His Lordships Daughter

by de'Ville, Brian A

  185

  His Lordship’s Daughter

  By

  Stewart Vaughan

  And

  Brian de’Ville

  Chapter 1

  The youth blushing awkwardly, nervously looked around as the girl grabbed his arm, pulling him, to the stable floor. Slowly but deftly she eased the zip on his denim trousers, slid her fingers inside, then scratched the muscled stomach with her sharp nails.

  “For crying out loud, Ms Phyllipa, if I’m caught here with you, I’ll lose my job.” He protested, making a half-hearted attempt to break away.

  “You worry too much.” Phyllipa whispered, wrapping her warm hands around his stiffening manhood. “If you’re not going to use this, what’s it for?”

  The groom jerked himself upright. “What’s it for?” He echoed, “What’s it for? It’s the way we’re made isn’t it?”

  Phyllipa shook her head. “I am not made like that.” She argued “Look!” quickly standing; she pulled her riding skirt up around her waist revealing her nakedness, then spreading her legs, straddled the agitated youth. Gasping with excitement, his face crimsoned as his twenty year old sexual shove moved into the first division of its libidinal ladder. Choking back a cry, his hands reached out to roughly pull the girl down. He was young and inexperienced, but his lack of finesse was augmented by his animal roughness. Breathing heavily, he sprawled on top of her. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Phyllipa suddenly asked. Cursing he lifted his head.

  “What?”

  She glared at him “Condom!”

  Pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans he pulled a rubber sheath from a paper packet, then with impatient hands rolled it down over his engorged penis. “Will that do you?” he growled angrily.

  Phyllipa smiled. “Admirably” she said, closing her eyes, as her gaping body felt him plunge into her. For a while she lay there enjoying the frenzied thrusting. Suddenly, he grunted, his loins worked faster and faster, smashing down on her pelvic girdle in a vain attempt to force as much of himself into her as he possibly could. His nostrils stretched, his face twisted in an animal snarl, wrenching his lips back to reveal gritted teeth, which flashed in the half gloom as he desperately struggled to prolong his own enjoyment. But, his effort was wasted. One more gigantic plunge and Phyllipa felt his exhausted body collapse onto her body.

  For a moment or two the youth lay still, his head lifted as he sprang to his feet. Staggering, he attempted to hoist his trousers from around his ankles then limping badly, hobbled from the building, leaving Phyllipa aroused but stranded, completely unsatisfied.

  “Damn! Damn! Damn!” she shouted, loudly, pulling straw from her blonde hair as her eyes followed her impatient lover. Abruptly, a horse snickered, scraping his hoof on the concrete floor, then coughed as Phyllipa stood up, walked through into the tack room, where she removed a Spanish saddle from its last. Quickly, but with accustomed ease, she threw it over the back of her favourite horse, heaving the girth strap tight. Pulling herself up into the saddle, she snuggled herself comfortably into the cool leather. The saddle was very special to the rider, it was fitted with an oversized pommel, specially designed to assist pampas gauchos roping wayward cattle. Made from wood, covered in hand stitched leather, it was smooth, cold and beautifully polished.

  Nudging her mount, they left the stable yard where she settled the horse into a comfortable trot. Then, stretching the arch of her loins even wider snugged her open self against the base of the leathered pommel, rubbing her throbbing unsatisfied flesh against its coolness, synchronising her movements to the rhythm of the horse.

  Immediately, her nipples loading themselves with blood attempted to torpedo their way through her jumper, but with an impatient wave of her arm, quickly pulling the garment over her head, she threw it to the ground. The moving wind played around her bared breasts, teasing the perfection of their symmetry as the bounced up and down on her chest. It stung her agitated flesh, causing her to whoop with delight as she spurred the horse into a gallop increasing the fiery tempo between her legs as wave upon wave of erotic delight permeated her body.

  Pushing herself even further into the pommel, her skirt snagged on a brass buckle. Desperately, ripping the side buttons open, she flung the garment away, leaving her completely naked apart from her riding boots.

