Marion’s eyes were fixed on Alice in the mirror, and what she saw there made her smile. They’d been friends for fifteen years, but she’d never grown tired of the way the tip of the taller girl’s tongue poked out of the right hand corner of her mouth whenever she was concentrating. It was cute, and it made her look vulnerable, which was the exact reason Marion found it so amusing. Alice was many things, but vulnerable wasn’t one of them.
She was just about to tell her she’d caught her doing it again, when Alice straightened, placed her foot on the small of Marion’s back, and pulled the two laces she held in her hands. Marion wheezed in a breath and coughed, her eyes widening not just because of lack of oxygen, but because of how tiny her waist had just become.
Alice stepped back, eyeing her friend’s new shape with a critical eye. “Hourglass,” she mumbled. “You look like Jessica Rabbit now. Is this what John wanted?”
Marion chuckled, patting the silver and pearl comb in her red hair before resting her hands on her shockingly wide hips. “No, he’s not after a cartoon wife. And I won’t have an hourglass figure for long, the dress he wants me to wear will make sure of that.”
Crossing the room in three strides, Alice lifted the dress from its box on the bed and whistled. She held the masses of orange and brown velvet against her body and moved this way and that, checking herself out in the mirror.
“Where in the world is he taking you where you’d need to wear something like this?” she asked. “I thought you’d agreed to take part in some sex plot he had, not hop in the Tardis to go visit the Elizabethans.”
Biting her lip, Marion considered her answer. She had agreed to enact John’s fantasy, but she’d allowed him to keep what it actually entailed secret. The only clue he’d given her was, watch for me by moonlight, and that wasn’t much to go by so she didn’t have the answers her friend was looking for.
All she knew was, she trusted her fiancé, and knew he wouldn’t have anything planned that she wouldn’t have consented to had he chosen to explain it to her.
She shrugged, and reached for the dress. “As soon as it’s over, I’ll tell you what it was. But for now, can you help me get into this thing? I can hardly move in this damned corset, and I have to be ready for the driver picking me up at eight.”
Once Marion was ready, she said goodbye to Alice and saw her to the door. After she’d gone, she wandered to the drawing room, checked the time, and then wandered back to the door to wait for the driver. There were no mirrors in the entrance hall of Dagworth House, but she could see her reflection in a stained glass panel, and the longer she stared, the more surreal it began to feel.
Even though she was just wearing a one piece copy of an Elizabethan outfit, she looked – and felt – like a Countess, and that instilled in her a nostalgia for a time she’d never known.
By the time Grover the driver arrived, Marion was lost in a world of whimsy and romance. She was imagining John sweeping her off her feet and proposing to her at some splendid ball, even though he’d already popped a ring on her finger during their last holiday to France.
When she stepped outside, she spluttered out a laugh. Instead of waiting for her by the rear passenger side door of the Rolls, Grover was holding open the door of a black stagecoach. It looked very grand. The horses at its head pawed the gravel beneath their feet, impatient to be off.
Taking Grover’s hand, Marion allowed him to hoist her into the back of the coach. Sitting was a chore in the corset, but she managed it. Before he closed the door she asked, “Where exactly are you taking me?”
“Around the estate,” he shrugged. “And please don’t mind me, John has given me very clear orders for tonight, so I won’t get in your way.”
Marion didn’t think she’d ever blushed so hard in her life. Surely John hadn’t told the bloody chauffer what they were up to? He was a transparent man who was very aware of his own entitlement, but she couldn’t imagine him being open enough to share details of his sexual escapades with the staff.
The horses trotted off, setting the coach into a steady rock. Marion held onto her hair, hoping the pearl comb didn’t try to make a break for it. She wondered at the amount of ridiculous jewellery she was wearing. Rings with huge ruby stones, with earrings, bracelets and a necklace to match. It was all fake, of course. The real stuff only came out for special occasions, but even then, John was about as big a fan of it as she was. She was happy with her diamond solitaire engagement ring and her grandmother’s sapphire studs, and as a rule, so was he.
