At Your Service

by Alysha Ellis

  Then she felt it. Next to the already stuffed feeling wrought by Frederick’s vastness, there came more. Edward was squeezing into her arse. And, oh heaven’s angels, it was phenomenal. She stopped moving on Frederick and a stillness hung about the three of them. She held her breath and Edward took the moment to push deeper in. Having a man in her tight arse with a huge cock already nestled deep in her cunt was the most extraordinarily brilliant thing she had ever experienced.

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Edward, unable to subdue his own amazement.

  “Fuck, I can feel you gettin’ into ‘er,” slurred Frederick. “Hell, I didn’t know anything could be like this.”

  “You all righ’?” Edward managed to ask Isabella.

  “Yes. Oh God, yes. More.”

  He obliged. With concerted gentleness, he edged his cock ever deeper into her arse. Slow and careful, he pushed until he was in as far as he could go.

  Isabella was staggeringly, miraculously full. She stared straight ahead of her. Her eyes glazed then watered, not with pain but revelation. Tears pricked her but only through intense satisfaction. She was crammed, and at last she was complete.

  “Move,” she implored.

  She rose up and let Frederick’s huge cock ease out of her a little. When he then pushed up again an ecstatic smile broke across her face. “Oh yes!” She repeated the actions, pulling off him before rejoicing in that stupendous stretch and fill yet again. Then Edward was pulling back only to thrust harder into her again. She responded with a guttural groan of pleasure. The men worked on her together, building up their strokes and pushes and pulls until they were tuned into a sweet harmony of fucking.

  And, like in the forest, Isabella soon found pleasure rising from deep within her, feeding off two cocks moving perfectly. It wouldn’t be long. She started to moan. She couldn’t help it. Sense and reason had left her. Sensation was all.

  With a celebratory smack across her right arse cheek which rang out around the room, Edward urged her on. “With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes. Make music for us now, Isabella. Come, come, come on, my beautiful girl. Come hard for us, Is.”

  So she did. She came so hard she would have collapsed if she wasn’t impaled on their cocks. Her eyes flew open but she saw nothing. Sound ceased, vision stopped. But she felt. She felt her body fragment and reinvent itself in an instant as pleasure held her and shook ferociously. She was wailing, keening, lost and found.

  Fred came next. His cock was squeezed by the spasms of her orgasm and he let go, pumping his seed four, five times deep into her cunt as his own groans mingled with her dying wail.

  Edward waited. He still moved in her, staring down as his cock pistoned in and out, so close to that of his best friend. Only after their pleasure had at last faded did he allow himself his own. He gripped the twin peaches of her arse and came slowly, releasing burst upon burst of thick hot cum hard up into her in his own time, letting the waves of rapture engulf him from the tips of his dark hair to his toes. Stupendous.

  They slept afterwards, all three of them, in Her Ladyship’s bed—the footman, the valet and the Countess of Atherton.

  It was only at three o’clock that Edward shook Frederick awake and ushered them out, leaving Isabella sleeping in heavy, sated contentment.

  Chapter Six

  Edward let his news go as long as he could. He hadn’t even told Brewer or Fred. She would be the first to know. But eventually he had no choice. He almost told her as they lay in her room one night, their bodies wet with joining. But the pain was too great. Instead he asked to see her in her morning room in the cold light of day when he knew he would be sterner with himself. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and bright. He looked away.

  “I’ve got a passage on board the Mauretania, sailing to New York.”

  “What?”

  “I’m leaving. Next week. I’m going to America.”

  There was silence.

  “No.”

  “Yes, my lady, I am.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not? I’ve had enough of that bastard. I’ve had enough of service.”

  “But… What about me?”

  He felt his Adam’s apple jolt along his throat. “You’re the Countess of Atherton. You have all this.”

  “I don’t want all this. I want…”

  “What?”

  Isabella didn’t answer. Her face had drained of colour. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow pulls.

  “Edward…”

  He swallowed, determined. “Come with me.”

  Her head darted up in alarm. “What did you say?”

  “Come with me. They still have berths, I’ve heard.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not ridiculous. I’m never ridiculous.”

  “I can’t. I can’t leave all this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…I have a duty.”

  “Don’t give me that. Your only duty is your own happiness. You’re not happy. You’re married to a violent bully who treats you like a dog. You hate the house. You yearn for freedom as much as me, Isabella. Come with me. Come with me to America. Together we can do it all.”

  “But…I can’t. You’re…”

  “What? A servant? Inferior? In America none of it matters. No one’ll know who we are. We can start again. Reinvent ourselves together.”

  Her eyes were damp and she shook her head, a mess of confusion. “I have to stay. I have to. But, Edward…what will I do?”

  “There’s Frederick.”

  Her face crumpled. “I don’t want Frederick without you. To me, he was always part of you. He’d rather have Violet than me, anyway. I’ve seen them fawning over each other.”

  Edward clenched his jaw and spoke, serious and resolute. “Come away with me then, Is.”

