u/emeraldthornewriter

I was barely locked into my chastity belt for five hours before the General strode into my bedroom, key held aloft to unlock me for another session.

“What time is it?” I asked blearily, half-asleep, as he unlocked the belt and slipped the chains from my hips.

“Not yet six,” he said, and flipped me over onto my belly. I groaned into my pillow, realising as he slid inside me that he was – horror of all horrors – an early riser. I was still wet from the night before, and he thrust inside me easily.

“My regiment musters in twenty minutes,” he said, rubbing his rough cheek across my bare shoulder blade. “But I wanted to see to my girl first.”

I sighed, arching my back under the curve of his stroking palm. “Thank you.” The angle was new to me, but after Fenris slipped a pillow under my hips, it quickly became a favourite. On the edge of dozing, all I had to do was bury my head in my crossed arms and take the breeding. There was no teasing this time. Fenris moved with perfunctory ease, thrusting deep and fast inside me in short, grinding motions. He pushed the silky hair off my neck, sucking a mating mark onto my skin. I sighed dreamily at the scrape of teeth against my sensitive neck. If I could wake up like this every morning I’d be very happy.

“God, you’re delicious,” he sighed. He pushed up on one knee, finding leverage to push inside me even deeper. I arched up into it, widening my legs to let him stretch me open in a deep ache of pleasure. With each thrust, his testicles smacked against my pearl, pushing me closer and closer to release.

He reached under me to toy with my nipples, licking at his fingers before flicking the soft sleep-warm skin into stiff, tender peaks. When I cried out, twisting in the sheets for more, his hand moved up to grip the back of my neck.

He grunted, pushing me down into the pillows as he held me in a solid mating stance. I fell pliant and still, letting him shift me as he wished. I would take it however he wanted. He groaned, long and slow, the sound pulled from somewhere deep inside his chest. I felt the pulse of his length as he filled me with hot seed. His load was so thick and full that it started dripping out of me before he’d even pulled away.

This time. This time it would take. He was putting a baby inside me. I knew it.

“So good for me,” he whispered, rubbing gentle fingers over my entrance, dipping them inside me to test the damp fullness of my stretched open centre. I arched up, hoping he would touch my button again, but he pulled away, apparently satisfied with his work.

He slipped the chastity belt back over my hips as I whimpered, twisting against the cool metal in desperate need. I felt pliant and drowsy and needy for more. More touch, more breeding, more, more, more.

“Please,” I murmured.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls.”

When he was satisfied that I was locked up tightly, he dropped a kiss onto my cheek and slipped out of the room. “I’ll call this evening. The moment I’m able.”

“Please,” I said again, not even knowing what I was asking for. I was half-asleep again already, lulled into a doze by the feeling of his warm seed trickling down my thigh. He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

When I woke up again, I was alone and hot and bothered. The encounter seemed like a dream in the bright morning light, but the seed inside me confirmed that Fenris really had stopped by to breed me. He’d only held my key for one day, yet he was already so confident in taking what was his. Whenever he wished it.

Wracked with desire, I pushed a pillow between my thighs and ground my tender nub against the metal of my belt, searching desperately for a release from the teasing pressure.

It was too much, and not enough, all at the same time. I rocked back and forth in quick need, feeling pulses of pleasure roll through me. But the cold metal quickly made my over-worked skin too sensitive. It pulled me further away from a pinnacle with each rub of my hips.

All I would succeed in doing was work myself up into more of a state. Declaring surrender, I dressed and went downstairs to begin the day. I wasn’t going to find release anywhere except on Fenris’ length. Or his fingers . . . Or under the firm strokes of his palm . . . Or maybe on his tongue . . .

I shook myself, hard. If I spent all day thinking about this, I’d torture myself. It was a beautiful day, and Damson was calling at ten with her toy poodle for a stroll to Hyde Park. I had to forget about Fenris until this evening. However impossible that felt right now.

this is an extract from my kindle unlimited novel The Mating Season :)

I was barely locked into my chastity belt for five hours before the General strode into my bedroom, key held aloft to unlock me for another session.

“What time is it?” I asked blearily, half-asleep, as he unlocked the belt and slipped the chains from my hips.

“Not yet six,” he said, and flipped me over onto my belly. I groaned into my pillow, realising as he slid inside me that he was – horror of all horrors – an early riser. I was still wet from the night before, and he thrust inside me easily.

“My regiment musters in twenty minutes,” he said, rubbing his rough cheek across my bare shoulder blade. “But I wanted to see to my girl first.”

I sighed, arching my back under the curve of his stroking palm. “Thank you.” The angle was new to me, but after Fenris slipped a pillow under my hips, it quickly became a favourite. On the edge of dozing, all I had to do was bury my head in my crossed arms and take the breeding. There was no teasing this time. Fenris moved with perfunctory ease, thrusting deep and fast inside me in short, grinding motions. He pushed the silky hair off my neck, sucking a mating mark onto my skin. I sighed dreamily at the scrape of teeth against my sensitive neck. If I could wake up like this every morning I’d be very happy.

“God, you’re delicious,” he sighed. He pushed up on one knee, finding leverage to push inside me even deeper. I arched up into it, widening my legs to let him stretch me open in a deep ache of pleasure. With each thrust, his testicles smacked against my pearl, pushing me closer and closer to release.

He reached under me to toy with my nipples, licking at his fingers before flicking the soft sleep-warm skin into stiff, tender peaks. When I cried out, twisting in the sheets for more, his hand moved up to grip the back of my neck.

He grunted, pushing me down into the pillows as he held me in a solid mating stance. I fell pliant and still, letting him shift me as he wished. I would take it however he wanted. He groaned, long and slow, the sound pulled from somewhere deep inside his chest. I felt the pulse of his length as he filled me with hot seed. His load was so thick and full that it started dripping out of me before he’d even pulled away.

This time. This time it would take. He was putting a baby inside me. I knew it.

“So good for me,” he whispered, rubbing gentle fingers over my entrance, dipping them inside me to test the damp fullness of my stretched open centre. I arched up, hoping he would touch my button again, but he pulled away, apparently satisfied with his work.

He slipped the chastity belt back over my hips as I whimpered, twisting against the cool metal in desperate need. I felt pliant and drowsy and needy for more. More touch, more breeding, more, more, more.

“Please,” I murmured.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Duty calls.”

When he was satisfied that I was locked up tightly, he dropped a kiss onto my cheek and slipped out of the room. “I’ll call this evening. The moment I’m able.”

“Please,” I said again, not even knowing what I was asking for. I was half-asleep again already, lulled into a doze by the feeling of his warm seed trickling down my thigh. He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

When I woke up again, I was alone and hot and bothered. The encounter seemed like a dream in the bright morning light, but the seed inside me confirmed that Fenris really had stopped by to breed me. He’d only held my key for one day, yet he was already so confident in taking what was his. Whenever he wished it.

Wracked with desire, I pushed a pillow between my thighs and ground my tender nub against the metal of my belt, searching desperately for a release from the teasing pressure.

It was too much, and not enough, all at the same time. I rocked back and forth in quick need, feeling pulses of pleasure roll through me. But the cold metal quickly made my over-worked skin too sensitive. It pulled me further away from a pinnacle with each rub of my hips.

All I would succeed in doing was work myself up into more of a state. Declaring surrender, I dressed and went downstairs to begin the day. I wasn’t going to find release anywhere except on Fenris’ length. Or his fingers . . . Or under the firm strokes of his palm . . . Or maybe on his tongue . . .

