by MIMI WILDE
“If the gentleman wishes,” she said.
Opening her mouth wide, she took all of his cock into her mouth, and then deep into her throat. She gagged but she didn’t release him. She held him in her throat until she thought she was going to be sick, and then she pulled slowly back and released him. His prick glistened wetly.
“I’ll be your lady,” she promised. “Only yours. I’ll manage your household. I’ll cook your food. I’ll bathe you and hold your gun on safari. And in the bedroom I’ll be better than any French whore you’ve ever known.”
She sucked his cock up again, all the way into her throat. Again she gagged but she held it there. She closed her eyes and let his prick slip out of her mouth again. She lifted his cock up back against his belly and she licked up and down his shaft. Then, with urgency, she sucked his meaty cock back into her mouth and over tongue.
She felt his cock in the back of her throat but this time she did not gag. She was getting better at this. She started to bob her head, tasting a little of his cream. She bobbed her head faster and she made sure to take him as deep as she could. She didn’t know exactly how she was making him feel, but he seemed to love it.
His hips were bouncing a little and he made groaning sounds.
“I’m coming, Lady Samuels,” he groaned. “I’m fucking coming.”
He grabbed both sides of her head as if to keep her from escaping, but she had no wish to escape. She choked a little when his first spurt entered her mouth, but she started swallowing frantically, urgently. His hot cum filled her mouth and belly like fire, but she almost managed to get it all. A little of it escaped on her chin.
It took him a few moments before he stopped shuddering.
She drew her head back and swallowed a few times to get the rest of his cum down.
“Was that satisfactory, sir,” she said, in her haughtiest tone.
“Very satisfactory indeed, Lady Samuels,” he said.
......
Lady Josephine Samuels did not believe in love, or at least she didn’t think she did. Love had not been a part of her upbringing. Perhaps people fell in love after they were married, but mostly the marriages she knew were working partnerships.
She wasn’t sure if what she felt for John Gilbert was love or lust, or something like it.
What she did know for certain was living without him was going to be miserable.
She wanted to stay with him with every fiber of her being. In a private moment on the way to the station, she had pleaded with him again. Again she had promised him her very soul if he would allow her to stay.
He shook his head sadly. “It’s impossible.”
“No. Tell me why?”
“You would not be happy here. Not in the long run. What we have together is wonderful, I admit. Much better than I have ever known.”
“Then let me stay,” she pleaded.
“It’s the beginning of the wet season. Pretty soon the roads will be impossible. In the summertime you get the stinging insects, and plantation requires a lot of work. I would be away a lot. And of course when your friends come.”
“My friends?” she asked.
“Oh yes. Did you think your husband is the only one who comes here to hunt? There are other Lords and Ladies, and politicians and soldiers. And what would they say when you see you cooking and cleaning, and hiking through the jungle in your rough clothes. No, it would not work. Perhaps I can visit England.”
“And there you would be miserable,” she said.
All the way to the station, she tried to be angry with him. She couldn’t. He had not promised her anything. He had taken her with all the savagery of a wild animal, and she had not refused.
It was as much her fault as his.
As the train pulled away from the station, she saw him standing tall and proudly arrogant, and she felt again his hands on her. He had taught her many things; things she could not forget.
She looked at her husband, and he was reading some kind of pamphlet.
She wondered how long it would be before she could convince him to return to Africa. She would see John Gilbert again. Perhaps she couldn’t live here or him there, but she would find some way to be with him.
She just knew it.
Life could not be so cruel.
THE BUTLER DID IT
Lady Josephine Samuels awoke to her maid opening the curtains of her bedroom. She rolled over on her side and blinked her eyes at the bright sunlight flooding the room. Her rest had been fitful. She had dreamed all night of jungle noises, including the ones she had made at the mercy of her lover.
Little gasps and moans as he had abused her behind the back of her husband. She had done things a lady shouldn’t do. Without making it obvious, she touched between her legs. Her nightgown was damp. The dreams of her lover had definitely aroused her. She had been caressing herself in her sleep.
“Oh damn,” she spoke softly, and her maid looked at her sharply.
It wasn’t fair. She had been happy or if not happy, at least content. Then she had traveled to Africa with her husband, who had a desire to kill small animals, and she had met a man who had twisted her life around.
He had become her lover, and now she woke each morning feeling her loss.
Her lover was far away from England, probably out walking on his vast estate, or perhaps lying in bed with his wife after a night of animal passion. Sometimes she thought she would have given up everything she possessed just for another night in a wet, cramped tent, another night in his arms.
“It’s a beautiful day, milady,” her maid said.
“Is it?” she said sourly.
Her mood had been sour for days. Her husband and the servants avoided her as much as possible. None of them understood what had turned her from a kind and reasonable woman to a short-tempered shrew.
“I’ll have breakfast up here this morning,” she said, “and would you please tell Royce to have a horse ready for me this morning. I think I’d like to go riding. I need some exercise.”
