Lady Waverly's Lovers (3 page)

June 15, 1812

This year’s party truly is a revelation! I invited people hoping for our usual pleasures, but my guests have far exceeded my wildest expectations. I think the most unexpected experiences have come from Colonel Henshaw.

How can I describe him? He is a man of no more than six and thirty, with a severe expression permanently attached to his face. He has the stiff rigidity of a military man whose emotions are never worn on his sleeve. But he is undeniably handsome, with a strong body that any lady would want to explore.

The first night of our gathering, he spoke at length about his time in India and his exposure to a book called the Kama Sutra. Apparently the tome is an erotic exploration of sexual spirituality. I’d heard of it, of course, but not seen a copy. His descriptions, though, were enough to wet my body and my appetites. Later that night, he put on a show with Lady Greyton, but I was, as I described earlier, otherwise engaged.

In truth, the man is more Christopher’s friend than mine, so imagine my surprise when I entered my private parlor tonight and found the Colonel waiting for me. He was naked, gloriously so and I enjoyed the show enormously. That strong body that is hinted beneath his clothing is most magnificent and well-toned from years of labor. And his cock. Oh, my. It is thick and long and such a spectacle when hard and curled against his rippled stomach.

I met his eyes in the firelight and saw a flicker of something…
dominant
. Immediately I recognized the game we would play and thrilled at it.

“Sir,” I cried. “What are you doing in my chamber?”

Of course, all along I was reaching behind me to lock my door so we would not be disturbed. He smiled when I did it and nodded to me before his face grew hard.

“I’ve seen you looking at me,” he proclaimed. “I have noticed the lust in your eyes.”

“No.” The lie fell from my lips with ease. “I’m a well-born lady, sir, not a whore.”

He moved on me, his heat preceding the steel of his form and surrounding me. “Oh yes, you are a whore. And you must be punished.”

“Punished?” I asked and the fear in my voice wasn’t all pretended for the game. “No!”

“Yes. Now, come here.”

His tone was so sharp, I couldn’t deny him. In truth, I didn’t want to. His already generous cock had swelled even more and I wanted to feel it stretch me.

I walked across the room to him and stopped just in front of him, awaiting further instruction as my hands trembled at my sides.

“Talk off your gown,” he ordered. “Let me see the whore marks on you.”

I nodded. He would see, all right. Even so early in the games, I was covered in light love nibbles and tell-tale bruises.

My gown fastened in front so I unhooked it. I went slowly, too, pretending my meekness made me shy when that was far from the truth. The silken gown finally fell around my feet and the Colonel sucked in his breath through his teeth. I smiled despite our game, enjoying how his bright blue eyes dilated with want.
Need
.

“Now the chemise,” he snapped.

I shook my head. “Never, sir! You shall have to tear it from me.”

His eyes rushed to my face and he sneered. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I shall not yield,” I whispered back, even as I jutted out my breasts on display.

He caught the neckline of my undergarment and ripped. The fabric was thin and he was strong, so he wrenched it in two immediately, baring me as he pushed the fabric away to flutter to the floor.

“Now tell me your sins,” he ordered.

“No.”

“Yes.”

He caught my arms and drew me against him. I felt the heat of his breath against my lips and my eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of the kiss to come. But he didn’t kiss me. Instead he dragged me back, sat down in one of the chairs by the fire and flipped me over his knee.

I had never been in such a position before. He held me firmly with one hand while the other slid over the naked globes of my ass. And oh, that touch. My God, that touch. Like silk. But with steel beneath. Rather like the hard cock that probed my belly as I lay helpless as a child.

“Tell. Me. Your. Sins,” he repeated succinctly.

“No,” But this time my whispered response trembled. In lust. In fear. In anticipation.

He swung his hand back and then whacked me across my backside hard enough that I saw stars before my eyes. I cried out at the shock and pain of his strike, but also the arousal it brought. He caressed the ill-used skin and the gentleness after the violence made my wet pussy clench.

“Tell me what you’ve done, my lovely whore,” he demanded, his tone as silky as his touch.

“I-I have sucked men,” I whispered at last. “Sucked them dry with my mouth.”

He slapped me against across the backside and I jolted with pleasure-pain.

“And?” he urged, stoking me again.

“I have licked a woman,” I continued. “Licked her until she came and came while another man watched.”

Thwack came his hand again, followed by the gentle, soft caress on the rapidly throbbing skin.

“And?”

“I have ridden men to completion.”

“How many, my lady?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing each one and becoming more excited with their memories imposed upon this punishment. “Four?”

He slapped me once, twice, three times, four in rapid succession and I yelped.

“Oh, please!” I murmured.

“Stop or don’t stop?” he asked as he stroked my bottom and then let his fingers slide lower. He parted my legs from behind and firmly cupped my dripping sex.

I moaned as his rough flesh touched me.

“You are so wet, my lady,” he murmured. “Your body acts as if you were made for punishment.”

I nodded. “Yes,” I gasped. “Made for it. I am wicked and I want to be punished.”

He made a low growl and slapped me one last time before he released my hands and stood me up. He rose and turned me roughly, marching me toward the settee. He shoved me into the back of it and I clasped it with both hands to keep from tumbling over it.

“I will not spare you the rod,” he vowed as he slammed my legs apart and pounded inside of me with one hard thrust of his thick cock.

I cried out at the invasion for it came with no warning, but also no resistance. I was soaked with need and he filled me to his hilt.

“You will not come, my lady,” he growled as he began to circle his hips against me. “Until I say you may.”

“I won’t,” I promised, though I was already on the edge of powerful release. But I would try to be good. Or wicked. It was all jumbled by then.

