by Robin Gideon
Faye sank to her hands and knees on the rug. Her breasts, at last completely freed from the confining underbust corset, swayed heavily beneath her, their areolas still pink but darkened with her elevated passion, her nipples stiffly peaked. Radburn spread his legs apart in silent invitation. His testicles, hanging low beneath the shaft of his erection, seemed—like everything else about the man—intimidating and oversized.
“You have ignored me too long,” Radburn said when Faye reached his ankles. “Now you must make amends.”
Another shiver went through Faye, and her breathing faltered. Radburn’s imperious tone was triggering a wanton submissiveness within her she hadn’t known she possessed.
“Perhaps you should be punished.”
Faye kissed the inside of his right knee then used the tip of her tongue to lick a path up to the middle of his thigh. “Don’t punish me,” she whispered. After several seconds, she added, “Please don’t punish me…master.”
When her husband had been alive, he had often coaxed and wheedled Faye into giving him fellatio. On occasion she did what he wanted, and on other occasions she refused him. Either way, it was something that she had never enjoyed. But as with all the other comparisons Faye could make between her deceased husband and Dirk and Radburn, there really wasn’t a comparison. For the first time in her life, Faye’s mouth literally watered in anticipation of tasting a man’s hard cock.
Faye looked from Radburn’s erection up to his face. On his was the faintest hint of a smile. She let her gaze slide slowly downward, over the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, until she once again reached his erection. Up close, his dimensions seemed very large. With a hand that trembled slightly, Faye wrapped her fingers around Radburn’s shaft and was surprised to find that she couldn’t touch her fingertips to her thumb while holding him.
“Go on, Faye,” Radburn commanded. “You know what’s expected of you.”
She positioned herself over the flaring crown of his erection, but sudden apprehension and old inhibitions came rushing to the fore, stopping her.
“It’s so very—”
She had intended on saying more, but Radburn put a hand on the back of her head and pushed down. The crown of his cock forced Faye’s jaws open wide, and he did not stop pushing until her lips were a moist, pink ring around his shaft.
A low, rumbling groan came from Radburn’s barrel chest. “Now, suck,” he said with a sigh. “And look at me while you do.” When Faye tilted her head back and looked into his eyes, he added, “A woman with purple eyes…you’ve got the most beautiful eyes in the world.”
Faye bobbed slowly up and down. She couldn’t take much more than the crown into her mouth because of its size, but that didn’t stop her from pleasuring him in experimental ways. She licked down the pulsing shaft until she reached his testicles. Then, one at a time, she sucked tenderly upon them as Radburn moaned and groaned his approval.
Slowly and lovingly, Faye licked and nibbled up the fiery shaft until she reached the very tip once again, and this time she found a pearl of fluid glistening at the slit. Again she hesitated, but not for long as lustful curiosity won out over inhibition. She licked off the drop, found its taste salty and only slightly objectionable, but considered it a distinctly masculine flavor. Sighing with newly discovered pleasure, she pushed her lips down over the crown of Radburn’s cock and put her tongue in motion on its clefted underside. As she held Radburn in her mouth, he pulsed with wanton life.
“Get up here,” Radburn growled, grabbing Faye by the arms, pulling her up as he closed his legs.
Faye put her hands on his broad, naked shoulders as he grabbed her hips, positioning her so that her pussy was directly above his erection.
“So big,” Faye sighed as she bent her knees.
Her labia, still tingling from Dirk’s invasion, pushed inward in unintentional resistance. Radburn, too aroused to allow delay, pulled down on Faye’s hips. When Faye yielded to him, dilating to accommodate Radburn’s invasion, another stab of pain pierced her, though this time the hurt was more short-lived than what she’d experienced with Dirk.
In less than a minute, Faye was seated on Radburn’s lap and his erection filled her tight slit completely. His powerful hands, on her naked buns, guided her up and down, setting a rhythm that suited his wishes. Faye gave herself over completely to Radburn, letting him dictate her behavior, knowing instinctively that whatever he wanted from her would ultimately give her as much or more pleasure than he would receive himself.
