To Please a Lady

by Raven McAllan

  He nodded, and as if by magic, Dorris appeared to hold open the impressive oak door for them to pass into the sunlight. Outside, Nicholls, Berry’s young and eager tiger, was talking softly to two perfectly matched gray high steppers.

  “Fine as trivets, m’lud,” he said cheerfully, his bright Cockney accent loud in the quiet square.

  “Thank you. I will not need you.” The lad’s face fell. “Go back to the stables and tell Mr. Hammond you are to exercise Star for me.” The face changed to one of pleasure.

  “High treat, I presume?” Ran inquired as he took his seat next to Berry.

  “A good lad with a light and steady hand. He will be head groom one day, I believe. Now, are you ready?”

  “As ever I will be,” he said. “Although I confess to a certain amount of trepidation.”

  Berry glanced at him as he maneuvered the horses away from the square and into the busy street. “Why? She wishes us both; why have a worry? It will change things only for the better. We will still have time to fuck and enjoy each other, as well as individually or together with Hermione. And I confess the idea of any one of us as voyeur both pleases and excites me.”

  Ran laughed as they turned into the square where Hermione lived. Backing on to their own square with only the mews separating the houses, it was convenient for any nocturnal activities they chose to undertake.

  “As it does me. Shall I knock whist you hold the horses?” Ran inquired and at Berry’s nod, sprung down to apply the knocker to the door.

  It was opened by yet another imposing major-domo. “Ah, Wardle, is your ladyship ready? Lady Missenden, that is? Lord Stray and I are escorting her to the park.”

  “I’m here.” Hermione appeared behind Hammond, very elegant in a walking gown of palest lilac, her chip bonnet adorned with violets, her kid gloves the same pleasing hue. Ran bowed over her hand, ignoring the laughing sparkle he could see in her eyes. She passed by him to stop on the uppermost step and turned to look at him.

  “Are you coming, my lord? Shall I wait for you?”

  “Nay, my dear, always I shall await your pleasure.” He took her arm, holding it firmly as she began to giggle. Drat the woman; she would be the death of him. “As will Berry, I perceive.”

  They reached the carriage, and he stood by to help her up.

  “As I will, what?” Berry inquired. “Fight you to be the one to admire trim ankles and a shapely rear? Always.”

  Hermione shook her head in an admonishing manner. “My lords, you are incorrigible.” She settled herself on the seat, and Ran pulled himself up to move her tight between his thighs and Berry’s. He noted she made no protest. Indeed if anything she moved slightly to rub against each one in turn. Minx!

  “Well, Mione-mine.” Berry’s tone was light, as if the conversation was to be inconsequential, although he knew damn well it would not be. He and Berry had discussed at length who would articulate their ultimatum. Berry, ever the orator, was the natural choice. The phaeton lurched over the cobbles, and the movement interested his cock. This brought forth a thought.

  “I wonder if Ivo Daranton ever had his circular track built?” he asked idly. To his surprise it was not Berry who answered, but Hermione, her eyes full of mischief.

  “But, of course. It is splendid.”

  The horses surged forward as Berry dropped his hands, and the reins loosened. “Damn.” He swiftly regained control.

  “See what you have done?” Ran asked, laughter in his voice. “Never would anything usually unnerve Berry to such a degree that his cattle suffer. Or forget his thread. I, however, am not in charge of the vehicle and will put the question for both of us. What know you of Daranton’s track?”

  Berry had turned into the park and was making his way along the track among many other carriages. “Not here,” he said. “This is no place for talk such as we need. I suggest we do our perambulation to save the tabbies from tongue wagging, and we repair to one of our houses. What say you?”

  Ran nodded. “I feel it is in our best interests to do so.” He turned to look at Hermione, who smiled.

  “Agreed, my lords.”

  “So be it. Nevertheless, do not think for one minute, my dear, that I will forget you are still to answer my question.” Ran spoke lightly but recognized the hint of iron he had interjected into his tone. As did the other two, judging by the glances he was given.