I shook myself, hard. If I spent all day thinking about this, I’d torture myself. It was a beautiful day, and Damson was calling at ten with her toy poodle for a stroll to Hyde Park. I had to forget about Fenris until this evening. However impossible that felt right now.

this is an extract from my kindle unlimited novel The Mating Season :)

The Mating Season: in regency England, marriage is only permitted after a successful breeding. Let the courtships commence.... i'm a bit obsessed with bridgerton, so this story is about a world where suitors have to impregnate a debutante before they're allowed to marry her - or they have to step aside so another man can take his turn. Here's the first chapter:

“How are you feeling, darling?” Mama asked, looking worried.

“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my excitement. “Nervous, I suppose.”

“I shan’t pretend this will be easy,” she said. “But you understand how important it is, don’t you? Our family line depends on this.”

Mama had been handling me like cut glass ever since my debutante year had arrived. As if I might crumble over a mere Mating Season. As if this weren’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to me. I’d been waiting for this day since I first caught wind of my older cousin Martha’s mating season (which had extended a full seven moons before she finally became with child! Seven suitors, one after another! It makes me flush just to think of it.)

We’d arrived to call for tea just as my uncle was showing out her latest suitor: a tall, handsome man with a mop of brown fluff for hair. He had bowed to us, looking profoundly flushed and windswept as he hurriedly buttoned his waistcoat with clumsy fingers. It had been so evident that something unusual was happening that Mama had taken me aside to reveal all. I’d known, of course, the vague notion of a girl’s mating season. All the debutantes were presented to the Queen before they participated in an extravagant rush of balls and courtships.

If they were lucky, they made a match and settled down into wedded bliss. I had known that. But I hadn’t understood, even the slightest, how babies came into being. Or what organisational complexities were required to make sure the debutantes of the Ton all found a fruitful match. It had been quite the shock.

That night, I’d brought myself to the pinnacle four times over, touching myself desperately at the very idea. Soon that would be me. I’d be the one laid out for a suitor to breed and test and take and trial and mate. To the King. For my country. For the chance to one day, if I were lucky, become a mother.

“I’m ready, Mama. I’ve been preparing for this for months!” I said, as I climbed into the mating chair. Preparing every night. Diligently. With the mating training tools I’d been given at my debutante presentation. I’d been able to take the thickest rod for a month now. It was hard and unyielding, and I was absolutely desperate to test out the real thing. Wetness leaked down my thigh at the thought. I wriggled into position in the plush leather chair. The stirrup supports under my thighs held my legs wide open, cloth folds of my dress falling down between them. It was, admittedly, an ungainly process to climb into the chair. But once in position, I felt utterly unstoppable. A goddess of fertility and sexuality and power. Ready to take whatever my suitors might push inside me. One after the other. Over and other again. For the whole season . . .

Eagerness thrummed through my veins. I couldn’t believe my own luck, sometimes.

From the doorway, the footman said, “I present the Duke of Somerset, Sir.” The Duke entered, bowing to my mother and father.

“Lord Pond. Lady Pond.” From his deep bow, Louis’ dark eyes flashed over to me. “Miss Pond.”

Father extended his hand for a solid handshake, clasping the Duke affectionately around the shoulder. There was a fizz of butterflies in my belly.

“You look well, my boy!” Father said.

Louis and I had been friends since our leading strings days. It hadn’t even been a question that he would be my first suitor. My fancy for him had been a source of continual teasing amongst my family for years now. When Mama and I had returned from my presentation at court, Louis had already been waiting for us in the tea room to officially request a courtship.

He’d been so sweet – shy and pink, stuttering over his words as he nervously asked my father for my hand. Father had laughed him off, saying, “I’ve already written your name in her mating card! Never mind the formalities – she’s yours.”

And Louis had blushed and stammered some more, then been unable to make eye contact with me for the entirety of tea and scones. His childish nerves were nowhere in sight now. He was looking at me with dark, unconcealed lust. Right in front of the footman. A shiver ran all the way down my spine. I shifted in the stirrups, trying not to feel like too much of a wanton wreck before he’d even touched me.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Mama asked, walking into the attached conservatory. “Once you’ve finished your work, of course.”

“That would be lovely.”

Father bowed again, following Mama into the conservatory. There was a clink of porcelain as they poured themselves Earl Grey. I could vaguely hear Mama saying something about the peonies in the garden. Then all my attention was taken up by Louis, who was trailing one hand along my ankle and under my skirts.

“How do you feel?” he asked, thumb rubbing back and forth across my silk-clad calf. I thought about aiming for a coy, nervous, flutteringly girlish answer, but Louis knew me too well. The corner of his mouth was already curling up.

“Desperate.” The word came out before I even had time to think about it.

He blew out a breath. I could see the desire practically pouring off him. My toes curled in the restraints. I wished desperately to kiss him, but that would be improper before an engagement. Kisses and romantic gestures were not what the mating season was about. This was a bureaucratic, procedural – almost scientific – endeavour. The hand under my skirts ran higher, trailing along my inner thigh. I shivered. My centre was going to be wet and dripping by the time his fingers reached it. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or proud of the results of my training. I’d been a very diligent student. Quite without my intention, I found my hips arching up towards him.

“Scarlett . . .” he breathed out. I could feel his fingers trembling. His control seemed on the edge of breaking.

“Do it,” I urged, in a desperate whisper. “Please.”

He fell towards me, standing between my legs in his fine formal courting attire. His fingers pressed against me, gentle and coaxing as he shifted aside my petticoats and found my wet centre. It was easy, in the stirrups. The work of a moment to slip inside me.

For the first time, I felt utterly exposed. I could see now why the mating chair was used. It made me ready to be taken. Helpless against my suitor’s entry. Louis’ touch was blind and unknowing at first. His thumb slid across my button in a flashing gasp of pleasure and never came back, as he explored tentatively.

I gathered from his tentative touch that this must be his first time too. What a pleasure, to explore this new realm together. I arched up again, eyes fixed on the Duke’s bright, awed face as he ran his fingers over me, clumsy and uncertain. By the time he’d picked up the skill, I was already a shaking mess on the edge of a pinnacle. I bit my bottom lip, settling down deeper in the chair, curling my hips upwards into the fingers pressing firmly against my entrance. Louis paused there, pulling at his cravat with his free hand to expose his overheated neck.

“Come on,” I begged, trying to pull his fingers deep inside me. But the stirrups, however much they held me open, gave me no room to thrust and flex. I would just have to wait. Let him take his time, however long he chose to toy with me. At last, the thick blunt tips of his fingers pushed inside my entrance, curling deep inside me. He hit something that make sparks shatter behind my vision, and I heard myself let out a desperate, greedy moan.

At the sound, all of Louis’ careful formal composure fell away. He tipped forward onto my chest, sucking at the swelling curves of my breast, fingers working deeper inside me. When my nipple came free of my bodice, the feeling of his tongue against it shocked me. I hadn’t realised how sensitive my skin could feel inside a hot, warm, gently suckingly mouth. My training rods hadn’t prepared me for this.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding his head in place with greedy need. I felt desperately that I must keep him there as long as I could. His hardness rubbed against my thigh, still trapped inside his breeches. The feeling of his length – the tease of knowing what was still to come, how much pleasure we could wring out of each other; doing this over and over again for the whole month, whenever we wished – it was enough to push me over the edge.

I reached my pinnacle, clenching hard around two of his fingers and moaning desperately. I gasped for breath, feeling flushed and needy. It wasn’t enough. It never was. When I practised on myself, one release always led to another, and another, in a quick stream of eager jolts, craving harder, deeper, faster, thicker.