Faye cupped her extravagant breasts from the underside, raising the mounds as though in offering, feeling like a fertile, pagan goddess. When Radburn sucked and nibbled on the pink crests, she tossed her head back and sighed, aware that her behavior was completely out of character for her even as she realized that her craving for these men was like an addiction.
But no matter how aroused Faye was with Radburn’s lovemaking, the rational part of her brain whispered words of warning. She leaned into Radburn, pressing her naked breasts firmly against the broad expanse of his chest, and whispered into his ear, “Don’t climax inside me.” Then, saucily, she bit his earlobe hard enough to cause him pain.
“Ouch!” Radburn howled, and Faye giggled as she bounced on his lap, dragging the tingling lips of her pussy up and down the length of his shaft. With laughter in his voice, Radburn said, “Why you little vixen! I’ll show you what’s what!”
Radburn lifted Faye as though she weighed nothing at all. He put her on her back on the carriage’s thick floor rug, covering her body with his much larger one. Faye wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his knees, as he began driving into her with long, powerful thrusts. But he did not slam into Faye too hard, apparently aware that either she had only minutes earlier taken quite a pounding from Dirk, or that she could not withstand his extraordinary strength.
Faye did not know the answer to Radburn’s restraint, though she was soon ecstatically aware of its consequence. As he thrashed above her, driving his cock full-length into her pussy, the sound of his pelvis slapping moistly against her own, Faye experienced her second soul-shattering climax with an erection inside her. Her right leg, looped around Radburn’s left, suddenly straightened as her body began its convulsions, and in the dim recesses of her passion-fogged mind she was aware, even as orgasmic spasms shuddered through her, that she had kicked something and hurt her toe.
The instant Faye’s climax subsided, she became conscious of the soreness of her labia. For a fleeting moment she considered asking Radburn to stop, but the words were unnecessary because on the next upstroke he withdrew completely and unleashed a river of cum over Faye’s breasts, stomach, and pelvis.
Radburn chuckled in post-climax good humor as Faye crawled across the carriage, pulled her abandoned cotton petticoat from the pile of clothing on the floor, and used it to wipe the semen from her skin. Both men, she decided, seemed to have voluminous climaxes. She didn’t recall her husband ever releasing so much semen when she’d made love to him.
Wearily dragging herself up onto the front carriage seat, Faye put a hand modestly between her legs to hide her sex but made no effort to hide her breasts. Her curvaceous body glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration that was a combination of her own and those of her lovers.
“What have I just done?” she asked, utterly perplexed by her own insatiable, wanton behavior as she looked at the two men who seemed to have the power to change her into a woman completely devoid of inhibitions. “Why am I powerless against you two?”
Chapter Eight
“Vicar Wilson, I have a very important assignment for you, and you must not let me down.” Agatha’s tone suggested the agonies of the damned would befall the man of the cloth should she be disappointed with his performance. “My son is going to marry his late brother’s widow, and we’d like you to officiate.”
Vicar Wilson smiled, and from the way his shoulders sagged, he appeared to be quite relieved, apparently having imagined assignments far
worse than officiating a wedding at Agatha Smythe’s behest.
“But of course, Madam Smythe. It would be my honor.”
Agatha hardened her gaze as she studied the religious man’s posture and expression. “However, there might be some difficulty with the bride.” The vicar’s exuberance vanished instantly. Agatha had expected it would, but she was undaunted. After her meeting with the banker, Georges Mann, the need to have complete and unfettered access to Faye’s current wealth and future finances had become critical.
“Since the death of her husband, she’s been virtually inconsolable. Quite frankly, my Derwin and I have been afraid she might even be contemplating suicide.” The vicar’s eyes widened, and Agatha made a soothing gesture with her pudgy hands. “I know, just as you do, that suicide is a sin against God.”
