The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The young duke watched her, hawklike, as she spun around the floor, gaily swinging from the hand of one courtier to another, curtsying, turning, her brocaded and bejeweled gown swirling around her. Even in the prince’s hall, lit with the warm glow of candles and oil lamps, he could see her blue eyes flashing, the reddish highlights in her long, dark hair.

A young man in the prince’s livery bowed deeply. “My master sends his greetings, my lord Norland. He did not realize that you are so soon returned from your journey to the East, and he welcomes you and bids you join him at his table.”

The duke reluctantly tore his eyes from the young woman. The young man glanced at the dancing beauty and said, “My master sends his assurance that the view is equally fine from his table.” Norland looked sharply at him, but the young man only lowered his eyes, bowed, and gestured towards the prince.

“Norland! Sit! Sit! I did not expect you here tonight! Do me the honor of gracing my table.”

The duke bowed respectfully. “Your Excellency. I would never dream of shirking your hospitality.” And especially not at the beginning of a three-day feast. He sat. A servant brought a goblet of wine and placed it before him.

“Your suite is comfortable, then?”

“Yes, your Highness. We are blessed indeed that you can put up—and put up with—this band of revelers in your palace for the entire feast.”

“Our humble home is but an empty shell without your presence, Norland!”

The duke smiled and bowed. He loved these extended visits to the palace, its spacious rooms, cozy nooks, sheltered balconies, and the secret—and not-so-secret—passages. The atmosphere was ripe for intrigue and adventure.

They watched the dancers whirl, and the prince banged out the rhythm on the table and shouted encouragement. As the blue-eyed beauty swung by, the prince eyed the duke cannily.

“Ah, Bryanna d’Sud! As beautiful a lass as ever graced our domain, eh? She would make a fine match for you.” He leaned over to his wife, squeezing her hand. “But never so fair as you, dearest one.”

“A beauty, indeed,” the duke agreed, and lifted his cup in tribute. “But I fear she has no interest in me.”

“Oh? Still nursing the grudge between her father and yours, may he rest in peace?”

Norland sighed. “It was such a silly thing—headstrong, prideful old men. I’m sorry that they refused to resolve it, and that my father took it with him to his grave. It’s a good thing that your Excellency’s fair city lies between our lands to the north and his to the south, or there would certainly have been bloodshed. I think, though, that fair Bryanna has her own reasons for disliking me.”

“I too am sorry, young duke. I shall do my best to resolve the issue with d’Sud.” The prince shook his head, sighed, and said, “So how went your dealings abroad, Norland?”

“Very well, indeed, Excellency. I believe that we will be able to trade with them to our mutual benefit. They have many fine silks and fabrics, and they are most desirous of our glassware and metalworked objects.”

The prince regarded him. “Glassware and metalworking?”

“Yes, Excellency. Neither by itself has enough attraction to make trade worthwhile. And while I control the mining and metalworking guilds and your excellency controls shipping and commerce, d’Sud’s glassworking artisans are the finest in the world.”

“All the more reason for peace between your lands and d’Sud. I’ll see to it.You will, however, have to make your own peace with the maiden. But enough of that. What else did you learn on your journey?”

“Wondrous things, Exellency! Their culture is so much different from ours, they seem more advanced in some ways, more primitive in others. Their healers are quite unlike ours—some of them practice a science of the mind which I thought at first to be some sort of magic or enchantment. They lull their patients into a dreamlike state, where they hear and obey the healer to an extraordinary degree, undergoing surgery, feeling no pain, simply because the healer told them that they would feel nothing.”

“I have seen similar things, Norland. Fakirs who could walk across hot coals or pierce their own bodies without blood or pain. But one person can do this to another, you say?”

“Yes. It is as if the words that the healer speaks become the ideas and actions of the patient. The healer has enormous powers of persuasion. They use it to cast out bad humors and even put right the minds of lunatics.”

The duke hesitated a moment. “I undertook a study of the technique while I was there, sire. A guru agreed to teach me and a popinjay French doctor.”

“Ai, the French! They’ll probably turn it into a fashionable pastime for the ladies of Paris. Or a parlor game! But you’ve studied this? You’re no physician, Norland!” The prince chuckled at the thought.

“Nay, Excellency. Not a physician. But there may be other uses.” He could not help stealing a glance at Bryanna.

