At Your Service

by Alysha Ellis

  The spring buds and the rapid rising of the sap in the trees mirrored Helen’s mood. She looked forward to every day, especially Thursdays—the one day of the week when her home became her playground.

  This morning Henry’s mood was sombre, one of stern looks, tutting noises and mutterings about the state of the world.

  “When are you leaving, dear?” She poured him another cup of coffee, wishing he’d hurry up and go, but she tried to hide her impatience. “Is something bothering you, darling? You’re tutting. Are you upset?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Henry, it’s not nothing. Is something wrong at the House of Lords? I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you.” She leaned across the table and took his hand. “Tell me, Henry. What is it?”

  “Do you have to stay home every Thursday? Why don’t you come into town with me for the day? Leave Mortlock to damn well garden all day.”

  “Henry. You’re jealous.” She sat back, surprised. “You silly old thing.” Her stomach sank. She didn’t want to go to town, give up her day and forfeit her sexual pleasures. Her selfishness dismayed her and she took a hold on herself. “Of course I’ll come into town with you, if that’s what you want.”

  “No, Helen, it’s not really that. I obviously don’t know myself as well as I thought.” He gave a wry smile. “Your Brighton visits were months apart, and I coped with them. I’m just getting fed up with sharing you on a weekly basis.”

  A silence descended broken only by the ticking of the carriage clock, which sounded louder by the second.

  “You could always stay, Henry…and join us.” There, she’d said it. An idea she’d been playing with for several weeks. What would Henry think? Threesomes weren’t something they’d ever discussed. “I could mention it to Mortlock.”

  He sat up straight. “Bugger what Mortlock thinks. I’m paying the bill.” He slapped his hand on the table and the coffee cups jumped.

  “Of course you are, dear.” Would Henry go or stay? She daren’t look at her watch. He would see her impatience.

  With restrained casualness, she reached for another slice of toast and the bowl of marmalade, knowing Henry would do what he wanted to. Her nerves jangled with her fear that he would cancel the arrangement and send Mortlock away.

  He finished his coffee, then pushed his plates to one side and slowly began to fold his napkin. “Tell Mortlock I shall be staying home next Thursday. He’ll have a week to get his head around it and decide what sexual antics he intends for that day.”

  She kept her eyes on her toast, not prepared to meet Henry’s gaze.

  “Helen, look at me.”

  She raised her head.

  “I love you so, Helen. Perhaps being a voyeur will help me rise to the occasion. I think it’s worth a try.”

  Her eyes blurred as his sincerity cut her heart to tiny pieces. Because she no longer suffered from sexual frustration, she’d neglected Henry. Guilt flooded her.

  No wonder their relationship had developed a frosty tinge over the last few weeks. Her fault entirely.

  She couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she stood and hugged him. She traced his jawline and kissed him, filled with a deep longing to be satisfied by him again, to feel his familiar caress, his lips on her skin, his breath on her vulva. For months, he hadn’t even tried to make love to her. He saw his impotency as a weakness and hated it.

  “I love only you, Henry. Never forget that.” She stroked her hands down each side of his face. “I’ll get your coat and cane.”

  After Henry had left, she wandered back to their bedroom and watched the morning’s sunbeams slip down the wall. She lay on their bed and listened to the birds singing outside the bedroom window, while she riffled through her sexual memories. Because she had learnt to relax, her participation in Mortlock’s games had improved.

  Sometimes pure lust happened, without foreplay, wherever they might be—going up the staircase, or passing through the library. At other times it might be a slow climb as he teased her, wanting her to beg him to drive his length deep inside her, but of course she never did—beg that is.

  His message, left on a nail in the garden shed last Thursday, had read ‘Hide and Seek’. He’d given her a week to think of a hiding place.

  She checked the time, stripped off her clothes, sprayed on some perfume and ran to the library, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. Behind the long velvet drapes in the library seemed the best solution and that’s where she now stood, on a stool to prevent her toes peeking out. With the drapes wrapped close around her to keep her warm, she waited to be found. Just thinking about it raised her excitement and her sex thrummed in anticipation, already moist. The clock in the hall chimed ten o’clock. Time for the game to begin.

