Good Manors

by Victoria Blisse

  I wanted more of him, more of his unique musk. I wanted to taste him, to drink down his cum, devour his pleasure. I felt his thighs vibrating beside me, heard his ragged breathing and knew he was close. I listened intently for direction but continued my ministrations. The pull in my back had become an ache but I ignored it, knowing his climax was so close.

  “Fuck,” Xander exclaimed and ran his fingers into my hair, holding me against him. He bucked up to meet me, his desperation forcing his buttocks up into the air, as he shivered and gasped. “Gonna come.” His grip on my hair loosened but I didn’t want to pull away, I wanted to drink him down.

  I moaned around his cock and the vibrations trembled through his flesh. I was rewarded with a grunt then he stilled and I got the mouthful I wanted. Mellow but metallic, the salty liquid carried hints of chocolate and champagne. I eagerly drank, and Xander tightened his grip on my hair again and heightened my arousal.

  He relaxed, unwound his fingers from my hair and stroked it instead. I let him for a moment, then, after one last lap of his cock, I raised up and straightened my back, moaning with the relief of pressure.

  “Come here.” Xander tapped the blanket beside him, and I climbed over his leg and lay next to him. He scooped his arm under my neck and pulled me close to him.

  “Good girl.” He leaned over and kissed the top of my head.

  I smiled and just enjoyed being with him. We lay in companionable silence for a while. I rested my hand over his heart, comforted by its rhythmic beat, and he rested his cheek on the top of my head. I could have happily lain there forever.

  “So, I told you about me and my discovery of kink. Tell me your story.”

  I didn’t speak for a moment, wondering where to start.

  “I mean, if you want to,” he continued, “of course.”

  “I don’t mind telling you,” I replied. “I was just trying to work out where to start. I didn’t know I was kinky until I was with someone who brought it out of me, but there were indications before that, I just hadn’t noticed them.”

  “Like what?” Xander stroked his fingers up and down my arm, so gentle and tender, in complete contrast to the beautiful violence he’d earlier inflicted on my body.

  “Well, when I first discovered masturbation I found it difficult to come by only touching my clit. It was only when I used my other hand to pull my hair or tweak my nipples that I managed to orgasm. From then on I would always incorporate a little pain into my play.”

  I snuggled closer to him, absorbing his heat, enjoying the contrast of his partly clothed body next to my nakedness.

  “Ah, so who helped you work out you were kinky?”

  “A man named Tom. He was a vet and I was his assistant for a while as part of work experience for university. He was significantly older than me but I had a crush on him the moment I saw him. He waited until the placement was over then propositioned me, or I propositioned him, I can never decide who takes the blame for that one.” I chuckled against him. I’d never told anyone else about this, but I felt comfortable confiding in Xander.

  “He was the first man to spank me. Classic, over the knee. I was surprised, too naïve to have discussed safe words first or anything like that. It hurt like buggery. I remember being close to tears but then beneath that there was this boiling arousal that just bubbled in the pit of my stomach and much, much lower.

  “I was so wet, I remember him pausing the spanking to slip his fingers between my thighs and the low rumble of approval he gave when he felt how soaked I was. When he fucked me, my bottom stung and ached, a constant reminder of the spanking I’d received. It heightened the pleasure and I came so hard without even needing to touch my clit.”

  “Did you go out with him for long, this Tom guy?”

  “Oh, we didn’t go out. We fucked. I used to get the train up there at weekends. We never went on dates, we just went back to his and fucked.”

  “And was it always kinky?” Xander asked, tracing circles on my skin.

  “Yes, always. I called him Sir, he spanked me with his hand or sometimes the back of a brush or a spatula, and he was in complete control. I did whatever he ordered. He never tied me up, though. Today, with you, was my first time being restrained.”

  “And…?” The question hung in the air.

  “I loved it,” I replied in a rush. “I loved being immobile and at your mercy.”

  “Good.” He shifted, tipping toward me and pulling me into him. “I loved having you there, tied, gagged and wet for me.”

  Xander wrapped his left arm around me and stroked my hair. He tugged on it sharply, so I let my head fall back and he kissed the exclamation of pain from my lips. Just as his kiss deepened, my stomach decided to make the loudest, most disconcerting noise, which made him stop.

  “God, sorry,” I apologized.

  “No, don’t apologize.” He lifted his arm up my back, turned his wrist and studied his watch. “It’s almost four and we’ve not eaten.”

  “Already?” I gasped. My stomach rolled again, this time with disappointment. “I suppose I should get back on the road…”

  “Or you could stay another night. It’ll take you, what? A couple of hours’ drive to get back to the city?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, by the time you get dressed and I feed you and whatnot it’ll be late before you get home. You might as well stay here and leave first thing in the morning.”

  It didn’t take much to convince me. “Okay, if you don’t mind having me.”

  “Oh no, I could have you over and over again, Ms. Grace.”

  I blushed and giggled, and he kissed the laughter from my lips as my stomach decided to growl again. Bloody thing, cock-blocking me.

  “God, we better feed you before you decide to eat me for nourishment.”

  “I thought I already had?” I quipped, and he chuckled.

