“Good heavens, why would anyone wish to play such a game, lest they can be assured of the role of the dominant?”
“All manner of men and women,” he murmured, looking away from the provocative painting in the hopes that his fast stiffening cock would return to its sleeping state.
They moved on to a painting of a naked man, his limbs stretched to four different corners of a St. Andrew's cross. He grimaced, likely from the metal balls hung from his scrotum. Several other naked men stood near, holding their rigid members and ogling the man on the cross.
To his surprise, she did not look away in disgust. She appeared perplexed and curious.
“I didn't understand this painting,” she said. “It would seem the men are aroused to see this man in pain.”
“They are.”
“But they are all of the same sex.”
“Are you not titillated, at times, by the vision of a naked woman?”
At that, she seemed to better understand the painting before them. He pondered whether or not to tell her that more occurred between some of the men here than mere arousal, but she walked on.
They came to the doors of an art gallery which housed Madame Follet's extensive collection of erotic art from statues and marble carvings to prints and tapestries. He wondered if Philippa might be intrigued by the copper moldings depicting various positions of Congress. But when he opened the door, all they could take notice of were three guests of the château: two men and a woman down on all fours between them. This man had their falls down. The man kneeling at the head of the woman shoved his cock into her mouth. The second man knelt behind her, his hands on her hips, as he pounded away into her. He looked up upon hearing Philippa gasp but returned to what he was doing without acknowledging their presence.
Arthur closed the door and noticed Philippa's eyes nearly bulging nearly bulge from her head. Her entire face had turned color.
“Thus far, how does the East Wing compared to India?” he asked
She collected her breath. “This place is scandalous…but tolerable.”
He was glad to hear it but wondered if she spoke with complete conviction.
“What was that poor woman doing?” Philippa asked after they had resumed walking.
“Poor woman? It looks to me as if she was enjoying herself.”
“But that man had forced his member into her mouth!”
“Did you not see the ravenous look upon her face and how her eyes begged for his cock?”
She was silent for a minute before saying, “She can enjoy such a thing?”
“Yes, though, admittedly, his enjoyment is probably the greater.”
She was quiet in thought once more. His cock was stiffer than ever now.
“And you would presume that she enjoys being sandwiched between two men?”
“It is twice the pleasure.”
They stopped in front of another painting. This one was of an orgy with many couples in various states of dress. In one corner of the painting, two women kissed and caressed each other's breasts. In the other corner, a man had his head between a woman's bare legs. In the middle, a woman, bent over the back of a chair, her skirts thrown over her waist to display her arse, the cheeks of which were rose red from the paddling she had received from her master and mistress, smiled impishly.
“Oh my,” Philippa murmured as her gaze took in every detail of the painting.
Arthur imagined Philippa bent over the back of a chair, her arse a beautiful shade of crimson, ripe for the taking. He could take no more. He had questioned the wisdom of coming into the East Wing, and now she had to understand that consequences would follow.
Chapter 12
Philippa had imagined to find more bawdy works of art in the East Wing, but she had not expected this. And she had not expected to walk in on guests engaged in prurient acts before her eyes. Did Arthur speak true? Did that woman enjoy herself?
The sounds of the woman grunting and groaning lingered in Philippa's ears. After the initial shock and embarrassment, she found that recalling what she saw had begun to arouse her. And though she found the first two paintings disturbing, the one she studied now was different. The young woman baring her rump seemed to be smiling at her, inviting her to share in her titillation.
Walking on, they passed by another set of doors. This time Arthur knocked before opening them. Philippa entered the chambers, dark for the curtains had not been drawn aside.
Arthur closed the door behind him, and before she could ask what room they were in, he had yanked her to him. She collided into his body. He whirled her around, trapping her between the hardness of the door and the hardness of his body. And then his mouth engulfed hers, his lips crushing hers in almost bruising fashion. She needed to protest. They were not in the privacy of their own bedchamber. What if someone were to open the doors upon them as they had to the trio in the art gallery?
But his kiss was too encompassing, too powerful, too exciting. She could do nothing but drown in the force of it. His tongue invaded her mouth as he pressed her into the door. She could feel the length of desire hard against her belly, and her body responded, her desire flaring like dry grass catching fire.
She was able to draw in air when he moved his mouth off her lips to sear her neck with hot kisses. A moan took the place of the words she had meant to say earlier. He grabbed a buttock of hers and ground her pelvis against his erection.
Her self-consciousness made one final attempt to master the situation. “Surely you are not thinking to—”
“Perhaps next time you will heed my warning,” he growled against her neck.
He took her mouth once more in his, and she knew further protest would prove futile. The craving between her legs had grown hot and heavy. She wanted an encore to last night and this morning.
Of her own volition she ground her hips at him and attempted to return his ardent kisses. She had never thought she could desire a man more than she desired her husband, yet here she was, wanting this man, craving this man. It was he and he alone who could satisfy the longing in her body.
