Rough and Hardcore Erotica

by Natalie Breaks

  Surprise ran down Theresa’s spine, wondering if the pulled hair was a sign of more violence to come. This was Lord Chettam! Lord Chettam the current owner of Old Tilton Lodge, that old manse of fearful tales. The Chettams were all tainted by the numerous and often contradictory superstitions regarding that strange and – for ten months of the year – empty old house on a windblasted hill.

  Grow up you child, those are only stories, Theresa told herself, then out loud: “I’m headed for London, to take up a respectable position at…” The lie came slowly to her, “A notable public school for girls. But I lost my fare on the way to the stage post and so snuck aboard. I will gladly pay the driver out of my first weeks pay once I get to London.”

  “You a teacher? You hardly look old enough to be a school girl.” He paused and looked around the moor. “Still you better join us up front, I can’t very well leave you here.”

  “I am nineteen,” she insisted. “And an excellent teacher.” Hope bloomed in her breast.

  “That’s as may be, but your excellent qualifications didn’t stop you from choosing your vehicle poorly, this is my coach and driver and we are not headed to London, and Clifford her won’t accept any money but mine for such services as he renders. However, I am bearing my illustrious friend back to my home. Might I suggest you spend the night at my hunting lodge, and I will send you off to London with your fare restored and perhaps a little extra to see you on your way to this school.”

  So saying he scooped up her bonnet and shawl from where they had fallen, handed them to her, rearranged her basket in the luggage compartment, and had Clifford the driver lock it up thoroughly.

  As he did so, Theresa caught an odd smirk in the coachman’s eye as he turned the key. “Now,” said Chettam as he ushered her into the coach. “Look lively, the Captain will want to meet a pretty little thing like you.” As she mounted the steps instead of offering her a hand as she had seen many gentlemen do for ladies in the past, he put his hand to her rump and pushed her aboard as if she were a truculent sheep.

  In the cabin she found herself sat beside a young man in the red coat and insignia of a regiment she did not recognise. He was far more her idea of a nobleman, everything clean and polished and worn just as it was meant to be.

  “This is the Captain,” muttered Chettam, taking his seat on the other side of her perhaps a little closer than she was used to men being sat.

  “I am Captain McPherson,” said the gentleman in uniform. “Son of the Lord McPherson who you may have heard of.” McPherson’s voice was softer than Chettam’s and had a lilting Scottish accent. “Of the great McPherson line that held bonny Alba against perfidious Albion since time immemorial.”

  “And now he fights Albion’s foreign wars for us.”

  “Aye. I am soon returned from our Queen’s Imperial demesne in India.” He flourished his hands dramatically as if giving honour to an invisible shrine to the Queen in the coach with them.

  “McPherson was also married to my late cousin and so I am forced to give him hospitality on his journey from Bath to Aberdeen. Much as I am forced by circumstances to give you shelter on your journey from Tilton to London.”

  Lord Chettam looked thoroughly disheveled beside his clean cut friend, though both were strikingly handsome in differing ways, tall and dark. Though Chettam had pale Gothic skin with long slender fingers and a clean shaved face where his Scottish friend had close cropped hair and a beard, and was built like a boxer with great height, weight and strength in his bulky frame.

  Patting McPherson on the shoulder, Chettam smirked at Theresa again and said to his friend, “Don’t I always provide you with the finest hospitality when you stay?”

  “That is very much up to the lass, Chettam, old boy.”

  Through all this Theresa had tried to speak but found herself talked over by the two men who were comfortably bantering with each other as if she were only part of the furniture.

  Determined to make her presence felt, she piped up in as commanding a tone as she could, “A pleasure to meet you both.” Against their tones she was painfully aware of her common accent and as she heard it on her ears her voice began to fail in her throat and she whispered the rest. “Where is it we are going precisely?”

  “My home,” Chettam said. “You are both to be my dinner guests.”

  “And what are you to do with me on the morrow?”

