Memoirs of Lady Montrose (5 page)

His face adopted a mask of servility, but not before she’d notice the flash of surprise.

“Ah, a ménage à trois. Very well, m’lady. Until then.” He tugged his forelock and she recognised an air of arrogance behind the gesture. There was nothing servile about Mortlock at all. How he loved to play-act.

Left with the job of taking the eiderdown back, she wrapped it around her shoulders. A chill brushed her naked body as the heat of her orgasm faded and, covered in the feather-downed quilt, she climbed the stairs.

Standing under a hot shower in her en-suite, luxuriating in the flow of the water over her back and buttocks, she pictured Mortlock showering in his rather grand garden shed. In her mind, his hands were covered in bubbles as he stroked his appendage.
Such a satisfying piece of equipment
, she thought, a chuckle rising in her throat.

Chapter Five

Showered, powdered, primped and pliant, she lay on the double bed in the guest room, its satin sheets slippery under her naked body. A shiver ran up her spine, raising goosebumps on her arms. Anticipation perhaps, or a case of nerves? It was stupid, though had it really been a week since Mortlock last serviced her? Tension crept into her muscles and she stretched her legs to ease the tightness in her thighs.

She’d had two people make love to her before, in Brighton, but this time it was different. This time it would be her husband and her lover, albeit her paid lover. She wondered if Henry would be embarrassed, but hadn’t liked to ask.

He’d been chirpy this morning. He’d read The Times and sipped his coffee as if it had been any other Thursday morning and any minute now he’d leave for the city. But not today. She could hear him in the shower, and moments ago, the sound of the garden shed door slamming shut. Mortlock would be on his way. The bedside clock read two minutes to ten.

Both men were preparing to pleasure her, to caress her body with their lips and tongues, to stroke and massage her limbs, nibble her ears and cover her mouth with their murmurings.

The shower door slammed and she knew Henry would be here soon. She took a long silk scarf from the bedside table and wrapped it over her eyes, tying it tightly behind her head. It seemed stupid to consider her embarrassment could spoil the moment, after all the sexual antics she’d indulged in with others, but Brighton had been clinical and practical. Never before had Henry been in the room, even as an observer. Today he’d said he hoped to participate.

A chill spread through the room from the open window. The sun of the morning had turned to cloud and promised rain. Pulling the top sheet up, she curled into a foetal position on her side and took several deep breathes. She’d never reach an orgasm today if she remained this tense.

Both doors opened simultaneously and she knew that Henry and Mortlock had both entered the room. When she had sex with Mortlock, little conversation took place and she’d asked Henry to abide by this, at least for today.

Someone moved the satin sheet, sliding it down and exposing her warm shoulders and breasts. A cool zephyr wafted over her body before someone’s hand moved over her side to cup her breast. Lips kissed her shoulder.
Whose lips?
The rest of the sheet moved, its weight disappearing completely. A pair of hands grasped her ankles to turn her legs, rolling her onto her back. The hand left her breast. In her mind, it became a floating body part—who owned it?

She sensed a body straddling her as hands began to massage her breasts, fingers gently rolling the nipples. She reached up to caress the buttocks above her. Henry. She knew his body so well. His body still damp from the shower, his scrotum hung above her head and she clung to it with one hand as she stroked his soft buttocks.

Mortlock bent her legs and slowly spread her knees apart, her heels angled inward. Her sex lay exposed, as he stroked her inner thighs, spreading a slippery lotion on them. Each pass he made up her leg drew closer to her heat, and on reaching her labia, his hands retraced their path downward. She moaned, her desire climbing. The man was a natural tease.

Knowing who was where, doing what, relaxed her completely and she regretted wearing the silk scarf. Later she may take it off.

Henry’s kiss blocked further thought as his lips covered hers and his tongue slid into her mouth. She answered, entwining their tongues.

Mortlock finished massaging her legs and lifted her buttocks to place a pillow underneath. She tensed for a moment as Mortlock pushed her knees as far apart as they would go, exposing her wider. He probed with two fingers, massaging within before sliding out and searching again, stretching her wide then retracting to slip up her slit and down again. The pleasurable sensations at both ends of her body caused her juices to flow and immediately Mortlock’s tongue took advantage. Henry’s kisses progressed from her mouth, down her neck, onto her shoulders and around her breasts. He followed with his hands, kneading her gently and murmuring ‘my love’ in soft sighs. Her body hummed, full of the electricity of desire.

