by Anya Delvay
I will myself to stillness and withdraw my finger. Annabelle’s yearning is expressed with whimpers and the ever-seeking writhing of her hips, but I hold her immobile in my arms.
“Look at yourself, Annabelle.”
It is not a request, and so far gone in passion that she cannot resist the demand, her slumberous lids rise.
Limned with the golden lights of fire and candle flames, we present an image of such wanton dissipation that shock widens her eyes, and a hard shudder vibrates through her body and into mine. Before she can act on whatever thought has entered her head—be it to pull away or cover herself—I slick my finger up and begin to circle the stiff flesh of her engorged nub.
Caught off guard, she cannot restrain her scream of pleasure, the instinctive closing of her legs to keep my hand in place, the jerking of her body as she spends. I can hardly hold her, so wild is her response, so strong is she in release. She falls to her knees, and I follow her down, still rubbing and caressing her quim, prolonging the moment, drawing the very most I can from her.
Finally she grows quiet, except for the involuntary pulsing between her legs and the shuddering breaths that hitch and rasp from her throat. Her head is bowed, sunk against her chest, and I cannot see her face.
“One day, I will teach you even more, if you wish it. I will use my mouth and tongue and fingers and all the leather cocks I have to give you this same sensation, over and over again.”
“Oh God,” she moans, sagging forward, another spasm wracking her frame. Her clitoris pulses beneath my finger, and instead of withdrawing my hand, I am moved to start the lists of love anew.
“I can help you find what feels good to you.” I pinch the still-hard peak between my fingers. Holding it firmly, I gently tug and then, as Annabelle jerks in response but does not pull away, I twist harder. “There is so much for you to learn, and who better to be your tutor? When I am finished, you will know all you need to, to be the perfect wife for David.”
There is an infinitesimal slackening of her thighs, an instinctive buck of her hips and, thus encouraged, I roughly bring her to climax again. She falls to hands and knees, farther, until her cheek rests against the rug and this time she spends almost silently. Even as her thighs clench and her cunt releases another wave of wetness over my fingers, only the softest of mewls issue from her throat, as though all the energy she has left in her body is concentrated between her legs.
Removing my hand, I sit back on my heels and look down at where she is bent forward, buttocks in the air. Myriad emotions, yearnings, hold me in thrall.
“In the end, I think you and David well-matched.” I lift the back of her skirts, pushing them up until they and her bumroll fall onto her back. Annabelle moans softly, makes no effort to elude me. Indeed, her knees move farther apart. “You like a little roughness in your play and I can already tell that you would not be averse to administering pain.”
The glistening cunt, red and a-froth with her spending, contracts, and another little sound issues from her throat. She has a delicate clitoris, closely furled but fleshy lips. Plump white thighs quiver, and her arse takes up the motion. Resting my hands on her buttocks, I absorb the trembling, answer it with a hard squeeze and a separating of the cheeks. They clench beneath my palms, and I chuckle at the instinctive action.
One day I will penetrate the little puckered orifice so sweetly presented to my perusal with tongue and fingers and dildo. How I know this, I cannot tell, unless it is because now I am determined to utterly ruin her. Not tonight but soon, when she is completely under my control, eager to learn all I can teach.
“You have a beautiful cunt, my dear.” My voice slides sinuously from my lips, and my fingers drift down until the thumbs brush the hair framing the lips. “May I touch it again?”
There is no reply, save a small lift of her arse, and I force myself to complete stillness. It would be easy for her to drift away and afterward convince herself that my seduction was unasked for and unwanted. This I will not allow. Everything tonight will be with her agreement—or her pleas and demands. Pressing my thumbs into the crease of her thigh causes a slight opening of her labia, and her soft sob of assent thrills me deep inside.
“May I touch it, Annabelle? Perhaps even kiss it?”
Another sob, a further lift of the trembling flesh is the only answer, and I become commanding.
“Will you answer me, or do I have to spank you for your silence? It is what David would do, should you defy him in such a manner.”