The tune ended and the dancers happily applauded the musicians and one another, then bowed and curtsied to the royal table before they left the floor. Bryanna and a clutch of southlands maidens wound their way to their table.

As they settled themselves, one leaned close to Bryanna. “M’lady, Duke Norland could not tear his eyes from you the entire time we danced!”

“Aye, and I’m sure there’s more that he would like to tear, Martina. But he’ll not get the chance.”

Martina blushed at the bold statement and put a hand to her throat. “But m’lady, the duke is so handsome! So charming! Why I would....”

Her words died at Bryanna’s look. “Aye again. As many a maiden would. And has.”

Both looked covertly at Norland, his tall, lean frame, piercing blue-gray eyes, and the streaks of silver that had come early to his thick, black hair.

“Aye, m’lady,” said Martina weakly.

“Indeed! The swiving, wenching peacock! Too many women have fallen on his sword. I’ll not be counted among the casualties.”

“But m’lady, I have heard of no such exploits since his father, the duke, died. It seems to me that he is much changed. Methinks his new responsibilities weigh heavily on him.”

“Does the tiger change his stripes, Martina? I’ll not deny that he is a most attractive man, but I’ll not rush to judgment about his newfound purpose. And who knows what mischief he has been up to in his visit to the East?”

“He seems to have a purpose right now, m’lady!”

The music had started again, and Norland was making his way across the floor towards them, his eyes fixed on Bryanna. He bowed deeply before her, and extended his hand. “My lady Bryanna! What a pleasure it is to see you this evening. Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Bryanna took his hand, but did not rise. “Ah, Burton... Duke Norland. You are looking well after your long journey. I do not choose to dance at the moment, but thank you for asking.”

Norland continued to hold her hand, gazing directly into her eyes. “Perhaps you will be able to look upon me with more favor when next I speak to you.”

Bryanna started a little at his odd turn of phrase, his piercing stare, and the way he held her hand.

“In the meantime, however, I shall pay my respects to your father.”

He finally released her hand, not so much letting go of it as lowering it towards her lap. In the meantime, young swains and courtiers had chosen their partners, and they made their way to the dance floor with linked arms. Bryanna wound up sitting quite alone as Norland left her and made his way to her father’s table. She watched out of the corner of her eye as her father received him, stiffly at first, and then with a bit less of a chill. She saw a look of surprise on her father’s face, followed by anger, followed by a long period in which her father seemed to be listening intently to what Norland was saying.

Bryanna watched the pantomime unfold until it was finally clear that he was saying his goodbyes, her father smiling, nodding in agreement to something Norland had said. She found herself hoping, ever so slightly, that he would come back to her, then shook her head, as if to clear the thought from her mind, and focused on the revelers on the dance floor. Some of the young swains, as expected, had imbibed a little too much wine and were flailing about as much as dancing.

She was surprised (relieved?) to hear Norland’s voice close beside her. “It is my fervent wish, my lady, that you link your arm through mine and accompany me to the floor. Would you do me that honor?”

To her further surprise, she found herself rising, accepting the crook of his arm, and joining the other dancers. He was courtly, graceful, light on his feet, but he never took his eyes off her as they whirled around the floor. She found herself staring back at him, the background becoming a blurred shell that surrounded the two of them. It was exhilarating; she couldn’t remember when she’d been partnered more expertly. The music propelled her feet, with no effort on her part. His hand at her waist guided her and she was extraordinarily aware of the way her slender, pale hand rested in his palm and the firm, yet delicate way his fingers and thumb cradled it.

Her reverie was shattered when one of the inebriated young bucks crashed into a huge, wrought iron torchiere topped with an oil lamp. From its position at the edge of the dance floor, it fell towards the dancers. The upright struck Martina heavily on the forearm as she tried to fend it off; she heard the sickening snap of a bone breaking. As it continued to fall, a tongue of burning oil lashed out across the floor, directly at Bryanna. It splashed onto the hem of her gown, which immediately burst into flame. She watched in horror as the fire began to climb.

She was about to run when Norland pushed her backwards to the floor. He spread her legs forcibly and rolled between them, crushing out the flames with his own torso. He lay there for a moment, ensuring that the fire was smothered, his face only inches above her divine fulcrum.

Bryanna struggled to get up from her compromising position, but couldn’t move because his body was on her gown, the weight of it pinning her legs. She was acutely aware of his proximity, of the pressure of his shoulders on her thighs.

