by Fox, Georgia
"Have a cake," he urged, sliding one of the pretty fondant mouthfuls onto her plate. "I know you want one. I see you have a sweet-tooth. Go ahead." He smiled. "Since I'll be loosening your corset in a few minutes, you can manage one little cake."
"You're very self-assured, Mr. Wilder."
"I've wanted to taste you since you walked into the room," he added softly, tapping her little notebook on the tablecloth and then sliding it away inside his jacket. "I have the most intense desire to feel my cock all the way inside you and I'm going to have it there, one way or the other." He paused, grinned. "Perhaps both ways."
"I told you there is nothing important in that book." She lifted her little cake fork, her gaze sweeping guiltily to the side, probably to check whether anyone still watched. "I don't care if you keep it. You will learn nothing."
Another fib, he mused, watching her little pearl earrings tremble as she took her first dainty bite from the fork. Her movements were very precise. Like those of someone who'd studied, practiced, perfected. As if her mannerisms were all acquired, none of them bred in her or coming naturally. She took one more bite, swallowed and then set her fork down.
"Look inside the notebook then," she challenged boldly. "See for yourself."
But he'd seen the flutter of anxiety deep in her eyes the moment he picked the book up. She'd been quicker at reaching for it than at doing anything else and when he beat her to it, he heard the angry inhale between her teeth before she composed herself again. He knew she wouldn't carry that book around with her unless she had somewhere more secure to leave it. Evidently she felt safer with it on her person, and she carried very few things—only necessities.
"Mrs. Kent," he said softly. "Do come upstairs and enjoy an afternoon's recreation with me."
"What recreation could you have in mind?"
"Fucking."
"How very....straightforward and Anglo-Saxon."
He watched her lips as she licked them. "You won't be sorry."
"Since we're being very forthright, I can tell you this—I don't fuck."
"You mean, not currently? For how long?"
"My dear, departed husband," she replied curtly, "passed away six years ago."
"Really? Then you must be in need. Spend the afternoon with me and then you can have your notebook back."
She blinked, rolled her lips together, sucked in her cheeks.
"Just one afternoon," he coaxed gently, "and you and I never have to meet again. In fact, nobody need know we ever met."
"Forgive me, I have a skeptical soul."
"Does anyone here know you?" he demanded.
The woman glanced around the dining room and then shook her head.
"See? We can have a perfectly carefree few hours in my suite. Then you get your book back."
"What about Nicholas?"
"At Claridges, probably flirting with someone he met there, while waiting for you." He smiled. "Like father, like son."
Perhaps he ought to tell her he wasn't really that boy's father, but he and Nick's mother were the only souls who knew the truth and he'd promised to keep the secret. Now, after twenty one years of pretending, he often forgot Nick wasn't really his son. He had no plans to marry and sire legitimate offspring of his own, so why shouldn't the abandoned boy be his heir? Despite the scandal, the Charming family had embraced the child whole-heartedly. Thanks to Nick's existence, Brandon's duty for the future generation was done, leaving him free and unfettered to enjoy his life without a nagging, sulking wife anywhere near it.
This strange creature - this Mrs. Kent— was anxious to keep her secrets, so he'd keep his.
Watching her face, he reached inside his jacket for the little notebook. "I could just take a look at this...." He flipped it open. In a split second her hand reached across and came down on his, flattening the book before he could read it.
"Very well," she whispered tautly. "We'll discuss this in private."
"Excellent idea, Mrs. Kent." He smiled broadly. "But do please finish your cake. Plenty of time."
At the thought of the afternoon ahead of them a jolt of desire teased his cock. Did she have some sort of magic in her possession? With one cool glance she'd teased his serpent into life like an Indian snake charmer. He was going to enjoy this very much. So was she.
Five in the Afternoon
November 22nd
"Mr. Wilder, let's get another thing straight," she spun around as she entered the suite, "I am not..."
He was very close on her heels, shutting the door behind him. "Not what?"
"The sort of woman you appear to assume I am."
