At Your Service

by Alysha Ellis

  Ascot was this coming Saturday. The forecast promised a sunny day and she intended to find something special to wear. Henry’s day at the House of Lords would be arduous and he planned to spend the night at his club.

  By late afternoon, their expedition over, she bade goodbye to Charlotte and took a taxi home. She wandered around the back lawn in her new dress, enjoying the soft flow of the lightweight liberty fabric. Its bodice was unbuttoned to her cleavage and the long, full sleeves kept her arms protected from the sun. The full skirt was gathered at the waist and finished with a matching belt. It emphasised her figure and the skirt floated around her ankles as she walked. She loved it so much she’d insisted on wearing it out of the salon. Charlotte thought it suited her admirably and they had spent most of the afternoon looking, without success, for a hat to match.

  Admiring Mortlock’s handiwork, she strolled the garden picking and eating the new peas. Some of the roses needed to be deadheaded and she walked to the garden shed to get the secateurs, presuming Mortlock would have left for the day.

  A gasp escaped her, more of surprise than shock, to see him working at the bench sharpening a garden hoe. They nodded to each other.

  She squeezed past him to reach the pruners hanging on the wall just as he bent down to put something under the bench. His musk tickled her senses and she stopped moving, concerned she may step back on him. The hem of her dress was lifted and she felt his body bump against her legs as he came up under the front of her skirt. He caressed the back of her legs, moving his fingertips to linger on her hips before inching to her waist. His hands met and he hooked his fingers into the elastic of her underwear. In a heartbeat, her silk knickers rustled down her legs. He lifted her feet, one after the other, to untangle the fabric from her ankles. In a fluid movement he parted her legs, his shoulders easing her legs wider as he reached up and massaged her buttocks. He clamped his mouth onto her clitoris and sucked. God, it was wonderful. This unexpected event in her afternoon filled her with wantonness, the mores of society abandoned in this dusty shed.

  Her legs bent and he moved farther into her pussy with his tongue, lapping, probing, darting and stroking. Her knees bent and she leaned over his bulk to hold on to the bench. He brought her to a shuddering climax that scattered her senses. He drank her nectar until sated. She trembled, eyes closed, immobile with euphoria, as her brain registered him moving to stand behind her. He lifted her skirt up so it bunched over her shoulders like a shawl. She gripped the bench as he entered, parting her sex with his fingers to guide his hardness in.

  Mortlock stretched forward while he had her pinioned. He undid her dress and sought her breasts, tumbling them out of her brassiere, holding them captive as he squeezed. At the same time he pushed his cock in time with each tightening grasp. Desire had her pushing back against him, aiding his journey deep into her heat.

  To be surrounded by sharp edges, long handles and hard tools, the smell of fertiliser and spray tickling her nostrils heightened her senses and made their lovemaking exciting. The sound of a thrush singing in the plum tree above the window echoed her joy as she climaxed.

  Satisfied, she leaned on the bench. Mortlock rested his chest on her back and so they stayed for some moments. She savoured every sound and smell and stored them away in her memory, to be relived again and again. At last he withdrew, lowered her dress with care and bent down to retrieve her knickers off the floor.

  “Madam, I believe these are yours,” he said, offering them to her.

  She tucked them into her brassiere. “Such a pleasant surprise, Mortlock,” she said, repositioning her breasts and re-buttoning her dress.

  Secateurs in hand, she and Mortlock stepped side to side with each other before he stood still and allowed her to walk around him. “Thank you, Mortlock.”

  “My pleasure, m’lady.”

  “And mine.”

  Warmth tingled between her thighs and she enjoyed the sensation of the afternoon air caressing her limbs as she wandered around the garden snipping the roses.

  * * * *

  On Saturday, she wore the freshly laundered dress to the races. Every time it rustled around her ankles she remembered Thursday, the day Mortlock fucked her in the garden shed. Charlotte thought she smiled so much because her horse came in second. Both the horse and the dress paid an unexpected dividend.

