A Gentlewoman's Pleasure (3 page)

“You’re very beautiful,” he said quietly, before she’d had chance to frame words herself. Lucy laughed as he reached out and pushed her unbound hair clear of her face. “Why do you laugh?” he continued, and she could see his mouth curve into a smile that her mind’s eye painted clearly.

“I’m not beautiful, Mr…. Ethan. I’m a rawboned spinster with very little bosom to speak of and nothing curvaceous about my hips or waist either. And I’m shortsighted and of very average countenance too.”

“That’s nonsense. You have a lovely face, fine lustrous hair, and the body of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.” For emphasis, he swept his hand down over shoulder, her waist and her flanks. “My preference is for an athletic woman, not an overflowing marshmallow.”

Lucy shuddered, roused in every fiber. Between her legs, moisture welled, her perception of it astonishing and unprecedented. She’d never felt so lickerish before, in her entire womanhood.

Ethan’s hand stilled. “Do I ask too much? Am I too forward? It’s obvious that you’re gently born. I shouldn’t be so randy, and especially when I’ve offered you refuge from harm.”

Lucy surged forward. She would not have this snatched from her.

“You ask nothing that I’m not glad, nay eager, to give, Ethan.” She pressed her face against his neck. He wore a shirt, but it was unbuttoned and her lips found his bare, warm skin. “I fear that I may be the forward one, and you find that distasteful.” Memories of Ralph’s disapproval surfaced briefly, but she quelled them.

Ethan’s reaction obliterated them completely.

He rolled her over onto her back again, and pressed himself against her, sliding a hand beneath her buttocks and lifting her hips so that they were flush with his own.

His masculine shaft—his cock—was huge and hard, so much so it must be straining at his breeches. It seemed the most natural reaction in the world to rub against it.

“See how distasteful I find you,” he muttered into her ear, chuckling as he swirled his own hips in a perfect counterpoint to hers. “I find you so repellant that my cock’s gone and swollen to what feels like twice its normal size, and feels like it’s going to explode if it doesn’t get inside your puss.”

His salty talk almost made Lucy want to growl. He did want her. He really did want her. As much, it seemed, as she wanted him. Plucking at his shirt, she began to pull it out of his breeches at the back so she could run her hands over his skin and draw pleasure just from the exploration. Ethan made a sound of appreciation at her touch and kissed her hard, massaging her buttocks through the shirt of his she wore. He gripped and squeezed and his tongue dipped and dove, his fingertips pressing into the cleft of her bottom and inducing a fury of excitement in her loins. Such caresses were way beyond her experience. Way beyond anything she’d ever expected to experience, and she whimpered into his mouth as her sex rippled and seemed to flutter.

“Ethan…please,” she gasped when he freed her mouth. The words were vague. She no longer seemed to have any grasp on eloquence, but she knew he understood her to perfection.

In a swift movement, he drew away, softening the momentary parting with a dimly seen but reassuring smile. Tugging at his shirt, he whipped it off over his head, to reveal what appeared to be a broad, well-shaped torso, and then reached for the fastenings of his breeches. Even as he had the first of the buttons apart, Lucy reached in turn to explore exciting territory, feeling her way on instinct and by touch, without benefit or need of her spectacles.

She’d seen his cock, and it was marvelous, but there was a whole world of difference between observing a thing and putting one’s hand on it. And when she put her hand on Ethan’s thing, she gasped at its heat and vitality. It was hard, almost disquietingly so, but the skin felt fine and silky and at the rounded tip it was flowing with a thin fluid that seemed to invite the slow circling of her thumb. As she caressed him, he fell back against the pillows, breathing heavily, his head thrown back.

“I wish I had my spectacles on.” Lucy leaned forward, blinking hard from struggling to see details.

A second later, his chest still heaving, Ethan twisted to the side, snatched up the spectacles and, while Lucy still held on to him, fitted them in place before her eyes.

His magnificent cock swam into sharp focus, startling and primitive in its beauty, a column of rosy flesh, girded about with thick, darkly defined veins, and topped with a plump, rounded crown. From its tip, the satin fluid gently seeped.

“Oh…it’s quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Lucy whispered, rapt, setting her thumb neatly into a most particular groove beneath the head of his member, a notch that seemed specially designed to be handled thus.

