At Your Service

by Alysha Ellis

  “Do it now,” she whispered as he picked her up and skewered her on his massive erection. “Ah, thank you, my lord.”

  Chuckling, he rammed his cock deep inside her and held. “You are wayward, coming when you must not. I will punish you for your failures to obey my demands.”

  She rocked with him, shaking her hair down her back and rubbing her sore nipples against his furry chest. “What did I not do, master?”

  “Among other infractions? You moved.”

  “Like this?” She squeezed his cock inside her and he grunted.

  He clutched her, found her little rosy hole and tapped the bullet inside her. “Witch.”

  “Punish me,” she urged him.

  He lifted her, twirled her around and caught the length of her hair. He pushed her to the back of the tub, her head up as he controlled her by her long mane, her arse in the air facing him. “Release your muscles,” he told her and massaged her arse so that she was able to push out the plug. As soon as it was out, he caressed her rim. “My beauty,” he praised her as he kissed and licked the delicate edges, tickling her, driving her beyond mad.

  She begged him by wiggling her cheeks at him. “Have me there.”

  “No.” He caught her around the waist, pulled her back against his massive chest, and speared her pussy once more with his cock.

  She sank over him, her head lolling backward. Tears came to her eyes, she was so happy with this morning and this master. “Oh, Wentworth.”

  “Aye, Bess, this is more sublime than I predicted. Come, my darling, let me well and truly fuck my cook.”

  Chapter Three

  By the time she had to serve elevenses, Bess had enjoyed her lord and master twice more. On the carpet in the parlour. And again on the kitchen table where he had ordered up a shaving bowl, hot water, towels and a barber’s blade. There, with Gaylord and James providing encouragement, Wentworth had fingered her folds and with the precision of a skilled barber, had removed every bit of her curls from her mound.

  Though both servants had had to use their own hands to satisfy themselves, Bess had enjoyed only Wentworth’s careful touch. Biting her lips, suppressing her orgasm, she had let him part her and fondle her for the men to inspect. Then he promised them a good go at her by early afternoon. “You must understand,” he’d explained to both servants, “she’s been working most of the night to prepare our breakfast. She’s tired. And she has yet to make luncheon and then there is our dinner party tonight.”

  Both men had grudgingly agreed to delay their own sexual satisfaction, displaying their basic good nature and agreeableness.

  That Bess appreciated most of all. Aside from the fact that both servants had a hearty appetite for her as evidenced by the sturdiness of their erections, she thrilled see to the extraordinary quantities of their cum spurt from them. While the saying of being hung like a horse was one men claimed for themselves, these two—along with her lord Wentworth—could truly take such credit. Bess drooled to have each man in turn.

  And so for luncheon, the dishes of which she also spread upon the downstairs kitchen table, she enthusiastically readied herself for both male servants. This time, according to Lord Wentworth’s list, she let her waist-length tresses hang loose. She wore a waist cinch of rigid stays and black lace, stockings of the same soft fabric held up by red garters—and nothing else. Her breasts, heavy even when she was not in such a sexual heat, swayed in the warm kitchen as she worked. Her nipples peaked, and when the aching became too unbearable, she would lift each one up and lick it. The wet lave placated if only briefly the salacious demands of her empty cunt.

  “Easing your need, Bess?” Gaylord sauntered into the kitchen carrying a tray of silverware destined for the upstairs dining room and tonight’s event.

  “I am.” She smiled, a wicked tease, she knew, but so well fucked this morning, she now had a ribald addiction for more romps. “Have you time to soothe me?”

  His blue eyes ran down her body, stoking fires as he went from needy nipples to tiny waist and bald pussy. Then he put down his tray upon the table and came towards her. “Wentworth told me your chat was a lovely animal.” Gaylord danced his fingers down her slit. “She is a plump creature. Slick.”

  “But starving.”

  “I will feed her.” He played amid her frills.

  She grasped his broad shoulders. “Delay and she may bite you.”

  “And if I bite back?” A terrifying smile spread upon his sweet face as he pinched her pearl and held on.

