by Alysha Ellis
In one smooth move, he sank the other plug up inside her arsehole. Stunned for a moment, she clutched at the metal in both of her orifices and rejoiced that her pussy and arse muscles were so strong, so capable of receiving her lord and master’s gifts. She had practised for such a moment for years with similar toys of her own. On a shiver, she recalled a few moments of bliss she had shared with a lover so long—too long—ago.
“Turn to me.” He spun her, hands on her hips, and steadied her before him.
She cupped her elbows, her breasts engorged and pleading to be released. Her pussy pulsed, swollen and full. She could come now, merely from the plugs and the touch of his caring hands. How would she last until he decided to fill her with his cock?
He cupped her mound with his huge, warm palm, one finger sinking ever so slightly, ever so briefly into her torrid cunt. With her toned pussy muscles, she clasped him. He caught his breath, warned her of any more assertiveness with a sidelong glance, then escaped her grip.
“As you know, I have just recently come to this house. And I dismissed all the former staff, wishing for a clean break from my predecessors. Mrs O’Brien goes to Dorset tomorrow at my bidding. This means we have few staff here, Bess. My butler and one footman arrive early on the morrow. Yet I have scheduled a very important dinner for tomorrow evening. I do wonder if you can do me proud without the help of a scullery maid?”
“I can, sir.”
“Very well. I will write a set of instructions and bring them to you later. In the morning, we begin at six. I will dine in the kitchen and sample your delights for breakfast.”
All of them? “Yes, my lord.”
“Prepare for three.”
Three? Who else was she cooking for? Was she not to enjoy a good hump from him in the morning? Dear God. How long must she wait to be ravished by him? She fretted and frowned, yet was dutiful. “Of course, my lord.”
“No despair. You will have your reward in due time.” He reached up to slant a finger across her mouth. His appendage was the one he had driven up into her pussy. Frustrated and eager, she caught his tip and sucked it in, laving him with her tongue to clean him of her sweet cream. All the while, her gaze challenged him to pull away. Well and truly caught, he appeared captured by her ministrations. Rejoicing at her small victory, she let him go with a pop.
Though blue rage danced in his eyes at her impertinence, he smiled with a satyr’s promise and inclined his head towards the door. “Until the morning.”
Chapter Two
Bess rushed about the kitchen table, placing the silver and china just so.
“An inch from the edge, no more, no less.” Those had been Mrs O’Brien’s last words to her before the woman picked up her two bags, sniffed at Bess and left the house yesterday.
The housekeeper had been quick to tell Bess that she disliked her removal to his country house. She hated working for one of his reputation, and her lordship had understood her reluctance. He had asked that she hire a new set of servants for the manor and in recompense had offered her a letter of reference and a generous stipend to tide her over until she found a new position. This newly minted earl, declared O’Brien, had dismissed all the previous lord’s servants because the old man, his father, had cast him out so many years ago and the servants had all been unkind to the bastard child. Bess knew all this herself from the scandal sheets and O’Brien telling it only made Bess smile and nod. When Bess had heard of Wentworth’s need for new staff, she had hastened to apply to become his cook and thereby, had hoped to enjoy the sexual escapades the gossips said would fill the house.
“All perfect now.” Bess admired her work on the table. Standing back, she hugged herself, eager to be out of uniform, as per her lord’s copious instructions. For tonight’s dinner, she had ordered the leg of lamb from the butcher yesterday, along with the snapper from the fish monger. The greengrocer had been most kind to her, eager to get a foothold with the new cook in the house. He had promised to bring her potatoes and carrots to her door personally this afternoon. With a wink at her, he was clearly flirting and wishing for more than her patronage to his stall.
“But that won’t happen, Mr Long,” she whispered, a happy tune coming to her lips as she spun and bent to pick up the poker and nudge the flaming logs in her kitchen fireplace. “Toasty, you said,” she remarked, recalling what Wentworth had put in his note that ‘the fire be high and warm as summer by half-five’.