“I…I’m not sure…. It…I mean I’m just a regular fellow, I believe,” stuttered Ethan, his head rolling against the pillows and his hips lifting up as if to invite further liberties. “Oh dear God, Lucy, you have an exquisite touch!”

Even bespectacled now, Lucy still blinked.
She
had an exquisite touch? She knew nothing…her hand seemed to be acting entirely of its own volition.

“But I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she admitted, feeling a great, inchoate desire to lean forward and put the tip of her tongue to the tip of him. That silvery substance he was exuding fascinated her. How appropriate it was that just as she seeped and flowed, he did too.

“I’m a virgin, Ethan.”

He stilled for an instant and, filled with a fear that he might withdraw, or lose his enthusiasm, Lucy circled her thumb against the crown of his cock and flickered her fingers as if were a penny whistle

Ethan laughed again, and then moaned in a low, appreciative sound, still rocking his hips in a slow rhythm, a movement that Lucy matched, unwilling to let him loose. “Then indeed, beautiful Lucy, you are truly that rare and miraculous combination. A sweet maid and yet the most perfect instinctive sensualist. I cannot imagine the touch of any woman to be more exquisite.”

“And have you been touched by many women?” The instant the words were out, Lucy wished them back again. In this world of theirs, there were no other woman, no other beings on the earth except the two of them.

Ethan’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he became serious.

“No…barely at all, Lucy.” His voice was gentle, almost a little shamefaced. “I had a sweetheart, but she knew even less than I did. And there were one or two fondles on sunny afternoons, with willing girls.” He shrugged and then smiled, his handsome face bashful and suddenly exhibiting the extent of his youth. “I’m afraid I have almost as little experience as you, my sweet, and I’m not sure I know what I’m doing any more than you do.”

Lucy smiled and leaned over him, letting her mouth hover an inch or two from the tip of his cock. “Then we shall
both
have to rely on our instincts, dearest Ethan, and I must say, if proceedings so far are anything to judge by, I have absolute confidence in yours.”

“As I have in yours, my dearest.” He looked down toward her mouth, and his organ. “And what might those instincts be telling you now?”

Oh, my goodness!

It seemed outrageous. Absurd. Like something from that dream she’d first believed herself to be in. But the thought was in her mind, and she knew that people did do it. Not giving herself further pause to debate, she craned forward, opened her mouth, and slid her lips over the tip of Ethan’s cock.

“My dear adorable girl,” he gasped, his hands sliding to the sides of her head, holding it tenderly as she engulfed a little of the prodigious length. The pedant in her mentally remarked that she was far from a girl, and he was the younger of the pair of them, but the sensualist exulted in her own power.

How delightful, how deliciously degenerate. She had the crown of a man’s penis in her mouth and she loved it. He was so smooth and hot and silky, slightly salt, mostly indefinable in flavor. The thin fluid he exuded made her mouth water around him, and invoked an instinctive lapping action, a slow flicking that made his fingers tense and dig into her hair.

“Yes…oh yes, indeed…oh, my dear Lucy, you are a natural siren.” Looking up the plain of his body as she laved him with her tongue, she saw his beautiful face contorted and his eyes tightly closed as if in a transport of agony. Yet his words expressed quite the opposite sentiment. “Oh! Oh, yes…do that…do more of that…. You are so clever…. That’s heavenly! I adore you!”

Tears almost welled in Lucy’s eyes. She was doing it right. She was pleasing him. She was having a delightful time, and, in just this one moment at least, this handsome man cared for her. Happiness swelled in her chest as she applied herself diligently, letting her fingers settle around the base of his shaft in a light grip. He was far too large to enter her mouth completely, and already his hips were bucking and lifting as if beyond his conscious mastery.

For several long minutes, she licked, she sucked and she toyed, all the time almost wanting to giggle at the impassioned utterances that came out of Ethan’s mouth. He was obviously in such an extreme state of pleasure that fine, cogent language was beyond him.

Eventually, he became quite frantic, grabbing at her hair and her ears, moaning and calling out, his body still trying to push him deeper and deeper. Then suddenly, he stopped.

“Oh Lucy, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t…I’m so selfish. You take nothing from this.” His hands, instead of holding, tried to lift her from his cock.

No! I will have it!

