She knew, though, that if he even suspected that she had such thoughts he would be lost to her, and she wasn’t ready to give him up. She ran her hands up his chest and began to unbutton his shirt.
Barnes was relieved that the conversational part of their meeting appeared to be over, and they were moving on to the physical. He let her finish unbuttoning his shirt, and turned her around so he could unbutton her in return. Her blouse had a nearly endless series of tiny buttons running from her neck to below where it tucked into her skirt, and his big fingers fumbled with them.
She smiled to herself as she sensed his frustration, and reached her hands behind her to run her hands up the inside of his thighs. She found his cock, which was not yet hard. Through the stiff fabric of his trousers, she fondled it gently. He groaned softly, and stopped fussing with her buttons.
She pressed the fabric on either side of his penis hard against his hips, imprisoning his cock beneath the taut cotton. Then she lightened one hand’s pressure while pressing harder with the other, and then switched. As she did that, the fabric pressed against his cock, pushing it to one side and then the other, all the while keeping it trapped, still pointed toward the floor.
As his erection mounted, it was almost painful to be kept in that position, but the combination of the pressure and the emerging pain was exquisite. He put his hands on Maureen’s shoulders and wasn’t even aware that he was gripping her hard enough to turn his knuckles white.
She knew where his threshold was, and when his cock got so stiff that it pushed hard against the fabric, she released it. She slipped her hand under his waistband and took it in her hand, letting it, at last, point skyward. Then she took her hand away and backed against him. She stood on tiptoe so she could let his cock nestle between the cheeks of her ass, and she swayed back and forth.
Barnes grabbed her by the hips and ground so hard against her that they almost lost their balance.
“I need to finish your buttons,” he said, and went back to that task.
The unbuttoning finally complete, he eased her out of her blouse. Underneath, she wore an old-fashioned whalebone corset, laced loosely.
“Ah,” he said. “The corset.”
“I haven’t worn it in a while,” she said. “I thought it was time.”
She made short work of taking off her boots, stockings, drawers, and skirt, and stood in front of him naked but for the off-white muslin corset. She was firm and succulent in thigh and breast, narrow and delicate in wrist and ankle. Her skin was milky white, set off by her reddish brown hair. She had freckles on her arms and back, but none on her belly or thighs.
“This is a view I could never tire of,” he said as he reached out and ran the back of his hands down the front of her thighs and then up again, finishing where they came together in a small triangle of hair two shades darker than that on her head.
He traced the twin crevices where her thighs met her pubis with his index fingers, and she involuntarily stepped her feet apart, responding to the stimulus of his touch. From the tops of her thighs, he moved up to the points of her hip bones jutting out on either side of her smooth, firm, slightly rounded belly.
He turned his hands so the palms faced him, and edged his fingers under the bottom of the corset. It was loose, and his hands fit under it easily. He followed the curve of her waist around to her sides, and then took his hands out from under the corset and let them sit on her hips.
And then he kissed her. His tongue was as soft as his hands were rough, and Maureen thought he tasted faintly sweet. Every time she kissed him she was surprised anew that such a tender, sweet kiss could come from such a large, hard man.
She could still taste him as he turned her around and walked her into his bedchamber.
His bed was a large, elegant four-poster, incongruous in the modest stone cottage. When he’d first arrived, the house had been equipped with nothing more than a straw-filled mattress on a makeshift platform, and the Loughlins had been quick to send down a proper bed from the main house.
Maureen, her back still to Barnes, took hold of one of the posts at the foot of the bed and braced herself. He took the grosgrain ribbon laces in his hands and began to tighten the corset. He started at the top and pulled it so tight that she gasped. Then he put a finger over where the laces crossed between the top eyelets, to hold it tight, and went on to the next set of eyelets. In this fashion, he worked his way down.
He used his considerable strength to tie her in so tightly that she could take only the shallowest of breaths. She could take in enough air to stay conscious, but the quick little breaths made her feel light-headed almost immediately.
Barnes finished lacing her in, tied the ribbons securely, and turned her around. Her waist, narrowed by the corset, accentuated her round, firm breasts and full, strong thighs. He put his hands around that waist—they almost went all the way around—and buried his head between her breasts, which were held high by the top of the corset.
He ran his hand up her back, and then up to her hair. He pulled her head back and kissed the side of her exposed neck.
Maureen felt his lips, and then his tongue, and then his teeth, and her own arousal began to mount. The more pleasure she felt, the more air she needed, and the harder it was to get enough. The giddiness that resulted heightened the experience for her in a way she didn’t quite understand.
Barnes, still wearing trousers and his unbuttoned shirt, pushed her backward onto the bed and removed the rest of his clothes. He knelt, straddling her legs, and her perspective was such that his fully erect cock looked even larger than it was. She reached up to take it in her hand, but he brushed her hand away.
“You’re not allowed to move,” Barnes said, roughly but quietly. She spread her arms wide and gripped either side of the mattress to keep herself from touching him.
He moved up the bed until he was straddling her midsection, and then came down on all fours. He worked his penis between her breasts and pulsed gently forward and back.