All motions cease as my words echo through the room, and beneath my avid gaze her arse and cunt contract together, and her clitoris grows stiffer yet. A little gem of clear liquid appears at the entrance of her vagina and, after hovering there, the embodiment of temptation, begins a slow slide down to coat her straining nub. I cannot help my laughter nor the desperate stab of desire.
“Is that what you want, darling?” I curl my fingers until the nails bite into her arse, eliciting a gasp. “I will take your silence for consent unless you tell me otherwise.”
Stubbornly she remains mute, and I laugh again. Even so, I doubt she is expecting the first heavy slap of my palm on her arse, for she shrieks and tries to crawl away. But her gown entangles itself around her knees, and she finds herself trapped as I follow and smack her arse again.
Going down on her stomach, Annabelle tries to roll over, but I am upon her in a thrice, sitting on her thighs, pushing her garments once more out of the way, landing blows wherever I can. How I wish she were properly situated so I could spank her wet little quim too, but, for a first time, this will have to suffice.
Sobbing and crying out incoherently, she twists and thrashes, but I will not relent. The redness of her arse enflames my lust once more, and I pause, waiting until she goes still, and her cries turn to whimpers.
“More, sweetling? Or will you ask me to kiss your cunt now?”
“Please…”—it is but a whisper—“…please.”
“Please what, love?” I cannot stem the tremor in my voice nor stop myself from shifting slightly so as to rub my aching flesh against her leg. “Please spank you some more, or please now kiss your cunt?”
“Please…kiss me…there.”
I wish I had her naked on the bed where she could see what I am about to do, but I do not have the fortitude to take the time to undress her. My need is such I must taste her now or die from the lack.
Climbing off her thighs, I pull her bumroll down and ease her over onto her back. The padding elevates her lower body, offering it to me, and will abrade the sore flesh resting on it, heightening the experience. Her face is wet with tears; her lips tremble and sigh. Our sport has forced the neckline of her gown, stays and shift to become displaced, and one cherry nipple peeps out, rising and falling with each hitching breath. Legs, still encased in delicate stockings and garters, are splayed apart in wanton abandon.
I move between her thighs, reaching to grasp the heels of her shoes and lift her feet up and out until, like a feast, all is laid out for the devouring.
Bending slowly, stretching each moment to its utmost, delicious limit, I dip to gently kiss the wet, pulsating flesh. Annabelle cries out at just that tender salute, and I give her a long swipe of my tongue.
Like a wild thing, she wails, writhes, uses my grip on her feet to press up. Never have I witnessed such a swift and complete descent into debauchery, and it is not only she who falls. I am ravenous and am fed by the slick sensation of her quim, the taste of her lust, her harsh pleas for more and more. I have never enjoyed the act of pleasuring a woman as much as this, for in the past, it seemed more a chore to be completed than a moment to be savoured.
Quickly she spends and begs for another release. This time I make her wait, tease her with butterfly sips, fluttering licks and a through exploration of each groove and crevice. When I cover her clitoris with my lips and suck, the force of her reaction almost throws me off. Even as she is still in the throes of her climax, I nip at the little bud, and shrieks
of pleasure echo through my bedchamber.
I gently swipe at her with my tongue, allowing her to regain her breath while still tenderly stoking the fires of her newly discovered desires, and know this is a moment now emblazoned on my mind. I sought her destruction, but somehow I have, perhaps, also brought upon my own in the fulfillment of my plan. A part of me wants this to last forever—to stay here bringing her pleasure again and again, while the sane corner of my mind howls its despair.
Once more she is bucking against me, hips jerking in tight pulses. I rise, lean over her to suck and bite the exposed nipple and then farther to press my lips to hers, feed her my tongue. With a low moan, she accepts it, tangles hers around it, sucks her own juices from my mouth.
“A mutual spend now,” I whisper as I pull away and swing my legs around until we are scissored together, cunts pressed tight, one to the other.
“Yes,” she croons, circling her hips, her voice surprising me with its strength and resolve. “Take your pleasure from me.”