“Take me,” I begged, clumsy hands grappling ineffectively at the waistband of his breeches. My mind felt like an exploding star, quivering and exposed. His fingers slid free of my centre, leaving a wet and empty wake behind. I shivered up into it, enjoying the feeling of emptiness and anticipation almost as much as his touch. Louis had gone a deep rose pink, flushed from his cheeks down into the open neck of his shirt. He was breathing hard, hair standing on end from my guiding grasp. I could see his hand working between his legs. The red tip of his length was wet and dripping. I pulled at my skirts, gathering them up and over my thighs.

The sheer quantity of fabric was frustrating. Next time, I’d remove my petticoats before getting into position. Already, I felt like I’d learnt so much more than what my training had prepared me for. I’d known I would love this. Seven months of mating? It wouldn’t be enough. I was already greedy for more. Gods, let it take years and years before I find a suitable match.

Louis pressed his tip against my entrance. When he pushed inside, the thickness of him took me by surprise. He wasn’t as long as my largest training rod, but the solid girth was a sweet, pressing pleasure stretching open my entrance. As soon as his full length was pressed inside me, he lost all focus on his gentlemanly manner.

He curled his hands around the fronts of my thighs, using me as leverage to thrust deeper inside my slick, needy core. I gasped, throwing my head back. His movements were unpredictable. Much harder and faster than I’d been able to imitate with the training rod. He managed to reach somewhere deeper inside me, somehow. I thought I’d been prepared, but it took all of my focus to just lie still and let him fill me.

Shuddering, I bit at my lip, feeling each deep thrust shudder through me. Louis moaned, hips driving him harder as his control grew shakier. I could feel myself quivering on the edge of another release. I guided his other hand to my pearl, showing him how I liked it. He studied me like we’d studied our Latin translations together in the summer house, drinking lemonade and arguing over conjugations. As soon as his thumb swiped over my pleasure centre, I lost all control.

Arching up in the chair, I worked my hips in tight circles within the confines of the stirrups. Louis bent his head down and lapped at my hard nipples. I clenched hard around him, coming harder than I ever had before. It was so intense that I lost my vision for a moment, slumping back in the stirrups and blinking hard as ripples of pleasure trickled through me in the aftermath of my release.

Louis was moaning hard now, chasing his own pleasure. I curled my fingers into his hair, stroking one hand down his back.

“Give it to me,” I gasped, rocking up into each thrust. “Fill me. Breed me.”

He groaned, shivering from head to toes, panting on each thrust. “Yes! Please!”

“Put a baby inside me,” I said, clenching tighter around him at the very thought. “Fill me with your seed. I need it.”

Louis curled over me, his whole body going tight as he found his release. He went still, and I felt his length pulsing. Hot spurts of seed filled me, slick and thick.

He groaned, shuddering hard, and thrust again. His seed moved inside me, spreading slickly through my core with every forceful movement. It was so filling that I couldn’t imagine the seed wouldn’t take. Of course he would breed me with a child. How could he not? How could this take seven months?

Sated now, we were both calmer, moving in gentle rolling thrusts as we enjoyed the feeling of his softening length inside me. It was so different from how I’d imagined. So much more animalistic. I hadn’t anticipated the rich musky smell of his arousal.

The sweat dripping from his collarbones as he worked hard to fill me. I couldn’t have predicted the dirty squelch that his seed made as he ground it deeper inside me. Anyone walking down the hallway would hear the sounds of our mating through the open doorway.

The embarrassment and vulnerability of it all made me feel desperate and greedy, in the best way imaginable. Just the thought of being observed in this dishevelled state sent a ripple of delayed pleasure through me. I pressed my fingers to my nub just in time to catch the wave of heat as I reached another pinnacle.

Louis hissed, pulling back from the clench of my centre. His tip slid out of my entrance with a soft pop, sliding down my dripping folds. I lifted my hips, keening at the hollow empty feeling that was left behind. Immediately he dropped to his knees, pushing his fingers inside my opening. I heard his deep groan at the sight. I could only imagine how I looked. Seed dripping from my wet core, throbbing around nothing.

He worked his seed deeper inside me, fingers curling deeper to hit that soft spongey mound inside me. I gasped, eyes wide open as I looked up at the ornate filigree plasterwork on the ceiling. It felt so sensitive and raw now. Each gentle touch shot fireworks through me. He was touching me past the point where I would have set down my training rod and fallen asleep. But there was something even more arousing in the lack of control.

I just had to lie here and take it, trapped in the chair until he had bred me to his liking. If he wanted to keep going until I was raw and sobbing and drawing back from each stroke in desperate pleading agony . . . I would have to let him, without complain. I could already imagine what kind of delirious, mind-blown state that would push me to.

To my dismay and relief, Louis pulled back and rose to his feet. He was flushed and wrecked, shirt pulled free from his breeches and covered in wrinkles from my wandering grasp. I wished again that I could kiss those lips. They were plump from being bitten raw.

"Was that all right?” I let out a desperate laugh. “That was incredible. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” He slumped against me, dropping kisses against my breasts. “I was so worried I’d mess up.”

“Never. You’re a born natural.”

He grinned at each other for a moment. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“Water would be good.” I was supposed to stay in the stirrups for fifteen minutes after breeding. To best encourage the seed to take. He nodded, pulling his shirt down neatly. I let my eyes fall closed, focusing on the wet warmth pulsing between my legs.

In the conservatory, I heard my father ask, “Success?” Before Louis had replied, I had fallen into a contented slumber. My first mating was turning out even better than imagined.

You can read the full book on kindle unlimited - the Mating season by emerald Thorne ☺️

i'm a bit obsessed with bridgerton, so this story is about a world where suitors have to impregnate a debutante before they're allowed to marry her - or they have to step aside so another man can take his turn.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Mama asked, looking worried.

“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my excitement. “Nervous, I suppose.”

“I shan’t pretend this will be easy,” she said. “But you understand how important it is, don’t you? Our family line depends on this.”

Mama had been handling me like cut glass ever since my debutante year had arrived. As if I might crumble over a mere Mating Season. As if this weren’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.

I’d been waiting for this day since I first caught wind of my older cousin Martha’s mating season (which had extended a full seven moons before she finally became with child! Seven suitors, one after another! It makes me flush just to think of it.)

We’d arrived to call for tea just as my uncle was showing out her latest suitor: a tall, handsome man with a mop of brown fluff for hair. He had bowed to us, looking profoundly flushed and windswept as he hurriedly buttoned his waistcoat with clumsy fingers.

It had been so evident that something unusual was happening that Mama had taken me aside to reveal all. I’d known, of course, the vague notion of a girl’s mating season.

All the debutantes were presented to the Queen before they participated in an extravagant rush of balls and courtships. If they were lucky, they made a match and settled down into wedded bliss. I had known that. But I hadn’t understood, even the slightest, how babies came into being. Or what organisational complexities were required to make sure the debutantes of the Ton all found a fruitful match.

It had been quite the shock.

That night, I’d brought myself to the pinnacle four times over, touching myself desperately at the very idea. Soon that would be me. I’d be the one laid out for a suitor to breed and test and take and trial and mate.

To the King. For my country.

For the chance to one day, if I were lucky, become a mother.

“I’m ready, Mama. I’ve been preparing for this for months!” I said, as I climbed into the mating chair.