Fighting his efforts, Lucy redoubled hers, pointing her tongue and worrying the groove beneath the head of Ethan’s organ in a way she’d noted made him groan. At the same time, to distract him, she delicately cradled his bollocks and stroked them with her thumb.

“Oh, Lucy, please…I shall spend in your mouth. Please let me remove myself. It’s unfair to you.”

Looking up at him, she saw his eyes were open now, and she gave him a very resolute look from behind her spectacles and dove in with her tongue again. Ethan cried out in a harsh yelp, and then gave up his fight, returning to his incoherent groans and cries of pleasure.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, his shaft seemed to ripple, and his testicles leaped in her hand. Something smooth and warm and satiny filled her mouth, his emission, pumping out, bathing her tongue.

Ethan let out a harsh, blasphemous oath, but his voice sounded like that of an angel singing in paradise. His fingers held on tight to her head, as his hips worked, lifting him and thrusting into her mouth, to the limits allowed by her grasping hand. He pushed with several sharp shoves, and then subsided, falling back.

As he softened, Lucy let him slip free, licking her lips and swallowing down his essence. No longer obstructed, her mouth curved irresistibly into a smile. A smug, happy little smile, she was so pleased with herself.

How advanced I am. A born courtesan. I’m a virgin still, but I’ve tasted a man.

She laughed out loud and, waking as if from a daze, Ethan looked up at her.

“Love-play is absurd, isn’t it?” He smiled, reaching for her and drawing her down to him, for a hug. “We do the strangest things…and yet at the time, they seem perfectly apposite.”

“You don’t think I’m a strumpet, do you? Doing something so scandalous, when we barely know each other?” It wasn’t a real fear, and yet this intimacy was so new; it still felt fragile.

“I think you’re a wonder, and a miracle, and a most generous, beautiful woman.” His lips brushed her brow, just above her spectacles, and his breath made the lenses mist and her vision blur.

“I feel that you must need a pair of these too,” said Lucy, unhitching the earpieces and pulling up a corner of sheet to polish the misted glass. Quickly, she fitted them back in place. She couldn’t bear not to see the truer beauty in the room.

“Don’t talk nonsense, woman!” Ethan’s arm tightened around her, squeezing, while his free hand settled on her body. “I’ll show you how I appreciate your body. It’ll be a little while before I can service you in the time-honored way, but until then, I can still give you pleasure. And take pleasure for myself, enjoying your beauty.”

Lucy snorted, about to protest again, then let out a little surprised squeak when he plucked at her nipple through the cotton of the shirt she was wearing. The sensation was intense, piquant, but it made her feel as if she wanted to wriggle and churn her thighs. Low in her belly, a familiar heavy sensation, sweet yet urgent, roiled and surged.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes…um…I don’t know. It excites me. It makes me want you to touch me in my most intimate place.”

“In your puss, sweetheart…your puss.” He squeezed the tip of her breast again, not hard, but with assertion. The sensations between her legs increased and bloomed, growing more and more pleasurable, yet also plaguing.

“Very well then, it makes me want you to touch my puss,” she said, gasping, “and be quick about it too. I…I’m in great need.”

“It would be my privilege.” Ethan smiled, his blue eyes a-twinkle, and even as his hand slid downward, Lucy glanced in a southerly direction too, and saw that his depleted organ seemed already to be reviving.

How lusty you are, dear boy….

And then she did not think, as he hauled her borrowed shirt out of the way and slid his fingers between her legs, seeking and finding her very center.

Oh! Oh yes! How wonderful…

With tip of his middle finger he stroked and rolled the proud little pearl, her most sensitive place. Lucy had fondled this tiny structure herself, on occasion, but to have a man caress it, especially this man, was transcendent. Where he touched and petted her was a bridge between them, a conduit for shared feelings and erotic sensibilities. As sweet sensations welled in her loins like honey overflowing a pot, all considerations of the outside world slipped away. They were just woman and man, pleasured and pleasure giver, two perfectly matched parts of an ancient puzzle.

Lucy clung to Ethan, rocking her hips in counterpoint to his delicate, accurate ministrations. She moaned, reaching, reaching, reaching for the goal he offered…then in an instant secured it, reaching her peak, soaring to crisis. His finger stilled where it was, just pressing as if holding station, securing the moment and ensuring that she wrung every last drop of bliss from it.