Читать книгу One Wicked Night - Noelle Mack - Страница 7

My sexual awakening…

Since I swore never to reveal hers, I will assign a name to the lady who taught me of love: Anne Leonard. She was the older sister of a boyhood friend of mine, whom I will call Thomas, who was away at the time.

A third son with no prospects, he had been sent suddenly to the West Indies at the age of twenty, which was my age at that time. All the other expendable Leonard males had perished there of yellow fever, leaving the family’s interests and property in rack and ruin. Thomas had been instructed to rebuild and reinvest, or marry an heiress with a plantation. Neither seemed likely. As a preventative against disease, or so his letters said, he downed a half-pint of rum daily and stayed away from the whores, dallying instead with a French planter’s rich young widow.

His family had asked me to come for my every-other-year visit all the same. I missed my friend but not overmuch. To my utter astonishment, I was soon invited by Anne to keep her company as she went about her ladylike pursuits. No one thought anything of it. I had been a friend of her brother’s for so long.

Unchaperoned, we were free to wander, and while away the long days of a Devonshire summer together. I was happy to carry her hat and her sketchbook and watercolors to whatever far field she wished to paint. But being alone so often changed the nature of our relationship. I had loved her long, but in the way of a shy boy, yearning and hoping, that sort of thing.

In our weeks together during that pleasant sojourn in the country, I came to know her much better. Her wit, her intelligence, her sunny temperament and golden beauty captivated me anew. I was besotted. But inexperienced as I was at twenty, I did not dream she could think of me as a lover.

Yet it began to dawn upon me that Anne looked often in my direction when she thought I did not see. True, I had grown taller since she had last seen me at the age of eighteen, a transformation she seemed to appreciate, although she did not comment upon it. But her gaze lingered upon my face, and a smile, upon her lips, as if having to look up at me now amused her a great deal.

She had scarcely seemed to notice me in the years before, dismissing her brother and me with an affectionate comment and a flick of her skirts should she encounter us in the halls of the manor house where the family spent the halcyon months of summer. Of course, she had much to do and took great pleasure in managing the household, her parents being long dead, when not pursuing her creative interests. Anne was capable as well as charming, and the staff instantly obeyed her every command.

Being politely ignored is an excellent stimulus to love, especially for an imaginative boy who was prone to silent but whole-hearted admiration of the female sex (I blame my mother, who was lovely and kind, and died far too young). Anne was the first woman who aroused me, before I knew what the word meant. How would I have known? I was years younger.

By the time I turned eighteen, matters were not much better. I remained essentially innocent and yet…not. I was extremely aware, as a male of that age will be, of all the women around me. In my fumbling, foolish way, I still adored Anne, not openly—I never mentioned it to Thomas. Her brother would have thrashed me thoroughly had I confided my fondness for the older sister he pretended to dislike.

No, two years before he sailed away to the palm-fringed shores of Jamaica and the welcoming arms of the French widow. He and I satisfied our sexual curiosity by following the prettier female servants about and playing pranks, until the butler intervened and threatened to tell Lord So-and-so, Thomas’s guardian. We had no wish to attract the notice of his lordship, a strapping man with a volatile temper. At the manor and in London, miscreants got what he thought they deserved: a good birching.

Thomas and I avoided him by staying out-of-doors, preferring the meadows where we could ride and the brooks where we swam naked, throwing our clothes upon the bushes. And then we found a better hunting ground for female flesh: the lawns where the household linens were spread upon the grass to dry and whiten in the sun. We climbed the trees at the edge, the laundrymaids quite unaware of our hidden presence. It was the work of a moment for us to select a leafy branch that would bear our weight and straddle it to spy upon them.

They often stripped down to their shifts as they toiled, happy enough to work in the fresh air and get away from the house—most had grown up on the surrounding farms—where they could gossip freely. They laughed like hoydens when they discussed the male visitors to the manor, comparing the size and might of individual cocks. Their strong, shapely bodies meant they were considered fair game by men down from London. If one were to believe all that they said, it was understood that they had their pick of the pricks and took their pleasure accordingly.