  “I suppose you have. Come on, let’s find your clothes and get you fed.”

  It didn’t take too long to gather my scattered clothing and put it on. Xander still held on to my underwear and while we walked back into the main body of the building I hunched up on myself, very aware of my swinging breasts.

  “I’ll go and get the food, you go and sit in the dining room,” he said at the bottom of the main stairs.

  “The posh one?” I asked, redundantly. It was the only one.

  “Yep, might as well. We’re less likely to be disturbed in there too.”

  Now that sounded promising.

  The dining hall was a very big room to be waiting in on my own. The daylight was fading and the room was illuminated by the soft orange of the setting sun. I felt like a tiny, insignificant dot as I imagined the parties and the ceremonies that must have taken place there over the years.

  The cool air brought up goosebumps on my arms. I wrapped myself in a hug and rubbed my hands up and down. I moved around the room in an effort to keep warm, past the tapestry that hid the secret passageway, along the length of the huge banqueting table. I wished Xander had let me go with him, I felt at a complete loss wandering around an impressive room filled with history that he owned.

  Xander owned it all. It was easy to forget that when I was with him, but when I was on my own with my own thoughts it all came back to me in a flood. Who Xander was, whose son he was and why I really, really, really shouldn’t be falling in love with him.

  Shit, I’m falling in love with Xander.

  Just as I thought that, in he walked.

  “Now, it’s not cordon bleu but it is food.” He laughed. “And the surroundings should make up for any lack of excitement in the meal.”

  “Should I be worried that you are having to tell me it actually is edible? What have you brought?”

  I walked down the length of the table toward him and finally I saw that he’d put down two plates with sandwiches on them. Next to the sandwiches was a packet of crisps and an apple. In the center of the table was a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “I kind of got dis
tracted today, so didn’t prepare anything for dinner. So this was the easiest and quickest meal I could come up with.”

  “It’ll do me fine,” I insisted. “Many of my meals at home look exactly like this.”

  Xander pulled out a chair and indicated that I should sit in it. He made sure I was settled then pulled the chair at the end of the wide table until it was closer to the corner near me.

  “Dig in,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”

  He proceeded to uncork the bottle, and I took a nibble from the corner of a sandwich. Ham salad.

  “I brought a bottle of white, I hope that’s okay?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I responded. “I’ll have it whichever way it comes.”

  He passed me the glass, wide bowled and long stemmed, and picked up his own. He held it in salute, and I pressed my glass to his with a chink.

  “To us”—Xander smiled—“and the things that bind us.”

  An image of being bound to the attic beam flashed into my mind and my glass shook from a salute to my lips. If only those were the only bindings in the relationship.

  If I wasn’t tied down with guilt how far could this relationship go?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Xander Patrick

  India didn’t answer my toast and my stomach twisted into knots with each sip I took from my glass. I’d thought we’d really connected throughout the day but mostly in the attic. It dawned on me then that maybe it was only me who’d felt that. Maybe to India it was simply a bit of fun and not the start of a relationship.

  To even think of it that way made my heart flutter but that was what I wanted, what I hoped for. No one had ever made me feel like India made me feel. No one. I stared out of the window. The sun was almost faded, so I got up to grab a candelabra, lit the candles in it and placed it on the table to illuminate us.

  “You make a good sandwich.” India’s words broke into my ponderings.

  “Well, thank you. I have been practicing the art since I was a little boy.” I smiled but I didn’t think the action reflected in my eyes.

  “I think you’ve perfected it,” she replied, then took a bite.

  I wasn’t really feeling hungry, but I ate anyway. And I knew that wine on an empty stomach really wasn’t a clever idea.

  “It seems really strange to be eating butties in a huge room like this.” She looked around in awe.

  “It is a tad opulent considering,” I replied with a smirk, “but this will be a sandwich you’ll always remember.”

  God, Xander, maybe you’d like to confess your love next. Jesus, man, snap out of it.

  “I think it will be.” Her smile seemed a little off, like it didn’t connect to her eyes, either. “Thanks for letting me stay another night, by the way, I’m not sure I said that before.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, India. Any time, you’ve got an open invitation to Mallard’s.”

  At the rate I was going, I’d have proposed to her by the time she’d finished her crisps.

  “I appreciate it”—she smiled—“but I rarely get to go back to the same homes, you know. Good Manors keeps me very busy.”

  And there it was—the rejection.

  “Oh, I know,” I bumbled. “I appreciate that but the offer is there all the same. We’ve all thoroughly enjoyed your visit.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile did reach her eyes and there also seemed to be a film of tears there before she fluttered her lashes to stop them falling. “I’ve very much enjoyed my time here and really wish I could come back.”

  I reached out over the table and covered her hand with mine, squeezing gently.

  “Well, the offer’s open, any time at all. We’ll always have room for you here.”

  India lifted my hand from the table and pressed it to her lips. I uncurled my fingers as she let me go and cupped her cheek. She cocked her head to the side and closed her eyes. Leaning over, I kissed her forehead.

  “Would you like another drink?” I sat back, disconnecting before I said something stupid.

  “Sure, that’d be great.” She smiled and this time there was warmth in her eyes.