  She stood quickly then crossed to the window. “Don’t! Think of all I am. I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t? Don’t throw it away, Isabella.”

  Isabella spun to him, her face twisted with rage, her words spat out with venomous desolation. “Get out! I’m glad you’re leaving! I’m glad I never have to see your face again, you miserable dog! Get out of my house!”

  He stood, fists clenched, jaw working hard. “The ship sails from Southampton at eleven o’clock next Thursday, my lady.” He nodded. “It has been a great pleasure to serve you, Lady Atherton. Goodbye.”

  Edward turned, leaving Isabella to slump to the floor, isolated and alone.

  * * * *

  Edward looked up at the great ship before him, its funnels pouring steam high into the air, billowing out across the sea like the many souls reaching and yearning for a new life.

  He should be filled with the bubbling warmth of excitement, but the churning in his stomach was muted. He made his way slowly to the Third Class gangway, jostled this way and that by excitable children and people pushing past him to board the ship. He cursed them, his usual ability to subvert his temper gone.

  He heard a distant clock chime a quarter to the hour. The ship sailed in fifteen minutes. He would have to embark or he’d miss his passage.

  “All aboard! Calling any final passengers!”

  Edward took a last look back along the quay. He did not see the face he sought. Slinging his bag over his shoulder—the bag containing all his worldly possessions—he turned his back on England and all he’d known in it and made his way up the gangway.

  The steward, a grim faced man with a large handlebar moustache, took his papers.

  “Edward Marham?”

  “That’s the one,” he replied.

  “Says here you were valet to the Earl of Atherton.”

  “Tha’s right.”

  “Good position. Why’d you want to leave all that behind?”

  “Everyone’s entitled to a change, aren’t they?”

  The steward shrugged and jerked his head over his shoulder to let him on. Edward stepped into t
he doorway.

  “Edward!”

  He spun around to the familiar voice. Running up the gangway was the Countess of Atherton. His heart leapt into his mouth.

  “Edward! Wait. I’m coming! I’m coming with you.”

  She raced up. He took a few stunned steps towards her, his limbs barely functioning in his delirious shock. “Isabella! Bloody hell, Is! What the hell d’ya think yer doin’?”

  “Starting again, you fool, just like you said.”

  The steward called sternly, “Ma’am, the ship is about to sail. We need to close up. Are you travelling with us?”

  “Yes. Wait a moment, please.” She fumbled for some papers and handed them over triumphantly. Edward could not take his eyes off her. She was beaming in reflection of his elation, her face open and warm and giving, more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

  “These are for First Class, ma’am. You can’t board here. But the First Class gangway will be closed now. I need to shut this one as it is.”

  “Well, then I’ll come on here, of course.”

  “You can’t do that, ma’am. This is Third Class.”

  “Then I’ll be Third Class. Just let me on, for heaven’s sake! I’ve got my tickets!”

  The steward sighed and glanced at the papers. “Very well…my lady. Now, please hurry.”

  Gripping her hand tight and laughing with uncontainable joy, Edward pulled her onto the ship and raced up staircases and ladders and across decks until he reached the stern. They stared out over the rail.

  “You’re mad, d’you know that? You’re bloody mad!”

  “Maybe. But at least I’m with you.”

  “What the hell are you doin’? Did you tell the Earl? What did he say?”

  “He’s in London for a week. I left him a note.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll be halfway across the Atlantic by the time he finds out.”

  “But…it’s going to be tough, Is. I’m starting from scratch. It’s going to be hard enough for me, let alone you as well.”

  “I know. But I’m with you. And you are all I want. And anyway, in the meantime…” She reached into a large bag she was carrying and pulled out a handful of necklaces and bracelets, all encrusted with diamonds, rubies and sapphires. “This may help a little.”

  “You little minx. God, I love you.”

  Her eyes sparked. “What did you say?”

  Edward swallowed hard. “You heard me. I love you.”

  She curled her arms around his neck. “Well, how desperately convenient, because it just so happens that I love you too.”

  And as the ship moved away from the dock to begin its passage to America, Edward bent his head to Isabella and kissed her.

  About the Author

  After living abroad for much of her life, Demelza Hart now lives in a beautiful part of England with her young family. She finds writing erotica liberating and particularly enjoys exploring character dynamics through dialogue, whether as part of sex or not.

  She recently made the move into published erotic writing after being one of five winners in a competition with Xcite Books, with whom she has since had several stories published. She is thrilled to extend that to working with Total-E-Bound.

  When not writing or reading, Demelza is usually (in no particular order) singing, working, acting, friending, wifeing and mothering.

  Email: demelzahart@gmail.com

  Demelza loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

  MEMOIRS OF LADY MONTROSE

  Virginnia De Parte

  Dedication

  To Sally and Louise.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  The Times: News Corporation

  Humber Super Snipe: Rootes Group

  Bentley: Bentley Motors Limited

  Chapter One

  “Good evening, Mrs Brown,” someone murmured behind her.