  “Well,” his perpetual smirk growing even wider. “As my friend here said, that is very much down to you, Lass.”

  Old Tilton Lodge was nearly twenty-five miles across empty moor from Tilton Brae, it sat alone at the top of a hill, so remote its grounds were unfenced except for the family graveyard which had not been used in the three Generations since Sir Chettam married into old blood and was granted the title Lord as a result. The house changed its name from Tilton House to Old Tilton Lodge and was repurposed as a hunting spot for the more lively of the younger male Chettams in the appropriate seasons.

  Its association with unchaperoned aristocratic youths had given it its air of sin in the local imagination and Theresa was not an exception to the prejudice.

  The isolation and faintly run down appearance added to the sense of the kind of house that might feature in a ghost story or novel of illicit and hidden acts, murder perhaps, or one of the sweeter sins.

  There was plenty of time to drink the house in as the coach wound its way through the tangle of heather, rocky outcroppings, and hidden streams which Theresa could hear rushing beneath the overgrowth of vegetation but never saw emerging into the light.

  They were giving her the decided sense that there was blood rushing through giant veins beneath the moors.

  Chettam and McPherson were discussing their travels, and after a long spiel on the beauty of women in the colonies McPherson looked over at her and said, “But Chettam, old son. There’s nothing like the lips of an Englishwoman for kissing.”

  “Quite, quite,” said Chettam turning to Theresa. “But of course no one can kiss an English woman quite like an Englishman.”

  Theresa felt herself blushing, and felt foolish, this all seemed most ungentlemanly, but perhaps her country ways deceived her. After all these weregentlemen, they must know better than her.

  “I disagree,” said McPherson. “The Scottish mix well with your inferior stock. But perhaps, m’Lady here would care to judge for us.”

  “I– I don’t know,” Theresa stuttered.

  “How could you,” snapped Chettam. “A virtuous lass like you has untouched lips. Then again who could be a more unbiased judge than you. I defer to my guest for precedence. Stand by, dear Tess, for Scottish boarders.”

  “But–” before she could protest McPherson’s hand was cupping her chin and his breath, smelling faintly of chewing tobacco was hot on her face. His hands were strong and insistent but his lips were gentle.

  Unsure of how to respond to the soft caress of lip on lip, Theresa opened her mouth a little and gasped as McPherson’s pressed tighter. His tongue gently probed the gap and ran against her teeth. Something in the pit of her stomach was bucking like a newborn foal. The blood was pounding in her ears a terror of the unknown and of the powerful unnamable emotion a desire as mad as that of an opium fiend gripped her as she kissed him back her hands reaching up and resting against his rock hard chest. Her own tongue met his and in the tang of the tobacco and the rough dance of his tongue against hers she felt electricity spark.

  When he pulled away, she felt dizzy, like she had been beneath the cold water of one of the invisible streams of the moor and had just surfaced into light and air. She tried to speak but could get nothing out.

  “There, there, Lassie. It was an honour to be the first on those lips.”

  From behind her came Chettam’s voice: “As your host, I hope you will treat me fairly even I come as the second intruder on your tongue.”

  “Of-” she could barely get the words out she was still not quite back in the real world of the coach. “Of course not.”r />
  Chettams hands gripped her shoulder and pulled her backwards roughly. There was less strength in his arms than McPherson’s but it was dealt out with less restraint, where McPherson was slow and insistent in his movements, Chettam was driven my something animalistic, almost predatory. Without turning her away from McPherson, Chettam pulled her so she fell on her back across his lap. His wiry face jerked in, smirking harshly. There was no gentleness in his lips instead they bit and sucked.

  The aggression cowed her, the sudden pain of his teeth tugging at her lower lip set the foal kicking in her stomach again. The whole world seem to have turned on its back with her and she let it writhe about her.

  All her sensation seemed to shrink, in the dark behind her closed eyes, to those points of pressure in her mouth the teeth against teeth, tongue against tongue. Chettam’s was more probing, his tongue reaching deep into her mouth and pushing her tongue back as if the two organs were in conflict.

