Lord Of The Manor

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Book one in the Games People play series (maybe-we'll see.) I was conned into this by a friend, a seasoned NC-17 writer in another ficdom(thanks sjf, I think:-) As most of you know when I charge a phaser in a story, it's usually the kind that's clipped to Riker's side—Charging this new kind of phaser has proven an experience though;-) And who knows, maybe if I continue this series I'll get over my "I can't write that!" line.

I guess in this instance all feedback will be forwarded to my dark-side, it seems quite content with its up and coming position in my life<g>

I'm glad now that I've cloned Riker and Troi because I'm sure Paramount wouldn't want the originals flashing the public with a smut cookie;-)


"Can I get you anything else milord?" Deanna Troi lowered her eyes; the milky flesh of her breasts spilling over the top of her dress met her gaze and seemed to be mocking her.

"Another Ale wench." She heard the voice, rich like chocolate, smooth like velvet, the one that had conned her into this and bowed her head. She turned quickly to grant his request, keeping her head lowered, not so much out of respect, but to hide the smile she felt twitching the corners of her mouth.

One year after leaving the Brier Patch Will Riker had taken command of the Enterprise E, in that same time span, after much discussion he'd also taken a wife. After twenty-five years of dreaming and sacrificing he had everything he'd ever wanted—Or that's what he'd said on their wedding night. Several nights ago, on one of his late night tours of his ship she'd found him standing in front of Holodeck three, scanning and deleting programs. Asking him what he was doing was her first mistake, well maybe not a mistake—She couldn't be sure yet, this night was young. However, she felt pretty silly. Of course she'd felt pretty silly two nights ago sitting in a dimly lit bar, dressed like—well, dressed like the kind of woman she wasn't to put it nicely. That sense of feeling silly had dissipated quickly that evening, the memory alone caused her cheeks to flush.

She turned back to him, Sir William and presented him the metal goblet with two outstretched hands. He accepted it in silence and she kept her eyes lowered as she'd been instructed, studying only the shiny black leather of his boots. The problem was she'd seen the rest of his attire and even though she understood the rules of the game, that she was suppose to try and escape him, she had no intentions of putting a lot of effort into it.

The sound of his boots sliding over the marbled floor snapped her from her thoughts, the rough hand he used to snag her dress and pull her to his lap made thought impossible.

"I have plans for you," he growled in that low baritone whisper, the one he'd used when he'd described these fantasies in detail to her.

Hands tangled demandingly in her hair and his lips devoured hers, his tongue pushing deeply into her mouth, the friction of his beard against her smooth skin serving to heighten her pleasure. He took the pleasure away with the same sudden urgency and looked at her, the back of one hand tracing the swells of her breasts.

She watched his hand, felt her breath catch and lifted her eyes to him.

He chuckled softly.

"That wasn't right," he said, the dangerous sensuality that had darkened his features shifting to a smoky but familiar smile.

"I'm sorry—I forgot to run."

"Running isn't necessary." The hand he'd traced over her breasts moved to the brown cotton laces of her bodice and untied the bow. "Since I designed the castle it wouldn't have been much of a chase anyway." His lips, soft and tender pressed between her breasts, his hand continued to untie the first of one of the million of layers she was wearing.

"Are you saying you think you could catch me?" She heard herself say it and wasn't sure why, nothing he'd said or done had even vaguely sounded like a challenge, but then this was Will Riker and he was a cunning lord of the manor.

"Where are you going?" The arm he'd embraced her with fell limply to his knee and he looked at her with wide blue eyes that definitely glistened with disappointment and surprise.

"To prepare your chambers milord." She curtsied and the disappointed blue eyes narrowed suspiciously and then lowered to the hand he massaged methodically over his thigh.

She cocked an eyebrow and tried to pinpoint his thoughts; his physical arousal was evident, empathy wasn't needed, but whether he still wanted to play, at least this game was hard to tell.

"No." He stood up, his heavy wooden chair scratching over the floor. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere by yourself."