Oh, but how he took me. Hard and furious, without surrender, without mercy. And I met his every stroke with one of my own, gripping him, grinding back against him. All the while my pleasure built and built. I knew I wouldn’t last much longer, that the stimulation he had created with his spankings had me too close to the edge even before he slammed himself inside of me.

“I want to obey,” I cried out. “But I am so close to coming.”

He slowed his strokes immediately and I looked back over my shoulder at him. He had a thoughtful look on his face, contemplating my plea, I suppose.

“You will suck me for all to see later,” he ordered. “At supper tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Yes, yes!” I cried. “I will do anything.”

“Come,” he growled.

The moment the word rasped from his lips, my body exploded with pleasure and I bucked endlessly against him.

He growled in pleasure and as my orgasm subsided, he yanked free of my quaking body and sprayed his seed across my sore ass and back. Leaning forward, he rubbed fluids into my skin, branding me, marking me with his scent.

I practically purred as I collapsed against the back of the settee and as I looked at him over my shoulder again, he smiled.

“I will see you at supper tomorrow, my lady.”

Without another word, he strutted from the room, only pausing to gather his abandoned clothing. He left me weak, trembling and ready to do as he asked. Tomorrow night cannot come fast enough.

June 16, 1812

I have been watching Quinton Uppington for years. It is virtually impossible
not
to watch him. In a world of pampered dandies, he is a well-muscled self-made man who declares the rail is the future. Though he is ridiculously rich, he still has the scars and the feel of the street to recommend him. When I began to hear rumors about his…
proclivities
, I was skeptical. But the more people of my sphere whispered, the more I began to wonder.

Could it
truly
be that handsome, virile Quinton Uppington enjoyed men and women in equal measure?

Titillated, I invited him to our country party with Christopher’s orders to find out the truth.

I watched him the first few days, marking his attentions and trying to guess his needs. I saw him play quite vigorously with Lady Luna, who he had in the hallway against the wall one bright morning as I watched and from a parlor. But I also saw him cast glances at some of my more handsome footmen.

I dared to begin to believe the rumors and tonight I put my plan into action. After supper, when the pleasures began, I placed myself near Mr. Uppington and asked him about his well-known interest in art. Uppington’s eyebrows lifted and he tore his gaze away from the lusty passions of some of our couples.

“You ask me about art, my lady?” he said with a sardonic smile. “With such things before you?”

“Isn’t some of this art?” I asked, taking his hand. He glanced at our intertwined fingers and his smile widened as I believe he guessed my intent. “Would you liked to see my husband’s favorite…piece?”

“Indeed, for I have heard much about it,” Uppington said, placing a hand on my back. “Lead the way.”

I did, sending Christopher a wink as we left the room. He smiled, though it was labored. After all, at that very moment he was being stroked by one lady while another rubbed herself against him and nibbled his ears.

I took Quinton to the exhibition hall that was lined with portraits and landscapes from fine artists. But as we entered the hallway and I shut the door behind us, Uppington didn’t look at the art. He shoved me roughly against the door and his mouth found mine.

I surrendered to his kiss, which was fiery and passionate. He leaned against me and his hardness drove into my belly, making me wild with wanting.

“Your husband has fine taste,” he growled before his mouth moved to my neck. “By God, you are as intoxicating as wine.”

I laughed. “As are you. But when you mention Christopher’s tastes, it makes me wonder…have rumors of
yours
been true?”

He hesitated and drew back, his pupils dilated but his expression cautious. “My tastes?” he repeated.

I nodded and turned him slowly to face the other end of the hallway. From the shadows our stable master Andrew rose. He stepped forward, his gaze first fixed on me with interest, then Uppington, then me again.

“Ah,” Quinton drawled. “But what will you say or do if my answer is yes? Some do not approve of such things.”

I understood his hesitations. In the marriage mart, in most of the prudish boring
ton
, he might be punished for his desires.

“Pleasure is not perversion,” I whispered as I beckoned Andrew closer.

Uppington stared and licked his lips. And why not? The horse master is tall and strong and beautiful as Michelangelo’s David. I’d had my own eye on him for months.

“I agree,” Uppington said, drawing me forward to meet Andrew in the middle of the room. He touched the horse master’s arm, pulled him close and then Quinton kissed him as he had me.

My stomach flipped as I watched those two devilishly handsome men kiss, their tongues tangling. I couldn’t help it, I brought my own mouth closer to join them. Uppington growled low in his throat and the three of us tasted each other, our tongues dueling for pleasure and power.

Quinton drew back after what seemed like a blissful eternity. “By God, I’ll have you both. Where?”

I laughed as I took their hands and led them through the hall and around a series of turns. I stopped at a tall door and motioned them in.

Christopher’s play room had a big bed and all the accoutrements for intense pleasure, including binds and fathers, oils and creams to prolong any experience.

“You two are wonderful,” Uppington laughed as he looked around. He sat on the bed and looked at Andrew and me.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Andrew,” our stable master answered and I recognized the desire heavy in his deep voice.

“And you have been with men before?”

Andrew nodded.

“And women?” Uppington pressed.

Andrew hesitated, shooting me a brief look before he shook his head, indicating the negative.

Uppington smiled. “You are in for a treat, for your mistress is rumored to be as fine as Aphrodite herself.”

“You flatter,” I said, watching him as he stood up.

“Let us undress, shall we?” Uppington suggested.

We all did so, shedding away clothing with all the swift efficiency of those who are filled with pulsating need. I stared at the two male bodies once they were bare. Uppington had a scar across his chest, but was devilishly well-formed. And Andrew was thick and muscled from his heavy work. They were both wonderfully handsome and my mouth went dry at the thought of sharing them and watching them take pleasure in each other.