I laugh harshly, gripping her thighs so as to find the perfect position and hold her there. “I already have, darling, for the taste of you, the sound of your screams, is the greatest of joys.”
Annabelle holds my legs, the strong fingers digging with thrilling force into my skin, and replies with a swivel of her lower body against mine. Heat rushes to my cunt. My clitoris throbs, the onset of release already making me shudder and gasp.
Slick and sinuous, our bodies find a rhythm, push closer and closer together. For me this has never been a favoured position. There is too much equality in it. No one is on top. No one can take the reins. Why then does it feel so right to share this intimacy with a woman I despise?
Then there is no time for thought, only sensibility enough to feel. Faster and faster we move, our rushed breaths, moans and gasps barely audible above the wet sounds of our flesh coming together. Annabelle peaks first, her muscles tightening beneath my grasp, and the intensity of her frenzied movements catapults me into my own climax.
Limp with satiation, we stay where we lie, Annabelle’s soft hands stroking my legs, and it is with horror I realise my cheeks are wet with tears. Quickly I untangle myself from her body and roll to my knees, making sure my face is averted.
I do not know what it is that makes me cry and will not allow her even a glimpse of my weakness, so I leave her there and pass behind the screen into my still-dark dressing room. There I splash my face with water to remove all traces and pull on a dressing gown, armouring myself for whatever may come next.
By the time I return, Annabelle is on her feet, costume restored to tidiness, and standing before the mirror, slowly repairing her coiffure, eyes heavy-lidded with the surfeit of passion. Pretending indifference, I silently take a seat in one of the chairs and watch her.
She looks solemn, lips firm, belying the flush of sexual congress that has yet to fade from her cheeks and chest. Her hands are steady, the nimble fingers finding and repositioning pins, tweaking at the curls of her wig.
I crave her touch, her mouth, her taste, just as I crave her husband’s. Having now experienced the delights of her charms, I already know myself bewitched. And it is I who tremble with the aftermath of our encounter, awaiting her rejection or acceptance, wondering where this new path will take us all.
Turning at last from the looking glass, she holds my gaze and smiles as she moves toward the door.
“Until tomorrow,” she says, pausing beside my chair, laying her knuckles against my cheek and repeating, “Until tomorrow.”
Then she is gone, leaving me to my questions—and my heartache.
Chapter Ten
It takes the entire day for me to regain my equilibrium, but by the time Annabelle arrives the next evening, I feel myself once more competent to the task I set myself.
Truly, I remind myself each time my body quickens with desire at the thought of Lord and Lady Harrington, nothing has been altered. They are still married. I am still leaving London in a short (oh, too short!) time. Whatever plans they in her youth or his ignorance had for their marriage have been irrevocably changed, and that is something they will be forced to confront.
My role in this drama is, at best, catalytic. I will play my part with all gusto and then exit the stage, leaving the rest of the cast to continue on as best they can.
Once more I sit naked before the glass, anointing my body with the rose-tinged lotion, but there is a subtle difference to Annabelle’s gaze tonight. Perhaps it is the directness of it or the ease with which her eyes track from my face to my hands and back again. It makes me long to rise, to take her lips with mine, to press her hands to my stomach and breasts and thighs, invite her to not only look but touch.
“What does David want with your father’s journals?”
Annabelle’s question takes me by surprise. “What know you of my father’s diaries?”
She shrugs. “Naught, except for hearing you mention them when David came to see you.”
I contemplate whether to tell her the truth, for even now it has the power to ruin reputations, if not lives. But she is David’s wife, my lover, and I realise I want to tell her the story—for myriad reasons.
Swivelling on the stool, I face her.
“My father was a diarist from a small boy and kept meticulous records of everything he saw and did. They were kept locked away during his life, but after he died, they came into my possession. As you can imagine, such a detailed record can be deleterious to those closest to him, including his friends.”
“Lord Connaught knew something about the late Lord Harrington? Something that could be harmful?”
