Obsession

by Cathryn Cooper

  Now, thought Carew, I’ve truly spoken out of character. I never tell her it’s nice to see her. Will she suspect I have a specific purpose in mind - a more urgent purpose than usual? He smiled casually into the round face, the pale eyes and freckled nose. No, he decided, Prissy would not suspect. Like a hungry cat, she would lap up any titbit of affection he threw her and, as always, she would be malleable to his wishes.

  He made an effort to control his body and make it as it always was when she appeared - rigid, unbending. All the moves were hers, all the pleasure would be his.

  She ran her hands over him, her breath coming in quick, short gasps as she explored his hard chest, his tight stomach and the hot mound in his trousers. Her hand was still rolling over it when Imran returned.

  Oliver, eyes downcast, was right behind him.

  Immediately on his entering the room, something stirred beneath the hand of the parson’s daughter. Carew was very aware of it. So was Priscilla. Her eyes opened very wide. With a tremendous surge of willpower, Carew reverted to polite protocol in order to disguise Oliver’s effect on him.

  ‘Ah. Oliver. I have someone here I want you to meet.’ He spoke stiffly and moved his body away from the touch of Prissy’s hand.

  Imran stood next to the door. Katie stepped forward, aware that although Priscilla greeted her warmly enough, her attention and her body were all for Carew.

  But Carew wanted Prissy to pay Oliver some attention. Purposefully, he grasped her shoulders and spun her round so that she was facing the boy. ‘Don’t you think Oliver is a good-looking young man, Priscilla?’ He slapped Katie on the back as he said it.

  One of the boys, thought Katie as she slid her cap from her head to her hands. He wants her to think I’m just one of the boys. But I’m not. I know I’m not.

  Priscilla smiled like a Jersey cow. Her mouth was very wide. Her teeth were very large.

  ‘Yes,’ said Priscilla hesitantly. ‘Yes. I suppose he is.’

  Carew might or might not have been fooled. Katie was not. Priscilla was agreeing with Carew because she adored him and not because of any fancy’ for another man.

  But Carew continued his persuasion. ‘I think Oliver is a little shy of women, Prissy. I think he does not know what to do with them. What do you think, Prissy darling?’

  Prissy, thought Katie, doing her best to look bashful, would think exactly what Carew wanted her to think.

  ‘Whatever you say, Roo darling.’

  There was contempt in Carew’s eyes. Katie guessed the nickname Priscilla had given him was not entirely welcome. But he stood for it.

  ‘Oh. I think I am right. I think I am very right. And you,’ Carew said, turning his eyes back to Prissy. ‘Are going to help him over his shyness. What do you say to that, Prissy darling?’

  Lightly, he ran his fingers over the adoring girl’s cheek, her shoulder, then cupped his hand beneath her breast. A slight swelling appeared through the flower-patterned dress as he squeezed her nipple. Prissy moaned ecstatically.

  Katie felt an irritation in and around her sex that only a good portion of penis could scratch. But what, she wondered, did Carew have in mind?

  ‘Oliver. Sit down there.’

  Katie sat where Carew pointed. It was a brown leather chair that had a high shine and smelt of bees wax. The arms were wooden and heavily carved.

  Priscilla seemed to shiver slightly as though she were fading away.

  Imran, without being asked, came forward and stood beside the brown leather chair. Katie glanced up at him. His eyes regarded her only briefly, but long enough for• her to see that same amusement she had seen there earlier.

  Carew moved from the window and sat in a chair placed sideways on to her. It was identical to the one she was sitting in. A pair well matched, thought Katie to herself. Like me and him really. She couldn’t help smiling, but stopped it once when she saw that Carew was frowning quizzically in her direction.

  ‘Well, my dear Prissy. Let us show this virgin youth exactly what a woman can do for a man, and exactly what a man can do for a woman.’

  The only way to describe the expression on Prissy’s face was ecstatic. Without any further instruction, she dropped to her knees between his legs and began undoing her dress buttons which were big and icy white.