Mortlock removed his fingers and before she could mourn their loss, he sucked hard at her sex, taking what he could, then lapped, his tongue darting. Her breath shortened to gasps, her climax maddeningly close, a promise just out of reach. Her body teetered on the brink, desire pulsing, but Mortlock stopped. She felt the bed lift as Henry moved.

 She ripped off the scarf and reached up between his thighs to grab the long, hard cock above her, trailing her fingers along its length as he swung his legs off the bed.
Success at last.

“Give me my wife.”

Her heart sang with delight at Henry’s gruff demand and as Mortlock stepped aside, Henry grasped her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he entered her, moving slowly at first, then increasing in speed. One part of her mind registered the click of the bedroom door. Mortlock had left.

“Darling,” she said, reaching to him, but he had his mind on the moment. At last his body was responding, answering the call of his longing and he wasn’t wasting a second.

His gaze locked onto her and he murmured, “This is so good, Helen. How I’ve longed to do this again.”

Just as her climax began to build again, Henry withdrew. Her heart sank. She wondered if he had a problem but as he kissed her sex his mouth took its reward. Deep in her being she rejoiced, happy to give him the pleasure of her bounty. For minutes he nuzzled her heat before rising to enter her again.

Like old times, he loved her with all the energy of a young man. She climbed the peak with small shouts of delight, her mind submerged in the kaleidoscope of colours drenching her brain. Henry thrust and shuddered with her, his ‘I love you’s soft in her ears. Their sexual dance ended in a slow waltz of limbs and sighs as they reclaimed the bed, pulled up the sheet and spooned together to doze.

Henry’s gentle snores continued after Mortlock woke her. He was back again, behind her. He slid his fingers down the hollow in her back, between her buttocks and into her sex. He moved his supple hand deeper to push his fingers into her, stroking, pressing, searching until once again she became wet and his erection pressed into her back.

“My turn,” he said.

He moved lower to gently grip her hips with both his hands and pull her down. His erection slid in, filling her with his hardness.

They made love slowly. Henry slept through it all. Mortlock pleasured her with snail-paced pulses, so slow she almost screamed with frustration, but she didn’t want to wake Henry.

Mortlock stretched up and manoeuvred one hand under her chest, his arms locked around her. He cupped a breast in each of his strong hands, massaging her. Each upward slide of his cock, he matched with a downward pull on her breasts. Pinioned by his lust, she circled her buttocks against him, silently requesting more speed. He ignored her and kept up the steady pace. Her sex began to ache and she thought to say ‘stop’ but at that moment he shuddered and climaxed. He stayed deep in her for a moment longer.

He withdrew with a playful slap on her rump and once more she heard the door click shut as he left.

What a success today had been. Being a voyeur had ignited Henry’s sexual drive and had awakened the response in his body. The ménage à trois had allowed them to consummate their love, before the impotency. She hoped today spelt a new beginning, the reigniting of their sex life. She appreciated Mortlock and his skills, but she only loved Henry.

She fell into a sound sleep snuggled against her husband’s back, her arm over his paunch, her hand cupped over his warm cock.

Chapter Six

The following week, Henry went to the city, and she went with him to meet Charlotte. On any Thursdays when she wasn’t available, which didn’t happen often, Mortlock spent the day gardening.

Ascot was this coming Saturday. The forecast promised a sunny day and she intended to find something special to wear. Henry’s day at the House of Lords would be arduous and he planned to spend the night at his club.

By late afternoon, their expedition over, she bade goodbye to Charlotte and took a taxi home. She wandered around the back lawn in her new dress, enjoying the soft flow of the lightweight liberty fabric. Its bodice was unbuttoned to her cleavage and the long, full sleeves kept her arms protected from the sun. The full skirt was gathered at the waist and finished with a matching belt. It emphasised her figure and the skirt floated around her ankles as she walked. She loved it so much she’d insisted on wearing it out of the salon. Charlotte thought it suited her admirably and they had spent most of the afternoon looking, without success, for a hat to match.

