by Bryn Colvin
This afternoon, he had given her furs to wear, and placed a cane in her hand.
“Enslave me,” he had ordered, “make me cower at your feet and beg for your favours.”
Jenny was actress enough to play the part: to stride about in the improbably high-heeled shoes he had given her, to brandish the cane with menace and to turn her back, ignoring him, from time to time. What he sought at her hands was humiliation, pain, and ecstasy, and she found the means to fulfil these needs. She had deployed the cane sparingly, raising his anticipation with each sharp blow, reddening the pale skin of his pert posterior and demanding that he beg her for more.
She knew throughout who had the real power–that she only enjoyed the pretence of it. He grovelled because it aroused him to prostrate himself at her feet. He called her ‘mistress’ because the taste of the word pleased him. His orders had been explicit; she merely acted out the role and, once he was inflamed with uncontrollable desire, the balance of power had shifted dramatically as he cast Jenny onto the bed, pinning her slight body with ease such that she was utterly at his mercy.
He did not hurt her but his mastery was absolute in those moments and Jenny knew she would do anything he instructed, even beat him and demand that he lick her feet if that was what he wanted. Instinct told her what he needed and she gave utterly of herself.
The bed was warm, the room heated by a small fire; a luxury indeed after the unheated room she shared with a fellow actress. A delicious smell was rising from the room below where Merrow, Jasper’s butler, was preparing a little something. She had not eaten yet that day and her mouth began to water. She hoped that, in time, Sir Jasper would install her here as his mistress. Polite society might not invite an actress and mistress to dinner parties, but other women had made good careers this way – scandalously popular in certain quarters and able to enjoy the finer things in life.
Jasper swept into the room, immaculately dressed and bearing a tray. He paused before the bed, surveying what of Jenny’s naked form was visible. Smiling warmly at him, she pushed aside the coverlet allowing him to view her slender body. There was a hunger in his face, even though she had emptied his balls for him only an hour previously.
“Tempting little minx,” he said, his tone almost affectionate.
She wriggled, making her breasts sway provocatively.
“Come back to bed, love,” she appealed.
“I am afraid I must be gone, I have business to attend to that cannot wait, not even for your sake. Eat and dress at your leisure. Merrow will prepare a bath for you should you require one, and he will arrange transport for you.”
“You are too kind.”
After he had gone she examined the tray – perfect little cucumber sandwiches, slices of moist fruitcake, tea and hot, buttered muffins. A few days previously he had licked dripping butter from her breasts and seeing this foodstuff reminded her of that erotic moment. She ate everything and wished there had been more, then wrapped herself in a dressing gown before ringing for Merrow, who arrived promptly.
“Hello, Merrow. Would you run me a bath please?”
Merrow was a neat little man with a closed face. He could have been any age from thirty to sixty and he was relentlessly taciturn. He nodded curtly.
“Anything else miss?”
She shook her head.
While Merrow was always the soul of tact and skilful servitude, Jenny knew that he disapproved of her. He had said nothing and always treated her with respect, but there was something in his eyes and the way in which he carefully avoided looking at her. At heart Jenny was a simple girl who wanted nothing more to be liked and this sense of disapproval made her melancholy. She knew full well that there were many people who would not approve of her but it did not make it any easier.
* * * *
“That will be all, Molly.” Lotte, Duchess of Penbury waved an imperious hand at the maid. The petite fair-haired servant curtsied and gave the handsome gentleman taking tea with her mistress a final demure but suggestive smile.
“Lusting after the servants should be restricted to the smoking room when you men get together, Jasper. It is dreadfully bad form to do it in front of…what word am I thinking of…your mistress? No, that will not do–I will not be known like that. Perhaps lover would be more accurate.”
“I was not lusting, Lotte. Nothing but a bit of harmless flirting.”
She leaned over and stroked his cheek.
“My dear Jasper, one flirts with ladies, one lusts after servants. I have noticed this penchant of yours before. The girl cannot be more than nineteen.”
“Probably very innocent, Lotte.”
“If the gossip my seamstress conveys to me is true, Molly is not so innocent.”
“Do tell?”
“Does that whet your insatiable appetite? Well, never mind, I have not invited you here to flaunt my maid’s morals or procure her services for you.”
Sir Jasper Akenfield liked Lotte‘s honesty. Being married, as she was, to one of the richest Dukes in the country made her even more desirable. He just wished he could find his way into her fortune as readily as he had into her bed. Given that Percy, the Duke of Penbury, preferred to exercise his noble cock in the pursuit of the stable lads at their Berkshire mansion, he turned a blind eye to his, and her, interests. As long as she, or he for that matter, refrained from parading their sexual conquests about, all was well.
“So, why did you invite me for afternoon tea at your London home, my dear Lotte? You do not usually favour such formal assignations where I am concerned,” Jasper said, and stole a kiss as she munched a small iced cake. The Duchess gave him a disapproving look.
“I do apologize, Lotte. I must remember my manners and decorum. I suggest a series of corrective measures on your part to improve my social graces.”