Her maid, Isobel, started to say something and then stopped. Isobel was a tiny, compact young blond with very blue eyes and a rather large chest. Sometimes she reminded Lady Josephine of a mouse. She certainly moved quietly enough.
“Yes,” Josephine said irritably. “What is it?”
“I think Lord Samuels was planning for you to go with him to Rushford today, milady. The judging of the flower show.”
“He will have to go without me,” she said.
“He was very upset the last time, milady,” Isobel reminded her.
She sighed. “Then he will just have to be upset.”
She had breakfast in her room and dressed for riding. Lord Samuels sent a message that he was leaving, and she went to the window and watched his car as it pulled up in front and one of the footmen rushed out to open the door. She stood watching as the car pulled away and disappeared down the dusty drive.
There were ten servants who worked and cared for their country estate, and yet she felt terribly alone.
Terribly empty.
Downstairs she ran into Louis before she reached the door. Louis was tall, thin, dark, and had a fierce intensity. He reminded her of a hawk searching for the sky and ground for anything that moved that might be good to eat. At present he was looking at her disapprovingly.
“Lord Samuels left without you,” he said.
“I’m aware of that,” she said.
“You should take an interest, milady,” Louis said. “You’ve been distant since you returned.”
“My relationship with Lord Samuels is really none of your business,” she said.
He nodded, but there was something scary in his eyes. She had never gotten along with Louis. She thought him intrusive, and oftentimes if she had a different opinion about something in the household, Louis would prevail. Lord Samuels took his side, and she often felt like an intruder.
If she could have, she would have replaced him with someone more cordial, but Louis Ern had been with
the Samuels family a long time. He was half French, half English, and she admitted that he managed the household with efficiency. But they had disliked each other from the very first moment they met. She thought he was a pompous ass. She thought he took advantage of Lord Samuels.
She brushed past him, ignoring something else he said, and went to the door. A footman opened the massive front door and she walked across the yard toward the stable. Royce had her horse saddled and waiting and he helped her into the saddle. Royce was a lad of twenty-two, another of those tall, gangly farm-boy types who would never have fit in inside the house, but who had a knack for horses. He was completely intimated by her presence, barely able to speak when she was nearby. Normally, she found his worshipful gaze charming, but today it only irritated her more.
“What are you gawking at?” she asked.
He blushed and looked down at his large feet. “Nothing, milady.”
He was clean but he still smelled of masculine sweat and hay. It was not a bad smell. Her husband usually smelled of perfume, a good way of covering up the fact of infrequent bathing.
“I shall take the southern trail today,” she said. “Expect me back within an hour.”
“Yes, milady.”
It was actually not a good idea to ride alone, but there was no one to ride with her. If she was not back within the hour, the servants would come looking for her.
She was a good rider but even good riders had accidents.
She was not really concerned, but she should have been because it was a brisk morning and the young mare she was riding was feeling frisky. Forty minutes after she had left the stable and past the time she should have turned her mare was startled by a sound from the brush nearby. The powerful young black mare took off. She was daydreaming about Africa, and she was thrown from the saddle. She hit the ground hard on her side, but the ground was mercifully soft from rains the day before. Shaken but unhurt, she climbed to her feet.
She knew the horse would return to the stable after she had run for a while, but Lady Josephine was in for a walk. Her fashionable shoes were made for riding, not walking. Almost immediately she felt a sharp piercing pain in her ankle.
“Damn,” she said softly, in a decidedly unladylike fashion.
She decided it would be better to wait, and she found a seat on a large boulder and slipped off her riding boot and stocking. Her ankle was already turning an angry red color.
It took longer than she expected for someone to find her. It was growing dark and she was feeling hungry by the time Royce and one of the gardeners came along. They were both hurriedly walking, and Royce breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her.
“We were worried,” he said. “We didn’t know what happened.”
By then her ankle was less hurtful and she was sure she could have walked but she made no move to get off the rock. Instead she had another idea.
“Send the gardener back for the wagon, and you wait here. I have no wish to walk.”
The gardener left hurriedly. She knew it would take him a good while to get back, hook up the wagon, and return for her. She would be alone with Royce for some time. As soon as the gardener disappeared back down the trail, she could sense that Royce felt uneasy. She watched him try and look everywhere except at her bare ankle.
It was just an ankle, for heaven’s sakes.
Surely he had seen a female ankle before?
“Why don’t you sit on the ground or something,” she said sharply. “You act like I’m going to bite you.”
He turned red and stammered something, but she couldn’t understand what.
“I sat sit,” she said. “And rub my ankle. It’s throbbing.”
“Rub your ankle, milady,” he said stupidly.
“Yes, rub it, but not hard.”
He was reluctant but obedience was a part of his upbringing and his character. He kneeled beside her. He gingerly reached for her foot. He acted like her ankle was a hot coal and it was going to burn her. She suddenly felt a warm flush go through her body.
