Eliza Lloyd (2 page)

“Spread them wider,” he commanded. He placed his hands on
her knees, exposing her as he forced her open.

She had not worn undergarments. All that she owned were the
silky French kind with lace and satin and bows that anyone would recognize as
patrician.

“Look at you,” he said. “Weeping for me.” He caressed her
inner thigh.

Lucy arched, forcing her head back into the soft confines of
the pillow. Yes, she was wet. She was open and bare before him. Her sheath and
the soft lips surrounding it were exposed and he watched her intently.

His hands were warm. He touched his fingers to the soft,
sensitive nub. She reacted, clutching her legs together, catching his hand
between her thighs. His fingers stroked slowly, each swipe causing relentless
waves of pleasure.

She gasped for air.

“Easy. We have all night.” He pushed his fingers into her
body, stroking with determination, expertise. “You want this very badly,” he
said. “And now just a small taste of what I can do for you.”

He braced one of his knees against the bed. He switched
hands, circling and pressuring the pulsing pebble. His other hand slid further
back, along the divide between her bottom.

When his finger pierced her tight sphincter, she groaned
loudly, feeling shame and doubt. And then soaring, indescribable pleasure. She
gasped and moaned, thrashed and ached before she plummeted to earth again. Her
womb, her being throbbed until the pulses slowed and she remembered what she
was doing and with whom.

His lips were firm with the slightest curve. He stood and
ripped at the ties of his robe, flinging it aside.

What she saw was a startling vision of manhood, making her
forget the five minutes of profound and illicit gratification he’d just given
her. Lucy gasped and tried to kick her way free of him. His hands only pressed
her more firmly, spreading her still wider. Her sheath contracted in a
rebellious response.

She could not take him in.

“This is what you paid for,” he said. He gripped his
erection. His hand barely fit around the root. Hers would never. Ever.

“No,” she gasped. She had an image of him pushing into her,
ripping her.
No
.

“You didn’t come here to whisper platitudes between chaste
kisses, milady. You came because you wanted a man inside you. One who can
pleasure you until you can’t walk or sit or think.”

This was no moment of pleasurable bliss. She stared
wide-eyed as he leaned on the bed, his knees at the edge. He cupped her bottom
and lifted her as if she were no heavier than a feather.

His cock protruded long and hard. She couldn’t take her gaze
from the awful, frightful sight of his thick manhood as he drew her closer to
his body.

When the tip of his cock finally touched her center, pushing
against the tight entrance of her body, tears formed in her eyes. There would
be pain.

Prodding once and then twice, he confirmed her worst fears.
There was no room inside her petite body. He tightened his grip on her bottom.
She tensed.

The head of his cock entered her body. She gasped, her chest
heaving. The invading fullness stretched her.

“Watch. This is what you want.”

Tilted as she was, her gaze was riveted on the sight of his
member disappearing by slow degrees inside her. The intrusion had not caused
madness, she was mad to begin with.

She arched her neck. Each breath was a labor. Hot desire
surged through every nerve, every pore. Each pulse beat, each touch brought her
closer to the delicious truth.

She wanted to drown in the heady passion.

He pushed forward, slow and steady. Her body gave way as he
filled her. Stretched. Her legs were pushed wider as his hips settled between
her thighs. And then he leaned into her, bearing his weight into the force of
his thrust. She gasped and closed her eyes. Only a single place existed and
that was where his cock was buried in her body. Already she throbbed.

He gripped her hand and set her palm on her mons, higher up
though, were the skin turned soft.

“That’s me you feel.”

Yes. There was fullness and a certain hardness beneath her
fingers.

“You will take me all before the night is over.”

She could still see the root of his cock. Lud, she was full
of him but there was more to take.

Then he withdrew and thrust into her again. He went deeper
and she groaned. He began to pound into her, sure, hard strokes that caused her
vision to glaze. Over and over again he pumped into her. Her sheath clenched
against him.

She felt his tight grip about her waist as he held in her
place lest his movements push her to the other side of the bed. Inside, she
pulsed, shocked that she could be so rapidly aroused. Again.

And admittedly, mortified that she could take such an
erection into her body and be enjoying it as if she had whored every night of
her life.

Clenching against his shaft, Lucy tried to participate. She
moaned with each thrust and felt the swift rise of release.

“Not so fast. There is no need to hurry,” John said.

He jerked his cock from her body, the force of it dousing
her in cold reality and leaving her bereft—missing what he had already given
her. He stood beside the bed, staring down at her through the slits of the
mask.

“Oh,” she said, panting and irate. “But I—”

“You’ve been without a partner for too long, else you would
have been able to enjoy the pleasure longer.”