One broiling day the laundrymaids wore less than usual and so did we, having left our shirts down by the brook, and our socks and shoes as well. At eighteen we were no longer boys and more than old enough to be uncomfortably stirred by the least glimpse of feminine skin. We rode upon our individual branches and swung our bare feet as we struggled to see. Despite the heat of the day, the laundrymaids had brought out a demijohn of ale and were livelier than ever, and their chatter was spirited. Thomas, on a lower branch, had a better vantage point than I. “Look at her,” he whispered.

The laundrymaid in question had high, full breasts and pert nipples that showed pink under her chemise, damp and clinging with the moisture of the linens she had carried out to lay upon the grass. I think her name was Lucy—well, the name will do for my purposes if it was not. She wore a tattered petticoat that revealed her bare arse now and again as she bent over. Thomas craned his neck trying to see more.

Feeling playful—and, I supposed, emboldened by the ale—a new laundrymaid grabbed the hem and lifted the petticoat to Lucy’s waist, displaying her gloriously naked behind, which was as round and firm as the rest of her. Lucy only laughed. “Kiss it then,” she said to the other girl.

My boyhood friend gasped and nearly fell off his branch as the other maid dropped to her knees and pressed lusty kisses on both of Lucy’s bare buttocks and added a few stinging slaps for good measure.

The other three or four who were watching screamed with merriment. It was all in play, but extremely stimulating for two untried youths. Still, we could not let go of the branches we clung to in order to soothe the unbearable ache of lust. The two women, giddy from the heat and the ale and who knew what else, wrestled each other down to the grass and rolled about in mock battle. They were laughing, but gripping each other’s arse cheeks hard as they pretended to fuck, forcing thighs between thighs and pressing excited pussies together, leaving wet stains upon shift and tattered petticoat alike.

Then I caught a glimpse of an approaching figure at some distance, a young woman in a hat and full-skirted gown and realized it was Anne. She was too far away to see what was happening, but her steps were brisk and there was not much time.

“Make them stop!” I whispered to Thomas. “Your sister is coming!”

He looked frantically to where I pointed and swore under his breath, then dropped from the tree, advancing upon the laundrymaids. As he was clad only in breeches, a manly fire in his eyes, they stopped what they were doing at once. The two clasped in playful lust, rolled apart and scrambled to their feet, shrieking with the others as they all ran off, leaving the sheets and pillowcases neatly spread upon the grass. As Anne came closer, she spied her brother, half-naked and barefoot, and her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

“Where is your shirt, Thomas? And your shoes?” she asked him, looking about as if expecting to find a female similarly unclothed.

“Down by the brook,” Thomas said. “Edward and I were swimming.” He glanced upward unthinkingly to where I sat, still straddling the branch, wishing there were some way I could vanish.

Anne looked up at me and smiled. Her hat fell off her head as she did so, taking the hatpins with it. Thick tresses of dark blond tumbled down her back.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Ah—picking plums,” I replied hastily.

She laughed lightly. “In an oak tree?”

“No wonder there were none.” The gravity I tried to instill in my youthful voice only made her laugh more.

“Come down, Edward.”

I obeyed and landed on the grass not too far from Thomas. Anne had put on her hat again, for which I was grateful. To appear thus undressed before a woman I secretly worshipped was embarrassing indeed. My smooth chest, my lean body, which was just on the verge of growing tall, would not impress her in any way. I wanted desperately to seem a man in her eyes at that moment and not a youth.

But she was not paying attention and the brim of her hat concealed her gaze. She spoke softly to Thomas about some trivial matter, and I listened in silence, enjoying the sound of her voice. My groin tensed as I imagined her speaking to me in so intimate a tone.

Visions of the buxom laundrymaids and their wanton play swam in my mind. The two who had entwined their thighs and grabbed each other’s bums were a stimulating contrast to the demure Anne. Yet her much more modest attire was no less stimulating. It was as if I could see underneath…

Then—damn my overheated brain!—I entertained a wicked fantasy of Anne chastising Lucy with her guardian’s birch, meting out punishment upon quivering buttocks with measured patience. Yes—the second girl would hold up the tattered petticoat again and the others would hold Lucy still, watching with avid eyes—I forced the exciting thoughts away. We English find too much enjoyment in whipping, perhaps, but done right and lightly, it provides considerable pleasure to the giver and recipient.