  Helen’s stomach lurched. Her heart leapt and pounded at speed. Fear fizzed down her spine and twisted in her throat. Only a small group of people knew her as Mrs Brown and those people would not mix with, or be known to the present company. The cream of London’s society eddied around her, dressed to impress for their night at the Albert Hall—the interval afforded an opportunity to be seen and husbands attended with no interest in the musical recitals of Mozart and Chopin, let alone Beethoven’s Pastoral pieces.

  She turned around, her gaze searching the moving crowd. Three men walked away through the theatre patrons, one younger than the others. From the rear, he looked well built, with wide shoulders, dressed in formal attire and walking with a slight swagger. The voice she’d heard had sounded young. Could it be him? Even if she could see his face she wouldn’t recognise him. When in the persona of ‘Mrs Brown’, she always requested a blindfold. If she had enjoyed his company, she wouldn’t know.

  “Helen.” Charlotte touched her arm to attract her attention and she turned back to concentrate on the moment and get her nerves under control.

  “Sorry, Lottie, sorry.”

  “Lady Helen, may I introduce the Honourable Stuart Whitmore, Member of Parliament for Minderhurst.” Charlotte indicated the gentleman who’d arrived while her gaze had been fixed elsewhere. “Mr Stuart Whitmore, may I introduce you to Lady Helen Montrose.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t talk at the moment. Excuse me.” She inclined her head towards the fawning Member of Parliament and gave Charlotte a quick smile. “I must go, Charlotte. I’m worried about Henry. He was a little poorly when I left this evening.”

  “But the programme is only halfway through.”

  “I must go, Lottie. I’ve a feeling something is terribly wrong.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  They abandoned Mr Whitmore MP in the crowd. He would no doubt turn and inveigle his way into another group. More important things weighed on Helen’s mind than the ladder-climbing hopes of a back bencher. Lottie accompanied her through the throng that filled the foyer. The combined conversations hummed like a nest of wasps. They nodded politely to those who moved forward, hurrying past until they reached the entrance to wait for an available taxi.

  “Helen, you’re quite pale. Are you ill?”

  Charlotte had known her for many years but this was one secret Lady Helen could not share, even with her best friend. The nausea held its place, churning her insides and she couldn’t explain her pallor to Charlotte, no matter how desperate her need to spread the burden. Only to Henry could she talk. “Are you sure it isn’t you who is feeling unwell?”

  “I’m fine, Charlotte, just tired. I’ll be happy to get home.”

  The driver waited, holding the door open.

  “Thank you for your company this evening.” Helen gave Charlotte a quick kiss on her soft powdered cheek then climbed into the back of the black taxicab. Her heartbeat had slowed since the man had called her Mrs Brown, but the lump in her throat still hurt. The sour taste of distress filled her mouth and her breath came in fast gasps as if she were panting. She leant back against the upholstery and inhaled several deep, slow breaths in an effort to calm her apprehension. Thank God Henry would still be awake when she got home. She needed his wise counsel, his old frail arms around her, his liver-spotted hands stroking her hair.

  She pushed notes into the driver’s hand then opened the taxi’s door. Her relief to be home made her ignore the cabbie’s call about her change. In her haste to reach Henry’s side, she slammed their front door, the heavy oak connecting with a thud, then ran up the staircase to their bedroom.

  Friends of Henry’s considered her a ‘decoration on Henry’s arm’ and said as much behind her back, not loud enough for Henry to hear, but sufficient for her to catch the phrase. Despite being thirty years her husband’s junior, theirs was a love match.

  At first their age difference had meant n
othing, but of late the effects of Henry’s age had torn a hole in their lovemaking. Henry’s kindness and his concern for her physical needs were the foundations for the state of panic now coursing through her. She threw her silk wrap over the chaise longue, kicked off her evening shoes and climbed into bed beside him.

  “What is it?” He tossed his book aside, then reached and wrapped his arms around her to pull her close.

  “A man called me ‘Mrs Brown’ this evening. Someone from Brighton has come to London and recognised me. It can only mean trouble, Henry.”

  “Sshh. Quiet, darling. Let’s think this out.”

  She rested her head on his chest and stretched beside him. He moved aside the bodice of her low cut dress to stroke her breasts with a smooth caress, his hands no longer as strong as they had once been. With a soft touch, he wrapped his hand under the giving mass, cupping it, circling her nipple with his fingertips in a feather-light dance.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, I turned around but several men were walking away from me, one a younger man. He had a thick mop of hair and his stride held an arrogance not seen in our circles. It could have been him, but even if I’d seen his face I wouldn’t have known who he was, Henry. You know I always wear a blindfold…so I can pretend it’s you.”

  “Sshh, darling. Don’t panic so.”

  Lady Helen listened to the steady, slow beat of Henry’s heart knowing his thought process could not be rushed.

  After a minute he said, “No doubt he’ll try to blackmail you.”

  She shuddered.

  “As and when he contacts you, we can arrange a meeting and I’ll be nearby. I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an arrangement. After all, surely that’s why he spoke to you, to prepare his approach.”