CHANCE OF A LIFETIME
Please be aware that this excerpt contains sensual content that is only suitable
for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of
Droit de seigneur...
The videotape shocked and thrilled her ... and really turned her on. She'd
found it in a small, out-of-the-way sitting room of Blaystock Manor, where she
was working. Now everyone was away and she finally had an opportunity to watch
at her leisure. There on the screen was the Marquis, her much fantasized-about
boss, administering a very sexy spanking to some girl. The intense erotic sizzle
she felt compelled her to begin touching herself. And as she lost herself in
pleasure, she suddenly realized he'd entered the room and had been watching
her. But embarrassment turned to excitement when he urged her to continue, then
began to touch her intimately. It was only the smallest hint of what she'd witnessed
on the tape, but she knew she had to have more ... much more!
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“Oh My Lord… do it… do it…” I burble, eyes tight
closed and half out of my mind with desire and longing.
“Actually, my dear, I think you’re ‘doing it’ quite
well enough on your own. Do continue.”
It’s like I’m falling, dropping through reality into a parallel
universe. I know what’s happened but somehow I can’t stop rubbing
My eyes fly open though, and here he is.
Somehow he’s walked into the room without me realizing it, moving softly
on the rubber soles of his black running shoes.
In a few split seconds, I take in his glorious appearance.
So tall, so male, so mysterious. Long dark hair, pale smiling face, long fit
body. Dressed in his customary black shirt and jeans, his elegant hands flexing
as if preparing to copy the actions of his image on the screen.
I snatch my hand from my crotch and make as if to struggle back into my jeans.
My face is scarlet, puce, flaming… I’m almost peeing myself.
“No, please… Continue.”
His voice is low and quiet, almost humming with amusement and intense interest.
It’s impossible to disobey him. Despite the fact that I think the aristocracy
is an outdated nonsense, he’s nobility to his fingertips and I’m
just a pleb, bound to obey.
Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I watch as he settles his long frame down
into the other chair, across from mine. He gives me a little nod, making his
black hair sway, and then turns his attention to the images on the screen.
So do I, but with reluctance.
But I do as he wishes and begin to stroke my clit again.
Oh God, the woman on the screen is really protesting now. Oh God, in my mind,
that woman is me, and I’m laid across the Marquis’s magnificent
thighs with my bottom all pink and sizzling and my crotch wetting his jeans
with seeping arousal.
I imagine the blows I’ve never experienced, and just the dream of them
makes my clit flutter wildly and my vagina clench and pulse. I seem to see the
carpet as I writhe and wiggle and moan, and at the same time his beautiful face,
rather grave, but secretly smiling.
As his eyes twinkle, in my imagination, I come.
It’s a hard, wrenching orgasm. Shocking and intense. I’ve never
come like that before in my life. It goes on and on, so extreme it’s almost
pain, and afterwards, I feel tears fill my eyes.
Talk about “le petit mort” and post coital “tristesse”.
I’ve got tristesse by the bucketful, but without any coitus.
My face as crimson as the buttocks of the spanked woman in the video, I drag
my panties and jeans back into place and lie gasping in the chair. I scrabble
for a tissue. I’m going to cry properly now, not just a few teardrops,
and I know I should just run from the room, but somehow I just can’t seem
Something soft and folded is put gently into my hand, and as I steal a glance
at it, I discover it’s the Marquis’s immaculately laundered handkerchief.
Still gulping and sniffing, I rub my face with it, breathing in the faint, mouth-watering
fragrance of his cologne.
Shit, I fancy this man somewhat rotten, and I’ve been fantasizing about
him fancying me back, and falling for me, and now this has happened. I’m
so embarrassed, I wish I could burrow into the leather upholstery and disappear
out of sight.
A strong arm settles around my shoulders, and the great chair creaks as he sits
down on the arm beside me.
“Hey, there’s no harm done,” the Marquis says softly, “Now
we both know each other’s dirty little secrets.” He squeezes my
shoulders. “I get off spanking girls’ bottoms and having them wriggling
on my lap. And you get off watching videos of it and playing with yourself.”
He pauses, and I sense him smiling that slow, wicked smile again. “And
quite beautifully, I must admit. Quite exquisitely…”
I beg your pardon?
Hell, I must have looked awful. Crude. Ungainly. Like a complete slapper.
I try to wriggle free, but he holds me. He even puts up a hand to gently stroke
my hair. I still can’t look at him, even though part of me really wants
“I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry. I had no business coming
in here and prying into your private things.”
One long finger strokes down the side of my face, slips under my chin, and gently
lifts it. Nervously, I open my eyes and look into his. They’re large and
dark and brown and merry and I feel as if I’m drowning, but suddenly,
that’s a good thing.
All the embarrassment and mortification disappears, just as if it were the rain
puddles outside evaporating in the sun. Indeed, beyond the window, the sky outside
Suddenly, I see mischief and sex and a sense of adventure in those fabulous
eyes, and I feel turned on again, and somehow scared but not in a way that has
anything to do with an awkward situation with my employer. It’s a new
feeling, and it’s erotic, but so much more.
“Indeed you didn’t. That was rather naughty of you.” His face
is perfectly impassive, almost stern, but those eyes, oh those eyes they’re
mad with dangerous fun. “Do you think we should do something about that?”
I feel as if I’m about to cross a line. Jump off a cliff. Ford some peculiar
kind of Rubicon. This is the chance of a lifetime, and I’m a perfect novice
in the world portrayed in his video, but I understand him completely without
any further hint or education.
“Um… yes, My Lord.”
Should I stand? Then kneel? Or curtsey or something? He’s still sitting
on the arm of the chair, a huge masculine presence because he’s tall and
broad-shouldered. Everything a man and a master should be.
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Harlequin Spice Briefs
Publication Date: November 2008
Copyright © 2008 by Portia Da Costa
Harlequin Mills & Boon book covers © Copyright 2008-2011
by Harlequin Books, S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.