Seducing the Master (An Erotic Historical in the Red Chrysanthemum Series) (16 page)

“And what does my minx have in store for me
today?” Sir Arthur asked, watching as she shifted the angle of the
sofa so that he could view its length fully.

“A surprise.”

Sir Arthur surveyed her from head to toe.
“Do you not have other attire?”

She glanced down at the corset and
petticoats she had worn yesterday. “I changed my shift.”

“When I keep a mistress, she is dressed in
the finest fashions.”

“Indeed?” Terrell responded with interest.
She sat at his feet and crossed her arms over his lap. “And what
qualities recommend themselves as your mistress?”

“She must be faithful. I will not be made a
cuckold.”

His eyes had darkened, and his lips closed
into a stern line, but she chose to challenge him. “A wife makes a
cuckold. A mistress is not a wife.”

“If a woman accepts my coin, I expect she
will be constant.”

He spoke with such emphasis that she
wondered if he meant to warn her.

“What else?” she asked.

“She must be pretty, of course.”

“With your affluence, you could afford a
harem of pretty wenches.”

“I could, but I am not a greedy man. One
wench is sufficient for me.”

“But you would not complain of two?”

He raised his brows as a knock sounded at
the door. She rose to allow entry to Miss Isabella, a member of the
Red Chrysanthemum. A Spanish beauty, Isabella had long, straight
tresses, dark striking brows and an olive complexion. Over thirty
years in age, she had a full figure with rounded hips undisguised
by the vertical drape of her gown. Terrell and Miss Isabella had
been asked by Master Gallant to attend Mistress Scarlet during the
display in which Terrell had found him so compelling.

“May I present Miss Isabella,” Terrell
introduced.

Sir Arthur appeared intrigued. Miss Isabella
stood before him and curtsied.

“I’ve another performance I think you’ll
enjoy,” said Terrell.

She stood behind Miss Isabella and began to
unpin her frock. Sir Arthur leaned back in his chair, placed the
walking stick aside, and joined his hands in a steeple. Miss
Isabella stepped from her gown, which pooled upon the ground.
Terrell untied the petticoat while Miss Isabella unpinned her own
hair, a shade lighter than Terrell’s and possessed of a silken
gleam. Standing behind Miss Isabella, Terrell caressed the woman’s
bosom through her stays and shift, then trailed her hands down the
midsection to rest upon the belly before gripping the hips. Sir
Arthur grunted.

With Miss Isabella undressed to her shift,
stays and stockings, Terrell pulled her onto the sofa. The two
women sat facing each other and kissed, soft lips against soft
lips. Terrell enjoyed the delicate qualities of her own sex, and
this was not her first encounter with Miss Isabella. The two had
fondled each other in their corner of the stage when Master Gallant
had turned his full attention to Mistress Scarlet, the main
presentation. Ardor fanned through her loins as Terrell recalled
how Master Gallant had instructed her to tie Mistress Scarlet to
the table and invited the audience to touch and inspect the
redhead.

Terrell still marveled that Mistress Scarlet
had acquiesced to the submissive behavior. In all the time Terrell
had known the woman, Mistress Scarlet had always carried herself as
a dominant and shown no interest in the other sex. How Master
Gallant had managed to command the imperial Mistress’ submission
intrigued Terrell.

She kissed Miss Isabella with greater fervor
as she replayed the scene between Master Gallant and Mistress
Scarlet, whom he had bent over a table. He had inserted a pair of
silver balls into her cunnie earlier. They seemed to agitate her,
for her brow had furrowed often once they were inside. What were
they? Terrell had meant to ask Mistress Scarlet, but the woman had
disappeared without word. Even Madame did not know where or why.
Terrell suspected the sudden departure of Mistress Scarlet related
to Master Gallant somehow, but she could not understand why
Mistress Scarlet would leave a man who could elicit such
pleasure.

“Beg to spend, Mistress Scarlet,” Master
Gallant had instructed.

Terrell remembered the woman had appeared to
resist, as if she did not wish to spend, but it was plain that her
body desired to, was tortured by its denial. Had Mistress Scarlet
possessed too much pride to beg? And how had she managed to forbear
his beautiful thrusting and his fingers at her clit? Terrell would
have given much to have Master Gallant’s cock in
her
, and
had even offered to beg on behalf of Mistress Scarlet, that the
latter might know relief and the divine ecstasy that awaited
her.

