The heavy silence in the room was broken only by the soft, ragged sound of Eleanor's breathing.
I tossed my shirt aside and walked slowly toward the massive canopy bed. With every step I took, Beatrice's eyes followed me from the shadows. I could feel the intense, burning weight of her gaze. She was watching my hands, my posture, looking for any sign of cruelty or malice.
But I didn't look at the maid. My attention was entirely on my wife.
Eleanor was trembling slightly, her hands resting nervously on her bare thighs. The sheer white silk of her slip hid absolutely nothing. Her heavy, perfectly shaped breasts heaved with every breath, the dark pink peaks pushing against the fabric, already tight and craving attention.
I climbed onto the mattress, the furs sinking under my weight, and knelt between her legs.
"You look breathtaking," I murmured, reaching out to gently brush a lock of silver hair behind her ear.
"Victor," she whispered, her voice caught in her throat. Her amethyst eyes darted nervously over my shoulder toward the dark corner of the room. "She... she's really watching."
"Let her watch," I said softly, tracing my thumb down her jawline and over her collarbone. "Let her see exactly how a husband is supposed to treat his wife."
I grabbed the hem of her silk slip and slowly pulled it up over her head. Eleanor raised her arms obediently, letting me strip her bare. I tossed the garment to the floor.
I leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. She melted instantly. The nervous tension drained out of her shoulders, replaced by a heavy, languid heat. She opened her mouth for me, whimpering as our tongues met, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on my bare chest.
I broke the kiss and trailed my lips down her neck, biting gently at the sensitive skin.
"Beatrice," I called out, my voice echoing loudly in the quiet room. I didn't look back at the maid, my face buried in Eleanor's sweet-smelling hair. "Step out of the shadows. Come closer to the bed. I want you to see this clearly."
I heard the rustle of fabric. Slowly, hesitantly, Beatrice stepped into the flickering candlelight. She stopped a few feet from the edge of the mattress, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, her knuckles white. Her face was a mask of rigid discipline, but her eyes were wide.
I slid my hands down to Eleanor's waist, and then lower, gripping her soft thighs. Gently, I pushed her knees apart, opening her completely to the cool air of the room—and to Beatrice's direct line of sight.
Eleanor gasped, instinctively trying to close her legs, her face burning with shame.
"Don't hide, darling," I whispered, kissing her belly, right above her navel. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
I shifted my weight so Beatrice had an unobstructed view. Eleanor's pussy was already glistening. The soft, pink folds were swollen with blood, and a thick bead of clear nectar was slowly running down to her perineum.
"Look closely, Beatrice," I commanded, my tone serious and calm. "The priests say that a barren woman is dry and broken. They say this part of her body is useless. Tell me, does your mistress look broken to you?"
Beatrice stared. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "She is... she is wet," the maid whispered, the sheer shock breaking through her stoic exterior. "But how? You haven't applied any breeding salve."
"Because her body naturally produces it when she's treated right," I said.
I reached down and placed my middle and index fingers directly over Eleanor's swollen clit. I didn't use any pressure yet; I just let my fingertips rest against the ultrasensitive nub.
"Ah!" Eleanor gasped, her back arching off the bed.
"I'm barely touching her," I told the maid, keeping my eyes locked on Beatrice's stunned face. "But her body is begging for more. This isn't torture, Beatrice. This is pure pleasure."
And then, I proved it.
I leaned down, buried my face between Eleanor's pale thighs, and dragged my tongue right up her dripping slit.
"VICTOR!" Eleanor screamed.
Any remaining shame or aristocratic pride she had vanished the second my mouth made contact with her wet flesh. Her head threw back into the pillows, her hands tangling violently in my hair. She didn't try to push me away; she pulled me closer, her hips bucking up against my face.
I groaned into her pussy, lapping greedily at her juices. She tasted so incredibly sweet. I flicked my tongue rapidly against her clit, sucking the hard little pearl into my mouth and swirling my tongue around it.
"Oh my god, oh my god...!" Eleanor sobbed, completely losing her mind. She thrashed on the bed, her heavy breasts bouncing wildly, her legs wrapped tight around my shoulders to keep me anchored to her. "Don't stop! Please don't stop!"
From the corner of my eye, I watched Beatrice's entire worldview shatter into a million pieces.
The maid stood frozen, her jaw literally hanging open. She was watching her elegant, refined, untouchable mistress writhe like a feral animal in the throes of absolute ecstasy. There was no pain in Eleanor's screams. There was only a desperate, overwhelming hunger.
I slipped two fingers deep inside Eleanor's soaking wet pussy. She was so incredibly tight, the muscles clenching and unclenching around my fingers in rhythmic, hungry spasms. I pumped my fingers in and out while sucking hard on her clit.
"Ah! Ahhhh! I'm... Victor, I'm...!"
Eleanor's entire body went rigid. Her toes curled, and a high, beautiful, unbroken scream tore from her throat as a massive orgasm ripped through her. I felt the hot flood of her juices pour over my fingers and chin. I kept licking her, swallowing her sweet nectar, riding out the violent tremors with her until she finally collapsed against the mattress, panting heavily, her eyes rolled back in pure bliss.
I slowly pulled my face away, licking my lips. I looked up at Beatrice.
The maid looked like she was going to faint. Her usually pale face was flushed a deep, feverish crimson. Her breathing was shallow and erratic, and her hands were no longer crossed over her chest—they were resting awkwardly by her sides, clenching the fabric of her skirt as if trying to ground herself.
"Still think I'm hurting her?" I asked, my voice a low, rough growl.
"I... I..." Beatrice stammered, completely unable to form a coherent sentence. Her eyes darted from my wet mouth to Eleanor's completely ruined, satisfied expression.
I didn't wait for her to recover. I unfastened my trousers and let them drop to the floor. My dick sprang free, rock-hard, heavily veined, and aching for release.
I crawled back up Eleanor's body. She opened her eyes, hazy and filled with absolute devotion, and reached for me. I guided the thick head of my cock to her dripping entrance.
"Watch this part very closely, Beatrice," I grunted, looking right at the flustered maid.
I grabbed Eleanor's hips, pulled her flush against me, and sank my entire length deep inside her in one smooth, brutal thrust.
"Ahhhhh!" Eleanor shrieked, her nails digging into my back. "It's so deep! It's so hot... Victor!"
"Tell her," I commanded, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her tight, wet depths. The loud, wet SLAP of our skin meeting echoed in the room. "Tell your maid how much it hurts."
"It doesn't! It doesn't hurt!" Eleanor sobbed wildly, her hips instinctively grinding back against every thrust. "It feels so good... fuck, it feels so good! Harder! Give it to me harder!"
I gave her exactly what she asked for. I grabbed her heavy breasts, squeezing them as I pounded into her pussy. The room filled with the obscene sounds of slapping flesh, squelching juices, and Eleanor's uninhibited moans. I watched Beatrice out of the corner of my eye. The stoic, deadly maid was absolutely transfixed. She couldn't look away. I could see her chest heaving, and her hands slowly, unconsciously drifted down to press against her own stomach.
I was fucking Eleanor senseless, but I knew the seeds of a completely different kind of revolution were taking root right there in the shadows.