She grinned at the memory of his other instructions and promptly removed her robe, then folded it and draped it over the back of the rocking chair. Naked as she had been born, she climbed upon the table, her bare arse to the cool polished wood. She slid backwards, spun precisely in front of the place setting where Wentworth would dine this morning, then spread her legs. Ankles to the corners, she lay back, arms over her head and inhaled. Relaxing in the warm fragrant kitchen, filled with the aromas of bacon and bread, eggs and potato cakes and her musky little cunt, she quivered with joy. Yes, she was eager to learn how Wentworth started the day with her here, her wet pussy within his reach, his sight and mouth, as he ate his fill of her delicacies.
She daydreamed of him serving her, drowsy with fantasies, when she heard footsteps descending the back stairs and men conversing in low and civil tones. Three men. Wentworth was in the lead, his bass voice a stimulating abrasion to her raw hunger for him. Another man, a baritone, jovial, and dressed in a butler’s livery appeared behind him. A third, a tenor, younger than his two companions, was attired in a footman’s clothes. They joked and laughed together, their camaraderie so casual, it seemed one of many years’ standing.
“Here we are, my dear fellows,” proclaimed Wentworth as he came to stand at Bess’ feet, surveyed her and smiled. “I told you our cook would be ready for us.”
“A charming display,” said the baritone in the butler’s stiff suit, who took his place at Bess’ right side and ogled her.
“I am starving,” declared the third, the footman, who marched to her left and licked his lips at the sight of her.
“Do be seated,” Wentworth invited them. “We will not stand on formalities. We must become acquainted with our new cook. We are quite alone in the house and our breakfast is getting cold.”
The three promptly sat, situated themselves with harsh scrapes of their chairs against the stone floor and passed around the serving dishes.
Bess, as her lord had commanded in his note, tried desperately to keep her eyes trained at the ceiling. Silent and still, she listened to them discuss the weather, the news from the Continent and the rumours about a certain heiress gone missing a week before her wedding. From her peripheral vision, Bess could detect the younger men seemed mesmerised by her naked charms. The footman stared at her muff. The butler adored her breasts, going so far as to reach out a few times to caress her and tease her. This made her pussy drip upon the table and she could not decide whether to sing in delight or scold the man. Distracting herself from rising up to attack any one of them, she counted beams in the rough ceiling and devoted herself to learning a few gratifying details about their persons.
The youngest man, the footman, the one with the voice of an angel, had curly brown hair and an infectious laugh. Bess, if she were not so hot for a romp, would wish to laugh with him, he was so carefree and blithe. His companion, the one to her right, was a blond like Wentworth and seemed to have a conscience because he fretted about the missing heiress.
“Word is her aunt will send out a Bow Street Runner,” he said. “You know the ton never likes to call in those blokes. They leave that as a last resort.”
“She’ll turn up,” Wentworth reassured him. “Many brides have misgivings about marriage.”
Bess would have harrumphed, but for her injunction to remain quiet.
“Sex with a man,” the youngest one proclaimed, “can send them to Bedlam.”
Oh, from lack of sex, I am already a lunatic! Bess squeezed her thighs together, dying for a tiny, tiny taste of la petite mort.
“You speak of the Marchioness of Thorne?” Wentworth asked and Bess fumed to be so ignored, so obviously compliant and needy of a grand fuck.
“I do, my lord,” said the baritone.
“Ten years from her coming out and lived like a recluse in her country house, as I understand it.”
Oh, hell, Wentworth. Cut the gibberish. I understand you want your breakfast and your news, but what about me lying here wanting you and your lovely cock?
“Hmm,” he said and seemed so unconcerned that she drilled her fists into the table. “Stir the fire there, Gaylord, will you, please? Our centrepiece acquires gooseflesh.”
Ah. That would be me. Bess shivered anew at the fact that he had not only noticed her but had commented upon her condition. Though to be honest, she quivered not from cold but from ravening need. Your hands, your lips. I would have them on me.
