The Chair

The dining chair was part of a collection that had been in the hands of the Douglass family for two centuries and some decades. It cost more than one of the scullery maids would make in all her years of service. This thought did not trouble Camilla. She stood at the farthest corner of the room and nodded complacently. Though the crowds would surely be pulsating and vast, she felt confident her audience would be able to see its gilded form from every possible viewpoint, and not miss one second of the sport.

Hector closed his eyes. He could hear the distant sounds of the approaching crowds, but his bindings prevented him from turning to face them as they entered. Though why should he wish to do so? To see the pity and lust in their eyes? He kept his gaze fixed to the floor. He swallowed. He sweated.
He had felt Camilla’s lips around his cock and then her nails in his thigh. But this was more than two hours previously. She had brought him to the room – the large drawing room, he realised with trepidation, gently lead him to the chair, the only item in the vast space, and stood gazing into his eyes as she undressed him. He moved only to allow her to remove his shoes, his britches, his fine jacket. Then she wrapped the heavy ropes around him, laughing as she did so, calling him her captive in a low, teasing voice.
Now he heard the heels of her boots on the marble floor, heard her unlocking the doors, and her haughty tones.
“Welcome, weary travellers. I hope you are in good spirits for this evening’s sport. Make room, spread yourselves out. I promise you will see something worthy whatever your vantage point.”
Voices became hushed when their eyes alighted upon him, but soon rose again to a murmur. Hector caught snatches of their conversation.
“… For breeding, I take it. Look at the size.”
“… This evening, I wonder…. I wonder at his thoughts on the matter.”
“Cowed and quite unlike himself. We never saw him so quiet in his manor.”
Hector almost smiled.
Soon the room grew thick with the heat of curious bodies. He knew what was approaching.

When she was satisfied that every one of her guests was present, with no bodies lingering in the hallways or making their own entertainments, Camilla nodded and allowed the doors to be shut fast. She took her place as the thud of the locking door sent silence settling through her guests like a heavy cloak.
Many of them thought her vanished, unable to watch the scene unfolding – after all, when he had left her standing at the altar six months previously, standing rigid before a church full of second cousins silently comparing their lot with hers and rosy-cheeked farm labourers who had toiled her family’s land for centuries.
They had seen her humiliated by Hector De La Croix, they had gossiped about her and pitied her and she had hated them all. When they had been invited to attend this evening, the cards had caused consternation. The wording seemed peculiar.


You are invited to the Douglass estate to view Hector De La Croix

A dinner will commence shortly afterwards

Your discretion will be valued

To ‘view’ Hector? What could that possibly mean? Had he been captured and held to ransom until he changed his mind and wished to marry Camilla once more?
Crowds gathered in catty curiosity, not out of consideration for Camilla’s feelings. Perhaps he was here to explain himself and part with some trophy or monetary amount to placate her father. Lord Douglass had been incandescent with rage since the second he was informed Hector would not be attending the church on that warm June day.

When the room was thick with bodies Edith – Camilla’s own lady’s maid – walked before the crowd as she had been instructed that afternoon, and cleared her throat. With remarkable clarity for a girl of such low standing, she began to read from the card Camilla had coached her from all through that month – making it appear a benevolent task to teach her maid to read, but really it only served her own particular needs. Edith’s voice was clear and confident.
“Thank you for your attendance this evening. Thank you for your agreement to not speak of the events as they unfold beyond these walls. If you believe you mayn’t do so, please leave and make your way to the great hall where there will be a supper provided for you.”
One or two of the older ladies and gentlemen removed themselves at a slow pace. And Lady Montgomery who had brought her daughter of eighteen, and had paled a great deal when her eyes came to rest upon Hector’s naked frame, regained herself enough to take the girl abruptly by the hand and leave the room. Every other guest remained riveted to their spot, engrossed in the simple scene.
Edith curtseyed and exited the room. The room held its collective breath.
Hector knew to open his eyes as soon as he heard the lock turn. He looked carefully for Camilla’s face in the crowd, and when she nodded, he bowed his head and began.

