to have in each and every way I desire?” The dark promise in those words, the rough way he said them, only made her quiver, more wetness spilling down her thighs.

  “Yes, milord,” she whispered, only wanting him to ease the ache inside her, knew what he must do to accomplish this.

  He smiled at her then, low and seductive. He moved out of her vision again, and her eyes widened as she felt him again behind her, felt her strong, lean fingers drawing her pouting lips apart, exposing her wet, depraved little core for him. She felt the cool air touch her there, heat and shame rushing through her. Something soft and warm began to probe at her depths. The Marquise’s finger, sliding into her sopping wetness. Soon, his mouth joined it, began to explore her thoroughly, the bridge of his nose nudging into her reddened cheeks, his breath hot against her inflamed skin.

  Melisande cried out at the twin sensations, so different and yet so similar, the swirling tension in her belly growing with every second that his mouth lavished at her tight cunny, lapping at her sweet nectar. He changed direction abruptly, his expert tongue no longer a soft, stroking implement, but now a rough, piercing instrument, surging into her. He had withdrawn his finger, and both his hands gripped the back of her thighs to prevent her from moving back and forth against him, rendering her vulnerable to his tongue, which retreated to circle her exposed nub before stabbing back into her snug tunnel. Her clasping channel squeezed tightly around the invader, her fingers clawing at the wooden table beneath her.

  She cried out again when he stopped, this time from frustration. She felt him rise, felt the undeniable sounds of his breeches being unfastened, the rustle of cloth.

  “Do you know what I am about to do to you now, Melisande?” He asked, voice all but growling with need.

  She whimpered, was rewarded with another slap against her buttocks. “Yes,” she gasped into the table.

  “Tell me, Melisande. Tell me what I am about to do to you.”

  “You’re about to put your… your hard thing, inside me….”

  “I am going to put my hard cock inside you, Melisande. I am going to pleasure your innocent, delicious little cunt with my thick prick. Tell me.”

  “You… you are going to put your hard… cock, inside me. You are going to pleasure my innocent, delicious little cunt, w-with your thick… ah!” He was pressing against her again, but this time with something larger, harder. Oh, so many times larger. He rubbed against her dewy folds, and she could feel the tip pf him probing there, before moving further down, to lodge itself against her clasping tightness.

  “Tell me to fuck you, Melisande.” He was forcing himself into her, inch by slow inch, and Melisande fought to bring her knees together, instinctively trying to stop his hard shaft from entering further. All she got for her efforts was to make herself tighter for him, her cunt lips squeezing around his length and only pushing him deeper. She moaned at his invasion as he opened her up, at the feeling of being so unbearably stretched.

  “Please, I… ohh…”

  He stopped when he came upon her maidenhead, and the pain increased. She could only sob her relief as she felt him withdraw, giving her a moment’s respite before he lunged forward again without warning, impaling her throbbing pussy and depriving her of her virginity in one hard, smooth stroke.

  She screamed, pain shooting up her belly as her hips bucked, trying in her panic to keep him from entering her any deeper.

  “Shh,” he soothed, as his finger reached around her to return to the soft curls between her thighs, gently stimulating the nub there while he waited for her to grow accustomed to his cock, hard and throbbing and immense inside her. He teased her, patient and caressing, until more wetness spilled out of her, priming her body for more to come.

  Melisande whimpered when she felt him ease out, at the delicious friction of his cock rasping against her inner walls. It sent little jolts of unplanned pleasure through her. He moved back until only the tip remained, then thrust forward again with just as much force as he had done that first time, and Melisande wailed as he forced her pussy to accept his cock, lodging deep. The pain was lesser this time, faint tendrils of bliss taking its place.

  He rocked into her with slow, short thrusts, pausing every now and then to withdraw fully
and plunge into her again, making her shake and roll her hips each time he did so. Once she began to relax, once most of the hurt had disappeared, he began to ram harder into her sheath. She could do nothing but accept his thick prick as it slid across a spot inside her that made her keen aloud, his heavy balls slapping against her still-sensitive buttocks as he impaled her cunny.

  Each delicious thrust sent her tightening around him, and she could hear the Marquise grunt every time his hips slammed into her. Finally she could take no more, and her cries were long and loud as pleasure burst forth, seeking to encompass every part of her, the first she had ever experienced.

  As she slowly came down from the heights of her ecstasy, she noticed that the Marquise had stopped his thrusting, his heavy breathing hot against the small of her back. She sensed that he had not reached his peak the way she had hers, that he was waiting for her to come down so he could continue.

  And continue he did. He reared back and began to ride her hard, harder than before. The force of his thrusts sent the table moving forward in small jerks, but Melisande was too lost to notice. Every fiber of her being was concentrated on thrusting her hips back against her captor as she was able to, yielding to his rough demands. She cast a quick look behind her, wanting to see his face.

  She saw, for the first time, the Marquise of Eddom fucking her, his face strained as he plowed into her with abandon. His shirt lay unbuttoned, to reveal his hard, muscular chest. His breeches were gone, and she could see glimpses of his hard male flesh rearing up, slick and glistening with her own juices, before he would slam the full length of it into her tiny body, forcing her cunt to bear the brunt of his attacks. The cords in her neck were straining, and his mouth was twisted in a grimace. The sight of him, growling and rutting into her like a majestic beast, was enough to send her spiraling into another orgasm, coming as he stroked into her heat. This time her cries were mixed with his own, warmth spilling into her as he shuddered against her body, buried so deep with his seed spilling into her womb.