“No, I just want to—”

“Release? You will. Until that sweet nub between your legs
is so sensitive you won’t be able to put your legs together.”

Dazed, Lucy tried to gather the bits of her reality into
something that made sense. She’d employed a man with utterly shocking features,
he had thrown her to the bed, pleasured her and pounded into her. All in the
space of five minutes.

And now she was angry that he had stopped.

Her sheath still pulsed, but those beats that promised the
ultimate in relief now diminished to the point of frustration.

“Remove your clothing,” he said. The command was implied
though his voice was pleasant to hear.

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons at the front of her gown.
She could not concentrate on the task while she gazed at him.

“That’s it. I want you to remember this.”

Lud, she did too. Every minute. She closed her mind to any
lingering fear. Wasn’t this what she wanted?

She nearly laughed aloud. No. This was so much more than she
wanted or imagined.

He had reached for a bottle of oil, poured some of it in the
palm of his hand and then slickened his arousal, still as firm and as hard as
he had been.

The scent of rose oil wafted in the air.

When he glanced at her, he tsked. “Slow. Much too slow,” he
said.

He dropped his knee to the bed and then straddled her. All
of him—his muscular thighs, his hips, his manhood—was there within reach. Her
hands remained firmly locked on her buttons. He pried her fingers loose, a drop
of oil staining the bodice.

“You need a name,” he said as he loosed one button and then
followed with a second. He traced one of the rope braids. “Victoria won’t do.
You don’t seem like a Catherine or an Anne or a Mary. Why don’t I call you
Tess?”

He pushed aside the two halves of her serviceable gown,
exposing her white chemise and breasts. “Tess with the beautiful breasts.” He
slipped one hand underneath the flimsy material and cupped a handful of her
flesh. She arched, pushing her nipple against his palm, wanting more of his
touch. “Tess with the tight nipples.”

He chuckled as if she weren’t underneath him and trapped by
his heavier, larger form.

Lucy wasn’t thinking. The daze of the encounter, the brazen
shock of a naked man over her—it had all the makings of a nightmare. One where
she was pleasured to death.

He squeezed but said, “Not yet, I think. I don’t like being
naked alone.”

He rolled from her and hopped up, grabbing one of her hands
and hoisting her to her feet. With startling efficiency, he untied bows,
loosened hooks all while she remained passively accepting. Dazed.

Very quickly she had passed from her staid reality into a
mesmerizing world where she had no control over her feelings, her needs or her
life.

Tonight, John was going to take care of everything.

When she stood in just her chemise and stockings, he said,
“I should have paid Madame Dupuis instead of the other way around.” He cupped
her breasts and ran his thumbs over the pebbled nipples. “I would ask what you
want, but I’m not a gentleman and I have a pretty good idea that you came only
to be fucked.”

She drew in a sharp breath, making her breasts fill his
palms.

“You are very virginal,” he said. There was a hint of
mockery. “Do you like it when I use foul language? Does it make you wet?”

Clenching her teeth, she tried to ignore the sensations that
she was powerless to control, the rush of feelings his words seemed to stir
with little effort. And the continuing ache deep in her body.

She glanced at his face for the first time. The mask
effectively kept his identity safe yet she didn’t feel threatened or
intimidated by it. He did have brown hair. Would she even remember that
tomorrow or would she still be mesmerized by the size of his cock and what he
could do with it?

In the few moments they had been together, she had been
transported to a new world. Only John mattered here—what he could do for her
mattered. But she wanted to participate fully in whatever sensual delights he
could invent. She was ready to discover what it was that she had been missing.

If what he had done so far was an indication, she would be
transported to an unimaginable world before her time was through.

She smoothed her hands over the skin of his arms, feeling
each curve and bulge. “You make me wet,” she said simply. It was the truth. A
truth she had never recognized with her husband. He had not excited her. Nor
had he tried.

There was a hint of a smile as he released her breasts with
a quick pinch. He reached for the skirting of her chemise and slowly pulled the
garment up and over her head. The warm air caressed her skin as much as his
gaze did.

The moment was tender and ripe for an embrace. She wanted to
press her body to his, feel the rasp of his hair against her breasts and feel
the strength of his arms as he held her.

Instead, he reached one hand between her legs and swiped
through the folds. His fingers came out wet, embarrassingly so. When he licked
his finger, he said, “Wet and delicious.” Lucy couldn’t breathe.

John turned her toward the bed and backed into her. His
phallus cradled against the cleft of her bottom. “On your knees, Tess.” Again,
he directed her toward the bed. She braced one hand and then a knee. Before she
had secured a revealing pose, John’s hands pressed between her shoulders,
forcing her head down but keeping her bottom up and exposed. She clenched her
eyes shut, waiting for the hard, full intrusion of his cock. It wasn’t his cock
she felt. He had knelt behind her and he used his tongue to swipe along the
weeping slit of her cunny.