Preparing every night. Diligently. With the mating training tools I’d been given at my debutante presentation. I’d been able to take the thickest rod for a month now. It was hard and unyielding, and I was absolutely desperate to test out the real thing.

Wetness leaked down my thigh at the thought.

I wriggled into position in the plush leather chair. The stirrup supports under my thighs held my legs wide open, cloth folds of my dress falling down between them. It was, admittedly, an ungainly process to climb into the chair. But once in position, I felt utterly unstoppable. A goddess of fertility and sexuality and power. Ready to take whatever my suitors might push inside me. One after the other. Over and other again. For the whole season . . . Eagerness thrummed through my veins. I couldn’t believe my own luck, sometimes.

From the doorway, the footman said, “I present the Duke of Somerset, Sir.” The Duke entered, bowing to my mother and father. “Lord Pond. Lady Pond.” From his deep bow, Louis’ dark eyes flashed over to me. “Miss Pond.” Father extended his hand for a solid handshake, clasping the Duke affectionately around the shoulder.

There was a fizz of butterflies in my belly.

“You look well, my boy!” Father said.

Louis and I had been friends since our leading strings days. It hadn’t even been a question that he would be my first suitor. My fancy for him had been a source of continual teasing amongst my family for years now.

When Mama and I had returned from my presentation at court, Louis had already been waiting for us in the tea room to officially request a courtship. He’d been so sweet – shy and pink, stuttering over his words as he nervously asked my father for my hand.

Father had laughed him off, saying, “I’ve already written your name in her mating card! Never mind the formalities – she’s yours.”

And Louis had blushed and stammered some more, then been unable to make eye contact with me for the entirety of tea and scones.

His childish nerves were nowhere in sight now. He was looking at me with dark, unconcealed lust. Right in front of the footman.

A shiver ran all the way down my spine. I shifted in the stirrups, trying not to feel like too much of a wanton wreck before he’d even touched me.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Mama asked, walking into the attached conservatory. “Once you’ve finished your work, of course.”

“That would be lovely.”

Father bowed again, following Mama into the conservatory. There was a clink of porcelain as they poured themselves Earl Grey. I could vaguely hear Mama saying something about the peonies in the garden.

Then all my attention was taken up by Louis, who was trailing one hand along my ankle and under my skirts.

“How do you feel?” he asked, thumb rubbing back and forth across my silk-clad calf.

I thought about aiming for a coy, nervous, flutteringly girlish answer, but Louis knew me too well. The corner of his mouth was already curling up.

“Desperate.” The word came out before I even had time to think about it. He blew out a breath. I could see the desire practically pouring off him. My toes curled in the restraints.

I wished desperately to kiss him, but that would be improper before an engagement. Kisses and romantic gestures were not what the mating season was about. This was a bureaucratic, procedural – almost scientific – endeavour.

The hand under my skirts ran higher, trailing along my inner thigh. I shivered. My centre was going to be wet and dripping by the time his fingers reached it. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or proud of the results of my training. I’d been a very diligent student.

Quite without my intention, I found my hips arching up towards him.

“Scarlett . . .” he breathed out. I could feel his fingers trembling. His control seemed on the edge of breaking.

“Do it,” I urged, in a desperate whisper. “Please.”

He fell towards me, standing between my legs in his fine formal courting attire. His fingers pressed against me, gentle and coaxing as he shifted aside my petticoats and found my wet centre. It was easy, in the stirrups. The work of a moment to slip inside me.

For the first time, I felt utterly exposed. I could see now why the mating chair was used. It made me ready to be taken. Helpless against my suitor’s entry. Louis’ touch was blind and unknowing at first. His thumb slid across my button in a flashing gasp of pleasure and never came back, as he explored tentatively. I gathered from his tentative touch that this must be his first time too. What a pleasure, to explore this new realm together.

I arched up again, eyes fixed on the Duke’s bright, awed face as he ran his fingers over me, clumsy and uncertain. By the time he’d picked up the skill, I was already a shaking mess on the edge of a pinnacle.

I bit my bottom lip, settling down deeper in the chair, curling my hips upwards into the fingers pressing firmly against my entrance.

Louis paused there, pulling at his cravat with his free hand to expose his overheated neck.

“Come on,” I begged, trying to pull his fingers deep inside me. But the stirrups, however much they held me open, gave me no room to thrust and flex. I would just have to wait. Let him take his time, however long he chose to toy with me.

At last, the thick blunt tips of his fingers pushed inside my entrance, curling deep inside me. He hit something that make sparks shatter behind my vision, and I heard myself let out a desperate, greedy moan.

At the sound, all of Louis’ careful formal composure fell away. He tipped forward onto my chest, sucking at the swelling curves of my breast, fingers working deeper inside me.

When my nipple came free of my bodice, the feeling of his tongue against it shocked me. I hadn’t realised how sensitive my skin could feel inside a hot, warm, gently suckingly mouth. My training rods hadn’t prepared me for this. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding his head in place with greedy need. I felt desperately that I must keep him there as long as I could. His hardness rubbed against my thigh, still trapped inside his breeches.

The feeling of his length – the tease of knowing what was still to come, how much pleasure we could wring out of each other; doing this over and over again for the whole month, whenever we wished – it was enough to push me over the edge. I reached my pinnacle, clenching hard around two of his fingers and moaning desperately.

I gasped for breath, feeling flushed and needy. It wasn’t enough. It never was. When I practised on myself, one release always led to another, and another, in a quick stream of eager jolts, craving harder, deeper, faster, thicker.

“Take me,” I begged, clumsy hands grappling ineffectively at the waistband of his breeches. My mind felt like an exploding star, quivering and exposed. His fingers slid free of my centre, leaving a wet and empty wake behind. I shivered up into it, enjoying the feeling of emptiness and anticipation almost as much as his touch.

Louis had gone a deep rose pink, flushed from his cheeks down into the open neck of his shirt. He was breathing hard, hair standing on end from my guiding grasp.

I could see his hand working between his legs. The red tip of his length was wet and dripping. I pulled at my skirts, gathering them up and over my thighs. The sheer quantity of fabric was frustrating. Next time, I’d remove my petticoats before getting into position. Already, I felt like I’d learnt so much more than what my training had prepared me for.

I’d known I would love this. Seven months of mating? It wouldn’t be enough. I was already greedy for more. Gods, let it take years and years before I find a suitable match.

Louis pressed his tip against my entrance. When he pushed inside, the thickness of him took me by surprise. He wasn’t as long as my largest training rod, but the solid girth was a sweet, pressing pleasure stretching open my entrance.

As soon as his full length was pressed inside me, he lost all focus on his gentlemanly manner. He curled his hands around the fronts of my thighs, using me as leverage to thrust deeper inside my slick, needy core.

I gasped, throwing my head back. His movements were unpredictable. Much harder and faster than I’d been able to imitate with the training rod. He managed to reach somewhere deeper inside me, somehow. I thought I’d been prepared, but it took all of my focus to just lie still and let him fill me. Shuddering, I bit at my lip, feeling each deep thrust shudder through me. Louis moaned, hips driving him harder as his control grew shakier. I could feel myself quivering on the edge of another release.

I guided his other hand to my pearl, showing him how I liked it. He studied me like we’d studied our Latin translations together in the summer house, drinking lemonade and arguing over conjugations.

As soon as his thumb swiped over my pleasure centre, I lost all control. Arching up in the chair, I worked my hips in tight circles within the confines of the stirrups. Louis bent his head down and lapped at my hard nipples. I clenched hard around him, coming harder than I ever had before.