The younger blond rose from his chair and arched over her as he nibbled on a biscuit. Then he strode to the fire.
Bess flinched. The man had dropped a crumb on her ribs.
“I say, old man,” the footman to her left piped up, “I dislike disorderly tables. May I?”
Wentworth grasped Bess’ feet at the arches. “I quite agree. Do clean it up, James.”
At once, James bent over Bess and surveyed her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I must commend you on the elegance of your service, my lord. No comparison is to be found in all the Realm.”
“My thought exactly.” Gaylord returned to stand at her other side. “Go on, man, clean up the mess I made.”
James dipped over her body, his tongue darting out to rasp against one rib. Her breasts blossomed, so sore, so primed was she, what with those plugs in her cunny and her arse.
“Damn, I didn’t get it,” James feigned regret with a shake of his head.
“Let me,” Gaylord offered, a lilt in his baritone. He looked at Wentworth for permission, and even from her place flat on the table Bess could detect the earl’s face, stern, fierce and yet oh so eager for a go at her.
Bess’ breasts swelled at the scintillating idea of another man’s lips upon her.
“Be quick about it,” Wentworth gruffed, sliding his hands up her ankles and her calves as he spread her legs wider.
The inner flesh of her thighs grew wetter, cooler, coated with her juicy excitement. Her flesh heated and she knew she was aglow with fiery desire.
Gaylord bent over her, and her heart nearly stopped with his handsomeness. So like Wentworth, he had a long face and nose, wide jaw, rough beard even so early in the morning. Might I have that beard scraping my labia as you eat me?
“I do believe the crumb went here,” Gaylord whispered as he lowered his head so damn slowly that Bess fixed on him with a beaded eye. His tongue darted out. Touched the tip of her pebbled areola, then he came down to nip her, quick and neat.
She groaned.
Wentworth’s hands went to her cunny lips and pinned her in place.
“Did you get it?” James asked and pushed Gaylord back with one hand to his shoulder. “No, see there?”
Bess gulped and bit her lower lip. Wentworth rolled open her labia and her hips lifted off the table.
“I shall have to try again,” James mourned with a rueful shake of his head and a wink at Bess.
Her eyes went wide. Get to it, then!
“Messy, can’t have that,” Gaylord agreed as James cupped her breast, lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple and large breast almost entirely into his mouth.
As if a mighty wave rolled through her, she undulated on the table. Wentworth—it had to be Wentworth—did her the service to insert two thick fingers in her pussy. He pushed against the plug, making way for his fingers. Preparing her for his cock. The fullness of the metal and his fingers pegged her, stopped her, gratified her as nothing had in weeks. Lolling her head against the wood as James slid her breast from his mouth and bit and nipped her, she whimpered and cried out.
“Soon, Bess,” Wentworth crooned to her, his rasping voice reaching her amid her torment to hold back her coming until he would give her permission. “Gaylord, you may dine.”
And that man took her other breast and with the same ardent attention, laved and licked her nipple until she shook with need.
“She is a ravenous piece, my lord,” James told Wentworth between his licks and bites of her flesh. “What we all agreed we needed.”
Gaylord groaned as he tore himself from her aching breast. “I say, what’s breakfast without a sweet woman on the table, eh?”
James stopped, his gaze the same hard bright blue as Wentworth’s. “I know you said we could fuck her when she’s been primed, but when is that? I’m bursting my buttons as it is. Will you please take your piece of her and let us get to your leavings?”
Yes, take your piece of me, Taryn! She thrust up her pussy at him, now his mouth so close to her muff, her cunt wide open and crying to have him inside. Any part of him, for Christ’s sake.
With a flick of his two fingers, Wentworth extracted the bullet from her pussy and tossed it to the floor. Bess flamed to have him, inching down the table, and he helped her by grabbing her by the hips and hauling her towards him. His brilliant blue eyes on her he undid his flies and his member fell out.