  The kiss seemed to last forever, time rushing about them then once again she was released and strong hands were sitting her back up. She realised both men were now sat tightly either side of her arms about her waist so tight her corset was biting in under their grip, she felt there was no air between her and the heat of the two bodies which had her nearly pinned between them on this chair.

  Through the throbbing of her heart which no longer seemed to be in her chest but beating out its tattoo low down in her stomach.

  “Well?” asked Chettam. “Whose tender embrace was more skilled? More affectionate? More, dare I say it, seductive?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” Her cheeks were burning.

  “You are so pretty when you blush. I wonder how we could go about making you blush forever, Lass.” Whispered McPherson, his voice had taken on a husky tone and he looked as if he were struggling not to eat her alive right then and there.

  Just then the coach pulled up short, and the coachman’s voice announced their arrival at the lodge.

  “Well, if she can’t decide yet. We will simply have to continue this matter after dinner. For now though, we best find you some suitable clothes. I believe there are some suitable evening gowns,” under dust coverings somewhere. “They may not be the current fashions but as you can tell me and McPherson are old fashioned gentlemen.”

  Theresa found herself hurried upstairs by Chettam and was surprised when McPherson and Chettam joined her in her chambers. The house was cold and the sun going down so Chettam had the coachman – who appeared to serve as caretaker, butler and full staff in this house.

  McPherson lit the fire in the grate and soon the room was warming up an bathed in a beautiful orange gaslight. Chettam was going through the cupboard and laying out various undergarments and dresses, holding them up against Theresa as she stood, rather at a loss as the three men bustled about her.

  The coachman had disappeared into the next room and the sounds of something heavy being dragged across the floor could be heard.

  “Am I to have some privacy to get ready?” asked Theresa unsure if she wanted the masculine presence gone. Something about these men frightened her and enticed her. Perhaps they were frightening because they were enticing. Was this the kind of sinful desire that put a girl away from god? she wondered.

  The men chuckled and continued with their work.

  The scraping sound increased in volume and as she looked over the coachman was scraping a large copper tub into the room. Once he’d placed it in the middle he ventured back and the sound of running water was heard pattering into a bucket.

  McPherson, lifted some of the glowing coals from the fireplace in the small coal shovel and poured them into the heating tray beneath the tub. The coachman reentered with a bucket and proceeded over a few journeys to fill the tub.

  Then with a deep bow he left the room.

  “Now,” said Chettam. “Allow me to help you undress.”

  “What?” Theresa asked dumbfounded.

  “I have no maids in the house, just Clifford there and he’s preparing dinner. So me and McPherson will have to be your hand servants tonight.”

  He stepped up to her and as she mumbled her assent embarrassedly he seized her shoulders and roughly turned her around. Reaching his hands around her waist he began to unbutton her dress starting at the buttons above her hips and slowly moving up. As he did so his arms held her lasciviously and stroked across the soft cloth between each button slowly.

  She looked over at McPherson who was gently trailing his fingers in the bath tub, checking the temperature but never taking his eyes off her.

  With the buttons undone, Chettam jerked the dress off her shoulders revealing her corset and chemise underneath. She tried to shrug the rest of the dress off but Chettam held it pinning her elbows to her side. He was so close behind her, his breath warm on her neck and shoulders. She could almost feel his lips brushing against the loose ringlets that had fallen from her bonnet. One hand pulling the dress tight about her waist pinning her arms almost painfully, Chettem began to undo the knot that held her corset tight with his teeth.

  McPherson, apparently happy with the water temperature now walked up to her and standing close in front, tilted her head up to kiss her. She dissolved into the kiss struggling against her restraints and trying to hold him, pull him closer, to shut out all the light and air and space between them. By the time he pulled away she was shocked to find her corset had fallen to the floor and her chemise had joined her dress about her waist.

