by Louisa Trent
Was she capable of that kind of openness?
Harry had not been entirely forthcoming about her last situation. Reading between the lines, Josh believed her last benefactor had caught her stealing, and had tossed her out; now, as she was without funds, she sought a new patron.
Well, fine. He understood. But he needed her to come clean about her purpose, for he would not be used. She would not twist his prior regard for her to her own devious ends. No whore would take advantage of him! If she needed money, let her admit the need and name the amount. Honestly. She made her way on her back and belly and knees; let her make her proposition. He would not refuse, whatever the price.
Joshua took a step out from behind the partially closed door, and made his presence known with a cough.
"Oh, sir! I didn't expect to see you here in the kitchen. You should have rung for me."
"No matter. I was on my way out into the gardens, and thought I would stop by and see how you were getting along. Is there anything you need?"
She took no time to mull her answer, but said straightaway, "Honey. I should like fresh honey. I am putting together a sampling of the menu for your party to see if it meets with your approval, and my apple tart calls for a light honey glaze. Oh, to find a tree trunk with a beehive lodged within..."
Modern inventions and gadgetry fascinated Josh. As soon as a convenience was released for sale, he would snatch it up. He had a tremendous sweet tooth, which he indulged like a young lad at every opportunity. And he required complete privacy in his garden, and bees tended to keep unwanted visitors away. So he had taken to keeping bees.
"No need to go poking about rotten elms, scouting out honey bees. I have an apiary in the garden," he boasted.
"Never, you do!" his newly hired servant exclaimed, dropping her flour-covered rolling pin onto the oak table.
"I certainly do. Would you like to come have a look?"
Or she could skip the looking part, and simply come. He wouldn't mind bending Harry over the oak kitchen table, making her scream with pleasure...
"Now?" she asked, dimpling.
How Harry had managed to retain the bubbly enthusiasm of her youth after seven years of whoring was a mystery, but he had to say her joie de vie made him feel quite giddy. "I was going to the gardens anyway. The apiary is at the end of the path." Harry's red hair silhouetted against the roses ... he very nearly ejaculated into his trousers at the thought.
The formal raised flowerbeds provided Josh with hours of pleasure, as did the less formal wildflowers. There was a kitchen garden too, as well as a small plot for herbs, but the flowers drew his fancy. Can't make a meal of flowers, like one could of potatoes. Peonies will never fill a starving man's gut. And that was the whole point: the gardens proved he no longer need concern himself with hunting down his next meal. Cultivating flowers was an extravagance no poor man could afford, not in time or in financial outlay. Roses, in particular, were the most impractical and time-consuming of all flowers to grow, which explained why he liked them the most. He flaunted his roses to his neighbors like other wealthy folks flaunted their carriages and wine.
Harry went to the sink, washed the flour from her hands. "I cannot dawdle, mind you, as I have much to do." Her eyes glinted with mischief. "But a small peek at the blossoms and bees shouldn't hurt."
While she dried her hands, Josh went to get his bee-keeping equipment, anxious to show off his new hobby to her.
"What is that?" she asked, as he knew she would, as he lit the device at the stove.
"A smoker," he replied, trying to sound blasé about his most recent addition to his bee-keeping equipment.
"Go on. I know you cannot wait to explain what the contraption does."
"A smoker douses the bees with..." He turned towards her with a raised brow and a hand flourish.
"Smoke," she supplied with a giggle and an eye roll, reminiscent of the young hoyden Harry, filling in the blank rather nicely too, he thought.
"Exactly. How astute of you, Mrs. Smith. Smoke calms the bees so they won't sting the keeper during handling. This particular smoker features a metal fire pot with an attached canvas and wood bellows. The bellows pumps air into the pot to release a cool smoke from the spout." He nodded to the door.
She preceded him up the stairs--affording him a choice perspective of her narrow hips and bustle-enhanced derriere--and into the walled-in garden.