  Her camisole was salmon pink and not particularly attractive. Some tribute had been paid to prettiness by the addition of toning satin trim and wide straps.

  Generous breasts begged for release against the prim pinkness of the material which did nothing to hide her hard nipples and their deep pink halos.

  Priscilla dipped a hand down into her camisole and brought out first one breast, then another. They were large and pale, their nipples big as cherries.

  Smaller breasts, Katie decided, would never have stayed there like that; nipples pointing face front, breasts bulging tightly together.

  Her cheeks were pink too but not, Katie judged, from shame.

  Katie crossed her legs tightly. The tingling in her sex was spiralling outwards and a warm flush was spreading over her own body. Protectively, she crossed her hands in her lap.

  Priscilla’s breasts disappeared between Carew’s knees as she leaned forward, her hands clasping the arms of his chair. With a quick dexterity that Katie found supremely admirable, she undid each of his trouser buttons with her teeth.

  But she does have big teeth, thought Katie. All the same, she was a weeny bit envious. It was something she had never attempted herself.

  The next happening was even more of a surprise. The brown hands of Imran came into view and, as Priscilla snuffled among Carew’s clothes, the lean fingers of Carew’s servant bound her wrists to the chair with what looked to be leather dog collars.

  Katie stared at them. How thick, how strong they looked, and how fragile the girl’s flesh. All the same, she knew instinctively that Priscilla was enjoying everything about this. She imagined the ache in her pussy as the roughness of Carew’s trousers stroked the softness of her breasts and the smell of his sex wafted in her nostrils as her mouth sucked him in.

  As the fullness of his member came into view then half disappeared into Prissy’s mouth, she licked her lips. Could they hear her heart beating, she wondered? Wide-eyed, she gazed at Carew. To her surprise, equally wide-eyed, he gazed back. His mouth was slightly open and she could hear his sighs of pleasure as Priscilla’s mouth moved up and down his stem.

  Katie did not drop her gaze. Even when Imran lifted Priscilla’s skirt and slid his hand to unbutton her knickers, she barely faltered. She looked only long enough to see Priscilla’s wide beam come into view. Katie’s own breath, like Carew’s, was coming faster. If she had owned an erection, she might be having one now.

  She saw Carew drop his eyes to where her hands lay clasped in her lap. An erection, she realised, was what Carew was looking for too. He was surmising that she had crossed her hands in her lap to hide a stiffness that she did not have.

  If only he knew what was behind those hands; how moist her sex was, and how willing to let him in.

  Priscilla squealed. The squeal of surprise was muffled by Carew’s rod and was followed by a moan of pleasure.

  This time, Katie’s gaze lingered and her mouth dropped open.

  Imran was knelt behind the parson’s daughter, his trousers askew, the hardness of his pelvis tight against the softness of the large, white behind.

  As Priscilla’s mouth ran up and down Carew’s admirable erection, the darkness of Imran’s hands held her dimpled thighs. At a nod from Carew, he began to retreat, then plunge his member into Priscilla’s up-tilted sex.

  Carew’s head was resting back against the chair, low groans of pleasure escaping his throat. His eyes were closed and the unintelligible sounds he was making seemed at times to take form, to have meaning. Just when he seemed to have reac
hed the height of his climax, he opened his eyes and turned to her. At that same moment, she realised that Imran had tensed against Priscilla’s behind. Regardless of Priscilla’s feelings, the man who had entered her had finished.

  Carew also was surging towards his peak. With both hands, he manipulated Prissy’s head so that her movements were suited to his pleasure. As he did so, his eyes never left the face of the person he knew as Oliver.

  Katie gasped with him as he spasmed and filled the mouth of the parson’s daughter. In her mind, it was her feeling the throb of his sex on her tongue, her who felt the warm saltiness of his semen in her throat.

  She breathed heavily, her eyes never leaving those of Carew as he ejaculated into Priscilla’s mouth. Both men had achieved a climax. Priscilla herself had received no climax of her own. And that, Katie realised, was the way Carew liked it to be.