  Chettam’s hands reached around and were gently stroking her exposed breasts. Gripping them like her bodice would with fingers caressing the nipples and sending a shiver of physical pleasure through her in a way that was completely new to her. It seemed to set the throb in her stomach going harder than ever and she felt a powerful need to grip her legs together.

  Just as she felt that whatever was building in her was going to make her scream, Chettam pulled her dress down releasing her hands.

  She stood there in the frills of her bloomers, exposed to these two beautiful and dangerous men and her fear turned to excitement, the blush in her cheek to the flush of desire.

  McPherson kissed her mouth again. His hand replacing Chettam’s on her right breast as Chettam knelt behind her and bit her left buttock through the cloth of her bloomers. His nimble fingers undid the laces which held them up while his other hand did the same to the laces on her boots.

  McPherson’s lips pulled away from her and began to wet the skin of her kneck, sucking and pulling then letting go and beginning again lower and lower. As he worked down past her clavicle, her highest ribs, her decollate, working slowly towards the hard pink nipple which his fingers teased and caressed, below Chettam was pulling her boots off one by one. She felt the cold draught of the room as a kifes edge of cold against her sex where her wetness met the air.

  “What a pretty cunny,” whispered Chettam. “I shall kiss it when it is clean.”

  McPherson pulled away from the breast at which he was suckling like a baby and the shudder bouts of pleasure ceased rushing through Theresa.

  He lifted her in his strong arms and carried her to the bath lowering her into the shallow trough of warm water. Chettam joined with a pair of washrags and a hard bar of caustic smelling carbolic soap.

  Now the two men with sleeves rolled up began to wash her. The soap stung a little, leaving a kind of rough tingle on her skin as they scoured her clean. The warm water and soft cloths then soothed the tingle. She felt almost like a child as they lifted her arms and legs rubbing her thoroughly all over strong hands controlling her. But gone was the innocence of childhood. For the first time she felt fully grown, a woman, with a woman’s power over the bodies of men, and over her own.

  Chettam now stood her up and the air of the room seemed much colder on her wet skin she felt him wet the cloth in the water between her ankles then run it up the inside of her thighs until it pressed tight against her cunny. The water ran over her skin and his fingers working through the cloth parted her li
ps and softly caressed her womanhood.

  She was suddenly aware that she was moaning. Rubbing with her hips in time to his cleansing strokes. Then the cloth was pulled away and his hand, uncovered by cloth was touching her there. Skin to skin, the hard end of his nails teasing her, then the soft pads of his fingers tracing the outlines of her opening. McPherson stood and seized a towel vigorously rubbing her down until her skin stung but she was dry. Then he kissed her gently and between the two of them the men carried Theresa over to the bed.

  Laying her on her back they paused for a moment each taking out two coins a silver coin and a penny. They placed the four coins on her belly, pushing her hands out the way as she frantically tried to pick up where Chettam left off. “Please,” she moaned. “I want you between my legs.”

  Now the men began flipping the silver coins comparing the out comes until eventually Chettam smiled and scooped up both silver coins while McPherson took the pennies. Now Chettam knelt between her legs, as McPherson seized a nipple and pinched it till she yelped. The pain shoting through her to her clitoris which now seemed the centre of her hearts insistent throb. Then there was an explosion of pleasure as Chettams lips touched her cunny and he sucked her clitoris hard into his mouth. Releasing it his tongue now began to slid over and around it each stroke sending a wave of pleasure rushing up through her to crash angrily across her features forcing a loud moan from her lips which was stopped suddenly by McPherson’s kiss.

  As he kissed her his hand entwined with hers and led her fingers to the bulge in his breeches. So this is what a man’s parts feel like, she gasped. Some instinct drew her excitedly to it, and Chettam continued to send pleasure in quick darting strokes from her groin she held her concentration together enough to paw at the laces that held McPherson’s breeches up. When it emerged flipping, out of his hose and springing to attention like his troopers on parade she could hardly believe it.

  It’s huge, she thought. Beautiful, but huge.