  Chapter Seven

  Thursday

  Already the dew of anticipation dampened her thighs. She brushed Henry’s suit, with firm quick strokes over his shoulders and down his sleeves, ensuring no minute particle of lint spoilt his immaculate appearance. He reached for his walking cane, removed it from the hat stand by the front door, and lowered his head. Their lips met in a soft caress.

  “Do you really need to go to the House today, Henry? Wouldn’t you prefer to stay?”

  “Of course I’d prefer to stay home, Helen, but business calls and I’m needed in the House. We have a vote to take. I must be there.” He kissed the tip of her nose and slid his hand inside her silk dressing gown to give her breasts a final stroke. “I’ll let Mortlock work his magic on you today, but watch out tomorrow night, my darling. Our threesome unlocked my erectile dysfunction. It’s gone. Let’s hope it’s gone for good.”

  She watched him climb into the black London taxi waiting at their gate, and waved to him as it drove away. Expectation lifted her steps to a skip as she headed to the guest quarters at the rear of the house.

  The sunlight warmed the small lounge area in the guest accommodation and she threw open the French Doors. The larks feasting on worms in the garden after overnight rain made her smile. Life was so good. She’d shower in the guest quarters then recline on the bed in wanton splendour, and wait for Mortlock. Would he have any surprises for her today? She loved his surprises.

  Hot water streamed down her back as she massaged her bubble-covered hair. She felt Mortlock slide his hand between her buttocks. It had to be Mortlock, surely? No one else is in the house. She yelped and, squinting, she looked over her shoulder.

  “You gave me a fright. You’re early. Let me rinse myself first.”

  He kept his hand between her legs, caressing her, searching with gentle strokes. She took a step but he moved with her, his hand remaining in place, his fingers questing.

  “No hurry. I’ll just keep you company, m’lady.” His naked chest pressed against her back, and his desire prodded her when she leant forward to rinse her hair. He withdrew his touch and embraced her hips, sliding his hands up her wet belly, to grasp her breasts, then he began to massage her nipples.

  Until she had all the foam out of her hair and face, she couldn’t concentrate and Mortlock took advantage of her vulnerability. She pushed, easing his pressure on her back, as she tilted her chin to rinse her face. In a flash he moved in front of her. He lifted her thighs to rest her against the shower wall, then opened her legs wide and slid her body down onto his cock.

  The water poured over them. She locked her legs around his hips, her arms resting on his shoulders, and relaxed on to him as he moved in her. Moments later he lifted her high off his rampant cock and stood her on the shower base. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the warm tiled floor where he wrapped her in a large soft towel then patted her dry. There wasn’t a crease or hollow he missed, easing her legs astride he knelt and dried her heat, finishing with a light nip of her clit. This action promised of things to come and her desire coursed through her like the ripples of an incoming tide.

  He led her to the guest bed where he’d already turned back the covers and a shiver of excitement raced up her legs and back.

  He gestured to the bed with a mock bow and she climbed up onto the fresh crisp sheets to sit and look at him. He was magnificent, ready to please her. She raised her eyebrows and he gently pushed her down onto her back, then straightened her legs and walked to take his place at the end of the bed.

  He began to suck her toes, one at a time. His licked along her insteps before trailing his tongue over her feet and ar
ound her ankles. Next he knelt astride her and mouthed his way up her legs, gently pushing them apart the farther he licked.

  His slow progress lit her insides like a flame. The waiting would be worth it if she could prevent her climax bolting away. He used his teeth to rain small nips across her stomach and kissed her breasts. He licked and kissed them in turn with more sweet bites. Her nipples ached with desire. He knew her body so well and what she liked best. Desire sang in her ears.

  “Now, Mortlock,” she demanded

  “Not yet,” he murmured in her ear, “soon.”

  She watched him slide off the bed, startled by his swift movements. He turned her on her side and pulled her buttocks to the edge of the bed.

  She smelt rose oil. She felt his caress between her legs, across her sex several times before he circled her ass. Her muscles tightened.