All she could do was watch. She yearned to be in contact with him, to hold him in her hand, to feel his pressure against the mound between her legs, but she knew that if she moved he would withdraw altogether. The waiting drove her mad, and she felt herself growing faint as she panted for breath.
Barnes sat up again, and finally—finally!—touched her breasts. He started making gentle circles around her nipples, but soon held the twin orbs fully in his hands, moving his fingers over them as though he were testing their texture.
Then he reached across her to open a drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a length of bright red silk. He balled it up in his hand and put it in her mouth.
The gag was the last restriction on her airflow. Now, with her breathing restricted two ways and her excitement on the increase, she felt herself slipping to the edge of fainting. Half her attention was on her breath, and the other half was on the fact that Barnes was easing his cock into her.
His slow, shallow thrusts brought Maureen almost to the brink. The room was spinning; she couldn’t keep her lover in focus. Her lungs and her cunt were competing for her attention, and she was engulfed in a whirlwind of sensation.
And then he was in her all the way. Deep, hard, insistent. Through her fog, she heard his climactic moans, and her own orgasm took on a life of its own. Her light-headedness made her experience it almost as though it came from without rather than within. It engulfed her completely and there was a moment—there always was—when she did think she would lose consciousness.
She didn’t, though, and Barnes took the gag out so her heartbeat and her breathing could slow. When the last vestiges of sensation had ebbed, she turned over and Barnes loosened her laces. She filled her lungs over and over, experiencing the simple pleasure of breathing again.
Barnes watched her recover herself as he pulled on his trousers and shirt.
“I love it that you like that,” he said. “Not every girl would.”
She took one last deep breath and sat up
. “I’m not every girl,” she said and stood up to collect her clothes.
“I’ve got to get back. Dinner service starts soon.”
He smiled at her with uncharacteristic tenderness. “Thank you for visiting,” he said, with only the barest touch of irony.
She smiled back, got dressed, and was gone.
ELEVEN
Lady Georgiana little knew what was going on in other parts of the estate that afternoon, as she sat in her room after lunch, an unread book lying closed in her lap. She sat in the window seat and was just feeling the heavy-lidded sense that she was about to fall asleep when there was a knock on the door.
She shook her head briskly to rouse herself. As yet, the only unexpected visitor she’d had at Penfield had been Barnes, and she expected that this was him. She took a moment to arrange herself to appear to best advantage. “Come in,” she called.
Georgiana experienced a frisson of disappointment when it wasn’t Barnes, but Alexandra who walked into her room.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” the girl said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not in the slightest,” said Georgiana, recovering herself. She held up the book, John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women. “I know books are supposed to improve one’s mind,” she said with a laugh, “but I suppose one must actually read them for that improvement to take place. You have interrupted me staring out my window while not reading my book.”
Alexandra, who had felt some trepidation about coming to her friend’s room, was put at her ease. Still, she hesitated a moment.
“I have come to ask a favor,” she said.
“I will certainly grant it if it is in my power to do so.”
“I’m engaged to play tennis with Freddy this afternoon, and I wonder if I might borrow the trousers you wore to play with me the other day.”
Georgiana laughed aloud.
Miss Niven blushed and went on. “I’m not sure that they’ll fit. I’m larger than you are. But they seemed to have some extra room when you wore them, and you looked so much more comfortable than I felt, and I’d hoped . . .” She felt herself to be babbling, and stopped talking.
“Of course you must have them!” Georgiana said with enthusiasm. “And I’m sure they’ll fit you.” She realized that it took some courage both for Alexandra to wear trousers and for her to ask Georgiana to borrow them, and she wanted to encourage her friend.
She went to the armoire and took the trousers down from a shelf where Hortense had put them after they’d been washed and ironed.
Alexandra took them, unfolded them, and held the waistband up to her own waist a little skeptically.
“Don’t worry,” Georgiana told her. “Once you take off your skirt and drawers, they’ll fit perfectly.”
Alexandra looked worried. “Drawers?”
“Oh, you can’t wear drawers underneath. They just bunch up and chafe, and then you can’t run.”
“Then what do you wear underneath?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” Georgiana saw Alexandra’s look of consternation. “And you’ll feel free and liberated, I promise. Besides,” she added, picking up the book, “John Stuart Mill would certainly approve. Tennis skirts certainly qualify as subjection of women.”
Miss Niven didn’t look quite convinced, but being around Georgiana made her feel daring, and she took the trousers, determined to wear them.
“Will you come and watch us play?” she asked.
Georgiana considered. It would certainly be a game worth watching. But, remembering Freddy’s reception of her at lunch, she thought it prudent to decline. She was sure he would prefer to be alone with Miss Niven.
“I’m sure it will be an excellent game,” she said, “but I have a prior engagement with Mr. Mill.” Here she waved the book. “And I am determined to find out how women are subjected and what we should do about it, all before dinner.”
“Well, thank you for the trousers. I hope they improve my play.”
“I’m sure they must. Good luck, and tell me all about the game at dinner.”