Agatha smiled for a moment then forced her outward appearance to remain neutral. She hadn’t considered bringing up suicide with the vicar, but the extemporaneous comment seemed to work nicely with her spiritual leader. “Derwin has agreed to marry poor Faye. She is grateful, of course, that a man of my son’s abilities and breeding would agree to marry a widow with a young child. Derwin could have his pick of young debutantes who haven’t poor Faye’s…baggage. Once the girl has married Derwin, she’ll settle down and we’ll all see her emotions become more ladylike. You’ll be doing God’s work.”
Vicar Wilson shrugged then took a sip of his tea. “Madam Smythe, I’m not sure what want from me.”
“Lately, Faye has been acting as though she doesn’t want to marry Derwin. Now I think we can all agree that when Faye marries my son, it will be the luckiest day of that woman’s life. She’s a widow with a child. I don’t need to tell you how few truly eligible bachelors from the right families would be willing to accept as a wife a woman with those”—she searched a moment for the right word—“stains upon her record.”
The vicar fidgeted in his chair in Agatha’s sitting room. “But if the bride doesn’t want—”
“Vicar Wilson, the bride is too emotionally distraught to know what she does or does not want.” Agatha put a finger to her lips and narrowed her fleshy eyes dangerously. She hadn’t thought Vicar Wilson would be this inquisitive regarding the circumstances of the wedding, and she had to be absolutely certain he would do precisely as she instructed. “It will be your job to officiate the wedding ceremony. And though it is an old and rather obscene law, it’s on the books and we have to live with it, so I would like you to be a witness to the wedding consummation.”
He widened his eyes. “But it’s been years since anyone has insisted the wedding night be witnessed.”
“Witnesses to the consummation come into play if the marriage becomes a matter for the courts. Therefore, you’ll be there as a witness.”
“But I really don’t think—”
“That’s right. Don’t think!” Agatha said venomously, her eyes snapping. “Listen to me carefully, Vicar Wilson, because what I’m about to tell you I’m only going to say once. You’re going to officiate the wedding ceremony of Derwin and Faye, and you’re going to sign all the religious and legal documents to make sure everything stands up in court. You’re also going to witness the wedding night, because if that little slut thinks she can contest the marriage afterward, I want to make damned sure there’s not one fucking thing she can do make anyone think she’s not married.”
Agatha leaned back in her chair, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and then continued in a far less agitated manner. “Vicar Wilson, in the past four years, there have been many girls—street urchins with nowhere to go—who have come to your parish for help. In many cases, you have extended a helping hand to those unfortunate lasses.” She hardened her gaze and colored her tone with contempt. “And in some cases, you’ve extended something more than just a helping hand. I believe three of those girls ended up getting pregnant while under your care, didn’t they?”
The blood drained from the vicar’s face, which pleased Agatha.
“Those children were pregnant when they came to the parish!”
Agatha twisted her lips in a condescending smile. She had been saving this trump card against the vicar for nearly a year. She put up a dismissive hand to silence any further protests. “That’s not true, and church documents can prove as such. Once you got those girls pregnant, you hustled them off to another parish quickly enough. But the records will show those girls came to you looking for help and within months, while under your wing and between your bed sheets, they got pregnant. Now, how do you think that’ll look should the newspapers get a whiff of what you’ve been doing with that holy man’s cock of yours?” She waggled her eyebrows. “The scandal sheets can be truly nasty.”
The vicar was a defeated man, and Agatha knew it. She thought briefly of adding more insult to his injury but decided against it. She had won the war. No profit would be made in sadism.
“I must attend to a few arrangements,” Agatha said, her tone perfectly casual now that the battle had been won. “Be ready to perform the ceremony at a moment’s notice. I can’t say for certain, but early next week looks most likely.” She made a dismissive, imperious motion with her hand. “You may go now, but stay close to your parish. When I call, you must come immediately.”