  Shouting with happiness as and rider raced through the privacy of her father’s estate, she stood up in the saddle, removed her feet from the stirrups, the dropped heavily down on the peak of the pommel. The excruciating pain travelled the length and breadth of her body as her yawning orifice took the brunt of the fall, but the delicious agony also sent her to the peak of her first orgasm of the day. Phyllipa moaned, then opening her mouth screamed with unadulterated pleasure as rivers of shivering excitement poured through her very soul. The stiffness of the trees became giant phalluses, the domes of wheat drying kilns became glittering penis heads burnished by the early sun, back clothed by row after row of nippled breasts as she tore through the countryside, squealing with gratification as her body worked itself even harder against the pommel head.

  It was the stumbling of the horse which brought her back from her sexual jaunt. Suddenly she found herself slipping over her mounts shoulders, but with a giant heave, borne from years in the saddle, righted herself. Immediately calling on the horse to stop, she gazed around. The trees became trees again, the drying kilns looked boringly familiar and the skyline straightened itself. Slipping from the sticky saddle, she walked the horse on a few paces, checking for damage to its legs. Bending down, she was examining its hocks when a shadow fell across her sight. Turning her head in surprise, she found her father’s Estate Manager astride his horse looking at her intently. Whilst she had been concerned for her own mount, they had trotted up quietly and she had failed to hear or see them. on his saddle hung her discarded clothing.

  Snatching them, he flung them to the ground at her feet. “You’ll be needing them,!” ,with a reproving tone in his voice. “There’s a bit of a chill in the air this morning!” Phyllipa wanted to giggle, from her waist down, her vibrating body still felt as if it was on fire. Straightening herself up, she spread her legs, thrust her breasts out, looked defiantly at him, and felt slightly victorious when his penetrating gaze fell away as his face coloured up. “What’s wrong Miller? Haven’t you ever seen a named woman before? Perhaps you don’t like my footwear, eh? I thought they may turn you on, oh well, in that case I’ll take them off.” Unlacing her riding boots, she tore them from her feet, then lifting her legs high in the air, started to dance in dew laden grass.

  Miller’s horse snickered, blowing heavily down his nose as he shook his head vigorously, displaying the whites of his eyes as she approached, flinging her arms out like some nymph nature spirit. The Estate Manager growled at the animal, but Phyllipa’s body was now darting in and out brushing the horse’s head and he didn’t like it. Suddenly, screaming with fright, his forelegs climbed in the air causing the rider to slide over his hind quarters, toppling to the ground with a heavy thud. Whilst Phyllipa, her hands caressing her body with sensuous strokes danced on and on, throwing her head back as she screamed with uncontrollable laughter.

  The Estate Manager, glaring angrily at his horse which was now peacefully cropping grass, got to his feet and stared at her nakedness, his eyes suffused with sexual anxiety. Opening the buttons of his long leather riding coat, his strong fingers ripped the steel fastener down allowing his stiffening entrapped penis to spring out. Immediately, Phyllipa, who was watching him, stopped dancing to stare at the enormity of it. It was big, thick barrelled, and getting bigger. Striding over to her, his hands caught at her waist, bent her body forward,
unceremoniously, then with a word, drove his throbbing manhood deep inside her loins.

  Phyllipa, amused but still unsatisfied from her saddle safari gurgled with delight as she eagerly pressed her buttocks as hard as could against his frame in a desperate effort to receive his maximum, being immediately rewarded with a chain of upsurge orgasms undulating through her body which left her gasping for breath. Suddenly she screamed with frustration as the pumping penis was withdrawn. “No! No! Please don’t stop.” She cried, but the words died away as she felt her head wrenched around forcing her to kneel as the steaming wet phallus, dripping with her own strength rammed between her lips with such force it hit the back of her throat. Smiling, she breathed a sigh of relief as her tongue playfully sought out the pleasure glands, happily licking and sucking on the swollen head, greedily rolling it around her hungry mouth. Industriously, Miller see-sawed his penis backwards and forwards, then just as Phyllipa thought victory was hers, slowly withdrew it, pulled her down in the long grass and re-entered her primed body, pounding and probing her insatiable womb, causing her to squeal with delight as she spread herself even wider to accommodate everything on offer. His body laboured harder and harder before committing one final thrust causing him to drop heavily upon her as his contribution gushed.