Admiring Mortlock’s handiwork, she strolled the garden picking and eating the new peas. Some of the roses needed to be deadheaded and she walked to the garden shed to get the secateurs, presuming Mortlock would have left for the day.

A gasp escaped her, more of surprise than shock, to see him working at the bench sharpening a garden hoe. They nodded to each other.

She squeezed past him to reach the pruners hanging on the wall just as he bent down to put something under the bench. His musk tickled her senses and she stopped moving, concerned she may step back on him. The hem of her dress was lifted and she felt his body bump against her legs as he came up under the front of her skirt. He caressed the back of her legs, moving his fingertips to linger on her hips before inching to her waist. His hands met and he hooked his fingers into the elastic of her underwear. In a heartbeat, her silk knickers rustled down her legs. He lifted her feet, one after the other, to untangle the fabric from her ankles. In a fluid movement he parted her legs, his shoulders easing her legs wider as he reached up and massaged her buttocks. He clamped his mouth onto her clitoris and sucked. God, it was wonderful. This unexpected event in her afternoon filled her with wantonness, the mores of society abandoned in this dusty shed.

Her legs bent and he moved farther into her pussy with his tongue, lapping, probing, darting and stroking. Her knees bent and she leaned over his bulk to hold on to the bench. He brought her to a shuddering climax that scattered her senses. He drank her nectar until sated. She trembled, eyes closed, immobile with euphoria, as her brain registered him moving to stand behind her. He lifted her skirt up so it bunched over her shoulders like a shawl. She gripped the bench as he entered, parting her sex with his fingers to guide his hardness in.

Mortlock stretched forward while he had her pinioned. He undid her dress and sought her breasts, tumbling them out of her brassiere, holding them captive as he squeezed. At the same time he pushed his cock in time with each tightening grasp. Desire had her pushing back against him, aiding his journey deep into her heat.

To be surrounded by sharp edges, long handles and hard tools, the smell of fertiliser and spray tickling her nostrils heightened her senses and made their lovemaking exciting. The sound of a thrush singing in the plum tree above the window echoed her joy as she climaxed.

Satisfied, she leaned on the bench. Mortlock rested his chest on her back and so they stayed for some moments. She savoured every sound and smell and stored them away in her memory, to be relived again and again. At last he withdrew, lowered her dress with care and bent down to retrieve her knickers off the floor.

“Madam, I believe these are yours,” he said, offering them to her.

 She tucked them into her brassiere. “Such a pleasant surprise, Mortlock,” she said, repositioning her breasts and re-buttoning her dress.

Secateurs in hand, she and Mortlock stepped side to side with each other before he stood still and allowed her to walk around him. “Thank you, Mortlock.”

“My pleasure, m’lady.”

“And mine.”

Warmth tingled between her thighs and she enjoyed the sensation of the afternoon air caressing her limbs as she wandered around the garden snipping the roses.

* * * *

 On Saturday, she wore the freshly laundered dress to the races. Every time it rustled around her ankles she remembered Thursday, the day Mortlock fucked her in the garden shed. Charlotte thought she smiled so much because her horse came in second. Both the horse and the dress paid an unexpected dividend.

Chapter Seven

Thursday

Already the dew of anticipation dampened her thighs. She brushed Henry’s suit, with firm quick strokes over his shoulders and down his sleeves, ensuring no minute particle of lint spoilt his immaculate appearance. He reached for his walking cane, removed it from the hat stand by the front door, and lowered his head. Their lips met in a soft caress.

“Do you really need to go to the House today, Henry? Wouldn’t you prefer to stay?”

“Of course I’d prefer to stay home, Helen, but business calls and I’m needed in the House. We have a vote to take. I must be there.” He kissed the tip of her nose and slid his hand inside her silk dressing gown to give her breasts a final stroke. “I’ll let Mortlock work his magic on you today, but watch out tomorrow night, my darling. Our threesome unlocked my erectile dysfunction. It’s gone. Let’s hope it’s gone for good.”