It was so intense that I lost my vision for a moment, slumping back in the stirrups and blinking hard as ripples of pleasure trickled through me in the aftermath of my release.

Louis was moaning hard now, chasing his own pleasure. I curled my fingers into his hair, stroking one hand down his back.

“Give it to me,” I gasped, rocking up into each thrust. “Fill me. Breed me.” He groaned, shivering from head to toes, panting on each thrust. “Yes! Please!”

“Put a baby inside me,” I said, clenching tighter around him at the very thought. “Fill me with your seed. I need it.”

Louis curled over me, his whole body going tight as he found his release. He went still, and I felt his length pulsing. Hot spurts of seed filled me, slick and thick.

He groaned, shuddering hard, and thrust again. His seed moved inside me, spreading slickly through my core with every forceful movement.

It was so filling that I couldn’t imagine the seed wouldn’t take. Of course he would breed me with a child. How could he not? How could this take seven months?

Sated now, we were both calmer, moving in gentle rolling thrusts as we enjoyed the feeling of his softening length inside me. It was so different from how I’d imagined. So much more animalistic. I hadn’t anticipated the rich musky smell of his arousal. The sweat dripping from his collarbones as he worked hard to fill me.

I couldn’t have predicted the dirty squelch that his seed made as he ground it deeper inside me. Anyone walking down the hallway would hear the sounds of our mating through the open doorway. The embarrassment and vulnerability of it all made me feel desperate and greedy, in the best way imaginable.

Just the thought of being observed in this dishevelled state sent a ripple of delayed pleasure through me. I pressed my fingers to my nub just in time to catch the wave of heat as I reached another pinnacle.

Louis hissed, pulling back from the clench of my centre. His tip slid out of my entrance with a soft pop, sliding down my dripping folds. I lifted my hips, keening at the hollow empty feeling that was left behind.

Immediately he dropped to his knees, pushing his fingers inside my opening. I heard his deep groan at the sight. I could only imagine how I looked. Seed dripping from my wet core, throbbing around nothing.

He worked his seed deeper inside me, fingers curling deeper to hit that soft spongey mound inside me. I gasped, eyes wide open as I looked up at the ornate filigree plasterwork on the ceiling. It felt so sensitive and raw now. Each gentle touch shot fireworks through me.

He was touching me past the point where I would have set down my training rod and fallen asleep. But there was something even more arousing in the lack of control. I just had to lie here and take it, trapped in the chair until he had bred me to his liking. If he wanted to keep going until I was raw and sobbing and drawing back from each stroke in desperate pleading agony . . . I would have to let him, without complain. I could already imagine what kind of delirious, mind-blown state that would push me to.

To my dismay and relief, Louis pulled back and rose to his feet. He was flushed and wrecked, shirt pulled free from his breeches and covered in wrinkles from my wandering grasp.

I wished again that I could kiss those lips. They were plump from being bitten raw.

“Was that all right?”

I let out a desperate laugh. “That was incredible. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” He slumped against me, dropping kisses against my breasts. “I was so worried I’d mess up.”

“Never. You’re a born natural.”

He grinned at each other for a moment. “Can I get you anything? Tea?” “Water would be good.” I was supposed to stay in the stirrups for fifteen minutes after breeding. To best encourage the seed to take.

He nodded, pulling his shirt down neatly.

I let my eyes fall closed, focusing on the wet warmth pulsing between my legs. In the conservatory, I heard my father ask, “Success?”

Before Louis had replied, I had fallen into a contented slumber.

My first mating was turning out even better than imagined.

i hope you enjoyed it! this is the first chapter of a longer story thats on kindle unlimited - the mating season by emerald thorne 😄

i'm a bit obsessed with bridgerton, so this story is about a world where suitors have to impregnate a debutante before they're allowed to marry her - or they have to step aside so another man can take his turn.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Mama asked, looking worried.

“Oh,” I said, trying to hide my excitement. “Nervous, I suppose.”

“I shan’t pretend this will be easy,” she said. “But you understand how important it is, don’t you? Our family line depends on this.”

Mama had been handling me like cut glass ever since my debutante year had arrived. As if I might crumble over a mere Mating Season. As if this weren’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to me.

I’d been waiting for this day since I first caught wind of my older cousin Martha’s mating season (which had extended a full seven moons before she finally became with child! Seven suitors, one after another! It makes me flush just to think of it.)

We’d arrived to call for tea just as my uncle was showing out her latest suitor: a tall, handsome man with a mop of brown fluff for hair. He had bowed to us, looking profoundly flushed and windswept as he hurriedly buttoned his waistcoat with clumsy fingers.

It had been so evident that something unusual was happening that Mama had taken me aside to reveal all. I’d known, of course, the vague notion of a girl’s mating season.

All the debutantes were presented to the Queen before they participated in an extravagant rush of balls and courtships. If they were lucky, they made a match and settled down into wedded bliss. I had known that. But I hadn’t understood, even the slightest, how babies came into being. Or what organisational complexities were required to make sure the debutantes of the Ton all found a fruitful match.

It had been quite the shock.

That night, I’d brought myself to the pinnacle four times over, touching myself desperately at the very idea. Soon that would be me. I’d be the one laid out for a suitor to breed and test and take and trial and mate.

To the King. For my country.

For the chance to one day, if I were lucky, become a mother.

“I’m ready, Mama. I’ve been preparing for this for months!” I said, as I climbed into the mating chair.

Every night. Diligently. With the mating training tools I’d been given at my debutante presentation. I’d been able to take the thickest rod for a month now. It was hard and unyielding, and I was absolutely desperate to test out the real thing.

Wetness leaked down my thigh at the thought.

I wriggled into position in the plush leather chair. The stirrup supports under my thighs held my legs wide open, cloth folds of my dress falling down between them. It was, admittedly, an ungainly process to climb into the chair. But once in position, I felt utterly unstoppable. A goddess of fertility and sexuality and power. Ready to take whatever my suitors might push inside me. One after the other. Over and other again. For the whole season . . .

Eagerness thrummed through my veins. I couldn’t believe my own luck, sometimes.

From the doorway, the footman said, “I present the Duke of Somerset, Sir.”

The Duke entered, bowing to my mother and father. “Lord Pond. Lady Pond.” From his deep bow, Louis’ dark eyes flashed over to me. “Miss Pond.”

Father extended his hand for a solid handshake, clasping the Duke affectionately around the shoulder.

There was a fizz of butterflies in my belly.

“You look well, my boy!” Father said.

Louis and I had been friends since our leading strings days. It hadn’t even been a question that he would be my first suitor. My fancy for him had been a source of continual teasing amongst my family for years now.

When Mama and I had returned from my presentation at court, Louis had already been waiting for us in the tea room to officially request a courtship. He’d been so sweet – shy and pink, stuttering over his words as he nervously asked my father for my hand.

Father had laughed him off, saying, “I’ve already written your name in her mating card! Never mind the formalities – she’s yours.”

And Louis had blushed and stammered some more, then been unable to make eye contact with me for the entirety of tea and scones.

His childish nerves were nowhere in sight now. He was looking at me with dark, unconcealed lust. Right in front of the footman.

A shiver ran all the way down my spine. I shifted in the stirrups, trying not to feel like too much of a wanton wreck before he’d even touched me.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Mama asked, walking into the attached conservatory. “Once you’ve finished your work, of course.”

“That would be lovely.”

Father bowed again, following Mama into the conservatory. There was a clink of porcelain as they poured themselves Earl Grey. I could vaguely hear Mama saying something about the peonies in the garden.