I waited for Anne and Thomas to finish talking, and finally she turned in my direction, head lifted so I could see her eyes at last. Swiftly she took me in from head to toe, and the intensity of her gaze made me feel positively hot all over. The midday sun had moved lower in the sky, behind the tall trees Thomas and I had climbed, so there was no reason for the sensation of warmth that afflicted me.

My eighteen-year-old cock, ever alert if seldom satisfied, stiffened to its full length, restrained by the old breeches I wore that were somewhat too small for me. Anne immediately looked away. I noted the deep blush that tinted her cheeks, and my humiliation knew no bounds. I told my unruly member to soften and it eventually obeyed.

Not soon enough, Thomas and his sister finished their conversation, and she turned to bid me adieu. She kept her eyes firmly fixed upon my face. My only response was a nod. If she had been able to read my mind…ah, what would she have thought?

Two years later, during the summer of my initiation at her gentle hands, she seemed to have forgotten all about our encounter on the lawn. From her point of view there would have been very little to remember, of course. The fantasy that had come unbidden to my mind soon faded away, to be replaced by a thousand more—I learned to masturbate often but always with her in mind, no matter where I was.

Even though Thomas was away in Jamaica, it was a rare gift to return at twenty to the house where I had spent so many happy days with him, for I now had Anne. I very much enjoyed playing the part of her devoted servant during our rambles.

The manor house, built of golden stone, glowed in the afternoon light as we made our way back through the fields, watched only by drowsy cattle. There was no one looking out from the windows of the house and the world seemed to belong to us alone—and then I remembered that most of the household had decamped to Bath for a fashionable wedding.

“Thank you, Edward, for your company today,” she said as we began to walk down the allee of arching trees that led to the front of the house. Her words were formal but something in her tone was not. “I did enjoy myself.”

“As did I,” I answered.

She paused and looked at me tenderly. I was aware of a subtle shift in her mood, as if she had come to a decision on some matter that had long been on her mind. She seemed about to speak—then thought better of it and continued on, walking faster.

I kept pace with her, still holding her things, tall enough to look down her dress and no longer the awkward youth I had been. Her round breasts rose and fell with each breath, barely concealed by the bodice of her light gown. It was all I could do not to put my arms around her and stop her somehow. I longed suddenly to kiss her, to make my feelings known, to caress her—then Anne turned suddenly and planted herself in my path.

My hands went around her waist as her face turned upward to mine. Pushing against mine, her body vibrated with an eagerness that caused my cock to swell. Our lips met in an ardent kiss that went on and on—her mouth was hot and silky wet.

I was dizzy with delight when she broke it off, still pressing her body to mine. Under the material of her skirts, I felt something delicious: she was rubbing the soft little mound between her legs upon one of my thighs. “Come to me tonight,” she whispered. “No one will know. The only servants left are in the kitchen.”

“A good mile from your bedchamber,” I whispered back, pressing a kiss to her ear. Not believing my good fortune, I felt compelled to mention the risk we ran. “But should your guardian find out, I will be as good as dead. I will have to fight a duel—or marry you—”

“He has pledged me to another. I did not tell you.”

Too surprised to speak for a moment, I brushed my thumb against her cheek. I could reply only with platitudes. “You should have. A woman’s wedding day is the happiest of her life, is it not?” I could not fathom why she had kept such important information from me during our days together.

She was silent for a little while. “Not always. My guardian chose the man.”

The man. Not my love or even my fiancé. Just the man. It was as if she had been given away to a stranger—and I was to find out later that she had.

“No one can know of this, Edward.” Anne’s troubled eyes searched mine.

“Of what?”

“That I have kissed you. And that I want you—desperately.”

Her words took me aback. I was not able to think. Only much later did it occur to me how odd it was that so lovely a woman had been on the shelf so long, as if her guardian had kept her there for himself for some unknown reason. I had given the matter no thought at all before that moment, naïve as I was.

“Of course not. No one will know.” My reply was meant to be soothing but perhaps it sounded automatic. She put her hands on my arms as if to push me away. I had no idea what to do or say.