  For a few moments they both lay there catching their breath, whilst somewhere in the early misty background a dog fox barked. The asthmatic sound drifted through the morning stillness causing Phyllipa to smile. She felt wonderfully happy, satisfied and saturated. This was her time of the day, her kind of country, her kind of life. Easing her clenched legs from around her lover’s waist, she opened her eyes to gaze into his face. “Thank you.” She said, kissing his mouth. The Estate Manager grunted, climbed to his feet, put his clothing in order, then catching his horse by the bridle, swung himself into the saddle. He looked down at her. “If I were you, Ms Phyllipa I would still put some clothing on, although it’s not quite so cold now, is it?”

  She watched as he touched his cap and rode away, and then lay there for a while in the rapidly drying grass, letting the cool breeze caress her exhausted body. “Now that is what I call an enjoyable morning ride.” She muttered, sighing loudly. “It beats the hell out of Spanish saddles!”

  Chapter 2

  The honourable Phyllipa Antonia Inchcape-Gore looked defiantly at her father. “So just because we don’t do it, you reckon that it cannot be done?”

  “I did not say that.” Henry Inchcape-Gore, the 14th Lord Hemingham, gazed fondly at his only daughter, who was on one of usual out of line foraging expeditions.

  “Just because the family didn’t choose to work, then I’m not supposed to right?” without waiting for an answer, Phyllipa threw her hand out, pointing at the portraits of her ancestors lining the walls of the library in their ancestral home. “Uncle Henry. Died at the age of fifty three! Cousin Charles. Dead at forty one! Uncle Bertie, didn’t get anywhere near his thirtieth birthday. Need I go on?”

  “Not really,” answered her father, shaking his head, resignedly. He has the argument many times from his forthright daughter. “For four hundred years, our family resolved that if work is inevitability, they would sooner do it with their brains than do it with their hands.”

  Phyllipa scowled and indicated the portraits again. “Not one of them died from brain fatigue,” She pointed out. “They all boozed themselves to death. permanent failure of the liver. In the short the D.T’s. And, do you know why?”

  Her father didn’t answer. He was giving her the floor, because he knew from experience that if he didn’t she would take it anyway.

  “They all drank themselves silly.. every last one of them. They were bored out of their minds and bored to death.”

  There was silence for a moment broken only by the rustling of the newspaper which her father was still intent on reading. “No one is stopping you doing it.” He went on “It’s just that the family would rather you stayed with the status quo.”

  His daughter bent her head and kissed his cheek. “Family?” she queried, a wry smile on her beautiful face. “There is only you and I left. Like it or not we are a two-some, Father.”

  Lord Hemingham, put his newspaper aside and looked at Phyllipa. “thanks to that drunken lot up there.” He said sarcastically, waving his hand at their forbears on the walls, “you have your own money and your trust fund comes of age when you do. You can do almost anything you wish. Travel the world, if you would rather.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I have already been around the globe four times.”

  “Five times is considered normal at our level.” Her father said.

  Phyllipa shook her head. “No thanks. I want to do something useful.”

  “You could get married and make your father a happy man.”

  His daughter frowned. “I don’t wish to get married. I am not in love with anyone and I am only twenty two years of age.”

  “Your mother married me when she was seventeen.” He said, softly and Phyllipa caught the faint catch in his voice as he cleared his throat to hide his emotion. He still hadn’t managed to lose the pain caused by her mother’s death in a car accident some fourteen years earlier. “Well,” she said, quickly, in an effort to lose the subject. “When I meet the right man, there will be wedding bells.” Her head shook almost wildly. “But, not until then.”