It occurred to her that John seemed to have put a lot of effort into the evening’s events to just have her driven around the estate in circles, but nothing else seemed to be happening. Trees rolled by, as did sculptures, fountains, and then the trees again. Marion kept her eyes on the grounds, looking for John, for signs of his plan, but there was nothing. No romantic moonlight picnic, no elaborate outside dinner… there wasn’t even anything crazy like a bouncy castle or a pantomime he could harangue her into.
After another ten minutes of aimless trotting, the horses suddenly picked up speed. Marion yelped, holding on to the seat for dear life. “For fucks sake!” she growled, watching her pearl comb bounce to the floor out of sight. There’d be no retrieving it.
She’d all but talked herself into making her irritation known to the driver when a single gunshot rose above the din of the racket of hoofbeats. The coach came to an abrupt halt. Grover ripped the door open and grabbed her by the arms, his fingers digging in as he dragged her outside. Then he jumped back onto the coach and left her on the ground in the dark by the oak tree that had fallen in a storm two winters ago.
Mere feet from where she sat stood a massive black stallion.
Sat astride it, was John. French cocked hat, black eye mask, long black jacket and black boots… oh, now she understood!
Marion giggled, half in relief, half in amusement at his attire, but when he didn’t smile back, her mirth died on her lips. She’d never seen him looking this serious before. Or this menacing.
John couldn’t take his eyes off her. He jumped down off the horse – which promptly galloped away – staring at her all the while. He’d known she would look the part, with all that red hair and perfect pale skin. A proper English Lady for a proper English Lord. But he wasn’t playing his usual part tonight. Tonight he was something else.
“Your money or your life,” he said quietly.
Marion felt a rush of adrenaline wake her nerves, but she didn’t reply. She lifted her hand to her throat instead, and widened her eyes.
John’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer. “Your money or your life,” he repeated. “Stand and deliver.”
Struggling to her feet, Marion pulled the rings from her fingers and dropped them on the ground. The rest of her jewels swiftly followed, and once there was a small glittering pile at her feet, she took a few steps back.
“Take them, just don’t hurt me, please.”
A quiet rasping sound filled the silence as John smirked and rubbed his stubbly jaw. He cocked his head this way and that, then pointed. “You could be hiding anything under all that velvet,” he said. “A Lady like you must be carrying more riches than that pitiful pile. Surely you have something more I can take.”
Marion backed away, holding her hands up as if to ward him off. For every step she took John took two. By the time the fallen tree halted her retreat he’d already caught up. They considered each other for a moment or two, each trying to gauge what the other was thinking.
Marion was sure he would say something. Laugh, maybe crack a little joke. She was so convinced he would show some part of himself, she couldn’t hold back her scream when he stepped in and tore the bodice of her dress. Tiny beads scattered in the grass. Marion’s breasts rose high above the cream fabric of her corset, pushing against it with each heavy breath she took.
She could feel her forehead wrinkling, her eyes widening with fear as John’s narrowed with lust. Seeing him like this scared her. It made her heart thunder in her chest, her blood rush in her ears. And it made her wet.
Lifting her hand, she made a pretence of covering herself. Her hand trembled, the fabric slipped from her fingers, gaping wider than it had been before. When she tried again, John slapped her hands away.
“I swear to you that I have nothing hidden beneath my dress, please don’t do this,” she whispered.
He ignored her. Bending at the waist, he leant into her, his tongue trailing along the lace edging of her corset. The wet line he left there cooled to a chill in the night air. It took so little effort for him to raise her fleshy mounds higher, to expose her puckering nipples. Biting, licking, suckling.
This was so like her John. So sensual, so slow and leisurely with deep sucks and lazy licks. She closed her eyes and moaned.
For a split second, John paused. Marion’s delighted whimpers had broken the spell her beauty had woven over him. He remembered why they were here, what he’d planned to do.
Marion’s eyes blurred with the speed he moved her with. She spun around, crying out at the harshness of his grip, the roughness of old bark against her naked chest. She could barely breathe. Cold air rushed over her skin when her skirts were pulled to her back, her thighs burned where her lace knickers chaffed before John managed to snap them.
