The Highwayman's Lady

by Ashe Barker

  My reaction is not lost on him. He drops the belt to the floor and comes to sit back on the bed next to me. “Ah, so that is it. You do not want a fuck, but you would quite like a spanking?”

  “I would not, I—”

  “Maybe it is just me then. I would dearly love to spank you, Imogen.”

  “Why? What have I done?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then, why are you angry with me?”

  “I am not angry, Imogen. Quite the reverse. Unless your refusal to keep warm is just cause. I must give that some consideration.”

  “I do not like it when you spank me,” I mutter mutinously, as though to convince myself that this is indeed the case.

  He leans in and drapes an arm across my shoulders to haul me close to his hard, warm body. “Ah, but you do, Imogen. You love it.” He pauses. “Christ, girl, you are freezing. If you do not wish to share my bed, at least come closer to the fire.”

  Before I can answer he stands and lifts me in his arms. With two long strides he carries me across to the hearth and sits down in a large fireside chair with me cradled in his lap. The heat from the blaze is wonderful and I stretch out my hands and feet.

  “Is that better?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I have been in Stirling. At a tavern.”

  “What?”

  “You asked where I have been.”

  “Oh.” I wrinkle my nose. “You do not smell of taverns.”

  “Thank you. I think. I have not been drinking excessively. I rarely do so.”

  “Then why are you so late back?”

  “I was with friends. A game of cards. The evening just flew past.”

  “Do they all?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You go out every evening. Do you always spend your time gaming in Stirling?”

  “No. I often go to Edinburgh. The gambling halls there are even more diverting, though the stakes can be somewhat higher than I prefer. A man could lose his entire fortune in one evening.”

  “You know what I mean. What is it which occupies your time every night? Are you…? Are you…?” I hesitate to put my worst fear into words.

  “Am I what, little Imogen? Please do not tell me you fear I have taken a mistress.”

  “What? No, of course not.” That notion had never occurred to me. Obviously, it should have. Gray is a ridiculously handsome man; he must attract a great deal of female attention.

  “Why should I desire another woman when I have you here at home?”

  “You do not have me, sir, either at home or anywhere else.” I try for a suitable note of indignation.

  He chuckles and tightens his hold when I would wriggle away. “Ah, my mistake. I was completely fooled by the fact that you are carrying my baby and have so thoughtfully presented yourself in my chamber this evening and in such a charming state of dishabille.”

  “I told you, I wished to talk to you.”

  “Is that the only reason you are here?”

  “Of course.”

  “And we have talked, yet still you remain.”

  “I have more questions.”

  “I see. And I told you, I would rather like to spank you, though I fear that may not be possible in your present condition. Still, I am happy to talk before we address that problem, if you insist. What further questions do you have for me?”

  I draw in a deep breath. “Please tell me you have not been out robbing travellers again?”

  “I have not been out robbing travellers again.” He delivers the denial in a deadpan tone, echoing my words back at me.

  “Truly?”

  “Of course, truly. My career as a highwayman is halted, at least for the duration of my stay here. Do you think I would soil my own doorstep?”

  “I, I do not know. I have no idea what you might do. You are not in the least predictable, sir.”

  “Well, that is something, I suppose.”

  “You confuse me. I cannot understand what you want, what you might intend.”

  “I have made my intentions clear enough. Do I need to turn you over my lap and bare your bottom to emphasise my point?”

  “You cannot spank me, I am with child.”

  “Ah, yes. You are right of course. Do you have an alternative suggestion to offer?”

  “I do not believe I have. Are you quite certain a spanking is out of the question?

  “In truth, I do not know. But I am not prepared to take that chance.”

  I am unprepared for the pang of dismay occasioned by his words. Gray must discern something of the sort though, from my expression.

  “You are disappointed, little one?” He tips my chin up with his fingers to make me meet his gaze.

  I manage a small shrug. He tightens his grip on my chin.

  “Imogen? The truth, please.”

  “Very well. Yes, maybe a little. But I accept that you are right, probably, and I promised not to do anything to put our baby at risk.”

  “Indeed you did, and you know how I will deal with any lapse on your part. But I cannot have you disappointed; that would not do at all. I must contrive to come up with something else to keep you suitably amused. Discipline is an entirely different matter, but as you know I have come up with an answer to that little dilemma, should it be required.”

  I grimace, not at all fond of the alternative solution he has found.

  Gray grins at me, his expression nothing short of wicked. “Discipline is not our purpose here, but I believe your delightful cunt is in need of urgent attention even so. Would you stand up, please?”

  It does not occur to me to deny the allure of his wicked observation. Moisture is pooling between my legs at the prospect of the attention he might bestow and if he tells me he will ensure the safety of our baby, I have no qualms about accepting that. There may be other questions I wanted to ask him, but those might wait. I allow him to help me to my feet.

  “Now, if you would be so good as to remove your wrap and nightdress, then stand beside the chair and lean forward.”

  I start to comply, then remember my increasingly awkward shape. I am embarrassed for him to see my naked and obviously pregnant body. “I… I prefer to keep my clothes on, if I may.”

  “You may not. Do as I have instructed.”