In the end, Mistress Scarlet had
surrendered. It was folly not to. Her pleas to Master Gallant were
barely above a whisper, but Terrell had seen the movement of the
lips and knew the words that she would have longed to say to Master
Gallant. He had obliged then, grinding Mistress Scarlet into the
table as he plunged himself into her, sending her into that
rapturous paroxysm.

A gentle applause from the audience had
followed. Too distracted by her own unmet cravings, Terrell had not
applauded, but she had meant to. Beyond doubt, the man deserved
approbation. Terrell had never before seen such an elegant display
of dominance.

Brought to the present by Miss Isabella, who
planted kisses upon her neck and décolletage, Terrell unlaced the
stays before her and pulled down the shift to expose two heavy
orbs. From the sides of her eyes, she saw Sir Arthur sit at
attention. She fondled the breasts, finding them quite lovely to
behold and to touch. They were malleable, and Terrell pushed them
up high to take a nipple into her mouth. Leaning back to allow
Terrell greater access, Miss Isabella gasped and groaned as Terrell
swirled her tongue about the pointed bud.

As a young adolescent blossoming into
womanhood, Terrell had discovered the marvel of spending by
attending to that small bud of flesh between her thighs. Her
breasts grown, she had often touched herself there as well,
relishing how her nipples seemed to feed the sensations swirling
below her navel. She had been more than curious about the opposite
sex. One strapping Negro in particular had caught her attention.
Despite the exhaustion of toiling in the fields, they had managed
to find energy enough to grope and fondle each other beneath the
bearded figs.

The thought that her kind might desire to
engage in similar fashion with a man
not
of her kind did not
immediately enter into mind. She had felt the leer of white men as
young as ten years of age, had seen their kind put unwanted hands
upon many a Negress. But it was not until she had befriended Miss
Ruth that a new world opened to her.

Hearing sounds coming from one of the
equipment sheds one day, she had peered through a dusty window and
was astounded to see a Negress upon her knees, sucking the cock of
none other than the owner’s son! After much grunting and a few
bucks of the hips, he had replaced his fall and left.

Terrell looked upon the Negress, who rose to
her feet and wiped her mouth as if nothing were amiss. Miss Ruth
did not work in the fields but in the Great House. Dressed in white
muslin, petticoats, and new slippers, she appeared to Terrell as a
princess.

Miss Ruth saw Terrell through the window
before the latter had a chance to move. She laughed.

When she had come out, Terrell had not moved
from her spot. She wanted to understand what it was Miss Ruth had
done and why. The Negress had seemed to
enjoy
the act.
Terrell had only seen women cringe or on the verge of tears when
touched by a white man. Miss Ruth crossed her arms and leaned
against the corner of the shed. Terrell thought Miss Ruth, ten
years her senior, the prettiest blackamoor she had ever seen.

“Why such a dumb look upon you, girl?” Miss
Ruth smirked.

Terrell took several seconds to find her
tongue but finally asked, “Ain’t you afeared?”

“Afeared of what?”

“What you done, be that—be that
allowed?”

Miss Ruth laughed. “When the master demands
it, you best satisfy.”

“It don’t trouble you none?”

“Trouble me? Look at me, and look at you,
girl.”

Miss Terrell looked down at her bare feet
and the dirt stains upon her old, tattered garments.

“You’re pretty enough, though,” Miss Ruth
said. “You behave yourself, you might earn your way out of the
fields and into the Great House, as I have done.”

After that, Ruth had taken an interest in
Terrell and assumed the mantle of a mentor. Terrell learned how to
appreciate the other sex, men of the white variety, because of what
they could provide: better shelter, clothing and food. Life in the
Great House was infinitely better than slaving in the fields.

After suckling Miss Isabella’s teats,
Terrell returned to kissing her mouth. Lying back, Terrell pulled
Isabella down atop her. She knew that the vision of two women lying
together, bosom to bosom, pelvis to pelvis, could not fail to
titillate the man.