Perhaps she wanted me to come to her rescue. But claiming her as my own had been the farthest thing from my mind, despite my love for her. There was the difference in our age, and—and perhaps I knew even then that romantic fantasy is rather better than the cold realities of married life.

An odd silence came between us. What did I not know about Anne? She could not be a virgin, I suddenly thought. Her knowing air and the speed with which she had issued such a wanton invitation to me made that suddenly clear. But I was. I wanted her. And she had said she wanted me.

How often had I stripped off my clothes and tossed them upon a chair, never giving a second thought to my nakedness? I felt different now, undressing by candlelight before a woman who was still clothed, obeying her soft commands, desiring only to please her in every way for this, my first time. Unlike my friends, I had yet to go a-whoring in the brothels of London or slake my lust with a willing servant girl. I was protected from such temptation by my boyhood love for Anne. Once she had decided to seduce me, I wanted to be totally and completely hers.

Not knowing quite what to do, hoping she would explain what it was she wanted before I made a fool of myself, I stood before her as she sat in an armchair, my cock so hard and standing up so stiffly from the soft curls at its base that it could not jut out unless I held it and forced it down. She would not let me clasp myself.

“Stand with your legs apart. I would see all of you, Edward.”

Again I obeyed. Her hand slid between my thighs and touched my balls, stroking with a teasing touch. Expertly she drew down my foreskin and put her sweet lips around the head of my cock, tasting the clear drop of fluid that sprang from the small hole with just the tip of her tongue. I could feel her fingers play upon my balls, which tightened. A strong rush of sensation—too soon, too soon—made me push her hands away and pull my cock from her mouth.

I closed my eyes and drew in long breaths, willing myself to wait. Anne murmured something I could not quite hear. I opened my eyes and looked down at her. She had unlaced her bodice and was fondling her breasts while staring at my cock. Stiff as a soldier but more of a gentleman than I, the damned thing bobbed its head.

“So you know that you must not come too soon—very good. My pleasure takes longer. Ah, you are truly a man at last. I love to look at you.”

The mirror opposite reflected us both. She was a picture of erotic delicacy, pulling her nipples with slender fingers, poised upon the chair in a light summer dress that was coming apart little by little as she undid this and opened that. In contrast to her femininity, I had filled out by that summer and was indeed a man, far more muscular than I had been as a youth of eighteen. If the sight of me naked aroused her so readily, then she might feast her eyes upon me as long as she liked.

“Turn around,” she said. “Ah. Even better. Now bend over. Like that—yes.”

I braced my hands upon my knees and did as she bade me. Again a soft hand reached between my legs to stroke my balls. The curious subservience of the position did not trouble me—I have thought since that if men love to study women’s private parts in every possible way, it is only fitting that we should allow them the same privilege.

Her hand reached further to stroke my member with subtle motions. Anne ran her fingertips along the engorged veins in a way that made me tremble with renewed lust.

She stopped and ran her hands over my arse, soothing me until I straightened, then stroking the backs of my thighs until I turned around. Her touch was highly sensual and obviously skilled—I knew then that my lovely lady found her greatest pleasure in teaching young men the arts of sexual love.

Desiring to be initiated with all my heart, on fire with erotic sensation, it mattered not at all to me if I was not the first who had submitted to her gentle will. Indeed, in my present state the thought of the others aroused me even more. It was as if I could see them in her dreamy eyes, displaying the same impossibly high erection I had.

Her dress had slipped off her shoulders and lay in folds about her waist. Then, knowing I was watching her every move, Anne lifted and pushed aside the flowing material to display her cunny. I had seen other such but none so pretty. There were the servants that Thomas and I spied on, an occasional slut who hoisted her bedraggled skirts to display her wares in London lanes, and only once, a tight, shaved slit belonging to a noblewoman in a carriage who took a peculiar pleasure in exhibiting herself to men, then riding on.

But Anne’s was irresistible, with deep-pink folds inside blond curls, a honeypot dripping with sweetness. I dropped to my knees, eager to taste her. I was clumsy at first but I soon understood what excited her most. She spread her thighs far apart and leaned back upon the accommodating armchair, pushing her hips forward. Then she ran her fingers through my hair, drawing my head down so my mouth was on her cunny and firmly keeping it there.