“Begging my lady’s pardon, but that seemed too desperate a way to inflame a maiden.” he grinned.

Blood rushed to her face and to another, more private place. She slapped him. The stinging, wordless rebuke echoed in the hall, the sound of it silencing the revelers. Bryanna immediately looked stunned and regretful at what she’d done, as though she wanted to somehow retract it or turn back time. The stillness was broken by a painful sob from Martina, who was sitting on the marble floor, staring at the odd bend in her broken arm.

Norland rolled off Bryanna with a laugh. “You have repaid me well, my lady! Now let us see to your young friend.”

As the prince called for his physician, servants were throwing sand on the remnants of burning oil, righting the torchiere, and preparing to clean the oil from the floor.

Others rushed to Martina’s side, but the duke picked her up gently, saying, “The floor is no place for you, miss. Let us adjourn to the anteroom, where the physician may attend you.” The crowd parted as he carried her across the floor. Bryanna followed into the anteroom, where they were joined by the physician and his assistant. Norland set her down in a chair and took the hand of her good arm in his, saying, “Tell me your name, dear miss.”

She looked at him in wonderment. “Martina, your grace.”

“Martina. A lovely name for a lovely lass. I see that you’ve had some misfortune, Martina, but I ask you now to put it out of your mind and to give me your full attention.” He held her gaze with his as he spoke.

“Tell me, Martina, where you are from.”

She named the town.

“A lovely place! I have visited there. Tell me Martina, do you know the inn by the lake?”

“Yes, sire.”

He spoke in a low voice, so low that she had to strain to hear him. “A most beautiful vista. Close your eyes, Martina, and visualize it with me. Imagine that we’re sitting on the little piazza, under that big old tree. It’s a beautiful day, and we’re watching the sun set over the lake. As it sinks down, you feel very relaxed, and the more it sinks down, the more relaxed you feel. The sun is sinking down, and you’re sinking down with it, relaxing, relaxing, feeling so peaceful and relaxed. Every part of your body is so relaxed, such a wonderful, sleepy feeling, so sleepy and relaxed...”

“Tell me, Martina, are you relaxed?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“So relaxed, Martina, so relaxed that it is as if you are asleep and dreaming that we are by the lakeside. The sun contines to set, and we are enveloped in a beautiful twilight. You are in a beautiful dream that nothing can bother, nothing can disturb. All other sounds are fading away now, Martina, fading away, until you hear nothing but the sound of my voice. Nothing but the sound of my voice as you relax more and more deeply, as you watch the beautiful sunset, as we sit there in the piazza. So relaxed, dreaming so deeply. So deeply that nothing can bother or disturb you.”

The physician looked hesitantly at the duke. “Begging your grace’s pardon, but I need to set this arm. I need to give her a draught that will dull the pain.”

“Nonsense, good doctor! Martina and I are enjoying a beautiful sunset at the lake. Nothing you do will bother or disturb her.”

The doctor looked at him as though he were mad, but Norland turned to Martina, saying, “Martina, the physician needs to make an adjustment to your arm, something that will make it feel much better. While he does that, remember that you and I are sitting by the lake, watching the beautiful sunset. We are having the most delightful conversation, and I want you to give me your prettiest smile as the doctor makes his adjustment. And nothing he does will bother or disturb you in the least.”

“You may proceed, doctor.”

The doctor looked at him doubtfully, but took Martina’s elbow in one hand and her wrist in the other and pulled. His assistant positioned the splints on either side as he did so, and the doctor nodded when he was satisfied with the position of the bones. He bade his assistant hold the arm steady as he checked the area of the break, then they both bound the splints to her arm with strips of cloth.

Martina smiled the entire time, as the duke spoke quietly in her ear. The doctor then took a triangular cloth and arranged it as a sling to hold the arm to her body.

“Tell me, Martina, are you quite comfortable?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Very good, Martina. And now it’s time for you to come back from our wonderful visit to the lake. Your arm causes you no discomfort. It will heal quickly and strongly. You will soon open your eyes and be wide awake, and the physician will have some instructions for you on the care of your arm. You will follow them to the letter and soon all will be well with your arm. Do you understand, Martina?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Very good. Now I shall count from three to one, and on ‘one’ you will open your eyes. You will be wide awake and will feel refreshed, with no discomfort from your arm. Three, two, one!”

