Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  When he was upright, she did nothing but stare at him, as if she knew not what to do with him next.

  “Have I earned the privilege of pleasuring Lady Athena?” he prompted.

  She hesitated as she considered his proposition. He could hardly contain his triumph when she replied, “Perhaps a little.”

  She pushed her breasts up with her hands. The voluptuous orbs filled his vision.

  “Fondle them, Hephaestus..”

  At last she would allow him to touch her! Slowly, he reached to cup a breast with reverence. Her breath caught when he passed his thumb over the nipple. He sank his digits gently into her rounded flesh. She felt glorious.

  He leaned into her bosom and flicked his tongue at a nipple, making her gasp. When he had teased both nipples to pointed hardness, he encased one in his mouth and sucked. She moaned her approval. He sucked harder. She thrust the breast further into his face. He pulled as much of the flesh into his mouth as he could, suckling her tit with increasing vigor. The length of his desire pulsed.

  “Enough,” she ordered before he could lavish the same attention upon her other breast, which bore a small birthmark left of the nipple.

  She lowered her gaze to his crotch, where his desire tented the fall. With some hesitation, she put her hand to his hardness, her breath uneven. His ardor stretched at her touch.

  “Shall I allow you to pleasure yourself, I wonder?”

  “No,” he replied resolutely. “Until my lady has found pleasure, I would not be worthy.”

  She released him. “Suit yourself.”

  His gaze caressed the contours of her body—the flare of her hips, the swell of her thighs. If she would but let him, he could worship her body.

  As if sensing his thoughts, she asked, “Do you enjoy pleasuring women?”

  “Without question. How do you prefer to take pleasure, Lady Athena?”

  “I ask the questions,” she told him. “In my observation, many men seek only their own satisfaction.”

  “They forego a great deal of pleasure then.”

  “Do you suggest that you are different?”

  “Perhaps my lady would like to ascertain the truth for herself?”

  She colored. “How might you pleasure a woman?”

  “The young maid you had me pleasure with my tongue,” he answered as he held her gaze, “I would have gladly done to…”

  You.

  “My lady,” he finished.

  Her chest rose with inflated breath as she perhaps remembered his performance. She began to pace in front of him. “Tell me of your last lover.”

  Phineas recalled the Marquise de Dupray, a lovely woman with dark black hair, who had an affinity for being the voyeur, not unlike the Lady Athena. “A French Marquise. She liked to watch me as I instructed her damsels on the finer points of pleasure.”

  “Damsels?”

  “The young maids in her employ. She preferred them virginal.”

  He could not tell if his answer displeased her, but she nodded for him to continue.

  “Her chamber had a large bergere armchair. She would sit in that chair and fondle herself as she watched us.”

  “What did she have you do?”

  “Fuck.”

  He had spoken the word clearly, but she started as if she had not quite discerned his answer.

  “I would ravish the maid,” he elaborated, speaking at a slower tempo so that she would miss not a word. His arousal reared its head with the memory. “The Marquise would have me take her maids in all manner of positions: standing, sitting, kneeling.”

  “Describe one such instance.”

  He thought he detected a slight hitch in her voice, but her face evinced no emotion.

  “Madame had a Dutch scullery maid, Katrien, whom she favored. One night Madame called Katrien to her chambers. I undressed Katrien, removing every last article including her garters and stockings. Madame then told her to kneel and take my shaft into mouth. Katrien had a remarkably pliant mouth, though when she first came to work for Madame, she often gagged while taking a man’s member. She took almost the entire length of me down her throat this time.”

  Lady Athena had stopped pacing, her gaze upon his crotch.

  “Madame would sit in that chair of hers and urge me to thrust into Katrien harder, to grab Katrien by the hair and speed her motion on my shaft. When I spent, Madame wanted Katrien to swallow every last drop of seed. Once, Katrien coughed, and my seed spilled from her lips onto the ground. Madame was furious and made Katrien sleep on a pallet she kept next to her bed.”

