Lady Waverly's Lovers

by Jess Michaels

  He caught her hands and drew her back toward the settee I had specially placed earlier. It was turned toward my hiding place so that I could see everything. Christopher stripped her of her clothing before she could protest and I leaned closer. Yes, my dear friend was as pretty as I knew she would be. She had full, round breasts, a trim waist and blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.

  “Pretty,” Christopher growled. “Lay back and spread your legs.”

  She didn’t argue, just stumbled backward and did as she had been ordered, but her eyes never left Christopher as he stripped out of his own clothing. I imagine his muscular body was a far cry from the fat softness of her husband. My palms itched to slide down his sculpted back, to cup his muscular buttocks, to slip a finger against the crease between and hear him moan.

  Instead, I resigned myself to watching with the knowledge that when Christopher took me tonight, it would be with the memory of these moments fresh in both our minds.

  He knelt before her on the floor and placed his hands against her shoulders. She hissed out a breath through her teeth and her back arched with just that slight touch. Oh, yes, if she was so responsive to only that, he would have her sobbing out his name in no time. I clutched a fist against the wall as I watched him glide his hands down, cupping her breasts and strumming her rosy red nipples to hard perfection.

  “Oh, yes, yes,” Diana gasped as her head lolled against the settee pillows.

  Christopher looked up at her, then over his shoulder right at my hidden vantage point. He smiled, his face telling me that this show was just for me, then he grasped Diana’s hips and yanked her to the edge of the settee. Before she could protest, he buried his head between her legs and dragged his tongue over her slit. Angling his head so I could see every stroke, he worked at her, suckling her folds, tonguing the sweet channel, lapping her from the rosebud of her bottom to the hard nub of her clit. My own clit thrummed in time to the torment and I felt each stroke like it was my pussy he was eating.

  Diana arched and shivered beneath his tongue, her hand clenching into his hair, her feet flexing, heels digging into the woven rug with pleasure.

  “Do you like this, Diana?” Christopher murmured between wet strokes of his hot tongue.

  “Oh, oh,” she moaned, her back arching.

  “Tell me you love it,” he ordered and my clit throbbed. His domineering nature always made me ache. “Tell me you would have me do this anywhere I pleased if I let you come.”

  “Anywhere,” she moaned, her whole body shaking with impending release. My hand stole between my legs and I massaged my own body. “Just let me have this.”

  “You would have me eat you for dessert in front of the whole party.”

  Her eyes went wide at the thought, but she cried out, “Yes!”

  “You would offer me your pussy in Hyde Park.”

  “Please!”

  “You would let me do this to you while your husband watched,” Christopher growled.

  “I want him to see,” she screamed. “Please, please!”

  With a groan of his own, Christopher sucked her clit hard and pressed two thick fingers into her sheath. I shivered as Diana arched up and her body spasmed uncontrollably. She screamed, she cursed, she slammed her hips against him as she came loud enough that anyone nearby surely heard her pleasure.

  But Christopher was not through. He rose up, wrapping her legs around him even as she continued to shake and shiver and impaled her with one long thrust. She sobbed, tears of release streaming down her face as he pulled back and slammed into her again. I watched the toned muscles of his backside work as he smashed her against the settee and fucked her as a woman needed to be fucked, took her like she hadn’t known was possible.

  She came a second time, rubbing against him like a cat and moaning against his shoulder. Still, he was not satisfied. He pulled her out of her as her shudders subsided. In the firelight I saw the sparkling glisten of her juices on the long length of his cock. A moan nearly escaped my lips at the sight, but I managed to keep my wanton reaction in check.

  He yanked her to her feet. She stumbled, but he balanced her as he took her around behind the settee and wrapped her fingers around the back so that she was facing the picture where I watched them.

  “Hold tight,” he murmured against her ear before he positioned himself behind her.

  She was too weak and filled with pleasure to argue. She fisted the back of the settee, lifting her ass to him in mute offering. He grasped her hips, lifting his eyes to where I watched as he filled her pussy again. She wailed with pleasure, her knuckles whitening as he fucked her mercilessly. Hard. He cupped her breasts as he filled her, pressing them together, lifting them so I could see the flush of release across them, the sheen of sweat.

  “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Finger yourself while I fuck you.”

  Diana unclenched one fist and immediately cupped her own mound. Her body trembled as she parted her folds and fingered her clit.

  “Fuck yes,” Christopher groaned, shutting his eyes and throwing back his head as he stroked into her long and hard and slow. Faster. Faster still. And finally, just as Diana screamed again, thrusting back against him as she came a third time, he pulled free of her and spent his hot seed against her arching back so that I could see his pleasure.

  She collapsed across the back of the settee, gasping for air as she shivered with the power of their joining. Christopher sent me a glance, then ran his fingers along her spine.

  “You were very good, dearest Diana,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. He darted the tip out to taste the delicate shell and she lurched with immediate response. “I know many men who would kill to share your bed, to take you just as I have.”

  Diana stood up and there was an entirely new light in her eyes. Where she had once been timid and afraid, now she was bold. Where she had been meek, there was a fire.

  “Many?” she said with a curious arch of her brow. “Here?”