  “She may claw you.”

  “I can tame her.” He sank to his knees, spreading her folds with one deft motion. Inhaling her scent, he rubbed his lips across her engorged ones and scraped his teeth.

  She gasped in ripe enjoyment, digging her fingernails into his wool livery. “Do your damnedest, Gaylord.”

  “Dear Bess, my rod will reward any woman who lets me eat my fill. Can your pretty kitty hold back when I feast on her?”

  He would challenge his master for control of her? “You know I must not spend. Wentworth would not permit—” She lost her thought as Gaylord thrust a finger up inside her cunt and she rocked on it.

  “But your pussy juice coats my tongue and feeds my soul, dear lady.”

  Oh, smart man to see how I love crude talk. Deft hands. Huge cocks.

  “Besides, dear one,” he gruffed as he amused himself with sucking her clit between sentiments, “you know how Wentworth wants us to boff you until you cannot stand.”

  Yes, she had learnt that from the tabloids. Now she knew it from experience. Her lord’s desire was to see her come apart as often as his two male servants could get their members up inside her. She shuddered as Gaylord bit her labia, pumped her with his finger and milked her with his arrogant ministrations.

  He cursed in between licks and nips. “I could drown in you. Let me get my beard wet with your essence.”

  “But will you fuck her?” came the question from James who stood at the entrance to the kitchen.

  Bess groaned, her teeth set at the untimely interruption.

  Gaylord growled, unshaken or deterred. Instead, he ate her with a renewed application of his tongue and teeth.

  Brazen in her ardour, she tilted up her pussy to give him more and with her own fingers, spread her labia wide.

  But James stepped to take her from the wall, where she clung panting, and strode to the table. There, at the end where no dishes adorned the table, he lay down. Bess stood watching, dying for a continuation of their love play. Gaylord put up a finger to imply she have patience. Then he assisted James with a chair on which he placed the footman’s feet. James slipped open the buttons of his flies, and his cock sprang up, long, turgid and ready. Bess readily admired his sturdy member, one hand travelling his length and another toying with his impressively big balls. Knowing she was offered another novel treat, she let Gaylord help her to the randy footman.

  “Climb up, dear Bess,” James invited with a twinkle in his eyes and a pat of his thighs.

  She licked her lips, aglow at the invitation. As she positioned herself above James, he gripped her hips, rubbed the tip of his shaft along her crease and drilled home.

  She moaned her appreciation.

  Behind her, Gaylord splayed his fingers over her arsehole. She shivered with the hope, and—oh, yes—the delight of that man filling her there, as well.

  “Bess, my girl,” Gaylord crooned as he took possession of her nether hole and she drew in gulps of air deeply, purposely, “what a treasure you are to do this for us.”

  For myself, too! The rewards, the pain, the glory of it blazed through her arse, her cunt and her mind. Grabbing breaths, she rocked with the men tandem as one fucked her pussy and the other her rosy aperture. She burned, she yearned for the ultimate and yet—

  Could she come? Dare she?

  Her mind spun to the instructions. Wentworth’s list. What did it say about coming this afternoon with any of them?

  She felt a hand cup her cheek, then tan
gle in her unbound hair. “Darling Bess, are they worthy of you?”

  “Wentworth,” she called his name through gritted teeth and swooned at the look of love on his face. “Yes, James is wonderful. Gaylord, too. You chose well. So well. May I come? Please?”

  “Take what you need, Bess.” Wentworth turned to his staff. “Give it to her, men.”

  In a bare minute, James shouted, drained, done. Gaylord grunted, his service to her a rip tide. Bess vibrated, sank to James, euphoric.

  A bell rang.

  “No,” Bess objected, her flesh still rippling with aftershocks, wanting the coupling to last until she called her satisfaction complete. She lifted her head to see Wentworth glance from one man to the other.

  When the bell chimed yet again, Wentworth arched an eyebrow at Gaylord.