Her gaze dropped to consider her prize. Oh, yes. This is what she had promised herself, what she had wanted, what she had worked for. A cock this long and broad, this red with need, this glistening with cum was the one she could service until the end of her days.
She slid to the edge of the table, reached between her open thighs and palmed him. Longer than her hand, Wentworth’s cock was a magnificent tool.
Already having broken the rule to move without command, she would not break the other one to speak. Instead, she leaned up, bent over and took him in her mouth. He was huge, musky, and she sank over him until she felt his girth nudge the back of her throat. She would take him all. She would milk him and sate him and make him her own. As she worked him, she hummed her delight. She would suck him until he came in her mouth, by God. She would enchant him. No more charades.
“She’s expert,” crooned James the footman.
“What a find,” admired Gaylord the butler.
James tweaked one breast as she sucked on Wentworth, while Gaylord kissed her shoulder and stroked her spine.
Wentworth growled and laid her fully to the table.
The two other men stepped to the end to watch their lord sink his shaft inside her pussy.
“Beautiful red cunt.”
“Let me help you,” Gaylord said and pushed back her hood to caress her clitoris.
Bess hung on to her control by a thread. “Fuck me hard or let me come,” she demanded of Wentworth.
“No!” he yelled and out popped his cock from her pussy.
“Nooo!” she wailed, her hands clapped over her empty cunt.
“Yours,” Wentworth grunted.
At once, she heard a groan, rustling of fabric and another cock drove hilt deep inside her. She gasped and sighed and undulated to grab more of this shaft.
“Bess,” Wentworth crooned her name as came to her side and pinched a nipple to catch her attention amid the haze of her mind. “He may come, but you may not.”
“Fiend!” she seethed at him, even as the ecstasy of Gaylord’s member inside her, pulsing and rocking made her moan with delight.
“Enough! James’s turn!” Wentworth yelled and bent to kiss Bess and swallow her outrage. But as James’ very thick rod rammed its way inside her, she reached up to wind her arms around Wentworth’s shoulders.
“Please,” she begged Wentworth between his lavish kisses, his hands on her breasts, plucking and kneading her as James continued to pound her poor, happy pussy.
“I am yours,” Wentworth told her in response, his talented fingers finding her clit, polishing and scoring it with his nail. “You may come only
when I permit it.”
She whimpered. “Then fuck me, have done.”
He pushed James from her, and caught her thighs, then scooped her arse up so that he jammed himself all the way inside her in one wild thrust.
She arched up off the table, her own cry ringing in her ears.
And then Wentworth fucked her. High. Hard, and for a damn sweet long time until he gave her permission to release and she came once with a resounding groan. And then immediately again with a constant ripple, and yet again with a smooth low pulsing that drew out the ecstasy and made her mellow and warm, curving into his body like a well-loved cat.
Her mind mush, her body limp, Wentworth gathered her up into his arms. As the other two men preceded them, Bess realised her lord carried her into the small servants’ parlour where in the middle of the floor stood a large copper tub.
Passing her to James’ arms, Wentworth shrugged out of his clothes and reclaimed her. Then he stepped into the bath and sank with her in his embrace.
The hot water lapped at her tender pussy, smarting now that she had enjoyed such a good rout. He set her back against the smooth copper, then took up a bar of soap and towelling. Pulling her towards him so that her legs wound around his hips, he washed her throat and breasts, twisting and sucking at the nipples, sending up sighs and moans as he built a new desire in her cunt to have him fuck her soon again. But he was not content to play there, he wanted more of her pussy and told her so.
Separating her folds, he told her how lovely she was. “You fascinate me as no other woman ever has. You have gorgeous fat lips, a wealth of cream and a fine set of muscles to hold me. You love to fuck. And so you should. You are made for it. For men who can do you all the service you require.”
“Then fuck me again.”
He reached up inside her with one finger, two then three to tease her and taunt her, make her wet and ferocious in the water. Have her seeking out his cock with her hands. Stroking him, cupping his balls.