He was confident at manhandling himself, of course. Since he was a child, and had been left to his own devices, he had found pleasure could be found quite easily within himself. His mother soon grew worried that his hand seemed permanently at the fork of his trousers, and was relieved when he soon found other hands to take care of his needs. However, he was not above occasionally reacquainting himself with self-abuse.
Camilla of course, had changed that. He recalled with anguish the sensation of her slim, delicate fingers that wielded such power over him. How she had knelt before him once in the garden, and removed his member from the slit in his breeches before he had even realised she was on her knees, smiling up at him with her wanton, wicked grin which had been unchanged since youth.
She was one and twenty, then. She still exuded childish excitement and innocence, even as she licked and stroked his cock until he felt he might perish under her handling.
In the months since he had left her it was her confident handling of him he found he missed the most. The way she commanded his lust to her will. All the county knew him as a rogue, as one who the world respected, but he was in thrall to Camilla behind closed doors. And he revelled in his obedience to her.
When Camilla wished to feel his cock swell within her, Camilla was obeyed without question. When Camilla wished him to crawl beneath her skirts and service her, lick her and finger her cunt until she writhed and moaned, he fell to his knees without another utterance, and remained there until she grew silent and sweet like a kitten.
At this final thought, he moaned as he felt the climax break and when he looked down, her face was streaked with white and beautiful to behold. The memory was at once erotic and painful. After all, he had betrayed and hurt her. And now he was to pay for his grave error.
He held his cock at the base and began to stroke evenly, slowly, timing himself to the rhythm of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. He tried to hold back his voice, horribly aware of the audience around him. He concentrated on the patch of floor before him and did not avert his gaze.
In a way this was a shame, for as he continued working a slippery hand over his erection, the act began to have a striking effect on many of the other visitors.
Countess Antonia began to finger the buttons of her gown until her startlingly ample bosom spilled forth from the Chinese silk of her gown. She pinched at her nipples, standing like thimbles and almost fell against her husband in her reverie. For his part, noting his wife’s disrobement, he, being rather shorter than her, seized the opportunity to dip his head and suck on one of those glorious nipples.
Further into the room the Honourable Edmund Thompson was rubbing his cock through the unaccountably thin material of his own trousers. He was young and foolish and beautiful and soon felt his undergarments wetted and was so thoroughly ashamed of himself he began to cry, to which Camilla’s sister clasped him to her bosom, which soon quieted him.
Camilla herself watched with interest. She thought, as she had done many times, “How odd the circumstances which brought us here are.”
Two months after the dissolution of their engagement, she was walking in the gardens, and feeling that perhaps her broken heart was gently mending, when she saw him crossing the fields towards her. She was proud of herself that she did not fall in a faint at the sight of him, or run into his arms begging forgiveness.
Instead, she slapped him across his handsome face, three times. He took the blows without complaint, though he did flinch and this gratified her.
“Camilla, I am sorry. I am sorry I betrayed you. I am sorry I could not be the man you loved, and that I could not marry you.”
“You are only sorry that my father shall have you ruined for breath of promise, nothing more. If you think me amenable to begging his favour for you, you are quite mistaken.
“Camilla, I wish nothing more than your forgiveness. I know I can never possess you like I once did and this I shall live with for the rest of my life. But tell me, please, how may I repair myself in your eyes? How may I?”
She looked at him coldly, admiring the red marks across his face, the faint indentation of her fingers visible in stripes of red and pale flesh.
“You are nothing to me, Hector. You have brought a great embarrassment upon my family but most of all upon me, one who you once thought you loved, at least for a time. You deserve nothing but my contempt. You will never experience the humiliation as I have.”
“But couldn’t I? What if I could? What if I could feel the pain that you feel? Let me, Camilla, let me!”
She had sent him away. But a month later, this scene repeated itself. And then a week later. And a week after that, in exasperation she asked him,
“Pray tell, how would you expect to feel the humiliation as I have? Are we to parade you naked through the grounds to a jeering crowd?”
The thought had left her lips so fully formed it frightened her. This would indeed be the perfect recompense. Hector, naked and cowed. Perfection. No… No this was not perfection, though it came tantalisingly close. For true humiliation, some amorous act would need to be included.
And thus she had hit upon his bound self abuse. And though he had squirmed and immediately discounted the idea. When he saw her serious, impassive gaze, he realised if he wished to repay her, he would have to submit.
“Very well, you shall have your evening.” He wrote in a card which appeared upon her breakfast plate some mornings later. She shivered with pure pleasure when she read his simple capitulation, noting with glee that her mother and father would be visiting her aunts in Hampshire and it would be a simple task for them to allow her to remain behind, still nursing her broken heart, as they believed, and not yet ready to socialise with her boisterous cousins. They readily agreed, and she sent word to Hector by return of post that his moment would soon be upon them.

She had to admit that watching him manipulate his cock stirred some feelings in her she had thought thoroughly deadened by his betrayal. The instrument itself was darker than the flesh of his body, even bent over it the length impressed, his fingers could scarcely wrap around it. She recalled the aching in her mouth when she sucked it and touched the corner of her lip in sympathy. She felt her drawers dampen, she was only human after all.
From her partially hidden vantage point, she spread her thighs a little and leant forward to watch him more intently. His breath grew louder and harsher. She watched his stomach begin to undulate and this made her twitch, though she didn’t quite know why.
He knew where to fix his gaze for her orders. Glancing in her direction, he saw her hands bunched between her parted legs and he swallowed. He could imagine the heat, the smell, the taste of her arousal and could not control the moan that escaped his body. The crowd moaned too, in sympathy. Each attendee lost in their own world of tightly coiled desire.
Camilla nodded, her lips forming the words “Good Boy” which she hoped he would recognise. Her dress was cut low on her bosom; when she leant forward so he could see her face more clearly, her breasts threatened to tumble from their precarious position. Realising this, and feeling the pang of remembrance at how much Hector had always admired her breasts, confidently tracing their peaks as they lay abed, naked, she hastily unfastened the ribbons on her bodice. Her bindings fell away, and Hector moaned a second time upon seeing the breasts he had not viewed for half a year. He caught her eye.
“More.” she mouthed, manipulating her own flesh, one hand at her breast and the other roughly shoved beneath her skirts and though he could not see, he knew she was fingering her cunt and this was the thought, the delicious memory that set his fist pumping harder until he made the noise of wolves at the full moon and his head drooped.
All eyes were on the white patterning before him on the carpet. A small chorus of applause broke out, and Edith knew this was her cue to unlock the large oak doors and begin to gently usher people from the room. One or two of the more boisterous young men punched Hector in the shoulder as they left, but the audience for the most part left without acknowledging him further. Soon there was only Camilla and Hector in their chairs, both panting and spent, silent.
Camilla recovered first, and, standing a little groggily, stepped carefully over to Hector.
“Look up.” She said.
He did so and watched as she raised her skirts, and drew her hand beneath them. He knew from the smile that crossed her lips, that she had placed those fingers into her cunt once more. When she drew them out again, sure enough they were coated, glimmering in the candlelight. She thrust the fingers into his open mouth, then drew them out abruptly, wiped them down his chest and turned, letting her skirts drop and walking from the room without a backwards glance.

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