Martina opened her eyes, looking somewhat disoriented. She looked from Norland to her arm to the doctor to her arm, and back at Norland.

“Oh, m’lord! I dreamed that I was with you—at the inn, by the lake!”

“Yes, Martina. A most pleasant dream, was it not?”

“Oh, yes, m’lord!”

Norland nodded to the physician and stepped back. The physician looked at him in wonder, but is first concern was his patient.

“You are well, my lady?”

“Yes, good doctor.”

“You feel no pain in your arm?”

“It feels strange. But no pain. No discomfort.”

“Ah, wonderful. Now as it heals you will have to take care....”

Norland stepped back as the physician gave his instructions. He surveyed, for the first time his waistcoat, which was singed in one spot by the burning oil, stained in others by the soot from Bryanna’s burning gown. The lace of his shirt was ruined. Traces of unburnt oil marked his breeches and stockings. He saw that Bryanna was doing the same, examining the charred hem, the scorch marks, and her singed and stained petticoats. She looked once at Norland as though she wanted to say something, looked at her gown again, then hurried out, evidently to change.

He knew that her suite was on the same floor as his. It was a good time for him to change into some fresh clothing, too.

He changed quickly, then stood in the drawing room, surveying the hallway through the small peephole in the door. He heard a door close and saw Bryanna emerge into the hall. He shut the peephole cover and opened the door, feigning surprise at seeing Bryanna.

He bowed, smiling. “My lady! A fresh gown, even lovelier than the last!”

She looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. “Please forgive my unseemly behavior in the ballroom. You saved me from grievous injury, and I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“It is nothing, my lady. ‘Tis good to have a cool head in the presence of a hot body.”

Anger flashed in her eyes and she stamped her foot in frustration. “Can you never be serious, Burton? Ever since we were children, you have undercut your high-mindedness and intelligence with sniggering jests and references to baseness.”

“My most sincere apologies, dear Bryanna. I meant only to lighten the mood and perhaps lessen my own fear of the thought of harm coming to you.”

She softened. “Very well then... but tell me, what was that enchantment you worked with Martina? I have never seen anything so amazing!”

“No enchantment at all. I learned on my journey a manner of speaking that addresses the inner mind, the seat of our dreams and desires. In this case, Martina was very willing, eager, even, to join me in a dream-visit to that inn by the lake. My words caused her to change the state of her mind. When she did so, she was able to leave her pain and discomfort behind.”

“Still, it was most strange and wondrous. How is it that mere words can cause such a thing? Is it a spell?”

“No, my lady, not a spell. Just an invitation to relax, to calm one’s inner mind, and to concentrate on my words. To focus on my words and hear their meaning deep inside your mind. To feel their power to calm, to soothe, to relax. It’s quite a pleasant sensation, to relax and focus on my words, to feel a growing sense of calm and inner peace. It brings a great sense of calm to your mind, a soothing, relaxing feeling.”

He held Bryanna’s gaze. “Perhaps you have noticed, Bryanna, that you are experiencing a very agreeable, sanguine sensation as a result of these words I speak. A drowsy, lethargic feeling that is quite pleasant, quite relaxing. It is quite normal to feel a drowsiness stealing over you, quite normal and quite desirable.”

Bryanna’s face was relaxed, her eyelids half shuttered. “You find my words so relaxing, so soothing, that your eyes want to close so that you can give the words your full attention. The lethargy is making them heavy, heavy, hard to keep open. So relaxed, so relaxed. Your eyes are closing... closing... they are closed. And you feel a wonderful, ever-growing sensation of inner calm and peace as you listen to my words. As you continue to relax, you find that it is quite normal to stand here, eyes closed, deeply relaxed, listening to my words, enjoying the sound of my voice. You also find it quite normal that I am guiding you to a chair so that you may rest and relax all the more deeply. It is your fondest desire to rest and relax all the more deeply.”

Norland reached behind him and opened the door to his suite with one hand and guided Bryanna by the waist with the other.

“With each step, you relax more, Bryanna, and when I seat you in the chair you will become ten times as relaxed, deeply relaxed, every part of your body limp and relaxed.”

He guided her to the chair and moved behind her, placing the chair so she could feel it through her skirts, then pressing down gently on her shoulder.