Sir Arthur stroked himself as he watched the
women caress each other, writhing body to writhing body, tongues
intertwining, moans muffled between the soft smacking of lips. Miss
Isabella cupped her neck and playfully tugged upon Terrell’s bottom
lip, but Terrell, aroused from her earlier reverie of Master
Gallant, wanted more. Threading her fingers into Miss Isabella’s
hair, she brought Isabella’s mouth down harder upon her own. They
ground their hips together as if one of them might be in possession
of a cock.

Not content to remain the lone audience
member, Sir Arthur rose from his chair and approached the sofa.
Terrell groped Miss Isabella behind the thighs and about the
buttocks. Sir Arthur unbuttoned his fall and positioned himself
behind Miss Isabella. He threw her shift up over her waist, and
Terrell found herself caressing bare flesh. She pried apart the
buttocks. Miss Isabella arched herself to further provide him
access to her cunnie and moaned when he sank his length into
her.

Terrell found Miss Isabella’s pleasure bud.
Her fingers brushed against cock whenever Sir Arthur pulled out. As
the angle of penetration was difficult, his member would
occasionally pop out. Terrell would glide his cock back into its
proper place. Soon, he began thrusting in earnest. She caught his
stare a number of times, the look upon his countenance leaving no
doubt as to whom he would rather be inside of.

With a cock in her cunnie and Terrell
fondling her clit, Isabella began riding the wave of ecstasy. Her
body trembled between them. Sir Arthur pumped his hips into Miss
Isabella before finding his own release. He grunted several times
before disengaging from Isabella with a shudder and stumbling back
into his chair.

Knowing that Terrell had not spent, Miss
Isabella reached to pull up her skirts to provide some much needed
attention to her neglected cunnie. But Terrell shook her head.

She was saving herself for Master
Gallant.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“D
o you suppose Master
Gallant awaits the return of Mistress Scarlet?” Terrell asked Sarah
as the latter prepared for another evening with Captain
Gracechurch.

Little George, sitting upon his mother’s
bed, giggled as Terrell hid behind a handkerchief, then emerged
with widened eyes and her mouth agape.

“Madame does not think Mistress Scarlet will
return,” Sarah replied as she undressed from her gown and
petticoats.

“Mistress Scarlet did not seem much inclined
to talk of Master Gallant,” Terrell recalled. “I wonder what manner
of relationship they had, she being a dominant as well as
he—ah!”

George had grabbed a fistful of her
hair.

Sarah shrugged. “Perhaps they took
turns.”

Terrell dwelled upon the statement with
interest as she tried to extract her hair from the little boy’s
surprisingly strong grip. Mistress Scarlet had been one of the most
dominating women at the Red Chrysanthemum. It had been quite
astonishing to see her submitting to another, but it was hard to
believe that the woman would shed her mantle as Mistress Scarlet
completely. Did Master Gallant enjoy women who could occupy both
the submissive as well as the dominant role?

George yanked harder, letting go when
Terrell tickled him.

“I have something better for you to handle,”
she told him and retrieved a little wooden horse, brightly painted
with an assortment of hues, from beneath her cot.

Sarah gasped. “Terrell, it’s beautiful.
But…how did you come by it?”

“I took a stroll about St. James’s this
morning, and an old man was there peddling the figurines. I watched
him paint one, and it was no easy feat as his aged hands shook
considerably.”

George promptly put the horse in his
mouth.

“None of that, Georgie,” his mother
admonished. “You are too old to be putting such things in your
mouth”

George removed the toy and banged it upon
the wall.

“Georgie!”

Terrell laughed. “Leave him be.”

“But it surely cost you a pretty penny and
you are not in the habit of making extravagant purchases.”

“It pleased me to buy it,” she said, seeing
that Sarah still had doubts. “The old man reminded me of a Negro
who fashioned very similar toys and sold them on the streets of
Bridgetown. He was quite fortunate to have had such skills. Most
slaves, when they are too old to serve a useful purpose, are
banished from the plantations to fend for themselves.”

Terrell did not mention that one plantation
owner simply threw his aged slaves off a cliff.

She sat behind Sarah upon the bed to assist
with the stays. George knocked the horse against the wall several
more times till the head came off.