But she'd seen the way he studied the items she carried in her reticule. Who knew what he'd concluded about her. He was very observant. Look how he'd picked apart even the way she removed her gloves!
"You are, however, a very tightly bound lady," he muttered. "In need of an afternoon's recreational delights. In my hands." He reached up and began to unpin her hat. Drusilla quickly brushed him aside and did it herself, walking away from him at the same time, casting a quick eye over the room. Very nice for a man who supposedly lived life on the edge. Clearly he still liked his comforts and must have found a way to afford them.
She tossed her hat and reticule onto the couch. "What have you been doing all these years away? Your father didn't seem to know much."
"I'm surprised he even mentioned me." Already his fingers skipped with agility over his waistcoat buttons. Like his son he wasted no time, she mused wryly. Couldn't help wondering if he shared certain other attributes with Nicholas. Her gaze wandered down his tall length. He was not so lean as his son. His shoulders were broader, his form much more solid, his skin darkened by the sun of foreign climes, but he had the same breezy manner, same arrogance, same determination in the set of his jaw. "I spent my time away working, Mrs. Kent. Had to earn my living. I worked in a mine in the jungles of Brazil for a time. I also worked on the railroad. See these hands." He briefly held them up for her perusal. "Not the soft, lily-white hands of an English gentleman are they? I wonder which you prefer."
She did not reply.
Soon his waistcoat and shirt were flung aside and he stood before her in only his worn corduroy trousers. The bulge stretching from groin to navel was impressive. One might even say...indulgent.
"May I have my notebook now?" she asked coolly, while inside, under her drawers, she was anything but cold.
"Not yet." He followed her around the couch. "In a while."
Drusilla waited and let him reach her. It was rare for her to take the passive path of least resistance, but here she was quite incapable of preventing what happened. She was incapable because... she wanted it. Oh, hellfire and damnation! Why did he have to tempt her?
When he snapped out, "Take off your jacket," she did so gladly, already beginning to feel the heat of desire, turning to perspiration under her clothes.
To her surprise his hands did not go to the buttons down the back of her blouse. Instead he lifted her skirts and petticoats. "Bend over the couch, Mrs. Kent." He was right behind her, his groin pressed against her bustle, his hands on her waist.
She knew it would be almost impossible in her rigid corset. "No please? We're not in the jungle now, Mr. Wilder."
He chuckled deeply. It went right through her, like a glass of intoxicating wine. "Of course! How remiss of me. I've been so long away from society. I really must remember my manners."
"Yes. You should." Might as well teach him something while she was there. "What about my corset?"
"If you're a good girl, I'll let you loosen it. Eventually," he whispered, his warm breath brushing her ear, shaking the little pearl earring. He moved his hips, grinding against her backside. Even through all her ruffles she felt that enormous erection, still trapped inside his trousers, raring to be freed. Something caught in her throat. She didn't know if it was fear, anxiety or joyful anticipation. Her pussy moistened rapidly, having no qualm about what it was willing to take on.
Ver
y slowly she bent over the back of the couch. She was forced to bend from the hips, because her waist was cinched by the rigid whalebones, and also his large, strong hands.
It felt like forever, as she hung there and he rubbed against her, their clothing in the way. Then, finally, he stepped back, his hands left her waist and he was hoisting her garments up over her thighs and hips. He jerked her silk drawers down and they fell to her ankles. Now she knew he was looking at her stocking tops, her garters and her bared bottom.
"Legs apart," he murmured.
She complied, her drawers around her ankles. It was a good thing he could not see her red face, she thought. He might think she blushed, but it was only the blood rushing to her head as she dangled over the hotel couch and he put his hands on her arse to spread her cheeks.
And then she felt his wet tongue pressed to her anus. Her eyelashes fluttered shut. She bit her lip. He wriggled his tongue against her tight hole and she felt herself softening, opening, full of want. She parted her legs further and heard his grunt of approval. His broad thumb stroked her damp pussy while he continued laving her arse-hole with his hot, lusty tongue.