  The slow drive from one end of the park to the other and back was an important part of daily life during the season. Never one of his favorite pastimes, on this morning it was more than usually irksome. By the time they had made their addresses to the patronesses of the ton who were out and about, well over the hour was passed, and both he and Berry were looking impatient. Finally the gate was once again accessed, and Berry tooled his pair through it and skillfully along the busy streets. One urchin, darting across the road in front of them, received a mild—for Berry—admonition to look where he was going. An itinerant pie seller received the same. Obviously Berry was tempering his responses owing to there being a lady present.

  “My house is nearest.” He spoke as Berry rounded the corner into the square. “Are we agreeable? Handyside will take your equipage to your groom for you.”

  “I thank you. A splendid idea.” Berry drew up outside Ran’s house with a flourish and jumped down to hand his reins to the groom who came running before turning to Hermione. “My turn, I believe,” he was saying as Ran gave swift orders to his man.

  As they trod slowly up the stairs, the men flanking Hermione, Ran felt his anxiety must be palpable. So much was dependent on the next few hours.

  “The study, I think,” he said briefly as they were admitted. He gave his orders for refreshments and then not to be disturbed. “We are not at home.”

  His butler bowed, betraying by not a flicker his feelings on such edicts.

  Ran ushered Hermione into the cozy, book-lined room, Berry following. He saw Hermione take in the comfortable, oversized couch, the view from the window into an enclosed, private courtyard, the deep wine-colored furnishings that complemented the room. And the somewhat unusual-looking chair ensconced in one corner, its back low and angled, its arms well padded, and the attached, cushioned footstool. His gaze rested on Berry, who knew as well as he, the myriad of ways the chair could be utilized. Both followed her gaze as it moved from it, only to flicker back to it again. He saw the amused smile that came to Berry’s face—mirrored, he was sure, on his own—when she licked her lips nervously. Or with excitement? Time, he hoped, would tell.

  “Pray, my love, take a seat. Perchance, first, tell us what you know of Ivo Daranton’s track?” He watched as once more her eyes skittered to the chair before she sat primly on the long brocade couch, her knees together, her ankles properly covered. Or so it seemed. With a wicked glint in her eye, she moved one leg slightly, so very briefly a shapely leg was displayed through a cunning slit in her gown before being hidden. One of her very appreciated affectations, he thought, enjoying the brief view.

  A knock on the door heralded the housekeeper with refreshments. It was if they were exhibiting a tableau, so still they all sat, until with a reiteration regarding their privacy, they were left alone.

  “So—” Berry waited until they all had a drink. “The track?”

  “Oh.” She laughed. “Merely that I, along with Arabella Dunsmuir and Serena Saltsey, spent one very pleasurable afternoon trying out its possibilities. I wondered whether I should build one at Anscome? Its ability to produce the most breathtaking climax as the movement of the carriage over the cobbles is truly amazing. You must try it as some point.”

  Minx, she sat, oh-so-decorously with a saucy smile playing around her lips. Never would he have thought so much could be conveyed from a facial expression at the same time.

  “Perhaps if you decide favorably, we may all try it. Now I must ask, what is your decision, Hermione? You know what we want and how.”

  “Refresh my memory. Spell it out to the last letter, my lords.”
Her eyes were full of mischief. “For a decision such as this, affecting all our lives, is too important to be misconstrued.”

  She was correct there. With an almost telepathic message, he knew Berry was willing to continue in the most graphic terms imaginable. He sat back to listen, enjoy, and become aroused. Lud, he had on one memorable occasion come by listening to that hypnotic voice alone.

  “Should you so choose, my love, in essence you are ours and we yours alone, admitting no others to our minds, our bodies, or our souls. We can be any two of three together, and the third may look on and be pleasured by the sight alone. It may be, on occasion, we are as one—all three together in whichever way pleases us. Even to be two at a time when all three together is not possible, this is acceptable…with the proviso that all of that glorious coupling will be described, in minute detail, to whosoever is not lucky enough to be there at the time. We will always be sure we all know of the others’ actions and have the opportunity to enjoy through speech, if not actions or as voyeur.”