Then all my attention was taken up by Louis, who was trailing one hand along my ankle and under my skirts.

“How do you feel?” he asked, thumb rubbing back and forth across my silk-clad calf.

I thought about aiming for a coy, nervous, flutteringly girlish answer, but Louis knew me too well. The corner of his mouth was already curling up.

“Desperate.” The word came out before I even had time to think about it.

He blew out a breath. I could see the desire practically pouring off him. My toes curled in the restraints.

I wished desperately to kiss him, but that would be improper before an engagement. Kisses and romantic gestures were not what the mating season was about. This was a bureaucratic, procedural – almost scientific – endeavour.

The hand under my skirts ran higher, trailing along my inner thigh. I shivered. My centre was going to be wet and dripping by the time his fingers reached it. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or proud of the results of my training. I’d been a very diligent student.

Quite without my intention, I found my hips arching up towards him.

“Scarlett . . .” he breathed out. I could feel his fingers trembling. His control seemed on the edge of breaking.

“Do it,” I urged, in a desperate whisper. “Please.”

He fell towards me, standing between my legs in his fine formal courting attire. His fingers pressed against me, gentle and coaxing as he shifted aside my petticoats and found my wet centre. It was easy, in the stirrups. The work of a moment to slip inside me.

For the first time, I felt utterly exposed. I could see now why the mating chair was used. It made me ready to be taken. Helpless against my suitor’s entry.

Louis’ touch was blind and unknowing at first. His thumb slid across my button in a flashing gasp of pleasure and never came back, as he explored tentatively. I gathered from his tentative touch that this must be his first time too. What a pleasure, to explore this new realm together.

I arched up again, eyes fixed on the Duke’s bright, awed face as he ran his fingers over me, clumsy and uncertain. By the time he’d picked up the skill, I was already a shaking mess on the edge of a pinnacle.

I bit my bottom lip, settling down deeper in the chair, curling my hips upwards into the fingers pressing firmly against my entrance.

Louis paused there, pulling at his cravat with his free hand to expose his overheated neck.

“Come on,” I begged, trying to pull his fingers deep inside me. But the stirrups, however much they held me open, gave me no room to thrust and flex. I would just have to wait. Let him take his time, however long he chose to toy with me.

At last, the thick blunt tips of his fingers pushed inside my entrance, curling deep inside me. He hit something that make sparks shatter behind my vision, and I heard myself let out a desperate, greedy moan.

At the sound, all of Louis’ careful formal composure fell away. He tipped forward onto my chest, sucking at the swelling curves of my breast, fingers working deeper inside me.

When my nipple came free of my bodice, the feeling of his tongue against it shocked me. I hadn’t realised how sensitive my skin could feel inside a hot, warm, gently suckingly mouth. My training rods hadn’t prepared me for this.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding his head in place with greedy need. I felt desperately that I must keep him there as long as I could. His hardness rubbed against my thigh, still trapped inside his breeches.

The feeling of his length – the tease of knowing what was still to come, how much pleasure we could wring out of each other; doing this over and over again for the whole month, whenever we wished – it was enough to push me over the edge. I reached my pinnacle, clenching hard around two of his fingers and moaning desperately.

I gasped for breath, feeling flushed and needy. It wasn’t enough. It never was. When I practised on myself, one release always led to another, and another, in a quick stream of eager jolts, craving harder, deeper, faster, thicker.

“Take me,” I begged, clumsy hands grappling ineffectively at the waistband of his breeches. My mind felt like an exploding star, quivering and exposed.

His fingers slid free of my centre, leaving a wet and empty wake behind. I shivered up into it, enjoying the feeling of emptiness and anticipation almost as much as his touch.

Louis had gone a deep rose pink, flushed from his cheeks down into the open neck of his shirt. He was breathing hard, hair standing on end from my guiding grasp.

I could see his hand working between his legs. The red tip of his length was wet and dripping. I pulled at my skirts, gathering them up and over my thighs. The sheer quantity of fabric was frustrating. Next time, I’d remove my petticoats before getting into position. Already, I felt like I’d learnt so much more than what my training had prepared me for.

I’d known I would love this. Seven months of mating? It wouldn’t be enough. I was already greedy for more. Gods, let it take years and years before I find a suitable match.

Louis pressed his tip against my entrance. When he pushed inside, the thickness of him took me by surprise. He wasn’t as long as my largest training rod, but the solid girth was a sweet, pressing pleasure stretching open my entrance.

As soon as his full length was pressed inside me, he lost all focus on his gentlemanly manner. He curled his hands around the fronts of my thighs, using me as leverage to thrust deeper inside my slick, needy core.

I gasped, throwing my head back. His movements were unpredictable. Much harder and faster than I’d been able to imitate with the training rod. He managed to reach somewhere deeper inside me, somehow. I thought I’d been prepared, but it took all of my focus to just lie still and let him fill me.

Shuddering, I bit at my lip, feeling each deep thrust shudder through me. Louis moaned, hips driving him harder as his control grew shakier. I could feel myself quivering on the edge of another release.

I guided his other hand to my pearl, showing him how I liked it. He studied me like we’d studied our Latin translations together in the summer house, drinking lemonade and arguing over conjugations.

As soon as his thumb swiped over my pleasure centre, I lost all control. Arching up in the chair, I worked my hips in tight circles within the confines of the stirrups. Louis bent his head down and lapped at my hard nipples. I clenched hard around him, coming harder than I ever had before.

It was so intense that I lost my vision for a moment, slumping back in the stirrups and blinking hard as ripples of pleasure trickled through me in the aftermath of my release.

Louis was moaning hard now, chasing his own pleasure. I curled my fingers into his hair, stroking one hand down his back.

“Give it to me,” I gasped, rocking up into each thrust. “Fill me. Breed me.”

He groaned, shivering from head to toes, panting on each thrust. “Yes! Please!”

“Put a baby inside me,” I said, clenching tighter around him at the very thought. “Fill me with your seed. I need it.”

Louis curled over me, his whole body going tight as he found his release. He went still, and I felt his length pulsing. Hot spurts of seed filled me, slick and thick.

He groaned, shuddering hard, and thrust again. His seed moved inside me, spreading slickly through my core with every forceful movement.

It was so filling that I couldn’t imagine the seed wouldn’t take. Of course he would breed me with a child. How could he not? How could this take seven months?

Sated now, we were both calmer, moving in gentle rolling thrusts as we enjoyed the feeling of his softening length inside me. It was so different from how I’d imagined. So much more animalistic. I hadn’t anticipated the rich musky smell of his arousal. The sweat dripping from his collarbones as he worked hard to fill me.

I couldn’t have predicted the dirty squelch that his seed made as he ground it deeper inside me. Anyone walking down the hallway would hear the sounds of our mating through the open doorway. The embarrassment and vulnerability of it all made me feel desperate and greedy, in the best way imaginable.

Just the thought of being observed in this dishevelled state sent a ripple of delayed pleasure through me. I pressed my fingers to my nub just in time to catch the wave of heat as I reached another pinnacle.

Louis hissed, pulling back from the clench of my centre. His tip slid out of my entrance with a soft pop, sliding down my dripping folds. I lifted my hips, keening at the hollow empty feeling that was left behind.

Immediately he dropped to his knees, pushing his fingers inside my opening. I heard his deep groan at the sight. I could only imagine how I looked. Seed dripping from my wet core, throbbing around nothing.