  “Relax,” he instructed. “Just wait a minute.” There was an urgent quaver in his voice and she heard the crackle of paper. He sounded anxious. It was unusual for Mortlock to sound tense.

  “What is it?” Distracted by the noise, her mind began to wander. Her desire slipped from a song to a mere hum, still a deep throbbing demand yet dulled by the delay.

  She closed her eyes to keep her attention focused, holding on to the promise that tingled between her thighs.

  “Let’s try some fairy dust,” he said. “You’ll enjoy this, I promise.” He stroked her clit with a quick slide of his finger, then dipped it into her cunt. His fingertips rested on her anus and one slid in, deeper, gently, to a place never touched, its path eased by the rose oil. She stiffened. It hadn’t hurt at all, in fact the fullness rather appealed. He withdrew his finger and left behind a soft thrum of sensation that puzzled her.

  Had he spread something on her? While she wondered what he could have done, an unbelievable sensation overwhelmed her with the force of a train crash. Her clit rose in delight. Her labia thrummed and her sphincter tightened and clamped with a prickly thrill that travelled up her spine. She became consumed with the wonders of fairy dust and barely registered it when he swung her down to stand on the floor. Wrapped in her rainbow climax, she leant forward to rest her breasts on the bed and reached back to grab him, any part of him she could find. Demanding he fill her need she grasped his thighs and clenched her hands on his muscles.

  A rattle of paper once more then his cock slid into her cunt and caused her heat to spasm. Each push of his hard shaft gave her great pleasure. Her eyes were open but she registered only red and purple floral bursts. Her spine quivered with delicious spasms and trails of tickling ran up and down her limbs.

  And her clit, dear God, her clit! She moved her arms down between his legs and grasped his balls. “Suck me,” she begged. He dropped to his knees and the soft laps of his tongue drove her to another height. She lost herself in the shimmering climax that went on and on. Her bones melted. Her voice erupted from her throat in shouts of delight. She had no strength to move and lived in the moment, shuddering with joyous uttering. He obliged her until she stopped quivering minutes later absolutely sated.

  Exhausted, they lay spread-eagled on the bed until he covered her with the top sheet then left.

  For an hour or so, she slept. Never had she experienced such sensations. She relived her shouts of joy, the exquisite tingling, the rollercoaster of climax after climax and indescribable pleasure.

  She couldn’t wait to try it again. While bathing, she hoped he would return at any moment and begin once more. He didn’t. It seemed even Mortlock had a physical limit.

  Chapter Eight

  “What did he call it?” Henry’s voice had a hard edge.

  “Fairy dust.”

  “Fairy dust be damned. More like cocaine.” Henry rose from his chair and paced the room. “I’ll ruin the bastard. How dare he try and get my wife addicted to cocaine.” He stopped and wheeled to look at her. His reaction, so unexpected, stunned her.

  She realised her jaw hung open and closed her mouth. How could she have been so naïve?

  “Darling”—he came to her—“I’m not angry with you.” He cradled her in his arms, sitting beside her on the sofa. “Mortlock wants to get you addicted so he’ll have a greater hold over both of us. You would only be able to get it through him and he could then make you do anything.”

  Mortlock’s betrayal of her trust caused a wave of rage to rise in her chest and tears welled in her eyes. A sob of anger escaped her throat. Shame swamped her like a black tide. She should have asked? Instead she’d listened to his honeyed assurance that she’d like it. Well she had. She’d loved it. No wonder people got addicted.

  “Don’t cry, darling. I’ll fix the little shit.” Henry stroked her hair, his gentle touch curved down to cup her chin, his gaze locked on hers. “You’re not to see him again. Ever.” She closed her eyes.

  “Until I get this sorted I want you to go to Scotland with Charlotte, perhaps tomorrow, or if not then, as soon as you can.”

  She nodded. “Anything you say, Henry, anything.” She clasped his hand and kissed his fingers. “How will you fix this, Henry? What can you do?”

  “I’ll sort the bastard out, Helen. Don’t worry. We won’t be involved at all.”