Alexandra went back to her room to change. She took off her skirt and drawers and pulled on the trousers. Her waist was as narrow as Georgiana’s, and the waistband buttoned easily. The difference in their figures was in the hips, and Alexandra’s rounded bottom and curved thighs filled the pants more fully than Georgiana’s boyish shape did.
She took a few steps and marveled at the feel of it. Since she was a little girl, she’d never been out-of-doors in anything other than a skirt with drawers and stockings underneath. To feel only one thin layer of fabric between her skin and the air was a revelation.
She ran across the room to see what it felt like. She was unimpeded! Nothing got in the way when she put one foot in front of the other. Nothing swished or swirled or tangled!
The doubts she’d had about appearing in trousers evaporated in her enjoyment of the sensation of wearing them. Her interaction with Georgiana, combined with an unexpected swell of confidence borne of something as simple as freedom of movement, led her to leave her room with something almost like a swagger.
She met Freddy at the front door.
“You’ve got Lady G’s trousers!” Freddy said in astonishment before his better judgment had a chance to tell him that Miss Niven would perhaps prefer not to have attention drawn to her attire.
She reddened. “She seemed so comfortable playing in trousers, and, as I have none of my own, I thought to borrow hers.”
“You look smashing!” Freddy did nothing to hide his admiration, and looked unabashedly at the shape, so clearly visible, of her buttocks and thighs. Had Alexandra been aware just how clearly visible her shape was, she might have reconsidered her decision.
She reddened further. “Shall we go?” she asked, not being able to think of a better way to change the subject.
“We shall.” Freddy opened the front door for her with exaggerated gallantry, and they headed out to the tennis court.
All the necessary equipment was waiting for them, and they each picked up a racket.
Freddy had grown up with the game, and thought himself to be, if not an expert, at least a skilled player. His assessment of his play, though, had more to do with his conception of himself as an all-around accomplished young man than with his actual level of expertise. To his mind, witty, rakish, charming young men all played tennis well, and Freddy was certainly witty, rakish, and charming. Ergo, reason dictated that not only did he play tennis well, but he rode to hounds, held his liquor, and could engage any eligible young lady on any subject.
Reason, though, wasn’t winning the day. Freddy found that the distraction of Alexandra’s movement put him off his game. He missed shots he should have reached, and sent too many balls out of bounds or into the net. Alexandra, by contrast, was at her very best. She leaped and ran and stretched and smashed, and was exhilarated by her own prowess.
After a stretch when Alexandra won five points in a row, Freddy made a concerted effort to gather his wits and focus his energy. He blocked out the image of the beautiful girl in the alluring trousers across the court and pictured instead Stiffy, his Oxford nemesis. By this means he was able to muster what skill he possessed, and the score began to even out.
Alexandra, though, still had the lead, and she was determined to hold on to it. She exerted herself in a way Freddy had never seen a girl do, until she was wet with sweat and panting like a racehorse. There was nothing delicate or ladylike in her demeanor or appearance, and Freddy found the novelty and physicality to be a very compelling combination.
Still, compelling or no, he didn’t want to lose to her. He conjured Stiffy once more and, in answer to a brisk forehand from Miss Niven, he placed a precise little drop shot just over the net. He’d thought it unreachable, but she ran for the net with all her strength. As she lunged for the ball, her left foot slid on the grass, and she buckled with a cry of pain.
Freddy was over the net in an instant, kneeling at her side. It was clear fro
m her grimace that she’d hurt herself. “Miss Niven, you mustn’t move until we can find out if anything’s broken.”
“I don’t think it is,” she said through clenched teeth as she shifted her weight to take the pressure off the ankle that had slid under her. There was relief in her voice when she found she could move her foot. “It does hurt awfully, but I don’t believe it’s broken.”
The ankle had already begun to swell. “It’s a nasty sprain, then,” Freddy said.
Once his fear that his companion had been seriously hurt was allayed, Freddy saw that the situation was ripe with possibilities.
“It doesn’t look like you can walk,” he said, with something very like hope in his voice.
“I can try,” Miss Niven said dubiously, trying once more to move her foot, and wincing with the effort.
“No,” said Freddy definitively. “You mustn’t try. I can carry you back to the house.”
“You most certainly cannot,” she told him, alarmed at the prospect.
“I can and I will. You’re just a slip of a thing.”
She blushed, and almost smiled. “When I said ‘cannot,’ I did not mean that you weren’t capable. I only meant that I could not submit to it.”
“Submit, rot! Why ever not?”
What could she say? The real answer was, Because you would touch me in places where there would be only a thin layer of cloth between your hands and my skin, but she couldn’t very well say that. The best she could do was, “I’m not sure either your dignity or mine could withstand the assault.”
Freddy laughed. “For my part, I cannot see how carrying a beautiful, injured girl to safety could do anything but bolster my dignity. And I promise to do it in such a way as to protect your dignity in the process.” He knelt down and started to slip a hand behind her knees to pick her up, but she pushed him away. “Can we not get a cart?” she asked feebly.
“No, we cannot get a cart. It is imperative that we get you back to the house so we can sit you on cushions, put ice on your ankle, and feed you restorative beef broth.” He tried again to pick her up, and this time she made no protest.
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