  ‘And now I wish to be alone,’ said Carew as he undid one of the straps that secured Prissy’s wrist.

  Without looking or speaking to anyone, he left them there; Imran to undo Prissy’s other wrist and take her home. Katie to find her own way back to the stables and the small room she shared with Gareth up under the eaves.

  Aware of her face still being flushed and an ache in her groin, Katie hurried along the landings and corridors of the main house, determined to get back to cooler areas of the sculleries and butler’s pantries before anyone questioned her about why her face was so red.

  If anyone did ask, they might get more than they bargained for. She was angry with herself, with Carew and with Prissy. Perhaps it was only Imran’s actions that were excusable. At least he was only employed here and was therefore obliged to take orders. But the way Carew had left Prissy high and dry with no climax of her own, made her seethe. How dare he use a woman like that!

  But then, she argued, on the other hand Prissy was letting herself be used. Did she have no pride? Didn’t she know she had rights?

  Imagine, she thought as she seethed, a parson’s daughter, so besotted with a man that her own sexual satisfaction is of no consequence whatsoever. It didn’t bear thinking about. But she did think about it. The sight of the tied-up Priscilla sucking on Carew for all she was worth, and Imran pushing his plush brown member into her generous portal, was still in her mind.

  Despite her anger, she suddenly had a yearning for Gareth, for Phoebe, for anyone! But mostly, she still had the• itch for Carew. Which way did he want her? she wondered. As a boy? And would he be relieved or disappointed when he found out her true sex?

  Somehow, she favoured the former. There was adoration in his eyes, but there was also something else. By pretending to be a boy, she was tearing him apart, dampening his confidence and making him question his own sexuality. In time, she would win him either as a woman or as a boy.

  So engrossed was she with her own thoughts that her arms were grabbed before she even knew anyone was there. Suddenly, she was on the other side of a thick, plank door and in a dimly lit room. But she remembered it. There was a red and blue carpet on the floor and a clockwork train running round and round a table.

  ‘Naughty little boy!’

  ‘Let me go!’

  Sir Charles had no intention of letting her go. The old knight might be getting on a bit, but his arm muscles, built up in long army campaigns in goodness knows where, were still strong.

  Even though Katie struggled, he held her tightly, one arm clamping hers to her sides and one hand ripping at her trousers.

  Her arms were pinioned from the elbows upwards, but she could just about hang onto her trousers at the front. Her sex, at least, would still be a secret. However, she could not prevent her buttocks being bared to his slapping hand and probing fingers.

  ‘Stop struggling.’ His grip tightened. She felt as though her ribs were being squeezed to a mash. ‘Keep still. I only want to touch you. I promise. I only want to touch you.’

  His voice had become very soft, as soft as his touch.

  His palm circled each buttock in turn and his fingers traced filigree lines of calm from the base of her spine and into the cleft between her firm orbs.

  Despite the fear of what he might do to her, the desire that had resulted from watching what Carew and Imran had done to Priscilla now traversed her body.

  She could not help but become calm, then mew with delight as the exploring fingers delved more deeply between her buttocks.

  ‘There now,’ exclaimed Sir Charles. ‘There now! What a responsive young man you are. I knew you would be. I could see it in your eyes and in the saucy way you wiggle your pretty little buttocks. Maude thought so too. She thought you’d be a saucy little lad. But the proof of the pudding is in the eating, young man. Isn’t that right?’

  Katie struggled to answer and to see, but her cap had fallen forwards over her eyes. Her hands, however, still clung firmly to the front of her trousers.

  He bent her over the table and she felt a draft as the little tin train swept by, its clockwork key whirring just a few inches from her nose. Her arms were pinned against the table. They could have been otherwise, but her fingers were still gripping her trouser front with grim intensity.

  One broad palm held her flat on the table. The other was fumbling somewhere behind her. She could feel it rummaging like a ruminating animal at his fly buttons and then at his member.