Lotte missed his allusion to spanking and replied by saying, “To hell with middle class etiquette, Jasper. Following that ridiculous Mrs. Fry’s book on decorum is not for the aristocracy. Did you read the latest version? The straight-laced woman writes about ladies with pretty feet having no occasion to wear short petticoats. Now what in the name of morality does that mean?”
“I don’t understand?” Sir Jasper resumed his languid repose in the chair and waited for Lotte to explain.
“What you and I do in the bedroom, Jasper, is no one’s business except ours. Indeed if even one scintilla of your perverted requests were to be breathed in public it would be a scandal to rival this present outrage concerning Mr. Parnell and the letter published in the The Times.
“I am sorry, Lotte, I still have no idea…”
“Hush, Jasper, and let me finish. If you wish to do things to my fine body in private, I have no objection, but when we are together, as friends, in public–and that includes my drawing room–you will act with more decorum than an Indian Maharaja taking tea with that po-faced Queen of ours.”
“It was only a little kiss, Lotte.”
“Jasper, my dear, you are a wildly inventive sexual partner–and I love you for it–but if you want me to continue to perform the type of acts one would expect from a Parisian tart in a Left Bank bordello, then discretion must be our watchword.”
“Lotte, you are lecturing me and still haven’t said why we are taking tea in this refined manner when we could be acting out more lascivious fantasies.”
Lotte got up and glided effortlessly toward the door, her crinoline afternoon gown crackling against the furniture. She opened the door slowly, and with consummate dignity, looked along the corridor, closed the door, and returned to her chair.
“Why did you do that, Lotte?”
“You men are so naive. You think yourself so clever, when in truth you have always been led by one thing and it hangs between your legs. Every lady knows that servants are the spreaders of gossip and much that is said above stairs is picked up and carried from basement to basement along all the fashionable houses in London.”
He grinned shamelessly with that boyish smile that n
ever failed to charm her. Lotte kept her expression neutral. It would never do to let him know how infatuated she was with him. Her desires had never been so keen as with this man, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing it.
“Have you seen your bank manager lately, Jasper?”
The question surprised him.
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“A great deal. Do you know Sir Edward Steinbeck?”
“Vaguely.”
“With your careless attitude to money, vaguely might be the right expression. He is the banker to The Royal Family, and privately, to most of the rival empire building going on between Britain, France and the united Germany.”
“Lotte, I have spent most of the early afternoon in the House of Commons listening to a dreary debate on foreign affairs. Please tell me what this is about?”
“Certainly, Jasper. My cousin The Honorable Alistair Trenchard is a very good friend of Steinbeck and I am told that a certain Sir Jasper Akenfield has mortgaged most of his estate and is heavily in debt.”
“This is nothing to do with you, Lotte. Damn these chattering bankers.”
“But it is everything to do with me.” She got up and beckoned him to come to the far side of the room.
“I know I said we must be discreet, Jasper, but I need you.” She kissed him passionately and then stood away, brushing down her dress.
“If you are shown to be a bankrupt your place in society and the House of Commons will be finished. And, my sexual beast, if you are in disgrace there is no way a Duchess can be seen as your friend. No friendship, no illicit sex–do you see now?”
He bit his lips. Bluster was no good. She was too clever and astute.
“So you brought me here to tell me you know of my…financial difficulties.”
“No, Jasper, I brought you here to meet your, and our, salvation.”
“And what might that be?”
“Are you acquainted with Mrs. Caroline Terrington? She was here at my last little gathering.”
“We have met.”
Lotte laughed and her eyes rolled.
“Please do not play games, Jasper. I have been at two functions at least where your interest in her was apparent. Please don’t deny it. Remember I am your lover, not your wife. How you warm your bed when we are not together is of little interest to me.”
“So how is she a salvation?”
“Jasper! Do you do anything with that brain but think up ways to seduce maids?”
“I admit that your superior intelligence has foxed me, Lotte. Pray go on.”
“Caroline Terrington is a rich widow…and as you have noticed, an attractive one. Think, Jasper. Were you married to her it would solve your problems. You would be free of your financial constraints and have furthered your respectability. Most importantly, we could go on having our private sessions. She considers me a friend and would never cause us any difficulty. She is such an innocent that she would never suspect a thing.”
Sir Jasper looked into the eyes of the handsome Lotte, Duchess of Penbury.
“And you will help me to win her?”
“And help myself, Jasper.”
Just as she was about to reach for him again, their lust was interrupted. The doorbell rang. They resumed their seats and waited for the butler to arrive.
A knock at the door was followed by the entrance of Grinley, the Penburys’ butler.
“Your ladyship, Mrs. Caroline Terrington has arrived.”
“Thank you, Grinley. Do show her in. My dear Caroline, as lovely and prompt as ever. I believe you and Sir Jasper have already been introduced.”
“I have had that pleasure, yes.”
“Do take a seat, no need to stand on ceremony.”
Caroline, trying to disguise her uncertainty, perched on the edge of one of the Duchess’s luxurious chairs and folded her hands demurely in her lap.
“Would you care to take tea, Caroline? And you, Sir Jasper, you will join me, yes?”