Maybe he'd been performing some kind of method acting head trick on himself, she thought. Because now as he circled her, the dangerous glint again flashing in his eyes, hungry breaths panting past his savage smile her husband drifted to the background and Sir William, her lord and master took center stage.

"Yes Sir." She said it easily, too easily—She chided herself for every trashy novel she'd ever read.

The gentle thumb and index finger he used to raise her chin clashed with his predatory gaze; she lowered her eyes to escape it, not because she feared him of course, but because shit, he looked hot.

"Sit," he ordered, punctuating his command with a firm downward push on her shoulders.

On one knee he knelt in front of her, the rough skin of his hands massaging the calves of her legs, moving up her thighs and barely grazing the heat between her legs. She understood better now why nine layers of petticoats had been necessary, but underwear was out of the question. She contorted her sigh into a trembled breath and denied herself permission to move her legs further apart— which she would have done if this were her fantasy.

Men are strange, she thought, Perhaps clitoris envy. Her mouth twitched a smile, but if fell away with his hands as they moved to her boots and unlaced them. He pulled off each boot and each little stocking she wore, studied her feet for a moment and stood up.

"Fetch me another Ale girl."

It took her moment to get past the "girl" thing, but in an attempt to stay in character and beat him at his own domineering game she stood up and moved towards the front of the room, tankard in hand.

She pored the Ale and tossed a sidelong glance to the etched wooden door beside her. Slightly ajar, it could be her out or maybe what he wanted her to do. She heard the buckle of wood as he sat down in his chair and the drum of his fingers against the table. She wished she could see his face, because he'd certainly closed his emotions—except the lusty ones, he'd apparently trained them to ravish her body from across the room.

She frowned into the cinnamon colored liquid for a moment, then used the back of her hand to shatter the crystal decanter beside her. She made a whimpering sound, heard his concerned voice and then the screech of his chair. Like a shot she was out the door, delighted to have conned the con man.

"I will find you!"

She heard his roared promise as she tore up the spiral stairwell to the next level, the icy cold marble against her feet warming to plush carpet.

Doors, a hallway of doors confronted her, the heavy thud of his boots moving slowly up the stairs motivating her to pick one—any one. Third door on the left she decided turning the brass handle and accessing the room. More doors met her as she slammed this one behind her and his steady footfalls grew louder.

"There's no escape."

She heard him as she moved through the door on the right of the library and his voice excited her—heightened her need to escape and her need to be caught.

"Twenty-fourth century," she reminded herself racing for yet another stairwell and snagging the banister for balance.

Breathless but pleased that she was still a step ahead of him she heaved a labored breath when she was met with another set of stairs with only two rooms on either side. She tossed a look over her shoulder; it was quiet, she moved towards the next staircase, feeling somewhat cocky that she'd eluded him.

"This does not sit well with me!"

His voice was so close she could almost feel his breath, but it wasn't his breath that jerked her back, it was his hand seizing the outer layer of her dress.

She gasped and struggled against the downward pull.

"You will regret this."

"That's what you think Sir William," she cooed, flipping a look over shoulder and slipping out of the dress he'd so kindly undone.

She would have loved nothing more then to turn again, see his face as he was left with only shabby brown cotton and the scent of her clenched in his fist, but she couldn't. She made a dive for the first door she came to and slammed it behind her, latching the heavy bolt across it.

<Maybe tomorrow night we can fulfill this fantasy Imazdi. > She made sure to endorse the thought she sent to him with a gloating arrogance and exhaled deeply.

"Or maybe tonight."

The close proximity of the self-satisfied voice and the friction of the carpet against her feet as she pivoted around caused her to shiver. She took a step back, first eyeing the large four poster bed adorned in red satin that seemed to sparkle under the wavy shadows cast by the roaring fire and then moved her eyes to him. Standing in a doorway that looked as if it had once been part of the wall, he tilted his head and smiled—an arrogant and nasty smile of conquest.


Lord Of The Manor

2 of 2

NC-17 (That means if you're too young don't read it, delete or save it until your older. I'm having enough problems with my kids, i don't want to go up against anybody's parents:-))


"That's not fair," she protested, folding her arms across her chest and stomping the heal of her foot against the floor like a spoiled child.