Grabbing the back of her thighs, he hoisted her legs over his hips so that she straddled him. Holding her aloft, he slammed his hips into her. Her head bounced against the door, but she paid it no heed. A greater need called to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as their bodies pulsed and undulated against the door. She could feel her desire moistening her petticoats.
He carried her deeper into the room and sat down on what seemed to be a bed. Their mouths still joined, he pulled at her skirts where they were caught between them, then slid his hand up her leg to where she was most wet. She moaned when his digit connected with that most sensitive bud below. He fondled it till her desire soaked through her petticoats and into her gown.
He stopped only to unbutton his fall and pulled out his member.
“Have you a sheath?” she managed to ask above the screams of her ardor and the temptation to throw caution to the wind.
“I will withdraw in time.”
She prayed that would be enough and said nothing further when he lifted her and speared himself into her heat. She shivered as she slid down his length.
“My God,” he breathed, throbbing inside of her.
As if savoring the moment, he did not move. It was she who stirred. Grabbing her waist, he rocked her to and fro on his erection, grinding her womanhood against his pelvis. She whimpered and sighed, then grunted and gasped as the promise of rapture crept nearer and nearer. From the tension in her loins, euphoria bloomed. She assisted in the exertions till she could feel the perspiration between her breasts. Despite her fear of someone walking in on them, she let out a loud cry when ecstasy crashed down upon her, shaking her, ringing her body with bliss from head to toe. He pumped himself into her throughout her eruption, stopping only after she slumped against him, spent. He lifted her off him, took out his handkerchief, and spilled his seed, his hips bucking and his body trembling.
After he had cleaned himself
and replaced his fall, he turned to her, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled her into a brief kiss
“I fear you smell of horse, too,” he said.
She smiled. “I should take a bath then.”
She smoothed her skirts while he retrieved the riding crop he had dropped, and they took their leave. She was sure there was much more to see of the East Wing, though a part of her felt she had seen enough. Nevertheless, a plan formed in her mind, and it involved the East Wing.
Chapter 13
Philippa desired to join the other guests for dinner and promptly took a seat next to Miss Collingsworth. Arthur took a seat opposite the women and next to Devon. The meal comprised several yuletide favorites of Madame Follet, marrons glacés and ham with candied apples, as well as more English dishes such as mince pies and Christmas pudding.
Arthur had hoped to converse mostly with Philippa, but she was rather engaged with Miss Collingsworth. It was not till Devon asked Arthur if he remembered the time they had done a “round robin” with their women that Philippa glanced up.
“Is that a common activity in the East Wing?” she asked.
“Quite common,” Devon replied, then turned to Miss Collingsworth. “Shall we give it a go tonight? It shall be quite enjoyable!”
Miss Collingsworth made no reply and only stared into her soup.
“For you certainly,” Philippa said.
“For everyone involved.”
Miss Collingsworth blanched.
“Do you mean to exchange women as if they were cricket bats or horses?” Philippa accused.
“I would never exchange a good horse.”
Seeing the stern look across Philippa’s face, Arthur intervened. “You need not worry. We shall remain safely in the West Wing.”
“What of Miss Collingsworth?” Philippa pressed. “Perhaps she should remain in the West Wing as well?”
Devon frowned. “Now why the devil would she do that?”
Philippa turned to the young woman. “My dear, would you prefer the West Wing?”
The question clearly distressed the poor creature.
“I-I know not,” she stammered. “What is the West Wing?”
“A place for cowards,” Devon replied. He turned to Arthur, “Your pardon. I mean you no disrespect. I meant to say that the East Wing is for the more adventurous.”
“There is pleasure to be had in either wings,” Arthur said to Miss Collingsworth.
“She may be more comfortable in the West Wing,” Philippa offered.
“But find the East Wing more exciting,” Devon countered.
“Perhaps we should ask her what she prefers? Comfort or excitement?”
Devon stared at Philippa, clearly displeased at her interference, but he asked his guest, “Well, Miss Collingsworth? Comfort or excitement?”
“I suppose…” she responded, “excitement.”
Devon smiled. He raised his wine glass. “To excitement.”
Now it was Philippa’s turn to appear displeased.
After dinner, the guests separated. Some, including Devon and Miss Collingsworth, headed toward the East Wing.
“I worry of her,” Philippa confided to Arthur as she took his arm, and they strolled in the direction of the West Wing. “Lord Devon pays her no heed, and I think her too timid to speak her true thoughts and feelings.”
“You wish to tell Devon what he can or can’t do with his guest?”
“He would not listen to me. Would you have a word with him?”
“He will pay me no heed either. Our friendship is limited.”
“Will you, at least, make an attempt?”
He looked down at her—a mistake for her imploring eyes left him with no choice.
“I will make an attempt,” he agreed.
Her face brightened, making it worth his while.
“There is good in you,” she said happily.
“How is that possible? Am I not an odious rake?”
“You are that as well.”
