My Lady's Pleasure (21 page)

He traced her pubis and moved to the lips of her vulva, which he gently stroked and then opened. She gasped aloud as she felt his fingers—first one, and then two—move into her while the palm of his hand put pressure on her mound and the clitoris beneath. He held almost still, with just a hairbreadth of a motion back and forth, and she leaned back on him because she felt as though she could no longer hold herself upright. She felt his erect cock hard against the small of her back, and she mirrored his motion, just slightly back and forth, as she rubbed up against him.

And then he lifted her, one hand still in her cunt and the other supporting her ass, and moved directly into the stream of the water from the pump. She opened her eyes wide as she felt the water move over her, and her gasp was almost a scream. It was an astonishing sensation, the complete immersion of her private parts in this gushing jet.

The water flowed around, and it flowed in. It pushed and streamed and eddied, and within seconds she felt as though it would drive her to a premature climax if she let it. She maneuvered her body out of the jet and turned around to Barnes, who had a look of almost smug satisfaction on his face. “Do you like it?” he asked, knowing full well what her reply must be.

She knew he knew, and thought it unnecessary to answer him aloud. “Perhaps we could move just a little farther out,” she suggested. If she could soften the pressure, she thought, she might find it easier to control her arousal.

“We can,” he said, and then put her down so she was standing on the lake bottom. “Just one moment.” He strode out of the water, back to where their clothes were piled on the bank, and took a small tin out of one of his pockets. Then he returned to Georgiana, who looked at him curiously. “All in good time,” he said, and picked her up as he had before.

They were only a foot farther from shore, but the pressure from the pump’s jet was significantly lessened. This time, as Barnes held her in the stream, she felt the water as an all-encompassing caress. The combination of pressure and motion was incomparable, and she felt the sweet, focused excitement intensify in her core.

She found she could move, ever so slightly, to change the pressure, divert the motion, and so amplify her own waves of arousal. As she felt it mounting, she moved her hips so the jet was directed to her thigh or her belly until the feeling subsided. Then she’d move back into the stream and start a new, bigger wave.

She hadn’t forgotten Barnes, exactly, but she was very focused on what was happening to her when she felt a gentle pressure in the crevice between her buttocks. Barnes had his hand on her ass, and his middle finger was pressing in between her cheeks, searching for her asshole.

And then he found it and slipped his finger gently in. Because he had touched her there before, she had some idea what to expect, but the combination of the flowing water on her cunt and the pressure of his finger up her ass was all-consuming. The pleasure reached from her toes, up through the backs of her legs, concentrated in her middle, and then radiated out to her arms and even her fingertips. This was ecstasy, and her climax must be close.

Barnes sensed it, and moved her out of the stream and reclaimed his hand. He revealed the small tin, in his other hand, to be filled with white petrolatum, and he took out a big dollop of it. He put his hand under the water, found Georgiana’s anus once more, and deftly maneuvered the petroleum jelly around the rim and inside. And then he put her squarely back in the jet from the pump.

This interlude had set her excitement back to simmer, but the feel of the water on her once more had it building back up, more intense than before, if that were possible.

She felt again the pressure on the rim of her asshole, and she knew it wasn’t his finger. It was the tip of his cock, soft and hard at the same time, slowly working its way in. The pressure built and built as he worked himself in, and at first Georgiana wasn’t quite sure what she felt. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but it was a very unfamiliar feeling that wasn’t quite pleasure, either. Whatever it was, it served to keep the sensations from the water in check, in a kind of sexual equilibrium.

Only for a while. As she got used to the feeling of fullness, the unfamiliarity turned to a deep, satisfying pleasure, complement to the soft gushing of the water on her labia, her clitoris. She felt every nerve, every cell, engage—and she moaned long and low.

Barnes, his hands on her hips, moved in and out in short, slow strokes. The tightness of her ass, clenching his cock, was almost more than he could bear. Had he let himself go, he would have come within seconds of easing himself into her. As it was, it took all his concentration to wait for her.

Her moan told him it was time. Together, perfectly together, they reached a climax like none either of them had ever known. As she came, she contracted harder around him, intensifying his release. As he came, he filled her wider and deeper, intensifying hers. And the water! Water everywhere, caressing, flowing, completing.

It took a long time for the last small waves to work themselves through their two bodies, and it was only after they had both fully recovered that Barnes eased himself out of her and she put her feet back on the lake bottom.

Georgiana looked Barnes full in the face. “That was truly extraordinary,” she said.

“There are many extraordinary things in the world.” He gave her a look full of meaning.

“And you could give me a guided tour, I’ve no doubt,” she said, and laughed as she turned and headed for dry land.

“And what a tour it would be,” he said, and followed her out of the water.

Onshore, Barnes handed her his shirt. “You can use this to dry off,” he said.

“But then what will you wear?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll walk you back until you’re in sight of the house, and then I’ll just duck off to my cottage. I don’t think we’ll meet anyone, and I trust
you
won’t mind if I’m shirtless.”

“No,” she said, and ran her hands down his bare chest affectionately. “No, indeed.”

She put her clothes on slowly, in no hurry to return to the house and other people. The evening had had an air of unreality, and she was hanging on to the last moments, savoring them. When at last she was dressed, they strolled back toward the house arm in arm, Georgiana thinking how natural it felt to be with him.

When the house came into view, Barnes kissed her forehead and they parted company. She made her way up to her room, saying just a few polite words to dinner’s last stragglers, still arranged in one or two small groups in the drawing rooms. When she reached her room, Hortense was turning down her bed and laying out her nightclothes. The hot milk she’d asked for was on the dressing table.