I began to lick eagerly, exploring the succulent flesh with my tongue, flicking it over the little bit at the top—ah, that was best of all. Anne writhed and held my head more closely to her private parts. Small but highly sensitive under the hood of skin, the bit of flesh felt like a little rod. Sucking it seemed only natural. And so I took it between my lips and sucked it with gentle emphasis, aware of her ever-increasing pleasure from her moans.

Two might tease. Novice that I was, I let go and sat back on my haunches, resting my hands on her thighs to hold them open and look at what I had been tasting. Anne opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but I prevented her and made her slide her arse down instead.

Then I lifted her legs up nearly to her shoulders and told her to hold them there, guessing that her cunny would be nicely squeezed between her thighs. She obeyed me this time, clasping her legs behind her knees and hiding her face behind them. I liked seeing her this way, legs, arse, and cunny, presented for my pleasure. Her labia were swollen, flushed with sexual excitement, and dripping with a warm juice that I lapped up, slowly at first, then faster.

In this position I could also see her arsehole, and touched it tentatively, not sure if women enjoyed the sort of sport in which stableboys indulged, bending each other over bales of hay to fuck and be fucked.

I was growing bolder and bolder, my status as an initiate soon to be over. Anne had given up the secrets of her body one by one, and the pulsing spot under my fingertip was the last. The juice from her cunny trickled down and wet my finger liberally. Without further ado, I thrust it in.

Anne cried out with pleasure. Her arsehole was quite tight at first, but she seemed to welcome my exploring finger in that place, and I enjoyed her shamelessness.

My cock was ready to explode. I got up, and handled her somewhat roughly and ripped the dress off. I cared nothing for who might see it on the morrow.

She kissed and caressed me with wild abandon as I carried her to the bed and tossed her down as she laughed with anticipation. Anne got on all fours and begged me to enter her. I refused. Standing behind her, I spread and spanked her buttocks until they turned bright pink. She moaned her satisfaction with my firm treatment of her flesh, whispering of her taste for the birch, taking and giving. Ah—my early fantasy of her whipping Lucy had been real enough. Had I a bundle of slender twigs at hand, I would have done that to Anne too.

It seemed no surprise to her that a relative innocent could suddenly seem so sure of himself. For my part, I found out that one could learn many things very quickly when nature had its wild way. With my finger and thumb, I stretched her cunny lips apart and looked within. The glistening folds opened slightly, so swollen that only a thick and extraordinarily stiff cock could penetrate them.

I grasped mine and came closer, pushing just the head into the soft heat of her cunny. I told her not to move—the delicate sensation of her ever-swelling flesh enfolding my knob was a thrill like nothing I had ever experienced. I rested my hands upon her back at her waist, the heat from her thoroughly spanked arse perceptible on my skin, and simply waited.

To have my love in this way, poised and still, her ragged breathing the only motion she allowed herself, in deference to my wishes, was a very great pleasure and one I wished to savor.

But the involuntary tightening of my groin and balls made me enter her with one powerful thrust. Anne cried out and rocked back, banging her hot arse against me. I clasped her waist and gave myself over to the sensations flooding through me, not wanting to come, unwilling to stop. She seemed strong enough to carry my weight and so I dropped down over her to hold her bouncing tits in my hands. The feel of her erect nipples in the center of my palms was all it took. I rammed her with all my strength as the first scorching jet pulsed through my cock—then another, and another, until it seemed that my very soul desired release.

Together we found it…and as the hours went by, much more. I was well-schooled in her loving arms and taught everything I needed to know about how to please a woman. Young as I was, I thought at the time that the only one I would ever want was her. It was not to be.

After that night, we were parted forever. From all reports she was soon married and a dutiful wife in the end, safe and secure as women must be, since they cannot make their own way in the world, but must needs rely upon the strength and support of men.

But I wondered during the ensuing years if I had been her last young lover. Certainly it was not a subject that I would ever discuss with Thomas. My correspondence with him never even mentioned Anne—he knew nothing of my affair with his older sister and I wanted to keep it that way.

But I have heard that Thomas has returned from the West Indies just this year. If I should see him on the street, I will enquire after her.