The fascination in her eyes, her animation, almost stops my breath. For a moment, I forget everything except her beauty and the ache of longing in my chest. While in face and form she is certainly winsome, it is the sharp intelligence, the spark of passion, that truly draws me. Roseate colour rises to her cheeks, and I know the exact moment she recognises my desire.
There is no faltering in her gaze, but she licks her lips, and heat blossoms in my belly.
“Yes,” I finally reply, watching closely to see her reaction as I continue. “Lord Harrington and my father were lovers while at Eton and continued to enjoy each other right up until my father married.”
“Lovers?” For a moment her brow furrows, as though this makes no sense to her. “How could they be lovers? Two men?”
I cannot contain my laughter as I rise and step close to where she sits. “Do you truly need me to explain it to you? You, who have watched me take David’s prick in my mouth, who have enjoyed the delights to be found in another woman’s arms? Why should two men not take joy in each other’s bodies?”
Her blush shades from pink to red, and she raises her face to mine. “How is it I have never heard of such things?”
“Because, my little innocent, such love between men is illegal—punishable by imprisonment.” I cup one hot cheek, letting my thumb find the bow of her lower lip. “Indeed, it would spell disgrace to both houses should it be known they disported together. Most people consider the acts perpetrated between men criminal and disgusting, and even so when done between men and women.”
“Like putting a man’s cock in your mouth?”
Hearing the word “cock” issue from her lips surprises another huff of laughter from me but pleases me as well. The urge to once more shock her, push her further into this world of perverse enjoyment, takes me over.
“Or one man putting his cock into another’s arse.”
The blood drains from her face, comes back with a rush of confused and horrified colour. “I…in his arse?”
“Oh, yes.” I kneel before her, holding her gaze, urging her face closer to mine so my breath fans her lips. “I know it sounds shocking, but in reality, it is a sweet delight. I love the feel of David’s hardness in my fundus. It can be painful at first, but that is half the pleasure. It stretches and burns so deliciously, makes him wild and uncontrollable too.”
Annabe
lle shakes her head, eyes wide with disbelief. “You are making it up.” Her voice is tremulous, accusatory. “Trying to frighten me again.”
“Have I frightened you, love?” I press a swift kiss to her lips, forcing myself not to linger, even when the damp velvet of her mouth clings to mine. “That is not my intent. I want only to make sure you know, understand, everything.”
Her rapid breathing matches mine, and passion glazes Annabelle’s eyes. I slide my hands under her skirts, up her legs, to play with her garters. Immediately her eyelids droop, and the limbs beneath my hands tremble, inch farther apart. I touch my tongue to her lips, catch the ensuing sigh with my mouth. What would she say if she knew the night before I dreamed of her and David together with me in my bed, doing every lascivious, debauched act I could ever imagine? How much more shocking would that be?
I let my fingers drift higher, find the warm flesh above her hose, caress the satin skin. Tonight I want to continue our exploration of lust, and I want her to know, even before David arrives.
“Did you enjoy my attentions last eve?”
Annabelle swallows and, to my surprise, lifts her hands to brush my face, my neck. “Yes, they truly were delicious.”
Pushing gently on her legs is all it takes for her to open to my questing fingers. “I am glad,” I say and lick my lips before continuing. “There is so much more I want to teach you.”
The damp hair is beneath my hand, and I delve into it with my thumb, finding her hot, already pulsing entrance. When I insinuate that digit into her, Annabelle’s back arches, and she clutches my shoulders for support. Pressing up, I begin to fuck her with short, slow strokes.
“David will be here soon.” My words elicit a sharp contraction of her cunt, a low moan. “Perhaps tonight I will ask him to take my arse, just so you can see how much pleasure there is in it. And, afterwards, I will introduce you to even more naughtiness.”
Erotic sensations are still new to her. Just the movement of my finger inside is transporting her to the heights of bliss. I am torn between taking her all the way to release or leaving her to either wait until after David has left to find it, or taking the matter into her own hands.