  “and what about Clive?”

  “What about Clive?” She asked.

  “He’s right for you, He’s stable, dependable, and he’s got the right pedigree.

  “And they are the essential ingredients for a successful marriage, are they?” she asked.

  “They would be a respectable start.”

  “What about love?”

  Her father shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure that Clive loves you.” He answered.

  A frown shadowed Phyllipa’s face. “Well I don’t love Clive.” She reported firmly. “And, I still think I would be better off doing work of some sort.”

  “If it’s a small manufacturing company that you require, I’ll get you one.”

  “I don’t want to own one. I would just like to work in one.”

  He sighed and rustled his paper again. “Alright!, if you wish to work then by all means, work. But, let me remind you once again, Phyllipa, it is not the family’s way of doing things”, a faint smile crossed his face. “Something tells me you won’t stick it for very long.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Phyllipa knew he was putting down a challenge. He had finally accepted she would do some work or other, so had changed the ground rules to suit himself. It went with the family logo, “Virtue by Chance.” “Good old father!” she murmured to herself. Now it was a tantamount dare. He was throwing down the gauntlet, knowing full well his daughter would pick it up.

  It was an old family tradition!

  She looked at him with a teasing smile on her face. “If it’s going to be a bet, then we’d better discuss the stakes.”

  Henry Inchcape-Gore looked at his daughter straight in the eye. “Your grandmothers diamond necklace, if you stick it out for twelve months.” No chopping or changing, Phyllipa. One job, one company, one year. Agreed?”

  her eyes narrowed as she studied the odds. It sounded simple but she knew it wouldn’t be. There were lots of if’s and buts’ in the deal. Studying her father’s face again, she hoped to read something which would tell her what he was up to, but, it was expressionless. Inwardly she was delighted that she got her own way at last. Of course she could have done what she wished without consulting her father, but she had no intentions of falling out with her only parent as she loved him dearly. Also she was rather surprised at the size of the ante. It wasn’t just a diamond necklace which grandma had left; it was six strands of cabochon sapphires, diamonds and black pearls.

  A prize worth winning!

  Making an instant decision she suddenly accepted the bet.

  “Done!” she exclaimed kissing her father’s cheek ag
ain, sealing the wager. “Now, it’s time for a shower and a change.” But, her father stopped her.

  “One moment! We both know what you get if I lose. What we don’t know is what I get if you lose?”

  Phyllipa stopped in her tracks. “Of course….” She whispered to herself….”I should have known.” Turning she faced her parent. “If I lose I promise to be married within twelve months. This is what you want. Isn’t it?”

  The 14th Lord Hemingham smiled and nodded his head agreeably. “That is exactly what I want, but, just one other thing, Phyllipa. In your search for the right man, should you lose, please leave my staff alone.”

  Phyllipa started in surprise as her memory shot back a notch. It had been three years since her dalliance with Miller, the Estate Manager, but she still recalled the incident with pride. Moved or pushed, he had since long gone, but there were some things in her life that refused to be forgotten, and he was one of them. She smiled as she remembered his actions that day. Actions which had logged themselves indelibly in her carnal register. “One day, perhaps….” She whispered to herself as she looked at her only parent again. “That remark is completely uncalled for, Father.” She cried. Disapprovingly, marching from the room.

  Chapter 3

  Steven Grant, Managing Director and sole owner of S.G Packaging, looked around the Despatch Department and frowned. It was Monday morning and the place looked as if a bomb had hit it. There were half finished orders, half-filled skips, and rubbish of all shapes and sizes lying everywhere making progress through the print floor difficult. What should have been a neat and tidy all-purpose activity was an untidy all-purpose mess. “What the hell’s going on?” he muttered angrily. “Where is all the staff?” pushing his way through to “Packing”, he grabbed hold of the supervisor. “What’s wrong with dispatch?” the supervisor scratched his head, then shook it. “We have no staff, Mister Grant. The guy on the section phoned in sick this morning.”