He worked his seed deeper inside me, fingers curling deeper to hit that soft spongey mound inside me. I gasped, eyes wide open as I looked up at the ornate filigree plasterwork on the ceiling. It felt so sensitive and raw now. Each gentle touch shot fireworks through me.

He was touching me past the point where I would have set down my training rod and fallen asleep. But there was something even more arousing in the lack of control. I just had to lie here and take it, trapped in the chair until he had bred me to his liking. If he wanted to keep going until I was raw and sobbing and drawing back from each stroke in desperate pleading agony . . . I would have to let him, without complain. I could already imagine what kind of delirious, mind-blown state that would push me to.

To my dismay and relief, Louis pulled back and rose to his feet. He was flushed and wrecked, shirt pulled free from his breeches and covered in wrinkles from my wandering grasp.

I wished again that I could kiss those lips. They were plump from being bitten raw.

“Was that all right?”

I let out a desperate laugh. “That was incredible. Better than I’d ever imagined.”

“Oh, thank heavens.” He slumped against me, dropping kisses against my breasts. “I was so worried I’d mess up.”

“Never. You’re a born natural.”

He grinned at each other for a moment. “Can I get you anything? Tea?”

“Water would be good.” I was supposed to stay in the stirrups for fifteen minutes after breeding. To best encourage the seed to take.

He nodded, pulling his shirt down neatly.

I let my eyes fall closed, focusing on the wet warmth pulsing between my legs. In the conservatory, I heard my father ask, “Success?”

Before Louis had replied, I had fallen into a contented slumber.

My first mating was turning out even better than imagined.

i hope you enjoyed it! this is the first chapter of a longer story thats on kindle unlimited - the mating season by emerald thorne 😄

I'm obsessed with chastity devices and i've just released a regency novel about a world where women wear chastity belts while they're being courted. i thought you'd all like an extract... :)

other BDSM in the book includes choking, spanking, public sex, shibari, restraints and plugs - I crammed a lot in there actually, haha.

It was a trial in patience to focus on the movements of the dance, especially as each movement send a wave of pressure through my core as the chastity belt shifted under my skirts.

Louis had kept the plug inside me for two hours last night, while he chatted with my father and uncle by the fire over a round of whisky and cards. I had throbbed in my seat the entire time, unable to take my mind away from the thick swollen mass. Before he’d departed for his bed, he’d pushed me down on my belly over the back of the sofa and slipped the plug free.

A drop of warm seed had slipped from my entrance, trickling down my thigh as he locked the chastity belt back into position. He had shifted me so easily, rearranging my limbs where he wanted. I’d hung my head down between my shoulders, panting at the business-like touch. Even without meaning to, he riled me up all over again. From the way he smirked, I knew that he had every intention of leaving me in an unsatisfied state until morning.

I spent all night tossing and turning in my sheets, wriggling against the unfamiliar, solid pressure of the chastity belt. Each grinding movement rubbed it up against my tender centre. It was enough of a tease to drive me wild, but not enough to find any release. I hadn’t even been able to use a training rod on myself to satisfy the craving. It had been a most agonising torture all night long.

And now, with each step of the dance, I was being drawn right back into that desperate, impatient, wanton state. It was drawn out of me, quite beyond my control. My arousal must be evident on my face, for Louis was watching me with a smug satisfaction. His eyes kept skimming over my heaving chest and back up to my panting mouth. Was it my imagination, or did he long to kiss me as much as I longed to kiss him?

Everything forbidden was more alluring. It would probably be a disappointment when we finally kissed, anyway. Surely kisses weren’t all that special after what we’d done together?

I was so distracted by my pent-up state that I didn’t even notice the music had stopped until Louis came to a halt.

“Another dance?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Or . . .?”

“Or?” I asked eagerly, heart thudding.

“Shall we take a turn around the mating chamber?”

“Please.” I felt near breaking-point with desperation.

Again, the lull in the music had allowed the needy noises of distant pleasure to emanate from the adjoining room’s arched doorway. Deep, low, masculine groans, and high-pitched sobs of ecstasy. My toes curled in my ballet slippers. I needed to be inside there. I needed Louis inside me. I needed this insatiable ache filled now.

Arm linked through mine, Louis led me towards the mating chamber. Now I allowed myself to focus on it, I realised why the flashes of naked skin had been so obvious earlier. The chamber was lined with mirrors, reflecting the movements of the mating couples within.

I gasped. My entire body flushed with heat from my scalp down to my calves. If Louis bred me in there, everyone at the ball would see it. The arched entrance was placed directly opposite the dance floor. The guests barely had to turn their heads to see the debutantes being taken by their suitors.

Louis patted my arm. “We don’t have to, if . . .” he asked, reading hesitation in my slowing steps. “We can wait until the carriage ride home.”

I did consider it – but only for a moment. Then the needy greed to know how it felt to be observed hit me like a tidal wave, right behind the knees, and I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I missed this chance.

Besides which, everyone knew that a breeding was more likely to take if the mating was public. All of the folklore told us that much. The Princess and the Throne; Lady Derby’s Love; Breeding Beauty – all those mythical ladies had only found their true happily ever after once their love match had been consummated under the approving eyes of their royal court. The blessing of society had a magic that was undeniable.

“No. We can do it.”

Louis grinned at me. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

I nudged his arm. “Why don’t you show me exactly how perfect I am, good Sir?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

There were three other debutantes being bred in the adjoining room. They were laid out on mating benches on their bellies, skirts of their dresses pushed up over their backs as they held on tight to the straps of their restraints.

Louis led me over to the empty bench, right in the centre of the row. I licked my lips. As he knelt down to unlock my chastity belt, Lady Abigail called out, “Good evening, Miss Pond!”

Facing towards the rear wall of the chamber, she waved to me in the mirror as she was ploughed from behind by the Earl of Windsor. He was paying deep attention to his work.

“Good evening,” I said, but my nerves betrayed me. There was a clear stumble in my words.

Miss Eliza Templeton giggled. Lord Pensey was kneeling down between her legs, using his mouth on her centre. “First time?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“Oh, what fun!” She wriggled back against her lord’s tongue. “It’s such a treat, I promise.”

Louis slid the warm chains from around my waist. I held onto his shoulder, letting him help me out of the belt. As I lifted my leg, he swiped his fingers through my folds. I gasped and nearly fell over. The shocked unexpectedness of the touch, combined with the tender rawness of my skin from the metal belt, sent a burst of white-hot pleasure ripping through me. I’d never felt so sensitive before.

I was suddenly desperate to be taken. The long swipes of Pensey’s tongue as he lapped at Eliza’s dripping entrance weren’t helping matters. I wanted Louis to try that on me more than anything.

I scrambled onto the mating bench, flattening my belly down against the cold leather and grabbing onto the vertical support poles.

Behind me, Louis gave a low chuckle at my eagerness. I glared at him through the mirror. Behind him, I could see the flicker of candlelight as dancers moved in synchronised elegance.

He slid his hands up the backs of my thighs, lifting my skirts to the cold evening air. I flushed even hotter at the sensation. My most private centre was utterly exposed for the whole of the ton to see. My greedy, wet, untouched, already dripping centre.

I moaned involuntarily. God, I felt like I could find my release already. Just from being spread out on the bench like this.

“Do the same to me,” I told Louis. “Kiss me there, like that.”

He looked over at Pensey and Eliza, then dropped right to his knees in acquiescence. As soon as his mouth touched my nub, my vision went molten gold and blurred out. Every rolling stroke of soft, plush, warm skin made my need coil tighter in my belly.

Louis’s fingers probed at my entrance, circling teasingly as he used the sharp end of his tongue to stroke up and down my pearl.