  Unwilling to argue the point, I drop the wrap and bend to grasp the hem of my nightdress. Closing my eyes, I draw it over my head, then remain still as he peruses my swollen belly.

  “You are beautiful, Imogen. You grow lovelier every day.”

  “But…”

  He places his hands on my shoulders, then tips my chin up with his fingertips. “I have watched your body change, knowing my baby grows within you.” He bends to kiss my lips, then trails his palm down my torso. My breasts are heavier than they were and slightly tender. He caresses them, his touch gentle, reverent almost. He ventures lower to rest his palm on the mound of my stomach. My baby chooses that precise moment to shift.

  “Good grief! Was that…?”

  I nod. I first noticed the quickening a fortnight ago, but since then the little one has been quite active, especially at night.

  He grins at me, pressing his hand into my abdomen to better feel the sharp little kicks. “Does this hurt you?”

  “No. It feels very odd though.”

  “Are you happy to continue? I will not force the issue, you must know that.”

  A quick wave of disappointment crystallises any remaining ambivalence in my thinking. “No, sir. I, I want this.”

  He smiles at me and kisses me again. “Fold your arms then and rest them on the chair arm. Lift up your beautiful bottom for me.”

  I do as he asks, turning my head to regard him. “You promise not to hurt me?”

  “I promise not to harm you, or our bairn. You must be content with that. Spread your thighs, please. As wide as you are able.”

  I find I am content, perfectly so. I position myse
lf as instructed.

  I am astonished when Gray drops to his knees behind me, but his intent is clear when he uses his thumbs to part my exposed pussy lips. Although I am expecting the soft warmth of his tongue on me, I still groan at the intense pleasure in the caress. He licks, laps, nibbles at my throbbing quim, dipping the tip of his tongue into my entrance to taste my juices. I am wriggling, writhing, caught up in the intensity of the moment, longing for more yet dreading it also lest it be just too much.

  “Gray, I cannot…” I let out a long, keening moan as he suckles my clit. “Oh, that is too… too…”

  “I want you to climax now. Fast and hard. Then, when you are more—relaxed—we can continue.” He pauses in his ministrations just long enough to issue his instructions, then returns to thrusting his tongue inside my needy quim.

  My release is swift and powerful, leaving my body trembling and my legs on the point of collapse. Gray appears to realise this and as soon as the waves of pleasure start to recede he sweeps me up in his arms and carries me back to the bed. There, he arranges me on my knees, on all fours, and resumes his position behind me.

  He caresses my throbbing slit, sliding his fingers in and out of my quivering pussy. His actions are gentle, unhurried, leisurely rather than demanding. My arousal builds again, more slowly this time, and I am able to savour the mounting waves of desire. I want him inside me.

  “Gray, sir… please, could you fuck me?” I cannot believe I am saying such things, let alone wanting them. Needing them more than the air that I breathe.

  “Soon, sweetheart. You are not yet quite ready.”

  “I am,” I protest. “I am entirely ready. Please, I need you… now.”

  “So eager. This is not ladylike, Imogen.”

  “I am not a lady. At least, not right at this moment.”

  He chuckles. “That is a matter of opinion, my sweet. To me, you are both lady and slut. Just at this moment, perhaps there is more of the slut about you, I do agree.”

  He inserts a third finger into my wet, clenching channel and twists his hand to reach that perfect spot. It is tight, stretching me, yet the pleasure is so exquisite I could weep.

  “Oh, God,” I moan. “Please, I cannot wait…”

  “Mmm, can you not? I wonder… Have I mentioned just how much your quim is glistening right now? I do believe you might drip on the floor. Such a sloppy little slut.” He withdraws his fingers to thrust them into me again. “Ah, yes, so wet. You are enjoying yourself, I think.” He brings his other hand into play and pinches my clitoris between his thumb and fingers.

  “Oh, God,” I moan, my forehead resting on my arms as another wave of hot lust ripples through me. “That is disgraceful.”

  “Yes, absolutely wanton. Who would have imagined you to be such a slut? And so aroused by having your clit squeezed a little?” He repeats the action as though to further emphasise his point. “So wet, Imogen, and so hot.”

  As I gasp for breath he slides his hand between my spread thighs, wiping my juices through my folds and back toward my rear hole. Realising what he is about I try to close my legs. A sharp tap to my buttock soon stops that.

  “Do not move, Imogen. And I do not wish to hear another word unless it is to tell me you really cannot continue and must stop. Do I make myself clear?”

  “But, you should not touch me there. It is wrong.”

  “Are you asking me to stop?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then hush. And enjoy. You may have your release whenever you wish to take it.”

  He resumes the delicious stroking, trailing the flat of his hand across my swollen, throbbing quim. I groan and lift up my bottom to offer better access. If I am wanton and a disgrace, then so be it. I find I am prepared to own any of that, so long as he does not stop.

  He slips a finger inside my drenched channel again, then a second, then a third. He swirls the digits inside me, caressing my inner walls then pulls out to rub the lips of my sex. He traces my opening, using both hands now to ease the lips apart. He shifts, then lays on his side behind me.