  Christopher smiled as he drew her sweaty, naked body against his own and pressed a hard, hot kiss against her open mouth. I trembled with the force of my desire as I watched their tongues duel.

  “Oh yes, sweet. Many here and I will introduce you to several tomorrow to choose from. You will be well pleasured before this weekend is over, and likely have a lover or two for your amusement in London, as well.” He smiled as he handed over her dress. “It is a gift, from Eve and me. Now go into her dressing room and refresh yourself. I will see you back downstairs with the rest of the party.”

  Diana nodded like a good girl and made her way to my dressing room. When the door had shut behind her, Christopher went to the wall where I hid and looked directly into the hidden slats where I had watched everything.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” he whispered.

  “Oh, darling,” I replied. “I am soaked with desire.”

  “Good.” He smiled and there was such wicked intent in his bright green eyes that I would have promised him anything for his touch at that moment. “But you know the rule. No coming until I touch you, Eve. Because all the times I made your friend come?” He leaned even closer. “I will make you come three times as many tonight if you come to me with a gushing pussy waiting to be licked clean.”

  Then he grabbed his clothing and went to his own dressing room, leaving me wet and panting. And now, I must close this entry in my recounting of our delicious country party. I hear my dearest love calling to me, so I must go and collect my reward.

  The Colonel’s Punishment

  June 15, 1812

  This year’s party truly is a revelation! I invited people hoping for our usual pleasures, but my guests have far exceeded my wildest expectations. I think the most unexpected experiences have come from Colonel Henshaw.

  How can I describe him? He is a man of no more than six and thirty, with a severe expression permanently attached to his face. He has the stiff rigidity of a military man whose emotions are never w
orn on his sleeve. But he is undeniably handsome, with a strong body that any lady would want to explore.

  The first night of our gathering, he spoke at length about his time in India and his exposure to a book called the Kama Sutra. Apparently the tome is an erotic exploration of sexual spirituality. I’d heard of it, of course, but not seen a copy. His descriptions, though, were enough to wet my body and my appetites. Later that night, he put on a show with Lady Greyton, but I was, as I described earlier, otherwise engaged.

  In truth, the man is more Christopher’s friend than mine, so imagine my surprise when I entered my private parlor tonight and found the Colonel waiting for me. He was naked, gloriously so and I enjoyed the show enormously. That strong body that is hinted beneath his clothing is most magnificent and well-toned from years of labor. And his cock. Oh, my. It is thick and long and such a spectacle when hard and curled against his rippled stomach.

  I met his eyes in the firelight and saw a flicker of something…dominant. Immediately I recognized the game we would play and thrilled at it.

  “Sir,” I cried. “What are you doing in my chamber?”

  Of course, all along I was reaching behind me to lock my door so we would not be disturbed. He smiled when I did it and nodded to me before his face grew hard.

  “I’ve seen you looking at me,” he proclaimed. “I have noticed the lust in your eyes.”

  “No.” The lie fell from my lips with ease. “I’m a well-born lady, sir, not a whore.”

  He moved on me, his heat preceding the steel of his form and surrounding me. “Oh yes, you are a whore. And you must be punished.”

  “Punished?” I asked and the fear in my voice wasn’t all pretended for the game. “No!”

  “Yes. Now, come here.”

  His tone was so sharp, I couldn’t deny him. In truth, I didn’t want to. His already generous cock had swelled even more and I wanted to feel it stretch me.

  I walked across the room to him and stopped just in front of him, awaiting further instruction as my hands trembled at my sides.

  “Talk off your gown,” he ordered. “Let me see the whore marks on you.”

  I nodded. He would see, all right. Even so early in the games, I was covered in light love nibbles and tell-tale bruises.

  My gown fastened in front so I unhooked it. I went slowly, too, pretending my meekness made me shy when that was far from the truth. The silken gown finally fell around my feet and the Colonel sucked in his breath through his teeth. I smiled despite our game, enjoying how his bright blue eyes dilated with want. Need.

  “Now the chemise,” he snapped.

  I shook my head. “Never, sir! You shall have to tear it from me.”

  His eyes rushed to my face and he sneered. “Don’t tempt me.”

  “I shall not yield,” I whispered back, even as I jutted out my breasts on display.

  He caught the neckline of my undergarment and ripped. The fabric was thin and he was strong, so he wrenched it in two immediately, baring me as he pushed the fabric away to flutter to the floor.

  “Now tell me your sins,” he ordered.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He caught my arms and drew me against him. I felt the heat of his breath against my lips and my eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of the kiss to come. But he didn’t kiss me. Instead he dragged me back, sat down in one of the chairs by the fire and flipped me over his knee.

  I had never been in such a position before. He held me firmly with one hand while the other slid over the naked globes of my ass. And oh, that touch. My God, that touch. Like silk. But with steel beneath. Rather like the hard cock that probed my belly as I lay helpless as a child.

  “Tell. Me. Your. Sins,” he repeated succinctly.

  “No,” But this time my whispered response trembled. In lust. In fear. In anticipation.