  He watched as Lady Athena reached for his fall. “Have you ever been treated such, my Hephaestus? Like a pup to be taught a lesson?”

  ‘My Hephaestus’ she had said. Encouraged, he answered with a “no” but gave her such a look as to suggest that he would welcome such a prospect from her.

  She smiled appreciatively and brushed her fingers over the tented area of his breeches. “Continue.”

  “Madame and I had trained Katrien well. She licked the last droplet and begged for more. That pleased Madame.”

  He paused to relish the feel of Lady Athena’s fingers. The pleasure was almost unbearable. She undid his buttons, releasing the hardened member. She stared at his shaft for several beats before grasping it. Suppressing a satisfied moan, he returned to his story.

  “I knelt behind Kat and entered her. My shaft hardened further inside her. Madame, aroused by the sight of us, spent first. Then Katrien spent.”

  “Then what?” Lady Athena blew into his ear. She had drawn her body close enough for him to feel her heat. His hands itched to caress her—her arms, her hips, her thighs. Her hand had wrapped itself entirely about his erection, briskly pumping him.

  “Then I fucked Madame.”

  Her hand stopped. Her face was close enough to his that if he turned, his mouth could have brushed her cheek. He inhaled her scent, a fresh and subtle essence mixed with the musk of arousal that clung in the air of the Ballroom.

  “How?”

  “Against the wall, her legs wrapped about my hips as I held her aloft and pressed my member deep into.”

  She resumed her stroking of his member. She had a gentle but firm touch, enticing his arousal higher and higher until the tip tingled.

  “Did she spend?”

  “Yes.”

  The Marquise had been insatiable. They would often spend half the night making love. He added, “With such force that she bit into me. I bore the marks of her teeth upon my shoulder for many days.”

  When she stepped away from him, he could see she was in thought. She absently stroked his chest. Her tongue darted from her lips and grazed his nipples. He wished he could see her mouth and discern the shape of her lips, but she always stood with the lone candelabra to her back, leaving her face in constant shadow.

  Then to his surprise, she sank to her knees. Grasping him, she guided the hard pole into her mouth. Phineas groaned at the exquisiteness of her wet, velvet mouth wrapped about him. Cradling his shaft on her tongue, she waited a moment before curling her tongue and giving it a long suck. Her tongue lapped at the underside of his shaft, finding that deliciously sensitive area right beneath the flare of the head. The pleasure shot down his thighs and swirled in his groin. Was the Lady Athena truly practiced in the art of taking a man into her mouth or did she have a natural flair for it? The warmth of her mouth fueled a heat that had already been stoked by her earlier stroking. Did she mean to reward him for his story? As she took his length deeper into her mouth, her hand cupped his sack and tugged his balls. He could feel his arousal boiling there. Her mouth moved relentlessly up and down his shaft.

  “Lady Athena,” he said. “I will not spend lest my lady has first been fulfilled.”

  She pulled her mouth off and looked up at him.

  “You flatter yourself. Did you think I would have allowed you to spend?”

  Rising to her feet with a smile, she grasped him in her hand. When her fingers slid over the head,
a tremor went down his legs.

  “Till next we meet,” she said over her shoulder as she strode from the alcove.

  He waited until she was gone before letting out a groan, feeling as if his body was a tautly stretched string in need of plucking. He wondered how Lady Athena would have reacted to the whole story of the Marquise, who, as much as she enjoyed commanding her maids, became a kitten who groveled at his feet and begged for him to ravish her. Shaking off his arousal, he, too, left the alcove. He would need to employ a more forceful approach for he suspected that time was not in his favor where Lady Athena was concerned.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HER HORSE PAWED the ground, restless for his mistress to provide direction, but Gertie stalled as she contemplated the façade of the apartment of Phineas Barclay. She considered turning her horse back down the street, but she imagined the disappointment she would have to face if she arrived at the orphan asylum sans Lord Barclay—again, for she had paid a visit but yesterday on her own, only to be peppered by the girls with questions as to why Lord Barclay had not accompanied her. She remembered the jealousy brewing at each mention of his name. She loathed that such a repulsive feeling should nest itself in her bosom. Then she imagined the smiles that would blaze from their faces if he should come, and that made her mind.