"All's fair." He released the edge of the door he was holding, it clicked shut and once again became one with the etched murals on the wall. "Take your clothes off."

She gave him a stubborn pout and balled her fists at her sides—Only play-acting on her part, because the words YES, FINALLY had been tumbling through her mind since she'd heard his voice behind her.

"Do it wench," he demanded, taking a step closer.

Without appearing too eager she began to shed the layers of white cotton that covered her, sneaking glimpses of his ravenous gaze every so often. He'd always enjoyed watching her undress and though she'd never told him verbally she found a stimulation in it as well.

His emotions were raw, but behind the primal, the tender and loving emotions that were out of character but deeply apart of her husband bled through. Her hands trembled slightly as she fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons of the last petticoat; she heard a ragged breath escape him and looked away from her task.

"That's enough." He knelt in front of her as he growled his command, pushing her hands away from the buttons below her knees and replacing them with his own.

The cool cotton dusted against her legs as he worked, the warmth of the fire and the heat of his breath against her stomach forced a slow trembled breath from her lungs. He looked up at her with a dark but pleased smiled; his tongue stroking over his parted lips like a man dying of thirst. She couldn't help but return his smile, he cocked an amused brow and looked down to the floor, recovering his Lordly persona she assumed.

Beverly Crusher's acting 101 classes paid off and his eyes rose seconds later while his hands gently latched around the curves of her hips. Between the rippling folds of cotton his tongue traced her stomach, dipped into her navel and traced the fine line of hair above a desire that's moisture could now be felt on the inside of her thighs. She wondered if it would be out of character to just jump him right now. He pulled away as if he'd caught her thought and stood up, firm but tender hands pushing the remaining cotton over her shoulders.

"You tried to get away from me," he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the bed, "I can't allow that to happen again."

Again he screened all but his lusty emotions and smiled vindictively before turning his back on her and kneeling beside the bedside table. She watched him, the muscles flexing under the billowing white sleeves of his shirt, the darken fabric on his back where a trail of sweat moved down his spine. She hoped like hell this lack of attention didn't mean she was suppose to run again because she decided then and there if that was the case a direct role reversal was in order.

"Hold out your hands." There was an unusual intonation of power in his voice as he stood and displayed the hand and foot cuffs he'd retrieved from his secret place. She stared at them, soft brown suede lined in red satin like the bedding, her dark eyes widened and lifted to his.

"Hold out your hands," he repeated, his face stern, his voice still forceful...only in his eyes did she see the question and not the command.

She exhaled the breath she'd been holding and did as he'd ordered—she heard a similar breath escape him as he fastened the cuffs around her wrists. She shivered as the cold satin tickled her heated skin. Once he'd examined his work, felt satisfied they weren't too tight he lifted her chin with his finger and barely grazed her lips with his own. His tongue followed the same path while almost invisible fingers passed like tiny brush strokes around her nipples. He squeezed one suddenly and soothed it just as suddenly with the soft heat of his mouth; both sensations fueled the fire between her legs.


With a finger against her lips he shushed her and helped her onto the bed, securing the chain that dangled between the hand restraints above her head before dragging the soft suede of the leg cuffs over her body.

He disappeared below the foot of the bed, stroking her legs firmly but gently as he fastened one cuff and then the other to the posters of the bed. The savage look in his eyes dissipated for only an instant, silently checking to make sure his fantasy wasn't overstepping her limits. She answered him with a sigh that caught in her throat as he kissed her feet, the insides of her calves and trailed a lazy tongue over her thighs.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time." The heat of his words dusted over the damp curls between her legs. She shuddered.

He chuckled and pushed her lips apart, blowing a long breath of air against her clit, his tongue followed and only grazed her nub before he pulled away from her and stood up again.

"One more thing," he whispered, securing a blindfold over her eyes, this time forfeiting the visual check.

Sucking one nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue, his hand pleasured the other. He reversed, leaving both hard and wet before drawing away, his footsteps disappearing out the door.