“Sit now, Bryanna, and relax. Relax so deeply, every part of your body limp, deeply relaxed.”

She slumped in the chair like a rag doll, her head lolling, breathing slowly. Norland looked at her tenderly, moved by her beauty and her apparent vulnerability.

“Deeper and deeper, Bryanna, ever more deeply relaxed, until you are in a deep, deep sleep, listening only to the sound of my voice.”

Now it was time to test the state of her relaxation. “I shall count to three, Bryanna, and when I say three, you will open your eyes, but you will remain deeply relaxed, deeply attentive to my voice. You will lift your head and open your eyes, but remain deeply relaxed. One... two... three....” He watched as her head slowly lifted. “Your eyes are open, yet you remain deeply relaxed.”

She stared ahead blankly, her face a mask of utter, peaceful repose.

“I have a gift for you, Bryanna, a lovely, long-stemmed rose. As you look towards me, you will see me holding a beautiful, long-stemmed rose.”

She turned her eyes towards him, looking at his hands, which he held at an angle, as if he were holding a rose.

“Now I am going to hand you this rose. You would like to hold it in your hands, feel the wonderful softness of its petals, smell its complex fragrance.”

He held his hands out to her and she raised hers, palms up, to accept the flower. She held it lightly so as not to prick herself on its thorns.

“Feel how soft the petals are against your cheek, Bryanna.”

She moved her hands up and tilted her head slightly, moving the imaginary flower against her cheek.

“Now smell its delicious fragrance; breathe deeply of it. This is the Rose of Sleep, and its fragrance causes you to go into a deep, deep sleep. Feel its fragrance making its way through your body, causing a deep, deep sleep, yet you still attend to my words, deep, deep asleep.”

Bryanna moved her hands again, inclined her her head, and inhaled deeply. Her eyes closed; her arms sank down, one on her lap, one limp at her side, and her head lolled.

“Now Bryanna, whenever I say ‘Rose of Sleep’ to you, you will remember this feeling, this wonderful, profound sleep that you are in right now. As you hear the words ‘Rose of Sleep’ you will find yourself deeply asleep, exactly as you are now. Do you understand?”

She nodded, relaxed beyond the ability to form words.

“Soon, my lady, we will return to the ball. You will have no memory of this time during which you have been asleep; you will remember only that we talked in the hall. Also, tonight after you have retired, you will recall that you have called for the princess’s masseuse. She will come to your rooms. When you open the door to admit her, you will see her, a tall woman with large, strong hands. Her hands are wondrously talented and will give you great pleasure. Everything that she does and says will be consonant with her position and her duties.

“And as you arise from your chair,” He guided her to her feet. “You feel yourself coming up through the depths, and as we return to the hall, you recall only that we have been talking about Martina and her arm. I shall count backwards from three, and when I say ‘one’ your eyes will open and you will be wide awake.”

Norland positioned her approximately where she had been standing in the hallway. “Three, two, one!”

“So you see, it was no magic, just her desire to leave her discomfort behind and let the doctor perform his duties without pain.”

Bryanna took a moment to collect herself. “What? Oh, yes.... Yes, but it was still a wonderful thing that you did for her, Burton. You quite amazed me.”

His smile was inscrutable. “I’m sure I shall, dear Bryanna.”

She looked puzzled for a moment. “Hm? Well, never mind. We must be getting back to the ball.”

The celebration was back in full swing. Bryanna rejoined her friends, while Norland deflected a number of questions about his soothing of Martina. A young earl made a joke about the way he had extinguished the fire, but was surprised when Norland responded coolly. He saw the prince summon him, and made his way to the head table.

“Hail, the conquering hero returneth!”

“I have conquered nothing, your Highness.”

“Come, come, Norland! Your modesty does not befit you! This is quite your night—you have done a kindness with that mind science of yours, rescued the beautiful maiden, and even, apparently, made peace with her curmudgeonly father. I have just spoken with him, and he says that you and he have unfinished business to discuss. Business of a good kind, but he declined to elaborate.”

“It’s true, Excellency, that I have begun several initiatives this evening. May they profit us all.”

“Indeed, but why such secrecy?”

“No secrecy, Excellency, just caution before the die is cast.”

“Very well, then, Norland, have your little mystery.”

Duke D’Sud approached his daughter. She kissed his weathered cheek in greeting. “My dear, I am so glad to see that you are unharmed. That was quick thinking, however unseemly, on Norland’s part. But I hope we have had enough adventure for one evening.”