  I relaxed. I might not have a long relationship to look forward to but we had the rest of the night and there was no use moping. I would use every moment we had left to revel in the joys of India Grace. I filled up her glass then stood the bottle back in place.

  “And then shall we fuck on the table?” I asked with a wink as she tipped her glass to her lips.

  She spluttered mid-sip and put the glass down. “Won’t we damage it?” she asked, her eyebrows crinkled in concern.

  “No, I think it can take a little more yet.” I pointedly looked down at my crotch, and she barked a sharp laugh and shook her head.

  “I meant the table.” She chuckled.

  “It has stood the test of two hundred odd years, I think it’ll survive.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. I don’t want suing if a table leg falls off.”

  “I will take all responsibility for the wellbeing of my furniture,” I said then nodded solemnly. “Though if you do break it that’ll give me one hell of a good reason to spank your naughty arse.”

  “I’m not sure I want to imagine the spanking for breaking an antique like this.” India shook her head. “I’d be a puddle on the floor.”

  “Well, let’s see what happens.” I was close to hard just thinking about fucking and spanking her. I pushed the plates away down the table, took a sip from my drink then shifted both our glasses away too. “Hop up.”

  The look she gave me was pure disbelief.

  “Come on, India, don’t make me ask you again,” I barked, and she stood up.

  I took her hand, pulled her toward me around the corner of the table then kissed her. I didn’t think I could ever tire of the taste of her lips, the pressure of them on mine.

  Pulling back from her, I tapped on the table with my free hand. She nodded, stepped back and slipped her bottom onto the edge of the table.

  “Hold on. Before you get up there, take off your skirt.”

  Her eyes widened for a second but then she complied, revealing her lower body without a moment’s more hesitation. India rested her bottom on the end again then wiggled back until she was seated and her feet dangled in the air.

  “Now there’s a meal I want to eat.” I pressed forward, forcing her thighs to open until I bumped up to the wooden lip. Bending to kiss her again, I swept my hands into her long hair and pulled her deep into my embrace. She gasped against my mouth as our crotches met. I was hard, I was sure she could feel that.

  I pulled on her bottom lip for a moment before kissing her chin and along her jaw line. Her breaths were already more like pants and when my kisses dropped lower onto her neck a rumbling moan reverberated through her whole body and into my lips.

  I responded with gentle pressure then a bite. The moan turned into a grunt and she pressed her pelvis against me. I nibbled and sucked on the same spot for a moment and when I pulled away a little purple mark was left. I wondered if it would last. I continued kissing through my satisfied smirk.

  Her skin was so soft and warm. I loved the contrast when I kissed over her hard collarbone and down to her soft chest. I stood tall for a moment and helped her out of her top. Her cheeks were flushed red and her hair was mussed up—she looked so delicious I dove right back in to kissing down her body.

  I wanted to preserve the memory of every last dip and bump as I traveled her with my mouth. I might not get another opportunity to taste or feel her ever again and I had to relish every last second that I had. I wanted to be able to recall every moment of this erotic journey on future nights alone in my bed.

  I cupped her breasts in my hands, admiring the bounce and the velvet softness with my fingers and mouth. She tasted so sweet, I couldn’t get enough. I spent ages kissing around her areolae and nipples, feeling them crinkle and tighten to my touch. India keened and crooned when I finally drank as much of her breast into my mouth as I could. One, then the other an
d back again, I reveled in her soft plumpness.

  Eventually the call of the rest of her body pulled me away. I lifted up and pressed against the center of her chest. Her heart was hammering. I didn’t need to speak. She looked into my eyes and she knew what I wanted her to do. She lay back.

  I looked at her for a while. Her brunette hair fanned out around her, the shocking pink tips no longer seeming wild to me. They were an indication of India. At first glance she hadn’t stood out from the crowd but when I’d studied her further it had become clear that she had something very special indeed. Her cheeks were rosy red, she had her eyes closed in anticipation of what was to come. Her neck white, with one darkening bruise shockingly apparent just above her collarbone. I had marked her. My cock jumped at that realization.

  My gaze swept lower, over her chest, the soft mounds of her breasts tipped with raspberry-red nipples that called to me to eat them. Bending over her, I took each nipple into my mouth one at a time, heeding their siren call. I dipped onto her stomach. She tensed, but I smoothed my hands over her hips and kissed across and down. Her stomach was beautiful just like the rest of her. Soft and giving with the cutest little belly button, which I couldn’t resist dipping my tongue into. She giggled and wiggled her legs around me. I repeated the action and this time she moaned, tightening her thighs to my body.

  I played with the indentation for a while, mimicking the movements of oral sex until she was writhing against me. Then I moved on, her legs stilled and she groaned in frustration. A wicked smile played on my lips as I continued my trail down her stomach and onto the soft hair of her pubic mound.

  I kissed with gentle purpose, the curls tickling my lips and nose. Her thighs fell wider the farther I journeyed over her skin. I didn’t know if it was a conscious move but it encouraged me lower, faster. Her warm fragrance made my senses reel with desire. She smelled of soft, warm bread and honey. I wanted to dive in and eat her up, to savor those flavors.