The fire warmed the cool moisture he'd left on her skin and her own moisture that now covered her thighs and probably soaked the satin beneath her. The fire crackled beside her, its scent complimenting the woodsy aroma of the man that had left her alone here, more vulnerable then she'd ever been. She exhaled and began to question her own sanity; how could she be this turned on. He'd hardly touched her, she'd relinquished total control of her body to him and yet in this vulnerability, this unseen anticipation she found she'd been teetering on the brink since he'd fastened the first cuff.

The hollow click of his footsteps dissolved into low thuds as he moved back into the bedroom...her thoughts and the sound stopped suddenly. A silence blemished only by the snaps of the fire and the rough sound of his breathing caused her to intake a sharp breath, she drew it deeper as a cool liquid drizzled over her belly. Her stomach muscles flexed and dipped, relaxing just as quickly as he licked and sucked the moisture away. He performed the same ceremony on her breasts; the cool liquid felt like ice against her enflamed nipples, the warmth of his mouth igniting it until both breasts ached from his repeated ministration. His hand cupped her pussy, not moving inside, only barely squeezing her lips together, enough to trap her clit and cause her legs to tremble.

The bed dipped as he moved, his erection still covered in black cotton pressed against the thigh he'd straddled. His motionless grip on her snatch was released; two fingers slipped easily inside her, a soft, cool fabric dancing above her breast just grazed the ache he'd left there. The soft fur soothed her breast, she moved against her restraints forcing herself to move against the fingers he refused to budge and used her internal muscles to swallow them as she worked for a release. She heard his voice and a faint sound, but only sensations and touch ruled her reality.

She gasped and instantly felt her body shudder as a thick vibration entered her, replacing his fingers with shock waves that moved like kinetic charges over her internal walls. His mouth worked her clit, sucking and licking until coherent thought left her and the brink she'd been hanging onto broke away and her body bucked wildly against the wave. His mouth continued, unrelenting strokes and nibbles not allowing one pulsing sensation to ease before moving her towards another crescendo.

The vibration inside her moved to replace his mouth, engorging her again at a rate she'd have thought impossible until now. The fur that had dangled over her breasts now rubbed roughly against her, his hands kneading it into her as he ordered her to come, told her how beautiful she was. His voice, another stimulus that overloaded her senses was intensified by his thoughts, wild and steamy they fueled her mind as his hands worked her body. She heard her voice, his name echoing through the room and her mind, choked by sobs and spasmodic shudders. The sensations collided throwing her into a storm that ravaged every nerve in her body.

Still shivering, legs trembling, she wasn't sure how long he'd been relishing her lips or when he'd released her hands from the shackles. Weakly she massaged the muscles in his back through the damp cotton of his shirt and dragged her hands over his back and ass, even in exhaustion pushing him against the dripping heat of her center.

She couldn't answer the silent question he'd just ask her with only an arch of his brows, but she smiled through labored breaths and watched him slid off her. He undid the shackles that bound her ankles, massaging them both for several minutes before standing up and removing what was left of Sir William.

"I love you milady," he whispered, trailing kisses against her lips and shoulders and lowering the weight of his body on top of her. There was a security to this feeling, his hulking body guarding hers, the hard evidence of his desire for her pressing teasingly between her damp folds. Probably yet another thing about her that would make the twenty-fourth century feminist frown. She smiled to herself.

Sensing his reservation she moved her hips encouragingly and pulled away from his gentle kisses.

"Am I not pleasing to you milord," she said, batting her eyes to the best of her ability, "Must I beg you to ravish me—impale me with your sword of desire."

His shoulders shook against her chest, the breath of his low chuckle heating her neck. He lifted his head slowly, his lopsided grin darkened by the smoky glaze in his eyes.

"We have several of these programs to work through, don't we?" She traced her thumb over his lips. "How many did you say there were?"

"Nineteen." His grin broadened.

"Well then," she whispered, recovering her energy with that promise and grinding her heels into his ass, "I suggest you wield that sword."

He shifted his weight slightly, positioning himself so that end of his cock penetrated her slick opening and inhaled deeply. "On guard wench," he growled, thrusting inside her, his rough chuckle swallowed by her lips.