  The carriage clock chimed fifteen minutes past the hour. Mortlock’s footsteps thumped and his murmurings grew to sound very cross as he hunted without success. Ten minutes earlier he’d searched the library where she hid and in his hurry he’d missed her. He’d come so close the drapes had swayed. She’d suppressed a shiver and her nipples had hardened, brushed by the velvet. Now his heavy tread sounded upstairs as he looked, before he pounded down the staircase. The door of the billiard room thudded as it hit the wall. Moments later, the library door opened, its familiar creak giving away his progress into the carpeted room.

  Their love sessions were usually enacted in near silence, a hangover from Brighton more than a lack of something to say, but today he groaned, presumably with frustration but possibly, she hoped, with lust.

  He began his second search of the room, starting on the opposite wall. She heard him opening the cupboards, shifting the couch away from the bay window, and swishing the curtains. Her skin tingled, and her limbs threatened to hitch. Her sex heated and her muscles tightened low in her belly. The thrill of knowing he would find her at any moment made her legs weaken and with a swish, the curtain was yanked back. She stood revealed, shivering in the draught, her buttocks tense, her feet barely holding her on the low stool, her legs wobbling like melting jelly.

  Her erect nipples ached, her flesh prickled with goosebumps and a giggle of delight escaped her as he stared, his gaze raking her from top to toe.

  “At last.”

  She stretched her arms up to relieve the tension. Excitement bubbled and fizzed within her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her against his bare chest. His exertions had given him a sheen of perspiration. She toppled as the stool tipped. He righted her while he sucked and nipped her breasts. He slid his other hand between her thighs. Hiding for so long had wound her like a coiled spring. She yelped in surprise. He released her and, as the stool tipped once more, he wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her steady.

  “Minx.” He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder so her breasts rested on his back and her arse received a swift spank.

  He marched with her out of the library and down the passage to the billiard room. With care, he placed her on the billiard table, already covered with an eiderdown from one of the spare rooms upstairs.

  He’d been busy while he’d been searching. Without a word he climbed onto the table and spread her legs apart. Kneeling between her thighs, he trailed his tongue over her belly, up to her breasts where he circled and licked them till she made protesting whimpers.

  Desire surged through her limbs, dampening her thighs and she moaned with frustration. With a sudden grab, he lifted her hips and flipped her over. Her arms flailed to catch up. He pulled her rump, raising it and in response she knelt, resting on her hands. Without pause, he rammed his cock into her and pumped. She lowered herself onto her elbows and he held her fast at her hips, pulling her back towards his body with every thrust, his strength such to render her helpless, yet deliciously so. She was possessed by male desire and loved his energy. She closed her eyes and wished it was Henry making love to her at this minute, instead of the paid gardener. In an instant her sadness was overwhelmed by her body’s response. Her clit rejoiced
in being bumped by his balls with each thrust. She shifted her weight and stretched under her belly to reach his sacs. They nestled in her hand and each time he reared back she pulled them forwards across her hot, wet sex. They stretched and he moaned, thrusting faster. She squeezed and rolled his balls harder in response until they shared a mutual explosion of heat. She collapsed beneath him enjoying the sweeping, sweet sensation of the climax that rose from her clit, soared up her spine to her head and retreated slowly down again. Her limbs weakened and she folded to the quilt, taking him with her. She rolled onto her back.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not likely. Look.” He crawled up, his knees on each side of her and displayed his cock, still stretched out hard and erect from his crotch, pointing towards his navel, his balls swinging with the movement. A triumphant smile lit his face.

  “More?” he asked and she reached up and wrapped her hands around his shaft and sacs, feeling his balls tighten and rise. He lowered his cock to her face, but she turned her head away.

  “Not today, thank you.” Always polite, she smiled.