  * * * *

  The next day, she and Charlotte travelled to the Scottish coast. Charlotte was glad of the break from her demanding widowed mother and they spent a few days in St Andrews. Tiring of the cobbled streets and quaintness, they returned to Edinburgh to stroll George Street, and window shop.

  One evening Charlotte queried Helen’s long silences.

  “It’s a touch of the flu, Lottie, nothing more. I’ll be as good as gold by next week.”

  “It’s not like you to turn down an evening out,” said Charlotte. “Edinburgh does have some social life Helen, if you’d only make the effort.”

  “You go, Charlotte. Truly, I’d rather go to bed.”

  “But you’re having an afternoon nap most days as it is.”

  “Lottie, this is getting repetitive. It’s a touch of the flu.” At the sight of Charlotte’s hurt expression, she apologised. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I can’t seem to get rid of this exhaustion.” She blamed her tiredness on her despair that being blinded by her sexual desire she’d trusted Mortlock completely. Her sheer selfishness combined with Henry’s desire to keep her happy had put their very existence at risk.

  Every day she expected a call from Henry. Every day weariness overcame her. Could it be depression? She’d see a doctor once she returned to London.

  * * * *

  “Time to come home,” Henry said four weeks later, and so they returned to London.

  Her limbs were taught with apprehension and the tension made her jaw ache. Henry had said little on the phone, except to summon her home. When she’d asked if there was any news, he’d laughed and said ‘when you get here. Just come home’. She’d clung to the sound of his laugh and now, at Paddington Station, there he stood with a broad grin on his face.

  They dropped Charlotte off at her mother’s house and once they were home, Henry fussed over her like an old hen. To her queries, Henry tapped the side of his nose and said, “Later, Helen, later, when the staff are gone.”

  Bassett poured the pre-dinner wine and instead of staying to make polite conversation, he gave her a sad smile and left the room.

  “What’s all that about, Henry? He looks at me as if there’s a death in the family.”

  “He’s sad over your relative’s fall from grace, Helen. Let me explain.” With a large whisky in his hand he stood by the window, sipped his drink and looked out.

  She rose to join him, to admire the roses blooming fiercely in the late summer sun.

  “He certainly had a way with roses, but I wasn’t having him destroy you, my rose.” He walked back to the table to top up his glass.

  She sat on the window seat to listen and watch the man she loved so much tell his story. No one could hurry Henry—he would do it in his own way in his own time.

  “I k
new where he lived, you see. Bassett found that out after our luncheon date. So when I knew he’d given you cocaine I dropped a hint to our local constabulary and suggested they search him on the street. I mentioned Thursday would probably a good day to do this.” He came to her side. “It stood to reason he’d be carrying it the next Thursday, ready to give you another taste.”

  She gasped.

  “They arrested him, Helen and in his lodgings they found more drugs. That was as month ago. He’s been before the court and is now in jail. Cocaine is beginning to become a problem in this country. It’s rife in the USA. Many of their soldiers have come home addicted from Vietnam.” Henry rubbed his hand through his sparse hair and continued, “I’ve told Hansen, who is now also Mortlock’s solicitor because I kept up the pretence that he was a distant relative of yours—I told Hansen to pass on to Mortlock that once he’s served his time, perhaps only two months for good behaviour, I will pay his airfare to the other side of the world.” Henry downed his whisky and raised the empty glass. “A one-way ticket. He can go to Australia or New Zealand. Anywhere, but here in the UK.” The hall clock chimed six times. Dinner would be ready. “He’ll take the offer I’m sure.”

  She drank her wine in one long gulp. “Thank you, Henry. You’re a good man and I love you dearly. I’ve been so selfish and I’m so ashamed.” She stepped close and wrapped her arms around him, grateful beyond explanation.

  “Nonsense, my love. Mortlock instigated this fairy dust issue and I did warn him. I told him I would ruin him if he hurt you.” He held her at arm’s length, his gaze mirroring the love deep within her heart. “We can reinstate our arrangements with the Brighton Establishment whenever you want.”

  She smiled at her old darling, knowing his heart was too big for his own good.