"Honey bees favor mauve, purple and pink flowers," he said conversationally, still walking behind her on the crushed-stone garden path, still slavishly gazing upon her gently swaying rump. He hadn't forgotten, not in seven years, the heart-shaped perfection of Harry's bottom, with that pretty, infinitely fuckable, dainty hole. How many men had paid to use that forbidden entrance to her body, how many customers had lined her palm with gold for the privilege of sending their cocks deep, of sodomizing her as she bent over for them? Had she screamed while they took her, hard and deep? Had she cried out in pained ecstasy, as they nailed her between those flagrantly sensual bottom cheeks?
His cock lanced at the prospect of taking her that way. What was her price, dammit? Why wouldn't she tell him how much it would cost him to spread her buttocks out?
His new servant turned then, toward the pale lavender spike of a Veronica. As she fingered the gentian blue vein of a blossom, gliding a fingertip up and down the erect flower stalk in a teasing caress that brought to mind bedsteads not flowerbeds, it took all Josh's control not to bend her over the stone birdbath receptacle, and spend himself in her receptacle. How she taunted him!
Under the deception of lifting a leaf to show her the pigment variegation, he dipped his shoulders; his hand leveled out at her belly. "Bees are particularly attracted to this plant for their pollen and nectar gathering."
Employing the ruse of showing her the compact blue spires of a silver speedwell Veronica, the gray foliage making the blue blossom seem bluer, he bent his knees, the move bringing his nose to within inches of her mons, that delightful protuberance in a woman which the slight jut of pubic bones created.
Though Josh loved the perfume of the gardens, for once he ignored their scent, in favor of trying to breathe her into his nostrils. An impossible feat, of course, with all those irritating layers of poorly dyed black wool and horsehair petticoat and cotton drawers between them, blocking out the natural fragrance of woman.
Harry naked is what he demanded. Harry naked, and stretched out pale before him, his dark face in her slick pink slit, his nose in her moist pussy, his tongue in the beguiling narrow wetness of her female slit. He would lap her up, drink her in, wallow in the flavor of her. And she would let him, if he paid her enough.
"They ... that is ... the bees frequent the violet blue catmints too," he rasped. "And then there are the pastel pink blossoms. These, and the richer pinks too, they particularly enjoy first thing in the morning, when an overlay of dew still dampens the blossoms."
Rich pink. Wet pink. Deeply rose-pink. Virgin, untouched pink. Harry's genitalia had been as beautiful as any unfurled, prize-winning rose. All those years ago, he had splayed her thighs and gazed upon her rosebud while she slept off her drunken stupor; it was a sight he had never been able to put from his mind.
Josh straightened his long legs, covering the evidence of his wayward thoughts with his coat. "Bees also enjoy the wild-growing thistles."
That was Harry: wild and prickly, surrounded by thorny bracts. She wouldn't give herself easily ... or freely. Only money would make her accessible.
"The flowers are lovely," she said. "You must employ a host of gardeners for their maintenance."
"At present, I employ only Peggy and her husband, and they are not responsible for the gardens."
"No free men?"
She meant laborers, men of color whose skin pigments were only a shade or two darker than his own dark skin tones. "No," he said briefly, no inflection. He employed many people of color, but not as laborers, and the question of their freedom was not open to discussion with him.
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A pointed chin was tilted. "You do all the work yourself?"
"Hardly work, to lift a shovel and scratch with a hoe. And the bees must dine on something." He indicated the direction she should take, with the hand that held the smoke pot. "To the apiary, madam."
She walked beside him, her spine straight, her bosom astonishingly full and upright, even under the apron. Clearly, beneath her fraudulent widow weeds, Harry was a voluptuousness lady.
Whore, he corrected. A voluptuous whore. He must never mistake Harry for a lady.
He had never bedded a lady. Whores by the dozens, yes. A light-skirt or two--or ten. Not precisely whores, but not about to turn down monetary gifts from male callers. But no ladies.