  “Well, I guess, I’d better get back to the garden.” He jumped off the billiard table and she was glad Henry didn’t know how they had romped on his sacred green baize.

  “A moment, Mortlock.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “My husband will be joining us next Thursday.”

  His face adopted a mask of servility, but not before she’d notice the flash of surprise.

  “Ah, a ménage à trois. Very well, m’lady. Until then.” He tugged his forelock and she recognised an air of arrogance behind the gesture. There was nothing servile about Mortlock at all. How he loved to play-act.

  Left with the job of taking the eiderdown back, she wrapped it around her shoulders. A chill brushed her naked body as the heat of her orgasm faded and, covered in the feather-downed quilt, she climbed the stairs.

  Standing under a hot shower in her en-suite, luxuriating in the flow of the water over her back and buttocks, she pictured Mortlock showering in his rather grand garden shed. In her mind, his hands were covered in bubbles as he stroked his appendage. Such a satisfying piece of equipment, she thought, a chuckle rising in her throat.

  Chapter Five

  Showered, powdered, primped and pliant, she lay on the double bed in the guest room, its satin sheets slippery under her naked body. A shiver ran up her spine, raising goosebumps on her arms. Anticipation perhaps, or a case of nerves? It was stupid, though had it really been a week since Mortlock last serviced her? Tension crept into her muscles and she stretched her legs to ease the tightness in her thighs.

  She’d had two people make love to her before, in Brighton, but this time it was different. This time it would be her husband and her lover, albeit her paid lover. She wondered if Henry would be embarrassed, but hadn’t liked to ask.

  He’d been chirpy this morning. He’d read The Times and sipped his coffee as if it had been any other Thursday morning and any minute now he’d leave for the city. But not today. She could hear him in the shower, and moments ago, the sound of the garden shed door slamming shut. Mortlock would be on his way. The bedside clock read two minutes to ten.

  Both men were preparing to pleasure her, to caress her body with their lips and tongues, to stroke and massage her limbs, nibble her ears and cover her mouth with their murmurings.

  The shower door slammed and she knew Henry would be here soon. She took a long silk scarf from the bedside table and wrapped it over her eyes, tying it tightly behind her head. It seemed stupid to consider her embarrassment could spoil the moment, after all the sexual antics she’d indulged in with others, but Brighton had been clinical and practical. Never before had Henry been in the room, even as an observer. Today he’d said he hoped to participate.

  A chill spread through the room from the open window. The sun of the morning had turned to cloud and promised rain. Pulling the top sheet up, she curled into a foetal position on her side and took several deep breathes. She’d never reach an orgasm today if she remained this tense.

  Both doors opened simultaneously and she knew that Henry and Mortlock had both entered the room. When she had sex with Mortlock, little conversation took place and she’d asked Henry to abide by this, at least for today.

  Someone moved the satin sheet, sliding it down and exposing her warm shoulders and breasts. A cool zephyr wafted over her body before someone’s hand moved over her side to cup her breast. Lips kissed her shoulder. Whose lips? The rest of the sheet moved, its weight disappearing completely. A pair of hands grasped her ankles to turn her legs, rolling her onto her back. The hand left her breast. In her mind, it became a floating body part—who owned it?

  She sensed a body straddling her as hands began to massage her breasts, fingers gently rolling the nipples. She reached up to caress the buttocks above her. Henry. She knew his body so well. His body still damp from the shower, his scrotum hung above her head and she clung to it with one hand as she stroked his soft buttocks.

  Mortlock bent her legs and slowly spread her knees apart, her heels angled inward. Her sex lay exposed, as he stroked her inner thighs, spreading a slippery lotion on them. Each pass he made up her leg drew closer to her heat, and on reaching her labia, his hands retraced their path downward. She moaned, her desire climbing. The man was a natural tease.

  Knowing who was where, doing what, relaxed her completely and she regretted wearing the silk scarf. Later she may take it off.

  Henry’s kiss blocked further thought as his lips covered hers and his tongue slid into her mouth. She answered, entwining their tongues.

