Scandalous Christmas Encounters Volume 3

By Victoria Vale

Get a glimpse into the Happily Ever Afters of three beloved couples from the Scandalous Ballroom Encounters series. Christmas is upon them, and while the holiday will bring festivities, family, and cheer, it will also bring its share of conflict. These 3 erotic follow-up stories show that passion, love, and scandal don't end after the wedding.

Part One: Submitting to the Marchioness (M/F BDSM)

Lord Simon Fitzwilliam, Marquis of Ashton and his wife, Sophie, have an arrangement that works well for them. As a Dominant, he has found in her his perfect mate as well as the consummate submissive. But when the notion of switching roles for one night is brought to the table, Simon will wrestle with his past and the fears holding him back from a deeper connection with his wife. Can a lifelong Master find the strength to fall to his knees for the woman he loves?

Part Two: Binding His Bride (M/F Bondage)

Sinclair Clayton and his bride Lydia are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their new union. Or, at least Lydia thought they were. When it seems her new husband has grown cold, she sets out to find out why and stoke his desire for her once more. Little does she know that her husband has surprising plans of his own …

Part Three: Their Christmas Scandal (MFM Menage)

Lady Penelope Ingham has found true happiness in her secret, unconventional marriage to two men. Lord Edmond Ingham and Captain Colin Worthing have filled her life with laughter, joy, and family, proving that love is better suited for three than two. While no one outside their household can ever know about their union, they are perfectly content with the way things are. However, a scandalous incident at a Christmas dinner party involving Colin may prove enough to tear them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victoria Vale
• Release date: Nov 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386115915

Book preview

Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol 3

Victoria Vale

Copyright 2018 by Victoria Vale

Edited by Zee Monodee (Divas at Work Editing)

Cover Art by Victoria Vale

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, laces, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

Read A Honeymoon Masquerade FREE when you sign up for the author’s mailing list. This story is available exclusively for subscribers, and isn’t sold in ebook stores.

Click here to get your free book http://www.subscribepage.com/camdenlovesmaggie

Book 1: Submitting to the Marchioness

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1824

Lady Sophie Fitzwilliam struggled to keep her gaze lowered, despite the overwhelming urge to stare at the man circling her with slow, precise steps. Beyond the curves of her bent legs and her hands resting upon her thighs, she could see nothing but the flick of black boots when he crossed in front of her. His footsteps sounded like gunshots in the dark, underground room, each footfall causing her belly to wind by degrees—tighter and tighter until she felt as if she might snap. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, she willed herself to follow his express order to kneel with her hands in her lap, eyes lowered.

He made that difficult, his magnetic presence demanding she drink him in, gorging herself on the sight of him. That he circled her proved a calculated move on his part; one meant to tease and challenge her. His footsteps demanded she gazed up at him, his body language going against his verbal commands.

Look at your Master, his long legs said as he crossed in front of her for the umpteenth time.

Disobey me so that I might indulge in my favorite past time—punishing you, his footsteps insisted as they tapped against the dungeon floor.

There are many variations of this submissive posture, and which one she assumes at any given time is up to you.

Sophie started at the sound of his voice—deep, resonant, and blasting through the room like a cannon. He was not addressing her, however. The darkness had almost caused her to forget they were not alone.

You may choose a single posture which is your favorite, or instruct her to memorize a variety, which she must be ready to fall into at any given moment.

Most days, this dungeon was their playroom, a place to indulge and explore their connection as Master and submissive. On the occasion that he decided to take on a protégé, the space’s function became something else altogether—a schoolroom where he molded would-be dominants into true Masters; where willing submissives learned the ins and outs of pleasing their handlers.

So, on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, below their town home in Grosvenor Square, she played the role for a young baron, who must see how a submissive should look, speak, and behave, and his mistress, so that she could mimic Sophie’s behavior.

The submissive student—Miss Thalia Fletcher—knelt at her side, nude with her hands upon her lap in perfect imitation of Sophie’s posture. The two men stood over them, stripped to the waist.

In the past, Sophie might have balked at being asked to bare her body to perfect strangers, her nudity a source of discomfiture for her. But her Master’s tutelage had taught her so much about herself—about how little shame there was in reveling in her sexual nature, or how much power she wielded, even undressed and kneeling upon a dungeon floor. Now, she had no qualms about being used as an instructional aide, for anything that pleased him also pleased her.

So you get an idea how it is done, her Master continued. Sophie will demonstrate the four postures she knows to assume at a mere utterance. Darling, you will perform as admirably as I know you can, yes?

She wanted to smile at the affection in his voice beneath the veil of a sharp command, but she schooled her face into a placid expression. When they were alone, she might smile, but he was teaching right now … something he took quite seriously.

Yes, My Lord.

The moment he had her answer, he began. One.