  “And,” Ran interpolated, “if we so choose that to kiss and tell to whoever is unable to participate is the answer, we must be true, open, and honest in our narrative. For, I fear, that on occasion that may well be me, and the thought of being told in graphic detail of your activity will spur me on to a swift and safe homecoming.”

  Hermione nodded. “I understand that. But”—and once again that sultry, full-of-promise smile lurked around her mouth—”I wish to be, er, reminded of what our activities could embrace. For instance, you mentioned a daisy chain…?”

  Ran watched, inwardly chuckling, as Berry laughed out loud.

  “Oh, yes, my love, we will daisy chain. Cock, cock, cunt, and hands. Also any which way we choose be it physically possible. We have so many delicious orifices to fill. And with so many ways available, we will need a lifetime to discover them all.” He looked across at Ran, who took up his cue.

  “I see you noticed my chair? Imported from the Orient. It is a fucking chair. Designed for three—to give ease of access and spectacular climaxes. With its own head and knee rests, fucking hole, and restraints. We will take great delight in showing you how it can be used for our delectation—”

  Hermione interjected swiftly. “If I choose to be one of three.”

  He bowed his head. “But, of course, my dear. We will do naught you do not feel ready for, nor introduce the amazing and versatile toys we have at our command until you feel happy about the use of them. We have carved and creative objects designed to give you the greatest pleasure, in your cunt, your arse, wherever our cocks are not. We have ones for you to use in us, and so much more. There are delights and excitements galore for us to explore. So what say you?”

  Her head went to one side. The air in the room was still, waiting for this one, most important answer.

  “Well, to answer in order: I have a chair which serves me very well when neither of you choose to visit me. Your carved objects are, I presume, dildos.” She paused, obviously waiting for an answer. She received two nods and two reluctant chuckles. Truly, a pearl above any price, but still she had not answered the most important question of all.

  “So?” he prompted. Pray, she was not thinking to say, “snuff.”

  “So,” she parroted. “I have my own dildos, one for my pussy, one for my arse. Neither as magnificent as either of you, but more than adequate to fill me when needed. So the question is…am I to be satisfied with second best—no throbbing cocks, no thrill of hot, wet, hard bodies entwined and exhorting each to higher and greater delights? Having to tie my own legs to my chair to keep me wide and wanting that hardness inside me? I wonder, my lords, which will I choose? Truly there is no competition is there.”

  She paused and laughed and beckoned them toward her. They leaned forward to hear her decision…

  “Oh, my loves!”

  Biography

  Ever since I won not one but two Cadbury “Where does chocolate come from?” competitions in primary school, I was convinced one day I would write a book. Lots of books.

  My parents encouraged me. My schoolteachers despaired of me. (Evidently reading a story in your math class was not acceptable, even if you had finished the assignment!) Flowery. Romantic. Not factual. All leveled at me and all true. Hey, I loved weaving stories about anything and anyone.

  So what happened to my grand ideas? Life got in the way—as it does.

  A couple of truly awful manuscripts were sent off and duly—and rightfully—rejected. I gave up on my dreams.

  More years later than I’m prepared to disclose (hey, a woman has to have some secrets!), I realized I’d been writing as I thought I should, not as I could. It was my “eureka” moment.

  I dusted off my almost nonexistent typing skills and decided now was my chance. With more than a little coercion from my lovely crit group, Up and Coming Writers, I got typing. The ideas came fast and furious, and here I am, a published author.

  Married to my own hero (how cheesy is that?) after a couple of failed hero attempts, we live on the edge of a Scottish forest with two cats, three children, and a daughter-in-law as frequent visitors. And now two grandkids. Lucky or what?

  I write on my laptop in my study, watching the birds on the bird table, the strange, big, black, fluffy, I’m-pretending-to-be-a-bird cat, sitting on it and trying to convince the many real birds he is invisible, occasionally seeing deer and a red squirrel moving past. I am privileged.

  As a noncloset romantic, sometimes neurotic, and lover of words, I so enjoy getting involved with my hero and heroines. I hope you do too.