“Such impudence would land you a sound thrashing in the East Wing.”
She was quiet for a moment before asking, “Have you given more thought to my son’s suit?”
“I have not changed my mind if that is what you ask, but I am more encouraged that your son may be a good man.”
“And if this were to prove true to you beyond doubt?”
He hesitated. “It does not change his background.”
“Are there no extenuating circumstances in which you would approve marriage between Miss Hartshorn and George?”
“Such as?”
She grew quiet once more. They came to the stairs that led upstairs to their chambers.
“If her health depended upon it,” she suggested.
“Her health? How?”
“I cannot speak to particulars, but let us assume she risks more than her current situation.”
“I fail to conceive—”
“What if they were compelled to do something more drastic than Gretna Green if they cannot marry?”
“Why this exercise in hypotheticals?”
Philippa struggled with something in her mind. “Do you find the West Wing dull compared to the East Wing?”
“Not at present.”
“But if you did not worry of my comfort, you would choose the East Wing.”
What was behind all these questions? he wondered. Here was a clear difference between the sexes. Men did not engage in so many inquiries before stating what occupied their minds.
“I suppose.”
“Then I have a proposition of mine own.”
“Indeed?”
“I will go with you into the East Wing if you promise to delay your decision on my son’s suit for a fortnight.”
He stared at her in disbelief. Had he heard correctly?
“You would go into the East Wing?” he asked.
She nodded.
“We have been there already,” he noted.
“I would…I would permit you to engage in those activities—that differ from what occurs in the West Wing.”
He could hardly contain the thrill that went through him. Of course he believed her. Her love for her son was steadfast. She had risked her reputation to come here with him. Why should she not risk more?
“You impress me, Philippa.”
“Then you will accept my proposition?”
He wondered that she only asked for a fortnight. Why not longer? He would have accepted if she had requested a month.
“In the East Wing, you not only surrender yourself to me, you submit to me,” he told her.
She lowered her eyes. “Yes, I understand.”
“You are prepared to experience pain as pleasure and to allow me dominance over your body?”
“For a fortnight,” she insisted, “you will give my son’s suit genuine consideration. I want your word as a gentleman. It would be too easy for you to default on your end once the night is over, but I trust you.”
“You would trust a rake?”
“You surprise and impress me as well, Arthur.”
He pulled her closer to him. “Madam, you have my word.”
They returned to the room they had occupied earlier that day in the East Wing. The servants had lit the candles of the room, which was one of the less intimidating rooms in the East Wing. Most of the other rooms in the East Wing were stark and a few modified to resemble medieval torture chambers. Instead of the racks, cages, crosses, or pillories one might find in other rooms of the East Wing, this one had a four post bed covered in silk linen, a Persian carpet, and gilded candelabras.
He left her in the room while he went to seek out Devon. Unsurprisingly, after Arthur spoke his peace, Devon assured him there was no cause for concern.
“It surprises me not that Mrs. Gray should be afraid,” Devon told him, “as she has never experienced the enticement of the East Wing for herself. Miss Collingsworth likes to play the shy one to others, but she is another person entirely in be
d.”
With no more to say, Arthur returned to Philippa.
“What happened?” she asked after he had locked the doors behind him.
“He heard my concerns—our concerns—though that may not alter his actions. But we can see how Miss Collingsworth fares in an hour or so.”
Philippa appeared somewhat mollified.
Looking down at her, he nearly asked if she was certain she wished to proceed, but he didn't want to give her the chance to change her mind. Gently, he cupped her face in both hands.
“How fortunate I am that you love your son so much,” he murmured.
“You cannot now accuse me of being a dowdy old widow,” she replied.
He chuckled, “Far from it.”
“You will take some mercy on me, my lord? As I am a novice.”
“Of course. Here at Château Follet, the dominant one must provide a safety word.”
“A what?”
“A word that, when spoken, indicates the submissive has had enough.”
“Are there not words enough in our language to suit such a purpose? I can cry out 'stop.'“
He shook his head. “This must be unequivocal, a word not in common use. How do you say stop in Hindi?”
“Rokana.”
“Would that suffice as a safety word for you?”
“I suppose. Are there other considerations I should be aware of? “
“I am the dominant. You are the submissive.”
“And you will punish me if I do not obey you?”
“As this is your first time, I shall grant you many allowances. I only require that you remain receptive to the experience. Will you do that?”
Her gaze locked with his. “Yes.”
He studied her lips, then lowered his head to claim them. They were soft and yielding beneath his own. He kissed her tenderly as he breathed in her scent. He felt he could taste the flavors of the holiday upon her. There was no holiday as special as Christmas, and tonight he added another reason why. He slid one hand up the back of her head, his fingers entwining in her hair. He held her head in place as he deepened his kiss, taking larger mouthfuls, prying open her lips to plumb the depths behind. His other hand went to her back to urge her closer to him. Ardor roiled in his loins. He could not, for the moment, imagine lusting more for a woman.
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