Oh how did she get here, she thought suddenly. Twenty minutes ago she was nibbling on a dainty fondant cake and sipping tea. Thinking how rude and obnoxious he was. Now he pried and teased his way into her body and she allowed it. Welcomed it. She was writhing against his tongue, pushing back, asking for more.
His chin scruff rubbed on her swollen pussy lips and he kissed her there, firmly pressing his mouth to her labia. Then a finger slid inside her readied cunt. She was so primed that it moved in and out easily, allowing him to quickly add a second finger. Drusilla exhaled a sharp gasp as he worked those fingers back and forth, resuming a deliberate teasing assault on her anus —licking it, flicking his tongue against the puckered hole while he felt for her core with his work-roughened fingertips and tantalized her pussy until she could no longer control the motion of her swaying hips. Her breath was shallow. The corset barely allowed any air into her lungs at the best of times. Now she was light-headed. Had to clutch the back of the couch or risk melting, fainting.
He slid his fingers out of her and his thumb swept up, covered in her sticky dew, to push at her anus. She knew he was standing now, felt his body heat over her, heard the excited rhythm of his breath. With his free hand he must be unbuttoning his trousers. She wished she could see. Looking around the hotel suite, she found a mirror on the far wall. It wasn't quite angled sufficiently to catch the full view, but she saw his face as he strained to control himself. His mouth was slack, his lips wet, his eyes wild when he looked down at her.
"It is a great injustice, Mrs. Kent. A beautiful woman like yourself—a woman built for passion, yet starved of intercourse for six years. You must have many sexual thoughts and needs built up."
She said nothing, too busy admiring his reflection in the mirror.
"Tell me your fantasy, Mrs. Kent. What would you most like this afternoon? Your wish is my command."
She was startled. No one ever asked her what she wanted from sex. It was her job to serve, not to enjoy herself too much.
"One thing you would like to do," he urged, his voice low and gruff.
"I...don't know." She couldn't think in that moment.
His thumb pushed into her arse and she groaned, shifting her feet to keep her balance. In the far mirror she watched a slight smile turn up one corner of his thin lips. Suddenly he thrust forward, almost knocking her over the couch head first. Several of her hair pins loosened and a lock of brown hair tumbled free down the side of her face. His broad cockhead breached her opening with no further ado, forcing deeper into her sheath with the second thrust. Drusilla had never felt this full in her life. The tight corset squeezing her in above served to accentuate the sensation of her lower half being pinned, penetrated, ravished.
"What is it you would like?" He wasn't giving up. "Your wickedest desire will be fulfilled here and now."
She cried out as he thrust a third time, fitting yet more of his cock inside her. How much more could there be? He would have to loosen her corset if there was a half inch more to come, because it felt as if he was in her belly already. She trembled. Sweat coated her body, dampening her clothes.
"Completely anonymous sex," she gasped out finally. "A man I don't know and will never see again." Oh, Lord, why did she tell him that? She had a great many sexual fantasies but they'd all been locked away. This was the first thought that came to her and it spilled out as he began to fuck her from behind, grabbing her hips and finding the rhythm, his corduroy trousers slowly crumpled against the back of her thighs.
"I don't count as a stranger, I suppose," he grunted.
She shook her head.
"What would he do to you first then? Describe it to me."
"Lick...lick...me."
His pace quickened, his sac grinding against her each time his full manhood drove home. "Lick what?"
"My...sex...I...want..." It was getting harder to speak as the fucking continued. "Both."
"Both?"
"You and... a ...ouch...a stranger."
"Very nice, Mrs. Kent," he growled, each word falling from his mouth as if pushed out with the forward thrusts.
"Glad you like it," she replied, breathless. "Please unlace my corset."
"Not yet."
Now he held his thumb again between her arse cheeks, while his cock still plundered deep, stretching her pussy, possessing it as no man had in a long while. He wriggled his thumb, forcing it into her bottom. She yelped as his pace quickened, his shaft working like a piston, balls slapping against her sopping wetness, the sound incredibly loud in that hotel suite. His thumb was all the way in her arse now, squeezing through, claiming her.