  He swung his hand back and then whacked me across my backside hard enough that I saw stars before my eyes. I cried out at the shock and pain of his strike, but also the arousal it brought. He caressed the ill-used skin and the gentleness after the violence made my wet pussy clench.

  “Tell me what you’ve done, my lovely whore,” he demanded, his tone as silky as his touch.

  “I-I have sucked men,” I whispered at last. “Sucked them dry with my mouth.”

  He slapped me against across the backside and I jolted with pleasure-pain.

  “And?” he urged, stoking me again.

  “I have licked a woman,” I continued. “Licked her until she came and came while another man watched.”

  Thwack came his hand again, followed by the gentle, soft caress on the rapidly throbbing skin.

  “And?”

  “I have ridden men to completion.”

  “How many, my lady?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing each one and becoming more excited with their memories imposed upon this punishment. “Four?”

  He slapped me once, twice, three times, four in rapid succession and I yelped.

  “Oh, please!” I murmured.

  “Stop or don’t stop?” he asked as he stroked my bottom and then let his fingers slide lower. He parted my legs from behind and firmly cupped my dripping sex.

  I moaned as his rough flesh touched me.

  “You are so wet, my lady,” he murmured. “Your body acts as if you were made for punishment.”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I gasped. “Made for it. I am wicked and I want to be punished.”

  He made a low growl and slapped me one last time before he released my hands and stood me up. He rose and turned me roughly, marching me toward the settee. He shoved me into the back of it and I clasped it with both hands to keep from tumbling over it.

  “I will not spare you the rod,” he vowed as he slammed my legs apart and pounded inside of me with one hard thrust of his thick cock.

  I cried out at the invasion for it came with no warning, but also no resistance. I was soaked with need and he filled me to his hilt.

  “You will not come, my lady,” he growled as he began to circle his hips against me. “Until I say you may.”

  “I won’t,” I promised, though I was already on the edge of powerful release. But I would try to be good. Or wicked. It was all jumbled by then.

  Oh, but how he took me. Hard and furious, without surrender, without mercy. And I met his every stroke with one of my own, gripping him, grinding back against him. All the while my pleasure built and built. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, that the stimulation he had created with his spankings had me too close to the edge even before he slammed himself inside of me.

  “I want to obey,” I cried out. “But I am so close to coming.”

  He slowed his strokes immediately and I looked back over my shoulder at him. He had a thoughtful look on his face, contemplating my plea, I suppose.

  “You will suck me for all to see later,” he ordered. “At supper tomorrow, perhaps.”

  “Yes, yes!” I cried. “I will do anything.”

  “Come,” he growled.

  The moment the word rasped from his lips, my body exploded with pleasure and I bucked endlessly against him.

  He growled in pleasure and as my orgasm subsided, he yanked free of my quaking body and sprayed his seed across my sore ass and back. Leaning forward, he rubbed fluids into my skin, branding me, marking me with his scent.

  I practically purred as I collapsed against the back of the settee and as I looked at him over my shoulder again, he smiled.

  “I will see you at supper tomorrow, my lady.”

  Without another word, he strutted from the room, only pausing to gather his abandoned clothing. He left me weak, trembling and ready to do as he asked. Tomorrow night cannot come fast enough.

  Three

  June 16, 1812

  I have been watching Quinton Uppington for years. It is virtually impossible not to watch him. In a world of pampered dandies, he is a well-muscled self-made ma
n who declares the rail is the future. Though he is ridiculously rich, he still has the scars and the feel of the street to recommend him. When I began to hear rumors about his…proclivities, I was skeptical. But the more people of my sphere whispered, the more I began to wonder.

  Could it truly be that handsome, virile Quinton Uppington enjoyed men and women in equal measure?

  Titillated, I invited him to our country party with Christopher’s orders to find out the truth.

  I watched him the first few days, marking his attentions and trying to guess his needs. I saw him play quite vigorously with Lady Luna, who he had in the hallway against the wall one bright morning as I watched and from a parlor. But I also saw him cast glances at some of my more handsome footmen.

  I dared to begin to believe the rumors and tonight I put my plan into action. After supper, when the pleasures began, I placed myself near Mr. Uppington and asked him about his well-known interest in art. Uppington’s eyebrows lifted and he tore his gaze away from the lusty passions of some of our couples.

  “You ask me about art, my lady?” he said with a sardonic smile. “With such things before you?”

  “Isn’t some of this art?” I asked, taking his hand. He glanced at our intertwined fingers and his smile widened as I believe he guessed my intent. “Would you liked to see my husband’s favorite…piece?”

  “Indeed, for I have heard much about it,” Uppington said, placing a hand on my back. “Lead the way.”

  I did, sending Christopher a wink as we left the room. He smiled, though it was labored. After all, at that very moment he was being stroked by one lady while another rubbed herself against him and nibbled his ears.

  I took Quinton to the exhibition hall that was lined with portraits and landscapes from fine artists. But as we entered the hallway and I shut the door behind us, Uppington didn’t look at the art. He shoved me roughly against the door and his mouth found mine.

  I surrendered to his kiss, which was fiery and passionate. He leaned against me and his hardness drove into my belly, making me wild with wanting.