Without waiting for either to reply she rang, once again, for a servant and ordered further refreshments.
“I was thinking of holding a little soiree at the end of the month. Nothing too bold, just a few of my dearest friends and perhaps a string quartet or some such to entertain us, once we have grown bored with entertaining each other.”
“That sounds charming,” Jasper observed. “Do you care for chamber music at all Mrs. Terrington?”
“I am very fond of it, Sir Jasper, and please, do call me Caroline.”
“Then we shall have no more of titles, Caroline, and you must just call me Jasper.”
She smiled at this, her posture becoming noticeably less tense.
“Caroline has a fine singing voice, do you not, my dear? Perhaps you would be so kind as to sing for me that evening?”
“I should be honoured.”
“Jasper has a fine bass voice, but he lacks the discipline required of a musician and his sight reading leaves a great deal to be desired,” Lotte added mournfully.
“That is a shame,” Caroline observed. “Josiah, my late husband, had a great passion for music.”
“And now dear Caroline has no one to sing with her, and she is such a darling with the pianoforte as well.”
“It would never do to thwart a lady in her desires. I give you my word that I will devote myself to improving my ability to read musical scores, in the hopes of giving you some satisfaction at least,” Jasper drawled suggestively. He felt a sharp blow to his shin and realized that Lotte had surreptitiously kicked him. Perhaps he had been a little too suggestive, but Caroline, her eyes wide and innocent, seemed not to have noticed.
“That would be very delightful, Sir Jasp…Jasper, and most kind of you.”
“Perhaps you would be so good as to arrange a little something for my soiree? That would be utterly delightful,” Lotte suggested tactfully.
Caroline’s face was radiant with simple delight, making her look younger than ever and still more beautiful. Loneliness had made her grim and haggard but this prospect of shared music with the friend of a dear friend had brought her to life.
“We will need to rehearse, and as I am a poor reader, I may require instruction.” Jasper waited for another blow to his tender shinbone, but none was forthcoming.
“You would be very welcome to call upon me. I only have a few engagements next week. I fear I have become something of a recluse since my husband’s death.”
“It is up to us, your friends, to coax you back out into the world,” Lotte smiled encouragingly.
“Would Wednesday be to your liking?”
“By all means.”
While Lotte talked at length about the various quartets, quintets and chamber groups she had heard over the years, Caroline tried to look as though she was listening intently, but she was more interested in stealing occasional glances at Sir Jasper. He was a striking man, and considerably younger than the late Josiah had been. His hair showed only a trace of grey at the temples, his forehead was high and gave him an air of great intelligence, which impressed her considerably. His was a strong face and one that often seemed cold, but she had seen him soften with warmth and consideration and felt that, behind that aloof and cold exterior, there might well lurk a kind gentleman. She caught him returning her sly glances.
They parted as though they had been friends for many years and she could not resist saying, “So, Jasper, I can expect you for tea at four o‘clock next Wednesday?”
“I am honoured, Caroline. I hope you will not be disappointed in my singing.”
He bowed graciously and followed Grinley to the front door.
“Shall I call you a cab, Sir Jasper?”
“No, Grinley. It is only ten minutes walk to my Club and I need my constitutional.”
Sir Jasper walked jauntily down the stairs and waited idly until Grinley had closed the door. Then he swung his cane as he marched to the end of the railings, paused, looked around, and turned sharply left up an alley. At
the far end a woman stood peeping around a half open door.
“Come in, Sir,” Molly trembled with excitement that such an important man had secretly slipped her a note to meet him. It had taken her nearly ten minutes to make out what the missive said.
“Sorry this washhouse ain’t up to the standards of a lord like you.”
“Not yet a lord, young Molly. A baronet is my humble position in life.”
He eased into the hot room, smelling the distinctive aroma of soda and drying linen.
“But you are one of those Members of Parliament, Sir?”
She went on inanely chattering as he kissed her neck and eagerly felt for the swell of her breasts. As he undid her maid’s uniform she panted and said in her cock-sparrow London accent, “You will help my brother, Sir. He never did all those things he is accused of. He might have stolen a few things, but not all that silver plate.”
“Yes, yes, Molly.” His mind was far away from her felonious kin. His brain had travelled, like his fingers, as far as her nipples and his mouth followed in an orgy of kissing and sucking.
Her hands ran through his hair, responding to the massaging of her breasts. As she sighed, Sir Jasper had his sights set on higher matters or, perhaps more literally, lower ones. Pushing up her outer skirt and single petticoat he reached the moisture of her cotton undergarments before she reacted.
“Oh, Sir, supposing somebody comes?”
He ignored the plea, hoping he would soon be coming in the velvet vagina of this comely nineteen year old.
“Come over here, young Molly,” he panted, and grabbed her by the waist, pushing her down on the huge pile of clean linen.
“I didn’t think we would…” Molly mildly protested.
Sir Jasper was in the grip of frenzied sensuality. His hands were ripping down her knickers, determined to first see and then possess her sex. Her fair pubic hair was so light that he recalled a whore in Bristol with whom he had become infatuated. He paid her to shave her loins so he could experience coitus in this manner.