  The butler withdrew from her with a tender caress of her hole. She could do no more than sigh and listen to him rearrange his flies. As if in compensation, James spread his hands over her derrière and massaged her flesh. Grateful to him, she whimpered as she turned her head to watch Gaylord trudge out and up the stairs to answer the front door.

  Wentworth moved to inspect her from behind, his fingers outlining the edge of her cunt where she still grasped James’ rod so tightly. “Let him go, Bess. Let me see how well our boy has done for you.”

  She and James moved together to obey. Yet, putting one hand to the small of her back, Wentworth sank two fingers in her hot quim.

  “A delectable crème pie. You two have done well. Come now, Bess, do rise,” Wentworth said with a grin.

  She accepted a hand up from him, the loss of James’ stout shaft in her pussy compensated for by the wealth of his cum that dribbled down her thighs.

  Wentworth nodded. “He is a fine lad. I never doubted his abilities. Do tell me, though, my dear Bess, how well are we prepared for dinner?”

  “The saddle of lamb is in the oven. My carrot soup is ready,” she assured him with a grin.

  “Do you think you might become fond of cooking for us three with all your charms apparent to us?”

  He had written in his instructions that she was never to wear her cotton uniform when any man was near. True, she knew from Wentworth’s list that her goal was to serve all three men with any requests for her favours, but to prepare an elegant supper as well. She had to admit that with all her preparations yesterday and with her cunt so well used today, she was very tired. “May I sit, my lord?”

  Wentworth gave her a sympathetic glance, then picked her up in his arms. He took her with him to the rocking chair and curled her into him, hoisting her legs up over the chair rung. There, he kissed her and petted her body. “Your nipples are still hard.” He palmed them. “And your lovely thighs, red from your exertions.” He sank his fingers between her labia, his flesh astonishingly exciting even after all her adventures in the past few hours. “And how is my kitten here, hmm?”

  “Wet, sore, well fucked, my lord.” She clung to him, her face in the crook of his throat where she inhaled his marvellous scent of bergamot and spice.

  “And so you shall be, by all three of us, dear girl.”

  My fondest desire.

  For long minutes, he held her tenderly and rocked her. “Gaylord and James will not fuck you again today. You have much to do. Are you still able?”

  “I’d say we’re well prepared. I assume that Gaylord and James can handle the service at table. May I leave you to your luncheon? I must see to the order of the china in the dining room.”

  At his approval, she made to rise from his arms, but footsteps on the servants’ stairs had them both looking up at Gaylord.

  “My lord, a caller.” Gaylord offered his master a silver salver with a vellum card upon it.

  “As we expected,” Wentworth proclaimed, rose from the chair and shot his cuffs. “Bess, you may not leave the kitchen to inspect the dining room for a few minutes.”

  She frowned, a question on her lips.

  “My visitor must not see you.”

  Her lashes fluttered in shock. She fell a step back.

  “Come now, dear Bess. Only do as I request.”

  If Wentworth did not want his caller to see her, that person could be only one of three people.

  Bess wanted to laugh or scream. Her nerves raw, her tender body sensitised by hours of ribald sensuality, she dare not give in to this urge to lose her mind.

  She reached for her shapeless cottons and yanked them over her head. “Please excuse me.”

  “Bess?” Wentworth called to her and she turned.

  His beneficent smile was what she had lived for so very long that this particular one was like a beacon of hope alight in her foolish heart. “Fear not. All of this,” he said, extending his hand, “is part of my plan.”

  She shook her head, confused by his words. “Will you share it with me?”

  His smile was secret and slow. “You need know only that I have prepared this night for years. Six long years. Even before you came and appeared before me as my cook, I planned this. Although I must say, then my goal was twofold. Now only the second remains.”

  “Dare I ask what that is?” Her heart jumped with hope and trepidation.

  “Vengeance leaves a strong flavour.”

  Oh, Taryn. I was so right to love you. “And my being here will not impair your plan?”

  “No. In fact,” he declared with a wicked arch of his eyebrows, “I think it will improve it. Because you will be at table.”

  She inhaled, a hand to her heart. “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  “But how?”