  His rod was very hot and very hard against her buttocks. She could smell him, warm, humid, sweating with excitement. The head of his phallus nudged between her cheeks. A wetness seeped like liquid pearls from its opening and ran in slow rivulets down to her anus. Soon, she realised, his penis would follow.

  He drooled and groaned against her ear. ‘Oh, Oliver, my dear young man. You cannot possibly imagine how much I have yearned for this moment; how much I have wanted to possess your beautiful behind.’

  Katie tensed, then relaxed. There was no way she could get away from this without giving herself away. And she could not possibly do that. Not now. Not now she knew Carew was falling, and falling fast. Instead of protesting or trying to escape, she recalled to mind the scene she had recently experienced in Carew’s private sitting room.

  She half closed her eyes as his penis probed at her smallest orifice, its very heat causing her muscles to relax and give encouragement.

  ‘That’s it, my darling young man. Enjoy the experience. Do not fight it. Let it in, let it take you.’ Sir Charles said all this in response to Katie’s rising groans. No matter that it was a man old enough to be her father and that the hole he was taking had received less attention than others, she could not help but tilt her backside towards him.

  This, she thought to herself as pleasure replaced pain, is what Carew has in his mind. I wonder what he will do when he finds out that I have more than a round bottom and a tiny hole?

  But that day had not yet come. This one had and, as Charles grunted above her and shoved his penis in that bit further, she cried out. But he held her fast. Bit by bit, his phallus invaded her, stretching her tightness and leaving a slick of wetness through her divide.

  Not long, she thought to herself, not long.

  She was right. Too excited and too old to concentrate on staying the course, Sir Charles emptied his spent fuel into her behind. Then he seemed to sag and the hands that held her became as weak as they should be for someone of his age.

  However, he did appear and sound enormously grateful. ‘Here you are.’

  As she was doing up her trousers, her face all suitable flushed and ashamed, he handed her a gold sovereign. ‘For your trouble.’ He winked. ‘And there’s more where that came from, my lad. Much more.’

  She stared, picked up her cap and muttered, ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t hear her. Sir Charles had returned to his other hobby. There was a grating sound as he rewound the clockwork steam engine. Within minutes, it was again going around and around the same tr
ack, doing the same things and passing the same scenery it always did; a bit, she thought, like Sir Charles.

  Watching Priscilla receiving her dues had aroused her. Receiving Sir Charles’ penis in her behind had aroused her even more and, although her bottom stung silently, her sex was wet and ready for action on her terms.

  Gareth, naked and with his hands already looped in the leather belts, was snoring softly when she returned to her room. He had bound them himself as tight as he could, but still they were nowhere near as tight as she liked them to be.

  Katie wanted to laugh, but she didn’t. ‘Snoring,’ she muttered, ‘is not terribly attractive.’

  But the events of the night had definitely had their affect on her. With a soft flannel and water poured from the jug to the bowl, she washed the tenderness between her buttocks, then towelled it dry.

  Once she was naked, she could not help exploring her own’ body. Her nipples were hard, and the lips of her sex were slippery and wanting.

  Lightly, she tapped the little nub of passion that nestled so secretively between her folds of flesh. Immediately, it responded. She knew that Gareth’s snoring would not be enough to put her off doing what she must do.

  Gently, so as not to disturb him, she took hold of the sheet that covered his body. She held it away from him and studied the sleeping form that so readily awaited her. Something stirred lower down. She pulled the sheet back further, and what she saw made her smile. His body might be sleeping, but his penis was not. There it was, already half-erect and waiting for her.

  She pulled the sheet down to his ankles and let it fall. With a delicate touch, she tapped his half-asleep member. It responded immediately and as he murmured incoherently, still asleep, yet half-awake, she straddled him and took him into her.

  Gareth, she judged, must have had a hard day, poor love. Not once did he open his eyes. Perhaps, she thought, he is having a wonderful dream, and that dream is being mixed with reality.

  The thought of that made her ride him harder and, as though she too had entered his dream, they climaxed together.