“Oh, what a welcome draft,” she said. “I’d completely forgotten that I’d requested it.”

“As soon as you left, I asked Rose to fetch it later, and she’s just now brought it,” said Hortense.

“Thank you,” said Georgiana. “And you may go. I won’t be needing you this evening.” She wanted to be alone.

“Yes, my lady.” Hortense gave a perfunctory curtsy and left the room.

Georgiana donned her nightdress, got under the covers, and settled in to enjoy her milk and her thoughts. The discomfort she’d felt when she first learned that everyone in the house knew about her affair with Barnes had completely dissipated. How could anything that felt so right be wrong? And if it wasn’t wrong, what did she care for the world’s censure?

Her determination to defy that censure felt almost virtuous. Respectable men had been enjoying such pleasures since . . . well, since the very dawn of respectability, she supposed. And why should respectable women be denied?

What never crossed her mind was the idea that something other than pleasure was at stake. That they might have a life together was a possibility she never entertained.

When—if, really—she married, she knew she would marry a man who could walk in her world, who could talk of her world, who could live in its midst. Barnes was not such a man. But such a man as he was could touch her deeply! She lay in bed reliving the moments until she began to feel drowsy.

Just down the hall was another young woman snug in her bed, drinking hot milk, reliving moments. Alexandra Niven was thinking that she had never had such an enjoyable day, and that perhaps she should make it a habit to twist her ankle. She thought of Freddy and how he’d carried her up to the house, and the attention he’d paid to her over dinner. She thought of the feeling she’d had wearing Georgiana’s trousers. She thought of Gerry, and wondered why he hadn’t appeared at dinner.

The soft bed and the warm covers eventually took their toll, and Alexandra felt her eyes struggling to stay open. She reached over to the nightstand to put her empty cup back in its saucer, and only then did she see the folded piece of paper that had been hidden under the cup. She picked it up with puzzlement, but with some pleasurable anticipation. A billet-doux?

She unfolded it and read the one word printed there:
Harlot
.

The pleasant thoughts of her day and her suitors turned to ashes. How could anyone call her such a thing?
Who
could want to call her such a thing? What had she done that merited such a charge?

Her mind raced. Had she opened herself to such hostility simply by wearing trousers? By letting Freddy carry her? Could Miss Mumford’s reconciliation have been a sham, and this the manifestation of her disapproval? Could Gerry be jealous of the attentions Freddy was paying her?

She was now wide awake, but uncertain of what she should do. She was sitting stiffly upright in her bed, the note crumpled in her hand. It occurred to her to ring for Miss Mumford, but if that lady had sent the note she clearly couldn’t be confided in. And if she
hadn’t
sent the note, Alexandra thought it might be better if the secret could be kept from her.

Could she go find Georgiana? She knew she could confide in her friend, but it was too late to visit her in her room. She wanted desperately to tell
someone
, but there was no one to whom she could go.

And then she felt an unpleasant—and unfamiliar—rumbling in her bowels. At first she put it down to her distress, but then its insistence indicated that it was something more. She leaped out of bed and positively ran for the toilet, her injured ankle forgotten in the mad dash.

The toilet was where she remained for some good part of the night, her insides in an uproar. At first, she couldn’t understand what had happened. She thought it must be something she ate, but the turmoil was like nothing she’d ever experienced from food gone off. Besides, her constitution was excellent, and food seldom disagreed with her.

It was somewhere near three a.m. when it dawned on her that there had been something in the milk. When she first sipped it, she thought it had a funny taste, but it didn’t seem sour or rancid, and the taste wasn’t unpleasant, so she drank it. And this was the price.

S
he woke to the sound of a timid knock.

“Alexandra, dear,” said the voice of Miss Mumford through the door, “are you quite all right?”

“I am,” she called. “Come in.”

Miss Mumford opened the door just far enough to slip through, and then closed it behind her. She was going to make a feeble little joke about Miss Niven’s lying so late in bed, but the haggard expression on the girl’s face checked her. “Is something wrong?” she asked, with real concern.

Having just woken, Alexandra wasn’t thinking clearly, and wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to tell Miss Mumford about last night’s events. “I honestly don’t know,” she finally said. Then, thinking better of the ambiguity, she added, “but I think everything is fine.”

“I’m glad,” said her companion, but with some skepticism. “Mr. Gerard is outside. He noticed that you didn’t come down to breakfast, and was concerned that your injury was keeping you in bed. He didn’t think it proper to come up here alone, so he asked me to accompany him to check on you.”

Alexandra was touched by this show of concern, and immediately got out of bed, donned her dressing gown, and limped to the door. “Hello, Gerry,” she said, smiling at him as she opened it.

“Hullo, Miss Niven! I’m awfully glad to see you up and about. I worried when you didn’t come down to breakfast.”

“I overslept, I’m afraid,” she said. “Please come in and sit down.” Alexandra stepped aside, motioned him in, and gestured to a chair next to the bed. He wouldn’t sit down, though, until he had given her his arm and helped her back up onto her bed.

This gave Alexandra a few moments to gather her wits. Under no circumstances did she want to tell Gerry about the note and the tainted milk, and she needed to put the incident in the back of her mind while he was there.

She forced a smile. “I missed you at dinner last night.”

“I’m ashamed to say I was all in. I’m not used to punting, and although I didn’t feel the exertion at the time—I had such diverting company—I did feel it later. I had a chop in my room and turned in early.”