  Mortlock finished massaging her legs and lifted her buttocks to place a pillow underneath. She tensed for a moment as Mortlock pushed her knees as far apart as they would go, exposing her wider. He probed with two fingers, massaging within before sliding out and searching again, stretching her wide then retracting to slip up her slit and down again. The pleasurable sensations at both ends of her body caused her juices to flow and immediately Mortlock’s tongue took advantage. Henry’s kisses progressed from her mouth, down her neck, onto her shoulders and around her breasts. He followed with his hands, kneading her gently and murmuring ‘my love’ in soft sighs. Her body hummed, full of the electricity of desire.

  Mortlock removed his fingers and before she could mourn their loss, he sucked hard at her sex, taking what he could, then lapped, his tongue darting. Her breath shortened to gasps, her climax maddeningly close, a promise just out of reach. Her body teetered on the brink, desire pulsing, but Mortlock stopped. She felt the bed lift as Henry moved.

  She ripped off the scarf and reached up between his thighs to grab the long, hard cock above her, trailing her fingers along its length as he swung his legs off the bed. Success at last.

  “Give me my wife.”

  Her heart sang with delight at Henry’s gruff demand and as Mortlock stepped aside, Henry grasped her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he entered her, moving slowly at first, then increasing in speed. One part of her mind registered the click of the bedroom door. Mortlock had left.

  “Darling,” she said, reaching to him, but he had his mind on the moment. At last his body was responding, answering the call of his longing and he wasn’t wasting a second.

  His gaze locked onto her and he murmured, “This is so good, Helen. How I’ve longed to do this again.”

  Just as her climax began to build again, Henry withdrew. Her heart sank. She wondered if he had a problem but as he kissed her sex his mouth took its reward. Deep in her being she rejoiced, happy to give him the pleasure of her bounty. For minutes he nuzzled her heat before rising to enter her again.

  Like old times, he loved her with all the energy of a young man. She climbed the peak with small shouts of delight, her mind submerged in the kaleidoscope of colours drenching her brain. Henry thrust and shuddered with her, his ‘I love you’s soft in her ears. Their sexual dance ended in a
slow waltz of limbs and sighs as they reclaimed the bed, pulled up the sheet and spooned together to doze.

  Henry’s gentle snores continued after Mortlock woke her. He was back again, behind her. He slid his fingers down the hollow in her back, between her buttocks and into her sex. He moved his supple hand deeper to push his fingers into her, stroking, pressing, searching until once again she became wet and his erection pressed into her back.

  “My turn,” he said.

  He moved lower to gently grip her hips with both his hands and pull her down. His erection slid in, filling her with his hardness.

  They made love slowly. Henry slept through it all. Mortlock pleasured her with snail-paced pulses, so slow she almost screamed with frustration, but she didn’t want to wake Henry.

  Mortlock stretched up and manoeuvred one hand under her chest, his arms locked around her. He cupped a breast in each of his strong hands, massaging her. Each upward slide of his cock, he matched with a downward pull on her breasts. Pinioned by his lust, she circled her buttocks against him, silently requesting more speed. He ignored her and kept up the steady pace. Her sex began to ache and she thought to say ‘stop’ but at that moment he shuddered and climaxed. He stayed deep in her for a moment longer.

  He withdrew with a playful slap on her rump and once more she heard the door click shut as he left.

  What a success today had been. Being a voyeur had ignited Henry’s sexual drive and had awakened the response in his body. The ménage à trois had allowed them to consummate their love, before the impotency. She hoped today spelt a new beginning, the reigniting of their sex life. She appreciated Mortlock and his skills, but she only loved Henry.

  She fell into a sound sleep snuggled against her husband’s back, her arm over his paunch, her hand cupped over his warm cock.

  Chapter Six

  The following week, Henry went to the city, and she went with him to meet Charlotte. On any Thursdays when she wasn’t available, which didn’t happen often, Mortlock spent the day gardening.