"Where would you like my deposit most? I assume you wish for me to withdraw from your cunt before I spill."
"If you don't mind," she replied sardonically. Glancing upward she saw him in the mirror again. This time he too had caught the reflection. Their eyes met.
"I'm going to fuck you all afternoon, Mrs. Kent. I hope you won't object to finding my seed inside you. All over you."
"Do not come inside me."
"Not here perhaps." He thrust again, his cock hard as marble inside her vagina. "Somewhere else."
"As you wish."
Their eyes still held in the mirror. He slid his prick out of her, leaving Drusilla on the verge of orgasm. "As I wish? Hmmm. How generous. Can this hole take me?" He wriggled his thumb again and she gasped
"No." Her pussy throbbed, sulking at his sudden withdrawal.
"I think, yes. I've prepared it quite well and it has expanded most obliging around my thumb. Shall we try widening it a little further?"
It was odd for her to be on the receiving end these days. She should be the one inserting objects into his anus, while spanking him with a paddle.
Before she could formulate any sort of answer that wouldn't make her sound too eager, there was a knock at the door of his suite. To Drusilla's mortification, he shouted, "Enter."
The door was to the right of the couch. By dropping her head between her arms she hid her face from the new arrival. She could not, however, hide what was being done to her. Brandon paused, his thighs hard against the back of her legs, his cock sheathed again by her pussy, his trousers probably around his ankles by then and certainly no modesty left for her.
"Ah yes," she heard him say. "Thank you. I did call for a barber and it completely slipped my mind."
"Shall I...return later, sir?"
"No, no. Come in. I'm nearly finished."
She cursed under her breath. Brandon must have heard her, for he laughed softly and then resumed his motion, balls smacking into her with every forceful thrust. To her left there were sounds of small wheels squeaking closer and then items moved about on a tray, followed by water pouring and the quick sweep of a razor being sharpened on a strap. Through it all, Brandon Wilder pounded in and out of her sopping wet pussy and she felt th
e waves of climax mounting. He moved his thumb even deeper in her arse and leaned over her spine to whisper, "You have my permission to come, Madam. The barber is watching my cock ream your lovely pink pussy with great interest."
She made an attempt to restrain her need.
"I'm going to have him shave me. While he's here, can this stranger do anything for you? The fellow looks keen enough. He's practically salivating right now." He raised his voice. "Pretty piece of cunny, isn't she?"
After a pause, the other man answered, "Indeed, sir. Very."
"I wager you wouldn't mind a little yourself, eh?"
"I'm sorry sir, I should avert my eyes until you are done."
"Not at all, man. Look as much as you like. The lady doesn't mind. Do you darling?" Brandon leaned forward again and kissed her neck, just above the lace collar of her gown. "I want to come in your mouth," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin.
She moaned softly in assent.
"If you climax now, he'll see it." He chuckled and it tickled the little curly hairs at the nape of her neck. "He must be stiff as a pikestaff under that apron. He's admiring every inch of you."
Drusilla came in a rush, squeezing her pussy walls on his rock hard cock, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Still the man inside her held off his own orgasm. He slowed his strokes until he'd pulled out of her quivering cunt altogether. "Would you mind coming over here and helping the lady out of her corset?" he asked calmly of the barber. "I don't seem to have a free hand."
She opened her eyes cautiously, but didn't raise her head. From her pose hanging over the back of the couch, she could just see a pair of black clad legs and a barber's apron as the other man moved into view and stood before her. The stranger would not recognize her and as long as Brandon did not refer to her by name she might get away with anonymity. It was naughty, daring. It was extremely...exciting. Just like the man himself. Even her vivid fantasies about Brandon Wilder had never quite matched this. Not quite.
Fingers fumbled at the buttons down the back of her blouse and then over her corset laces. Finally— wondrous relief. She saw the barber's apron lifted by a prominent bulge in his trousers. He certainly was keen, she mused.