"The apiary," he said, and released a gray plume of smoke from the apparatus he carried. They were close to the center of bee activity, and he would not have Harry stung.
She gasped. "Why, the apiary looks much like a miniature white garden house, only with drawers!"
"Not too near, Mrs. Smith."
Taking her by the shoulders, Josh placed Harry behind him. Once she was out of harm's way, he slowly waved the smoker so as not to further incite the bees, as they went about their business of pollen and nectar collection in the warmth of the day.
"Oh, do let me see!" The hard points of firm breasts bored holes into his back below the shoulder blades.
To better feel those arrowheads of flesh, he pressed back on his heels. He longed to remove his coat, as he usually did while walking among the flowerbeds, particularly when he came to this sunken portion of the gardens. Furthermore, to provide him with additional privacy from the street, he'd had a ten-foot brick wall enclosure built. This barrier from prying eyes and wagging tongues enabled him to toil outside bare-chested--even naked should he choose, and he often did on hot days.
Owing to his condition, he would not remove his coat today. A pity, considering the wanton provocation of those lush, full, upright, pointed breasts pressed to the middle of his back. If he paid her enough, would she agree to walk naked with him in the gardens?
"You may go closer to see in a moment," Josh told Harry. "Wait until the smoke calms the bees. I don't want you stung."
They waited, his erection already tight and uncomfortable, and made more so by her teasing proximity. Set your price! his mind demanded. She obviously wanted to do business with him, why did she delay? This teasing of hers was unconscionable! She was in a bad situation, which money could alleviate. He had the money, and he wanted her...
To whore for him. Only that.
He would have her service him, with no useless and artificial displays of emotion. And for that service, he was willing to pay her far above the going rate for prostitution.
Sweat breaking out on his forehead, Josh stepped away. "You may look. The bees have calmed."
Harry tiptoed up to the apiary. "I have only seen honey bees kept in boxes or baskets," she whispered, her nose within inches of one of the openings.
"Not too close," he said. "This particular apiary contains eight working hives. Langstroth just released his invention this year, and I bought one immediately. See?" he said pointing. "These mechanisms are moveable frames. No longer must bees be killed or driven away from their nests before their honey and wax are collected."
"Astonishing! So," she said, her mood changed like quicksilver from pleasure to business. "Where is my honey? There are tarts waiting for their glaze inside the kitchen."
As he waited to glaze the tart he was with...
"I just installed some fresh honey in a crockery jar yesterday. It's in that little garden shed up ahead. Come with me."
Come with me.
This time, she would come! This time, he would bring her to fulfillment. She would climax!
Whores never did. They put on great orgasmic shows for the benefit of their clientele, but the loud screams were all pretense. The performances never ceased to amuse him; still, if the antics grew too noisy, they also distracted a man from what he was about. As he didn't need his conceit stroked, and he knew the ins and outs of prostitution too well to derive any benefit from the theatrics, he generally asked the whore to dispense with the routine, thereby saving her vocal cords, and allowing him to finish up quicker--a good outcome for all concerned.
Did Harry enjoy it?
As a young maiden, with a curious nature and no inhibitions about her developing body, the potential has been there for her to enjoy the act.
But it was too late to second-guess the might-have-beens now. As it turned out, she hadn't wanted him for her first lover; Harry had had bigger fish to fry. He was only a lowly mate on a whaler, and she'd had her cap set on trading her body for wealth.
But it looked like she'd made bad choices in protectors.
Harry had obviously run aground; she looked as poor as the lowliest of dock slatterns, her faded gowns held together with naught but pride. Even that would desert her damn soon. If her brother's bitch wife threw her out on the streets, Harry would end up swallowing her pride, as she swallowed cum from every newly arrived whaler and fishermen in port. Better for her to go down on her knees to him on a fine plush carpet, than on the cobblestones of some back alley. Make your deal, woman!
When Josh opened the door to his outdoor garden shed, Harry preceded him through. He shut the door behind him, the pot in his hand sending out a billowing cloud of smoke.