“Yes, father. Duke Norland has revealed facets of himself that I have not seen before—he is full of surprises. But what of your conversation with him? You seem much more kindly diposed towards him.”

The duke smiled, but merely said, “Yes, a man of many surprises.”

With a fanfare from the band, the servants brought out huge trays of desserts, fruits, and cheeses, and the revelers retired to their tables to enjoy the delicacies. Bryanna saw Martina at the table. A courtier was feeding her a honey cake, as if she couldn’t have managed with her one good arm.

She giggled and turned to Bryanna, giving her an arch look. “This one-armed condition of mine is no inconvenience, at least not yet.”

Bryanna was a little slow to catch the implication. She answered in slightly shocked amusement, “But the doctor....”

“That which is not specifically forbidden is permitted,” Martina laughed, and turned back to the young man.

The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly. Bryanna chatted, danced, and enjoyed the prince’s generous bounty. But every time she looked up, it seemed, Norland’s eyes were upon her. She found it vaguely disquieting, yet flattering.

Finally, tired of the revelry, Bryanna decided to retire. She said her thank-yous and goodnights, and headed for the stairway. She undressed for bed, thinking back over the pleasant times and strange turns that the evening had brought. As she was brushing her hair, she heard a soft knock at her door. That would be the masseuse, she thought.

She tightened her robe, opened the door, and saw a tall woman standing there, a shawl concealing most of her features, holding a basket.

“You called for me, m’lady.” Her voice was rough, her manner brusque.

“I... yes, yes, I have heard of your skills. My feet are quite tired after an evening of these formal shoes.”

“Of course, m’lady. If you would sit on the edge of your bed?”

“Yes, of course.” The tall woman followed her into the bedroom, and reached into the basket for a towel and some scented oils and lotions. She pulled up a chair, applied some of the oil to her hands, and picked up one of Bryanna’s feet.

“And what is your name, masseuse?’

“Bertha, m’lady.” She set to work, her hands taking the measure of Bryanna’s foot, stroking it in a manner that was not at all ticklish, but entirely soothing. “They say it was a most wonderful celebration tonight. But that a young woman’s arm was broken and another’s gown set ablaze.”

Bryanna felt the strong hands massaging the oil into her tired feet. “Yes, the girl with the broken arm is my cousin, and it was my gown set alight.”

“M’lady is most fortunate that she was not burned. What happened?”

Bryanna described the scene, right up to the point where Norland had rolled between her legs.

“The grinning fox! What did m’lady do?”

“I fear that modesty overcame gratitude. He made a suggestive remark, and I slapped him.”

The masseuse chuckled appreciatively, continuing her ministrations to Bryanna’s feet. “Methinks the duke finds m’lady very attractive.”

“Methinks he finds every skirt attractive.”

“But does m’lady have no feelings for him?”

“On the contrary. He is a most attractive man, and I have harbored feelings for him for as long as I have known him. But I will not be just another of his playthings.”

“You are wise, m’lady. Begging m’lady’s pardon, but the way you are holding your head suggests tension in your neck and back. May I?” The masseuse reached out and touched Bryanna’s shoulder.

“Yes, of course.” The foot massage had been wonderful, relaxing, soothing.

“If m’lady would loosen her robe and lay face down on the bed?” The masseuse pulled the robe from Bryanna’s shoulders, exposing creamy skin. She warmed some lotion in her hands, spread it, and gently began to knead the muscles.

“Mmm, that feels most wondrous.”

The masseuse worked her way down Bryanna’s back, following the taper to the hollow of her waist, kneading her way towards Bryanna’s buttocks, then working her way up again. Bryanna was blissfully relaxed.

“Begging m’lady’s pardon, but these suggestive remarks the duke makes. Why does m’lady find them so distressing?”

Bryanna sighed. “A bold question, Bertha. Oh, I suppose they remind me that he is knowledgeable and experienced, while I am not.”

“But that can be a very good thing, m’lady. Who wants a fumbling, callow plowman who knows nothing of a woman’s pleasure? A woman’s body is a musical instrument, to be played by an expert.”

“A woman’s pleasure? I’ve heard it said that a woman’s pleasure comes to her in dreams or by her own hand. That the man is too soon come and gone for such things.”