Hysteria, the breathless, insane kind, swept over her body.
Her eyelids fluttered and she dug her hands into the bedsheets, gasping. Dying.

His poked his tongue in and out of her a few times. His nose
pressed against her thigh and then against the curve of her cheek. And then…

“Oh God, John. Don’t.”

The intense licking stopped but she continued to gasp and
struggle on the bed. She wanted to give up all her inhibitions, but could she
trust John to catch her if she allowed herself to go over the edge and fall
into this maelstrom of pleasure?

Had she had a life before tonight?

His big hands worked between her legs, spreading her,
opening her, before she felt the head of his cock. She caught the scent of the
rose oil and knew that forever she would associate roses with this. With him.

This time there was no worry. She focused on her senses as
the physical pressure of his thick manhood stretched her again. Her sheath
jerked at the invasion, squeezing, struggling to pull him deep into her body.

She rocked against him. He gripped her hips and helped her,
pulling her back firmly against his groin, but even with the blind delirium,
she didn’t think she was taking him all.

At some point, she ceased thinking and worrying. He began
thrusting easily in and out of her, slickened from the oil and her body’s
fluids. The joining was furious, carnal and Lucy was pleasantly mindless,
allowing his frenzied movements to rock her back and forth on the mattress.

“More,” she said. “More.”

She clenched when he was deep, wanting him to stay, and as
he withdrew, she moaned at the loss of his fullness. Pumping in and out of her,
he was silent and diligent while she was thrashing and moaning, wanting all
that he could give her. Her hands and fingers dug into the coverings on the
bed, as if she could remain anchored to this world.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Was he serious? Never!

“Oh no. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

Her sheath was contracting on its own. The nub hidden high
up was beating as if her heart pounded between her legs. At last she gave in to
the demands of her arousal.

It was there just out of reach. He pushed firmly into her,
filling every portion of her welcoming hollow. He pinched her nipple.

Pleasurable oblivion found her as if she had searched a lifetime.
Her body tensed as she took flight, arching her back.

Then she gasped. She soared to a plateau, a peaceful place
where her mind forgot everything except the gentle language of indulgence and
bliss. It was a gift—a luxurious, heavenly gift.

And then she fell. Falling, falling until the first strong
pulse gripped her and shook her to the core—fast and hard and then dwindling
into slow, pleasant reminders of where she had been and would like to return
again soon.

But for now she didn’t want to move. She wanted to bask in
the perfect peace, in the rare accord of mind and body.

When he pulled from her body, it was as if she had lost a
piece of her being. She slid to her stomach and by slow degrees, her breath and
sanity returned.

John’s hand caressed her hip. She turned to stare at
him—this stranger, now her lover and the man she expected to take her back to
nirvana.

“Do you mind?” he asked. “You taste delicious.”

He nudged her to roll over. Her bones had melted and she had
no will or ability to resist him. If she could not muster even the smallest of
defenses, she wondered how she would feel in the morning.

With droopy eyelids, she watched as he knelt again. Her legs
hung over the bed but he hoisted them to his shoulders, bracing his arms firmly
as he leaned forward.

Swollen and sensitive, she endured the first stroke, painful
but searingly pleasurable. She sucked air between her teeth.

She could not watch as his head bobbed up and down with each
tender caress. He was masterful with his tongue, the swipes firm and regular.
It did not take him long to stir her arousal. She arched and squirmed, feeling
as though she pushed her quim into his face. Her breasts ached, she wanted his
mouth, but knew he couldn’t be in two places at once. Instead, she cupped her breasts
with her hands and started slow kneading, matching the deliberate strokes of
his mouth.

In less than an hour, she had transformed from a proper
duchess into a moaning, happy whore.

As she crested a third time, she heard John moan and saw the
quick movement of his arm. He ate at her, sucking on the sensitive nub and
delving into the depths of her sheath. Coherent again, she felt John suction
her flesh into his mouth while she felt the vibrations of his groaning.

His jaw was clenched tight. He’d finally taken his own
pleasure.

He lowered her legs so that they dangled from the bed. She
had no strength to move, except to watch him. Slowly, he stood to his feet. He
reached for the bedcover and wiped at the frothy seed that coated his stomach
and groin and dripped down his leg.

She had not thought of taking precautions. She was grateful
that he
was
thinking, but perhaps paid professionals must always
consider such ramifications.

“Thank you,” she said.

“No thanks are necessary. I get to fuck for money. That’s hardly
a reason to be grateful.”

“It’s just that—”

“You’ve never been filled with such a prodigious cock before
and you can’t wait for more.”