* * * *
Radburn and Dirk leaned back in overstuffed, leather, wing-backed chairs, each with a snifter of brandy in hand and their neckties pulled loose, dashing young men comfortably lounging among other young men of their social stratum at the most exclusive men’s club in all of England—The Club of Cromwell Road.
“This isn’t our battle, but for the life of me, I can’t see how turning my back on Faye and leaving her to fight Agatha Smythe on her own could in any way be the honorable path to take,” Dirk said.
Radburn ran his fingers through his reddish hair, groaned as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and took a sizable swallow of brandy. “I’ve made some inquiries into both Faye and Agatha.”
Dirk’s eyebrows shot up, and Radburn made a soothing motion with his free hand. “Discreet inquiries—I used a third party. Nothing can come back to us. Anyway, Agatha’s getting very desperate for cash. For the past six months she’s been quietly selling off assets, but she hasn’t slowed her spending one shilling.”
Dirk reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and extracted four sheets of neatly folded parchment. “I’ve got a friend in the same law offices where Michael Smythe had his will drawn up. He made a copy of it for me.”
Radburn widened his eyes and smiled in admiration. “I tried to get my hands on that will and got nowhere.”
“It cost me a pretty quid, but I knew who to ask.” He grinned wolfishly. “My insider likes to play the ponies. He won once and thought he was a genius. He’s been on a two-year losing streak, so now he’ll do anything for money.”
Radburn took the parchment from Dirk and read the fine, highly legible handwriting. When the waiter approached, a third generation employee of The Club, Radburn made a point of turning the pages lettering-down. The waiter was no doubt thoroughly trustworthy, but it made no sense to take chances. Especially not when Faye’s wealth, safety, and happiness were at stake.
“Another round of drinks, please,” Radburn said. “And make sure they’re on my chit.”
“Very good, sir.”
Turning to Dirk, Radburn asked, “How long have you had this?” He held up the legal document, his blue eyes taking on a flinty hardness. “And you’ve been here with me for twenty minutes. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Relax, my friend. Harvey Griswold was sitting in the chair behind you, and I didn’t want to say anything of importance that he might hear. As for the document, I hotfooted it here the instant I got my hands on it.”
Feeling relieved he hadn’t been slighted and a little guilty for his uncharitable suspicions toward his best friend, Radburn asked, “So, does anything in the will look promising?”
The waiter reappeared with two snift
ers of brandy balanced perfectly on an ornately engraved, silver tray. Dirk waited until the man served the brandy and then disappeared before speaking.
“There is one glimmer of hope that I can see, but I don’t want to tell you what it is. I want you to find it yourself.” Dirk leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got to tell you, Faye means more to me than I had thought possible. I–I know the relationship the three of us have is a bit…um…unconventional, but it’s something I don’t want to give up. I want you to read the will on your own. If you can see the glitch, then it’s really there.”
“You’re afraid your feelings for Faye are distorting your reasoning.” Radburn smiled crookedly. “That’s not like you, my friend. Not like you at all. I thought your heart was immune to women.”
Dirk paused for several seconds, as though deliberating the extent to which he would be candid. “So far, you haven’t said a single thing that is inaccurate.”
“Damn. Dirk, did you ever think we’d get so tangled up with a woman?” Radburn’s expression said without words that he was also in uncharted emotional waters. “One woman for the two of us?”
“Never.”
“What are we going to do about it?” Radburn shifted his powerful frame in the chair and took another swallow of brandy. “I don’t suppose you’d consider just walking away from Faye.”
The faint trace of a smile that had been on Dirk’s lips vanished. “You’re right. I wouldn’t consider it.”
“Same here.” Radburn combed his fingers through his hair. “You know, I’ve gotten away with a lot of nonsense in my life and never had to pay the piper. After all these years of tomcatting around, I have to fall in love with the same woman my best friend loves.” He chuckled softly in self-derisive amusement. “Who in hell is dealing these cards, anyway?”