Louis sucked on me, soft then hard, quick and then fast, fingers pushing deep inside me in regular thrusting pulses. Open-mouthed, I sobbed, pleasure throbbing through me. I could feel myself tightening. Hot and greedy, I blinked away tears. I could hear my own breath coming hard and heavy.

I rolled back on Louis’ mouth in steady rocking motions, directing his fingers inside me at exactly the right angle. I rode his tongue and the plush line of his lips until my button felt so deliciously hard that I thought I might explode. When my release hit me, it was like an earthquake. I gripped the support poles, throwing my head back and whining hard. Louis thrust through it, three fingers moving steadily inside me as my pulsing centre clenched around him.

the book is called the mating season by emerald thorne and it's on kindle unlimited now! let me know if you'd like some more BDSM excerpts ;)

I'm obsessed with chastity devices and i've just released a regency novel about a world where women wear chastity belts while they're being courted. i thought you'd all like an extract... :)

It was a trial in patience to focus on the movements of the dance, especially as each movement send a wave of pressure through my core as the chastity belt shifted under my skirts.

Louis had kept the plug inside me for two hours last night, while he chatted with my father and uncle by the fire over a round of whisky and cards. I had throbbed in my seat the entire time, unable to take my mind away from the thick swollen mass. Before he’d departed for his bed, he’d pushed me down on my belly over the back of the sofa and slipped the plug free.

A drop of warm seed had slipped from my entrance, trickling down my thigh as he locked the chastity belt back into position. He had shifted me so easily, rearranging my limbs where he wanted. I’d hung my head down between my shoulders, panting at the business-like touch. Even without meaning to, he riled me up all over again. From the way he smirked, I knew that he had every intention of leaving me in an unsatisfied state until morning.

I spent all night tossing and turning in my sheets, wriggling against the unfamiliar, solid pressure of the chastity belt. Each grinding movement rubbed it up against my tender centre. It was enough of a tease to drive me wild, but not enough to find any release. I hadn’t even been able to use a training rod on myself to satisfy the craving. It had been a most agonising torture all night long.

And now, with each step of the dance, I was being drawn right back into that desperate, impatient, wanton state. It was drawn out of me, quite beyond my control. My arousal must be evident on my face, for Louis was watching me with a smug satisfaction. His eyes kept skimming over my heaving chest and back up to my panting mouth. Was it my imagination, or did he long to kiss me as much as I longed to kiss him?

Everything forbidden was more alluring. It would probably be a disappointment when we finally kissed, anyway. Surely kisses weren’t all that special after what we’d done together?

I was so distracted by my pent-up state that I didn’t even notice the music had stopped until Louis came to a halt.

“Another dance?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Or . . .?”

“Or?” I asked eagerly, heart thudding.

“Shall we take a turn around the mating chamber?”

“Please.” I felt near breaking-point with desperation.

Again, the lull in the music had allowed the needy noises of distant pleasure to emanate from the adjoining room’s arched doorway. Deep, low, masculine groans, and high-pitched sobs of ecstasy. My toes curled in my ballet slippers. I needed to be inside there. I needed Louis inside me. I needed this insatiable ache filled now.

Arm linked through mine, Louis led me towards the mating chamber. Now I allowed myself to focus on it, I realised why the flashes of naked skin had been so obvious earlier. The chamber was lined with mirrors, reflecting the movements of the mating couples within.

I gasped. My entire body flushed with heat from my scalp down to my calves. If Louis bred me in there, everyone at the ball would see it. The arched entrance was placed directly opposite the dance floor. The guests barely had to turn their heads to see the debutantes being taken by their suitors.

Louis patted my arm. “We don’t have to, if . . .” he asked, reading hesitation in my slowing steps. “We can wait until the carriage ride home.”

I did consider it – but only for a moment. Then the needy greed to know how it felt to be observed hit me like a tidal wave, right behind the knees, and I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I missed this chance.

Besides which, everyone knew that a breeding was more likely to take if the mating was public. All of the folklore told us that much. The Princess and the Throne; Lady Derby’s Love; Breeding Beauty – all those mythical ladies had only found their true happily ever after once their love match had been consummated under the approving eyes of their royal court. The blessing of society had a magic that was undeniable.

“No. We can do it.”

Louis grinned at me. “You’re so perfect, you know that?”

I nudged his arm. “Why don’t you show me exactly how perfect I am, good Sir?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

There were three other debutantes being bred in the adjoining room. They were laid out on mating benches on their bellies, skirts of their dresses pushed up over their backs as they held on tight to the straps of their restraints.

Louis led me over to the empty bench, right in the centre of the row. I licked my lips. As he knelt down to unlock my chastity belt, Lady Abigail called out, “Good evening, Miss Pond!”

Facing towards the rear wall of the chamber, she waved to me in the mirror as she was ploughed from behind by the Earl of Windsor. He was paying deep attention to his work.

“Good evening,” I said, but my nerves betrayed me. There was a clear stumble in my words.

Miss Eliza Templeton giggled. Lord Pensey was kneeling down between her legs, using his mouth on her centre. “First time?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“Oh, what fun!” She wriggled back against her lord’s tongue. “It’s such a treat, I promise.”

Louis slid the warm chains from around my waist. I held onto his shoulder, letting him help me out of the belt. As I lifted my leg, he swiped his fingers through my folds. I gasped and nearly fell over. The shocked unexpectedness of the touch, combined with the tender rawness of my skin from the metal belt, sent a burst of white-hot pleasure ripping through me. I’d never felt so sensitive before.

I was suddenly desperate to be taken. The long swipes of Pensey’s tongue as he lapped at Eliza’s dripping entrance weren’t helping matters. I wanted Louis to try that on me more than anything.

I scrambled onto the mating bench, flattening my belly down against the cold leather and grabbing onto the vertical support poles.

Behind me, Louis gave a low chuckle at my eagerness. I glared at him through the mirror. Behind him, I could see the flicker of candlelight as dancers moved in synchronised elegance.

He slid his hands up the backs of my thighs, lifting my skirts to the cold evening air. I flushed even hotter at the sensation. My most private centre was utterly exposed for the whole of the ton to see. My greedy, wet, untouched, already dripping centre.

I moaned involuntarily. God, I felt like I could find my release already. Just from being spread out on the bench like this.

“Do the same to me,” I told Louis. “Kiss me there, like that.”

He looked over at Pensey and Eliza, then dropped right to his knees in acquiescence. As soon as his mouth touched my nub, my vision went molten gold and blurred out. Every rolling stroke of soft, plush, warm skin made my need coil tighter in my belly.

Louis’s fingers probed at my entrance, circling teasingly as he used the sharp end of his tongue to stroke up and down my pearl.

Louis sucked on me, soft then hard, quick and then fast, fingers pushing deep inside me in regular thrusting pulses. Open-mouthed, I sobbed, pleasure throbbing through me. I could feel myself tightening. Hot and greedy, I blinked away tears. I could hear my own breath coming hard and heavy.

I rolled back on Louis’ mouth in steady rocking motions, directing his fingers inside me at exactly the right angle. I rode his tongue and the plush line of his lips until my button felt so deliciously hard that I thought I might explode. When my release hit me, it was like an earthquake. I gripped the support poles, throwing my head back and whining hard. Louis thrust through it, three fingers moving steadily inside me as my pulsing centre clenched around him.

the book is called the mating season by emerald thorne and it's on kindle unlimited now! let me know if you'd like some more chastity related excerpts ;)