The clinking of belts, the crinkling of leather, a hot breath on her hip. Marion gasped when he grabbed her ass cheeks, spreading them apart. A wet tongue probing her tight cunt, an angry growl and then she was impaled on a hard, throbbing cock.
John dug his fingers into her hair, but he didn’t arch her back so he could kiss her like he usually did. He pushed her forward, bending her right over the fallen oak. Long, hard strokes of his cock made her yelp, yanks on her tumbling hair brought tears to her eyes. He fucked her with a cruelty she hadn’t known he was capable of.
When she started to sob, pleading for her life, John stopped. Marion was horrified, she hadn’t wanted that, she was just playing along. Something clicked by her ear, and when she turned her head her nerves spiked, weakening her already shaking knees.
It was a pistol. Her fiancé was holding a pistol to her head. She knew it wasn’t real, but the in the dark and the stillness of the night, it still scared her.
“Silence,” he hissed. “You lied to me. You told me you had no riches beneath this dress but I’ve found them, so you will keep your mouth closed while I take them from you.”
He started to move again, grinding his cock deeper and deeper into her swollen cunt. It felt so good. She rose slowly, arching her own back, pressing her shoulder blades against his chest. Cold metal scraped over her cheek from her temple. It brushed against her chin, pressed against her lips. When they parted, John put the pistol in her mouth.
Their bodies slapped together in a frantic rhythm, his breaths blasting against her ear, hers wheezing from her nose. Salty tears mingled with the tang of metal in her mouth, and Marion stared at the starry sky, feeling tension coiling deep within her.
John started to make a familiar sound. It was his little mantra, a panting ‘uh-uh-uh-oh-fuck-uh’ that always came just minutes before he did.
Marion wanted to come, too. She could feel her orgasm waiting to happen, she was on the very brink, but even though John was hitting the perfect spot inside her with every ferocious thrust, she couldn’t do it.
“I’ve taken your crown, Lady Dagworth, all I need now is the jewel,” he grunted, slowing to stop himself exploding. “But I can’t take that from you, I need you to give it to me.”
Marion concentrated on the cock inside her, the teeth on her throat, the fingers on her nipple… the pistol in her mouth. Maybe this was the problem. She raked her nails over the back of John’s hand, drawing blood. His responding hiss had a laugh behind it somewhere.
“Is this what’s stopping you?” He wiggled his bleeding hand, tapping the metal off her teeth.
When she nodded, he withdrew it. They fucked, moaned, kissed and fucked harder, but still Marion couldn’t come.
John started to slow. His legs ached, and his balls did too. He wanted to let go inside of this beautiful woman, but not until she was slumped over the tree, lost in her own pleasure. Impatience had never been his thing, but he was feeling it now.
“If you don’t give it to me I’m going to put you on your back in the grass and fuck with this pistol.”
Marion laughed. Of all the things he could have threatened her with, banging her with a toy gun had to be the funniest.
“You think it’s funny, do you?” he whispered.
Shoving her forward again, he lifted her leg onto the tree. He was so deep inside her she could feel her belly starting to ache. John lay on top of her, twisting his hips, slamming into her so fast it dizzied her. He reached out, aiming the gun at the sky.
A loud crack made Marion’s ears ring. Smoke curled up her nose, drifted in front of her eyes. The pistol wasn’t a toy, it was fucking real! He’d had a real, loaded gun in her mouth while he fucked her.
John pulled out and sank his cock between her cheeks, straight into her ass, feeling glorious and stinging almost as much. Marion wailed into the air. Orgasm blinded her, deafened her, made her lose contact with everything around her.
The first thing she felt when she came back was that ache in her belly. The next was cum running down her thighs, and after that it was John’s arms winding around her.
“Watch for me by moonlight,” she laughed, ruffling the lace at his throat. “I should have guessed your fantasy would be something to do with a highwayman as soon as you said that.”
John pouted, noticing his fiancé’s bark scratched breast. He reached out to soothe it with his fingers, chuckling when he saw how bloodied the back of his hand was. “One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, and then we’ll go get cleaned up.”