She spread her knees and arched her spine, clasping her hands behind her back. This was his favored position … the one she knew to assume when he asked her to await his arrival in their chambers or this dungeon. The curve of her back thrust her breasts up and out while the wide spread of her knees exposed her cunny for his gaze. Just now, it was also open to the stare of another man—a notion she should have found off-putting, but one that only made her skin flush hot. Her Master might allow the baron to look, but he could never touch. She belonged to the man issuing her commands, and everyone knew it.

Two.

Reacting with a swiftness she knew would please him, she rose up off her haunches, her legs tingling as she lifted her arms and clasped her hands behind her head. With her knees still spread and now digging into the hard floor, this position was the most uncomfortable. Even so, she held it with perfect form, listening for his next command.

Three.

Grateful for the reprieve, she went down onto all-fours. This took a bit of the pressure off her knees, her hands helping to hold some of her weight. He was circling her again, likely to take in the view of her from behind.

Four.

She bowed her upper body toward the floor, raising her hips into the air, leaving herself as vulnerable to him as could be. A tremor rocked her, the weight of his stare landing between her legs and remaining there. She felt him studying her, the stroke of his scrutiny on the exposed inner flesh of her cunt rippling through her as if he were touching her from across the room. Her channel clenched with the need to be filled, heat and wetness pooling in her core.

She responds so readily, said her Master’s pupil, the baron, Lord Tobias Dormer.

The approval in his tone stroked down her spine, adding to the warmth flushing her skin.

So will Thalia once she’s been taught, her Master replied. Sophie … one.

She moved back upright too fast, her head spinning from the rush of blood. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her balance. When she opened them, instead of lowering her gaze as she should, she lifted it for a swift peek at her Master. Just a little one … it was difficult keeping her eyes off him for so long.

She had not expected him to be staring straight down into her face, so when their gazes clashed, a little gasp burned in her throat.

The glacial, pale grey eyes of Lord Simon Fitzwilliam IV, Marquis of Ashton, could strike fear into the soul of even the most hardened person. The first time she’d ever looked into them, she’d been terrified to no end, though she had also been intrigued by how the right lighting could make those irises appear iridescent—downright colorless at times. As their marriage of convenience had turned into a love match, she’d come to know him … the real him, not just the mask he wore as a marquis or a dominant. Everything about him was the same—the midnight black hair, angular features, and slender yet wiry figure—yet, everything about him seemed changed when he dominated her this way. He seemed larger and more intimidating, more loving and crueler all at once. She could never quite decide which side of him she loved most … the doting husband, or the demanding Master.

At the moment, he was not her husband. The gaze cutting through her like the sharpest of daggers was that of her Master. By the looks of things, he was not pleased with her at the moment.

What are you looking at, Sophie? he snapped, stepping forward until he crowded her vision.

Her heart pounded at the sight of sinewy thighs spread to either side of her, the bulge of his cock visible through his breeches. Only half-hard, he was still impressive, swelling and growing the longer he stared at her.

She lowered her gaze once she realized she’d stared long enough. It was all part of the act. During his lesson, she must disobey him so he could teach his protégé how to punish. She’d be lying if she tried to assert that she hadn’t slipped up early on purpose because she craved the crack of his palm against her arse.

I am sorry, My Lord, she murmured. I was not thinking, I … I simply wanted to look at you.

He hummed, the low, rumbling sound laced with disapproval. Instead of worrying her, it only made her fight all the harder not to smile. He was going to make her pay, and his students would be privileged to watch. All in all, it would not be a bad way to spend a Tuesday afternoon.

My concern at the moment is not what you want, is it, Sophie?

No, My Lord.

What is my foremost interest?

Obedience, My Lord.

He was circling her again, this time stroking her hair as he passed behind her, the gesture both threatening and reassuring at the same time.

Precisely. But, do not fear. It is my job to guide you, to teach you to obey. And when you fail to do so …

You will punish me, My Lord.

Yes. You know what to do.

She stood and took her walk of shame with the gazes of the baron and his mistress upon her. Thalia looked curious, but also a bit frightened. She kept casting swift glances at Simon, as if afraid he might set his wrath upon her next.

He would not, but he might instruct the baron to do so should she step out of line. The woman had not yet experienced her first punishment, which was why Simon sought to do this now, so early in their encounter. Thalia’s fear would heighten this experience for her, prime her for the moment her baron applied hand, whip, or crop to her flesh.

The baron watched with undisguised interest, his gaze raking over her unbound hair and bared curves as she moved to the restraint table in the center of the room.

Simon made quick work of trapping her wrists in the shackles on the far end, pulling her taut so she lay with her upper body upon the surface, arms stretched out before her. He kicked her legs apart, then used the shackles welded to the floor to tether her ankles. She faced the St. Andrew’s cross resting in the corner, her buttocks and spread legs turned to the room for all to see.

Many new dominants think of punishment as the simple application of pain, Simon said.