Bertha chuckled appreciatively. “Now who is being bold, m’lady? But you are wrong. A man who truly loves his woman will take his time, will show her many pathways to pleasure.”

“And where does one find such a man?”

“Perhaps the young duke is such. What if it were he who had massaged your feet so thoroughly, who had taken delight in the feel of the delicate bones beneath your skin?”

“If it were he, he would be a rare man, indeed.”

Bertha was tracing Bryanna’s spine, right to the cleavage in her buttocks. “Do you find pleasure in my touch, m’lady?”

Bryanna stiffened. She hesitated before she answered. “You are most accomplished in your skills, Bertha. But I have no desire for such a liaison.”

“M’lady misunderstands me. I meant only to enquire whether m’lady would find pleasure of a different sort if these were Duke Norland’s hands.”

Bryanna shivered deliciously at the thought. “I would find that prospect most exciting. And most unlikely.”

“Sometimes the unlikeliest things come from the most common circumstances, m’lady. For example, this lotion I am using. It is derived from a most uncommon cousin of the ordinary rose.”

“A rose? What rose then?”

“The Rose of Sleep, Bryanna.”

Norland felt her already-relaxed body go limp beneath his hands. “Deep, deep asleep, Bryanna. Deep, deep asleep, just as you were earlier, so relaxed, deep, deep asleep.” He admired her prostrate form on the bed, the robe pulled down until it barely covered her bottom and the tops of her legs. He enjoyed the soft, curving swell of the side of her breast, pressed outwards by her own body weight. Time enough for that, he thought.

He moved to her feet. “And now, Bryanna, let us revisit the wonderful massage you have received this evening, but with one difference. Remember the pleasure of your massage, but in your mind’s eye you see that the person performing these ministrations is Burton Norland. You find it entirely normal and quite desirable that Burton is massaging your feet, causing the most delightful sensations throughout your body. And as you re-experience that massage, the pleasure you derive from it is ten times as strong.”

He moved to her feet and began stroking them lovingly, manipulating her toes, flexing the joints, pressing his thumbs into the special places just forward of the arch, tracing the bones on the tops of her feet. She gasped in pleasure, and his hands slid up to her calves, massaging them, kneading them. They continued to the sensitive place behind her knees and up to her thighs. As his thumbs glided up her inner thighs, a bolt of pleasure shot up her legs and into her most private places. Her hips jerked reflexively and a small, sharp “oh” passed her lips. He repeated the stroke, and smiled as she unconsciously lifted her bottom slightly to meet his advancing hands. Again and again he repeated the motion, until her arousal was obvious and her breathing had become ragged.

“Rest and relax, ever more deeply, as you come to the ever-growing realization that your massage is only half-done, that half of your body has been neglected, and that it yearns deeply to be as well cared-for as your back. You want nothing more than to indulge your senses in my touch, to give your fair skin to my hands.”

He lifted lightly at one shoulder and her hip, and she rolled over effortlessly. Her lips were parted. her eyes closed, a tumble of dark hair around her beautiful face. Her breasts were like creamy pools, each graced by an enticing pink flower bud. He admired the taper of her waist, the womanly flare of her hips, and the soft curls at the apex of her legs.

He picked up her hand and pressed a kiss deeply into her palm. He bit gently on the soft mons at the base of her thumb, and kissed her wrist. He traced his lips up her arm, and was gratified to see her nipple hardening in anticipation and desire. He repeated the motion on her other arm, and she gasped in pleasure. Her body writhed, driven by desire, but held by the deep relaxation he had instilled.

He lowered her arm gently and began to remove his clothes, all the while saying soothing, endearing, arousing things to the entranced Bryanna. She moaned as he described the things he would do to her, then melted in ecstasy as he made good on his promises. His tongue danced with her nipples, flicked them mercilessly. He sucked hard, nibbled gently, and kissed tenderly until she thought she would go mad with desire.

She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, yet she understood it perfectly. She had been enjoying Bertha’s massage, but Bertha had somehow metamorphosed into Burton. She didn’t know how or why, but he was doing such wonderful things to her, saying such marvelous things to her, that she didn’t care. She knew that she would soon be making love to him—this captivating, infuriating, dangerous, infinitely desirable man.