It had been so long for her, and she was so needy. She doubted that Royce would be able to satisfy her greatly, but she needed something. Since she had returned to England, there had not been a chance to be with a man. Her husband was useless in that respect anymore, and she was seldom alone except for servants.
And she suddenly remembered what John Gilbert had done for her that night in the tent when he made her come for the first time, how his mouth had felt on her. It was something she had never experienced before and it had been incredible.
Royce took her ankle gingerly in his hand and began to rub. It did feel good. The heat from his fingers spread up her legs and between her thighs. She felt aroused but then she had felt aroused for days.
She wondered if Royce had ever been with a woman. His blond shaggy hair and boyish features made her think he was still a virgin. And she was sure he had never done anything as wicked as John Gilbert had done to her.
“Do you enjoy your position here?” she asked Royce.
“Yes, milady,” he said. “Very much. I love working with the horses.”
“You know that one word from me, and you would be sent home,” she said.
He looked up in alarm. “Have I done something wrong, milady?”
He was a servant, she told herself. He was paid to serve. And she needed serving.
“Rub my legs,” she said. “They are also feeling cramped.”
A sudden understanding and fear showed in his eyes. He looked frantically around as if praying Louis would return with the wagon.
“Please, Lady Josephine,” he said.
“Rub my legs,” she demanded.
He didn’t pull up her riding skirt. Instead his hands slipped under the hem and he started rubbing the backs of both her calves. Again she felt the incredible heat of his strong fingers. He was used to rubbing down horses so his hands were practiced at the art of massaging. Lord, she realized she was getting hot. She had not felt this way since Africa. Her heart was pounding. Her mouth felt dry, but her hands felt wet. Between her legs she also felt wet. He squeezed her calf a little hard and she gasped.
“I’m sorry, milady,” Royce said quickly.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
She knew she was wrong, and she was taking a great chance. Servants might not have admitted it but they knew everything that went on. She knew they often laughed about it downstairs. She didn’t want to be held up for ridicule in her own house, but she couldn’t help herself.
Even though she was practically begging for it, she was still surprised and excited when Royce’s hands slipped higher. After all, he might have been innocent but he was male. When she made no move to stop him, he grew bolder.
“Yes,” she said.
His hand went almost high enough to touch her thighs, but then he stopped. He pulled his hands away as if she had burned him. He was trembling, but she knew she was not going to allow him to stop.
Maybe what she was doing was wrong, but she needed it.
“I want you to please me, Royce,” she said. “Don’t you want to please me?”
“Yes, milady,” he said.
She tugged at her clothing. His eyes opened wide with astonishment as she got rid of the layers of cloth between him and her moist sex. In a moment she had her dress up around her thighs and she spread her legs wide. Her plump pink pussy was open to his eyes and she wasted no time.
She grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him forward. He scrambled forward on his knees and then his boyish face was between her legs.
“Now lick me,” she said.
He looked up at her in horror. “I’ve never. I don’t want to do this.”
“Just get on with it,” she said.
He had no idea what he was doing, but he tried. His tongue tentatively touched at her wet, swollen lips. He tasted her juice and drew his head back. For the first time he looked rebellious.
“This isn’t proper,” he said. “Men don’t do this.�
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“If they want to keep their position, they do,” she said.
Her hand gripped the back of his head and she pulled him back. He pressed his lips back against her pussy and his reluctant tongue stabbed between her lips. He still had no talent for it, but he tentatively started thrusting his tongue in and out of her. It wasn’t much but she was able to move her hips to get the sensations she wanted.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, that’s it.”
They both heard the sound of the wagon coming and he tried to draw back. She wouldn’t allow it. She needed relief. She frantically ground her pussy against his face until a small shudder rocked her body.
“Oh yes,” she said.
She released him and he scrambled to his feet. She let her clothing fall back in place. His face was red and shiny from her juices, and he looked terribly embarrassed. She didn’t care. It hadn’t been all that satisfying but at least it had taken the edge off.
…..
Her husband had decided to stay in town overnight and she ate her meal alone in the vast dining room. After the incident of the afternoon, she had returned to her room for a nice hot bath. She had considered having her evening meal in her room alone but changed her mind.
It was easy to get into lazy habits.
Her maid had helped her dress and did her hair, and had watched her carefully as she made her way down the stairs. Her ankle still throbbed but she managed. The evening meal was some kind of fish in sauce. The cook was experimenting again since her husband was away. Her husband preferred more traditional English fare, but Lady Josephine enjoyed something different now and then.
Especially if there was good wine to go along with it, and there was. She finished off most of a bottle of a good red wine, and feeling a little giddy at the end of the meal. She did not usually drink brandy but after her meal, she had a snifter in the drawing room.
“Would you like another, Milady,” Louis, the butler asked.
Louis was a tall, genteel looking man who had been with the Samuels family even before she had married Lord Samuels. He controlled the household with a brisk efficiency that was not unlike a General of the Army. It seemed he managed it effortlessly, without ever raising his voice. People simply obeyed him.