  I now know exactly what he is about to do and how it will feel. Lord help me, I arch my back to present my needy quim to him. He opens me with his thumbs, then thrusts his tongue into me again. There is a delightful, tantalising contrast between the hot, soft intruder plunging in and out of my cunt and the sharp, harsh sensation as he presses his fingers into my backside to hold me still.

  Shifting a little more, he takes my greedy clitoris between his lips and flicks it with his tongue. I squeal, trusting my hips back at him, begging for more. He understands, knows exactly what I need. He increases the pressure, holding the engorged bud firm in his mouth as he slides his fingers back inside me, and he sucks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Imogen lets out a strangled little squeak, her tight pussy spasming delightfully around my fingers. I hollow my cheeks to increase the suction on her swollen little clit and she moans. She is quivering all over, her entire body given over to pleasure. Such exquisite responses, such abandon. I could come to adore this little wench.

  I maintain the pressure until her moans and writhing subside and her knees buckle. She slumps forward onto the counterpane so I get to my feet and take her into my arms. I draw back the covers. This time she offers no objections as I place her within the snug cocoon.

  It is the work of moments to shed the remainder of my own clothing and I join her under the eiderdown. I draw her into my arms again, her back against my chest, my solid erection nestled between the cheeks of her bottom.

  We remain thus for several minutes until Imogen rolls onto her back. She reaches up to caress my cheek, a shy smile on her lovely features. Gone is the shameless wanton of moments ago. Now I find myself staring into the face of a modest but willing partner, a woman about to be thoroughly fucked. First though, I have other objectives I intend to conquer as far as she is concerned.

  I lower my face to hers and kiss her. Her lips open beneath mine, inviting me in. I accept the welcome, plunging my tongue between her teeth to twist around hers. She sucks on my tongue, teasing me, as our sensuous dance intensifies. I break the kiss, determined not to become deflected from my mission.

  “Roll over, Imogen. Back up onto your hands and knees.”

  “But why? Oh…”

  “Yes. More comfortable for you. Do it, please.”

  She obeys me, positioning herself just as I desire. The chamber has warmed sufficiently that I am able to draw back the blankets and bunch them at the foot of the bed. I move to kneel behind her, my cock thick and hard, positioned at her entrance. I ease her open with my thumbs, pausing to admire the rosy pink hue of her pussy, the lips swollen in arousal. I place my hands under her and tilt her hips back a little more so I may view her engorged clit, the plump bud throbbing as I draw my finger along the tip. She moans again, the sound muffled as she presses her face into the mattress. I love that sound, so I stroke her again. She stiffens, her body tightening as another release starts to seize her.

  Perfect. I continue to caress her quivering clit as I slip two, then three fingers into her slit. She is wet, quite delightfully so and I collect the moisture on my digits to smear it back toward her rear hole. She allows it, offering no protest until I reach that puckered, virgin hole and press my fingertip on it.

  “Oh, no, sir. No, you must not.”

  “Are you telling me to stop, Imogen?”

  “What? No, but…”

  “Am I hurting you?” I press harder, the tight ring of muscle relaxing a little in the face of my determined persuasion. For good measure I rub her clit just a little harder. Pleasure overwhelms her objections as I knew it would. As her climax surges through her I press my finger deeper into her arse, first one knuckle, then the next.

  I wait a moment, allow her climax to pass, then I thrust my cock deep into her waiting pussy and drive my finger fully into her rear hole. She gasps and I withdraw both my cock and my finger. I plung
e forward again, taking both holes at the same time. She murmurs my name and squeezes hard. I take that as a sign of her approval so continue to shag her cunt and finger-fuck her arse.

  She drops her shoulders and raises her hips, pushing back against me in rhythm with my thrusts. This was never going to take long. In moments her cunt convulses around me as she is once more caught up in her release. This time I am right there with her, only just managing to contain my own climax long enough to see hers through. As her quim contracts around my erection and her arse grips my finger tight, I ram my cock as deep as I can and I hold still. My balls contract painfully, forcing my seed up and out to fill her with hot, pulsing ribbons.

  Afterward we lie still, replete and at ease with one another in a manner I do not recall from any of our prior encounters. I lie on my back staring at the ceiling as I hold her against me, her face buried in my chest, one slender leg slung across the front of my thighs. The swollen curve of her belly is pressing against my hip and the baby is moving again. Perhaps we disturbed his rest.

  “Oh, I am sorry. That does keep happening and I never know when—”

  “I like it.” I pull her closer, the better to feel the tiny fluttering from within her womb, knowing that my son or daughter lies there, safe and warm. Not for the first time I bitterly regret the circumstances of my life that conspire to prevent me claiming this little family of mine.

  “Beatrice has noticed that we are distant with one another. She spoke to me about it earlier, after dinner.”

  I pull her closer. “Would you describe this as distant, sweetheart?”

  “Of course not, not now. But before, when we have been avoiding each other. People have seen, and wondered. I fear they may begin to suspect you and I have some prior history…” I hesitate. “I am just so worried that your past may be discovered, and I could not bear it if anything happened to you because of me.”

  “It will not. In any case, I daresay we will be less—distant—now, shall we not?”