Is that not what it is? the baron asked.

No. Punishment can span a range of practices, and pain is only one of them. Have you ever been teased to the point of spending, then been denied release? I daresay that can be more excruciating than pain. Restraint keeps your submissive in the perfect position for your needs, but at the same time can drive her mad when she wishes to move away from your crop or toward the pleasure of your touch but cannot. Do you understand?

I believe so, my lord, the baron replied. It is all so illuminating.

Sophie flinched when Simon’s fingertips trailed up the back of one thigh, but she relaxed when he simply stroked her. The leisurely touch was meant to lull her into a false sense of security before he struck, but even knowing that, she could not help but revel in it.

The sound of his chosen instruments being laid upon the table was followed by his movement behind her, then a swift current of air against her cunt. And then …

Her back arched as much as her restraints allowed, and her audible cry of shock filled the dungeon as Simon’s open mouth came against the tender flesh of her quim. His tongue flicked at her clit, then thrust into her opening, his lips suckling at her with ravenous pulls. Her eyes slid closed, and she wiggled her hips, attempting to coax more out of him.

But, this was a punishment, and Simon was only teasing her so that it would be all the more agonizing.

He palmed her buttocks, spreading them wide to better access her, his busy tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through her entire being. His ministrations were thorough, his tongue tracing from her clit to the tight opening of her back passage.

Before she could begin her ascent toward climax, he ceased, wrenching a wail of despair from deep within her chest.

It never failed. He could always bring her close to her end with quick efficiency, yet knew just when to stop to keep her from going over the edge.

Now, now, darling, he murmured. You will earn your orgasm after I’ve had what I am owed, yes?

Yes, My Lord, she managed between shaky breaths.

Are you ready to continue?

I am, My Lord.

His hand cupped between her legs, fingers steadily working her clit and smearing her in her own wetness. She became aware of his other hand reaching, the clink of something being lifted from the table, but could hardly think of that with the delicious friction of him stroking her.

At least, until his touch was replaced with the stinging bite of a clamp compressing the bud of her clit. She tried to stifle a scream, but failed, the sound resonating with every ounce of the pleasure-pain caused by the clamp.

Breathe, he reminded her, soothing her with his hands, rubbing her shoulders, her back, her hips. Do not forget to breathe.

As always, she obeyed him, sucking in sharp breaths and releasing them on shaky exhales. Within seconds, the sharpness of the pain had dulled to a throb, her clit pulsating with every beat of her heart. She was more aware of that part of herself than any other, no longer able to feel the weight of her shackles or the press of the table’s edge against her pelvis.

Simon stood back, presumably to show the baron his handiwork. She could imagine how she must look to him, legs spread, the silver gleam of the clamp showing from between the dark curls blanketing her mons. She was sodden, her arousal dampening the insides of her thighs. She wondered if the low torchlight revealed even that small detail to the baron and his mistress.

The key is to test your submissive’s limits while ensuring not to push her too far. Sophie and I have been doing this for quite some time, so I know her as well as I know myself. I am aware of her limits and know when to push her toward them and when to stay my hand. That sort of understanding will take time on your part, and of course, Thalia, you should not fail to use your safe word if you wish the baron to cease what he is doing at any time. Understood?

The woman did not reply, but must have nodded in understanding, because Simon continued.

Tell us your safe word, Sophie.

Silver, she replied.

Very good. I do not need to tell you that you are free to use it at will.

She’d only had cause to use the word with him once, and that had been so long ago, before her husband had conquered the demons of his past. Now, he was in control—of her, of himself, of this entire scene. Simon was never not in control.

His words were her only warning before the crop flicked against her left buttock, causing her skin to blossom with heat. He hadn’t even given her half the force he was capable of, so she knew to expect a thorough thrashing. At times like this, he’d want to draw it out and increase force with each blow.

And so it went, Simon spanking her, alternating between cheeks, each fall of the crop coming harder and harder until she could barely breathe between strikes. But he did not stop there. He punished the backs of her thighs as thoroughly as he had her arse, and even took the time to land single blows on the backs of each of her knees. She felt those lashes most acutely of all, jerking against her bonds and whimpering as the sting of them shot up her legs and into her back.

His final blow fell squarely between her legs, the tongue of the crop lashing at the clamp compressing her clit. Her cry of pain and ecstasy echoed and swelled through the dungeon as she went limp, her legs trembling, a light sheen of sweat wetting her skin.

Well done, darling, he murmured, his hand slipping between her legs once more.

She groaned and wiggled her hips as pure pleasure rippled through her at his touch, so gentle in juxtaposition to the pain making her arse and thighs ache. The two sensations existed in tandem, creating that perfect muddle of agony and ecstasy that Simon could create so effortlessly.

Sophie bit her lip to keep from protesting when he took his hand away, his footsteps already taking him back across the room.