  There was the possibility Lord Barclay was not at home. She would still proceed to the asylum, but at least her conscience would be at ease in the knowledge that she had made a good attempt to seek him out. Of course, if she had been complete in her diligence, she could have sent him word in advance of her coming or written him a request for his company. But she was reminded of all the times he had requested her audience and been spurned. Now she wished she had been more gracious.

  No matter. She was done with being disconcerted by this man. Recalling her most recent night at the Ballroom, she summoned the daring of Lady Athena. She could hardly believe that she had taken a man into her mouth. She had only done so once before, though she had witnessed the act many times within the walls of the Ballroom. She had always been intrigued by it, how wrong it seemed, how depraved, how provocative and titillating. But finally, Lady Athena had regained some of her old form over the impudent Hephaestus. Though she had been more aroused than she had ever been listening to him recount his story with the Marquise, such that she had rushed home afterwards so that she could dive her hand between her thighs and frig herself to completion, she had successfully maintained her composure with him.

  Her horse neighed as if to prod her along. Accepting the encouragement from her grey, she dismounted and made her way to the black double doors.

  “Is Lord Barclay home?” she asked of the butler who answered the door.

  “Is he expecting you, my lady?”

  “No, and I will not impose if he is occupied.”

  She began to turn on her heel.

  “If you would but wait, my lady…” the butler urged, stepping aside to allow her passage. “Shall I see to your horse?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I will not be long.”

  “Would my lady care to wait in the drawing room?”

  “I will not be long,” she reiterated.

  The butler began to take his leave but stopped to pick up a lace handkerchief.

  “Yours, my lady?” he inquired.

  She shook her head vigorously at the perfumed finery. As she waited for the butler to return, she tapped her riding crop into the palm of her other hand. The butler had not been astonished to find a woman calling upon his employer. No doubt he had seen many a woman crossing the threshold in his time.

  She should not be surprised if Barclay declined to visit the orphan asylum. She knew of only one man besides Mr. Winters who had been there: the Marquess of Dunnesford. At first she had been rather intimidated by the man, but as she befriended the Marchioness, she came to know him as kindhearted and reasonable.

  “You have a husband of perfection,” she had once sighed to Harrietta, the Marchioness, upon learning that not only was Dunnesford a benefactor of the asylum but he and his wife had chosen to employ one of the girls.

  “He is perfect for me,” Harrietta had acknowledged.

  “I am flattered,” Vale had said, raising his wife’s hand for a kiss, “but I am far from a perfect husband—if such a thing exists.”

  The man who descended the stairs would be the last candidate for a perfect husband. Despite that, she could not help a moment of awe as she observed Lord Barclay’s dress. Attired in a marvelously embroidered waistcoat, breeches that molded his muscular legs, and the finest of linen, he presented a dashing vision. Gertie wondered how much time the man’s toilette must absorb and did he go to bed in such a state of refinement?

  “Lady Lowry,” he greeted, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Strange but the man seemed genuine in his pleasure to see her.

  “I will not occupy much of your time,” Gertie said quickly. “I came only because the girls have such an interest in making your acquaintance again, but as I am sure you are engaged, I shall bid you good day.”

  He allowed her to make it all the way to the door before saying, “Stay.”

  She shivered at the command in his tone. Her heart betrayed her inner composure and quickened its beat. Turning, she saw him advancing towards her. His gaze pinned her to where she stood, and her better instincts failed her. A field mouse or any animal of inferior intelligence could have survived better than her at the moment.