  “I ordered a few garments for you from a modiste who is not afraid to claim me as her newest customer. These items are in your room for this evening, for you, after your duties here are done.”

  Amazed at his resourcefulness, she chastised herself for her reaction. He was known for his ingenuity in shipping and banking. How could she fail to trust him in helping solve her own dilemma?

  “I must go.” His posture rigid, his wide shoulders set with determination, he took the stairs to greet his visitor.

  Kneading her hands, she waited one minute. Two. She climbed the stairs to the dining room, focusing not on Wentworth’s conversation in the drawing room, but instead on the ecstasies of today’s encounters. She’d come to Wentworth House to test her abilities as a cook and as an adventuresome woman. So far, she was well satisfied with herself and the sensual opportunities.

  Pushing open the double doors to the formal dining room, she paused there in awe. Truly, Wentworth House was one of the grand dames of Mayfair and she was honoured to be here. If she had asked herself five or ten years ago if it were possible that one day she would inhabit this house, she would have laughed. Now, tears sprang to her eyes.

  Be careful what you wish for. The old saying had been one her mother had repeated often. Living here in this house with an exciting lord like Taryn Wentworth had been her wish. But never had she thought she would see the day.

  “But here you are,” she spoke her wonder aloud.

  And what could go wrong?

  The voices raised in the sitting room across the hall from the dining room told the tale of what might go awry. Bess hugged herself, shivering in her sudden knowledge that much could still destroy her wish.

  “Gone!” She heard a woman bellow. “I tell you I do not know how I will face down the scandal!”

  The low rumble that followed was Wentworth’s reassurance to the lady.

  “And if she has run to you—” the woman screeched, her harpy’s tones resounding from the drawing room through the hall and into the dining room.

  Wentworth offered a response.

  But the drawing room door fell open and banged against the wall.

  Bess stepped to one side of the dining room entrance, lest she be spied by the irate woman headed for the front door and her carriage.

  The woman’s tiny shoes clippity-clipped across the marble tiles.

  Wentworth’s words
followed her egress. “I shall expect you at nine, my lady. We have much to discuss.”

  His answer came with a swish of that woman’s skirts and a loud grumble. “I will discuss nothing unless I see the whites of her eyes, Wentworth. She is too precious—”

  He snorted. “To you? Please. To you, she is too wealthy.”

  “If you have hidden her—”

  “Or have you, madam?”

  The woman seethed. “You always were an impertinent upstart.”

  “And you always were an arrogant bitch.”

  Chapter Four

  Taryn waited in his library for his guests to be shown in. He had no intention of greeting them with any courtesy. They merited none. Never had. For what horrors they had visited upon his beloved, they would surely pay. Like a vengeful Titan, he had vowed it and the day of their reckoning was upon them. He thrilled to the knowledge of swift justice as he listened to Gaylord open the front door to them and take their coats.

  Only minutes ago, he had met Bess on the back stairs as she’d made her way to her room in the attic. With a feathery caress to her cheek, he had offered her reassurance for the evening ahead. Wordless, he had glanced towards the upper storey. She had understood, lifted her skirts and made her way up the narrow steps to prepare herself for the dinner.

  Her arrival here at his home had been a complete shock. At first. But upon reflection, he saw in Bess the exuberance and daring of the woman he had fallen in love with years ago in her garden.

  No matter. She was here now. And he would make all right in her world, as luck and hard work had made all right in his own.

  The library doors opened. Gaylord, his younger half-brother and a bastard just as Taryn was, had learnt his duties well these past few weeks. Eager to be of help to Taryn in setting himself up properly in London and Dorset, Gaylord had volunteered to serve as butler. James, another of the old earl’s by-blows, was up for the job of footman. Taryn had never trusted any other people as much as he did these two siblings. The three men had banded together eight years ago and made a ripe fortune in rum, sugar and building ships. Taryn had told them of the outrage done to the woman he adored, and long before they had set sights on Bess in his kitchen downstairs, his brothers had vowed to help him and to happily continue the lifestyle of libertines with him and his lady love.