"So the bees don't get inside," he explained. "And if they do get inside, the smoke will prevent them from becoming agitated."
Soon, the windowless shed filled with smoke, muting whatever sunlight managed to sneak in through the small ventilation duct in the roof. "This shelf is where I keep the honey crockery. I would suggest you sample the flavors first, then decide which one you would like for your baking needs."
"Flavors?" she asked, coming to stand beside him. Close, as the shed was small.
"During the flower-growing season, different blossoms come in and out of peak bloom. For that reason, there is a subtle nuance in flavor between the jars." Lifting a lid, he dipped a finger into one of the crocks, scooping some honey out as he always did for himself. " Here, sample this."
He meant to transfer the honey from his finger onto her finger for her to taste. Before he could, she brought his digit to her lips. In a slow, dream-like motion, her tongue flicked his fingertip.
"Mmm. Delicious." Her perfect white teeth flashed a smile in the smoky darkness of the shed. "May I have the rest?"
She never waited for the answer. She licked his flesh, tabby to cream, then drew--actually sucked--the entire length of his finger into her mouth, extracting the honey between her pursed pink lips.
He jerked back, stumbled back, his finger forcibly withdrawn with the abruptness of the move. "I think you have wasted enough of my time ... and my wages ... for one day, Mrs. Smith. Take the honey, and return to work immediately."
Spreading her apron out, she had the temerity to curtsey to him. "Certainly, sir."
Was that a knowing twinkle in her eye?
With the crockery jar of honey cuddled to the front of her apron, in the cleavage between those lush breasts to be exact, she turned on her heel and left.
Josh sagged against the wall. "Fuck," he raged under his breath, and unbuttoned his trousers.
Just in the nick of time.
Once freed, his cock shot a stream of ejaculate into the smoke-filled air, the loss of control stinging him worse than any swarm of bees ever could.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"I didn't employ you to polish the furniture!"
On hands and knees before the mahogany Hepplewhite tea caddy, rubbing beeswax into the slender tapered legs, for which the illustrious furniture maker was noted, Harry jumped at the harsh criticism in Captain Kane's voice. "If not to keep house, then why employ a housekeeper, sir?"
"To organize a party! Not to perform hard labor!"
"Polishing such lovely pieces is hardly laborious." As the sea captain approached, Harry assumed a mor
e upright position on her knees. "Did you come to speak to me about something of import sir, or did you simply wish to scold?"
"Actually, I came to pay you a compliment. The apple tart was excellent."
Harry blushed with pleasure. "Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed it."
"Wherever did you learn to make pastry?"
"Here and there." To hide her sudden anger, she went back to her polishing, venting her hurt and frustration on the Hepplewhite, rubbing the dark wood until it gleamed.
She had already told him where she had learned her pastry skills, and if he had not taken her at her word, then to hell with him. She would not relate the story again, so he might have the opportunity to disbelieve her again.
Turning away, she let her backside bear the brunt of Captain Kane's disapproving expression. Why subject herself to his contempt? He thought her a whore, a liar too, which was why yesterday in the garden shed, she had behaved so badly. Licking his finger was a direct result of his bad opinion of her.
A boot came down on the floor directly behind her; he stood over her now, looking down upon her both literally and figuratively. "I wish you would stop doing that!"
On all fours, she held herself still at his feet, polishing rag in hand. "What would you like me to do instead, sir?" Up to her ears with his sanctimoniousness, she wiggled her bottom. "I am at your complete disposal."
"Mrs. Smith, I have an idea of what your duties consisted of in your former positions, but as far as I know, I have only employed you in this household to oversee an evening's entertainment. Am I correct?"
"Yes sir," she whispered, shamed that when given a chance to prove herself, she had done more harm to herself than good. When would she ever learn to control her hot temper?
Sliding back onto her legs, Harry faced her employer. "About the honey incident in the garden shed ... I apologize. Licking your finger was completely inappropriate."