  Barclay drew up before her—much too close for comfort, and still she could not move. He looked down upon her, his voice low but free of smugness.

  “You desire my company, Countess?”

  “The girls,” Gertie countered, fearing his body would take up all the air she needed to breath. “They wish to see you.”

  “Are you merely their messenger then?”

  “Of course!” she snapped. The impudence of the man!

  His lips curled in a half smile, and Gertie found herself fixated upon his mouth, recalling how those lips had planted themselves upon Sarah, wondering how they would feel upon her own body…

  “You did not have to come,” he pointed out.

  “I was bound by my affection for…If you’ve no interest, sir—my lord, I will take my leave and trouble you no further.”

  “Did I say I had no interest?”

  “I assumed…”

  “Do you make a great many assumptions, Countess?”

  “Are you always this impertinent?” she retorted, finding courage in her ire.

  His smile broadened, the amusement twinkling into this eyes. To her relief, he stepped away from her. As he called for his butler, she inhaled a much needed breath.

  “Gibbons, my hat and coat,” Barclay instructed. He turned back to Gertie, this time speaking seriously. “I should be pleased to accompany you to the orphan asylum, Lady Lowry. I hope you will not hesitate to request my attendance anytime you venture into St. Giles.”

  “Are you offering yourself as a chaperone?” she asked, unable to fathom his chivalry to her.

  “I doubt you have an interest in my fulfilling any other capacity,” he stated as he donned his hat and gloves.

  She flushed. “I would have no interest in you at all if not for the girls!”

  “I rather doubt that.”

  He gestured for her to proceed before him. Grinding her teeth together, she gathered her skirts and swept past him. He was amusing himself at her expense, but she could not help her indignation and cursed herself for having sought him.

  “Allow me,” he said to his footman when Gertie prepared to mount her steed.

  She bristled, envious of the independence men had when it came to mounting, but she stepped into his waiting hands. He lifted her into her saddle with ease.

  Once more they began their ride in silence. She did not understand this man at all. One moment he was purposefully vexing her with language as his arsenal, the next he was dumb.

  “You ought not feel
obligated,” she began.

  He stared at her. “But of course I feel obligated, Countess. I could not disappoint the orphans.”

  Gertie knit her brows as she studied him. His words rang sincere. Could there possibly be a shred of kindness in him?

  “I take it one of your assumptions of my character is that I am heartless?”

  Damnation. How was he able to read her thoughts?

  “Why should I think otherwise?” she returned.

  “Because many men are not what they seem, even ones you would consider indecent.”

  “I merely thought that you would be busy—appointments with your tailor or bootmaker.”

  He smiled, amused once more. “Ah, you think me heartless and frivolous.”

  “Are you not?” she challenged. “Have you a purpose, sir, beyond a well-turned cuff or the pursuit of a skirt?”

  “No.”

  Expecting him to be a little sheepish, his brazen response surprised her. At the least, he was truthful, she granted him wryly.

  “And you disapprove,” he stated, providing her something more to respond to.

  “Of course. Man was not gifted with intelligence and abilities that he may spend his time as a philanderer.”

  “You would rather I wile away my time at Brooks or White’s with my own sex, indulging in smoke and drink, a good round of hazard, or a lively discussion of pugilism?”

  “I do not disapprove of recreation but would rather men engage in useful pursuits. I wonder that we can allow such suffering as exists among our fellow man?”

  “It would seem to me that when Man engages his intelligence and his abilities, he is wont to wreak destruction and suffering.”

  She shook her head. “That can be no excuse. You, sir, are clearly capable, intelligent, and possess certain skills that are perhaps best placed in a more deserving person. You could do much if you applied yourself.”

  For the first time, it seemed she had made him uncomfortable. He had no witty remark, no bold response.

  “You overestimate my abilities,” he said at last.

  “I think not, but it would be a shame if your legacy was naught but that you excelled at debauchery.”