Bryanna felt his weight on her, his knee gently parting her thighs, her legs seemingly spreading of their own accord. She was caught in a languorous dream, but the dream was a hundred times more erotic, infinitely more intense, than her wildest imaginings. She felt him settle between her legs, felt his hardness against her mound. Her hips bucked slightly, the motions muted by her relaxed state, but she wanted nothing more than to press her cleft against him, to invite him into her depths to quell the burning hunger that he had kindled there.

She held her ragged, rapid breath as he spoke. “I have reserved your sweetest treasure, your mouth, for last, dear Bryanna. And when I kiss you, you shall awaken from your slumber. And you will decide at that point whether you shall have me or reject me.”

She felt his weight shift forward and down, felt his lips on hers, a light, gentle kiss, with no sense of urgency. Her eyes flew open, and she saw his eyes, mere inches from hers, watching her expression. She closed her eyes again, wrapped her arms around him, and moaned deeply, kissing him hard. Her breath came hard and fast as her newly-awakened body writhed in anticipation. Her hips sought his, and she felt him shift down until he was positioned to enter her. He pressed against her gently, and she allowed him in, moving instinctively to lubricate him and draw him deeper. The pressure of him felt delicious, but his progress was impeded by her virginity. She pressed herself down on him, and he held firm against her, not thrusting, letting her set the pace. She winced as her hymen yielded, but the discomfort was replaced by an even more intense hunger, an indescribable desire to draw him deeper. Again, he let her control his progress, until he had filled her.

He drew back, and she felt a sensation akin to despair, a craving need to be filled, then was elated as he moved smoothly into her once again. His hands under her bottoms lifted her, and a spasm deep within her brought her hips up to meet him. He repeated the motion again and again, faster and faster, until she thought she would go mad with the pleasure of it. Suddenly she was shrieking, babbling incoherently, her hands clawing at his back. Waves of pleasure buffeted her body and mind. She clung tightly to him, still feeling his hardness, her body making small, almost involuntary movements against him. He matched her motion, smiling down at her, then kissing her greedily. The movements grew in size and intensity until she was off again on a wild, orgasmic ride. Her ardor ignited his, and she felt him thrusting more and more urgently, felt his body stiffening, felt the sweat break out on his back. His low, animal moan sent shivers down her back, caused her nipples to stand erect, and her body to respond in unimaginable ways, until his release caused another, crowning climax in her.

They lay intertwined until the candles were burning low. Bryanna pushed herself up on one elbow.

“I suppose I should thank you for introducing me to the pleasures of lovemaking, dear Burton. But now that you’ve had your sport and disport with me, I suppose I’ve just become another string for you to add to your bow.”

“On the contrary, my dearest. I asked your father if I could ask for your hand in marriage.”

She pulled back sharply, her eyes flashing. “You asked my father for my hand in marriage?”

“No, that is not what I said. I asked your father if I might ask you for your hand in marriage.”

“Marriage! This is how you propose to me? You seduce me?” Anger flushed her features. “You could not wait for the meal, but had to sneak into the kitchen, to sample a morsel, to see, perhaps, if it meets your high standards?”

He looked abashed. “A sharp analogy, but one that cuts both ways. I am experienced with women, but if you will have me as your husband it will be with full knowledge of my desire and, in all modesty, my ability to please you.”

“You haven’t a modest bone in your body,” she interjected with a begrudging smile.

“You have always been of two minds about me,” he continued, “but I have always been of one mind about you. If I deceived you, it was only to circumvent the silly conventions that allow a man his debaucheries, while a woman remains pure and virginal. You would not buy a pear in the market sight unseen. Nor should you take a husband untried. If you reject me, our time together tonight will be our secret. None other shall know you as a woman of experience. And if you like, I can arrange your memory so that not even you recall it.”

“No! I would remember it for a lifetime!” She put a hand on his arm. “You are doubtless the most infuriating man I have ever known. You have charmed the bird from her tree with your entrancing words. You have worked a bold deception to gain entry to my bedchamber. You have seduced me by playing on my desires....”

He smiled. “Your desires?” He reached out and gently captured her nether lips between his fingers, holding with two and massaging between them in small circles with the third.

She gasped, shuddered, and sighed, withdrawing his hand. “Will you stop at nothing?”

“I will stop at you.”

She regarded him seriously for a long time. “In that case, dear Burton, let us return to the topic of your desire and ability to please me.” She pulled him down. “You are on trial here. Make good your acquittal.”