Educating Aphrodite

by Kimberly Killion

  She struggled to breathe. White spots speckled her vision. Oh God! She was going to swoon. Then Daphne’s wickedly clever thumb spiraled a maddening circle around her clit. A sizzling jolt zinged up her spine. “Oh! Oh yes. Don’t stop.”

  Daphne repeated the action over and over, all the while pumping the dildo between Alexandra’s cheeks. “I will save the biggest cock for tomorrow.”

  The thought of repeating this act sent Alexandra over the precipice. Sensations racked her entire being. She cried out and felt the press of a kiss on her hip. Her womb fluttered and kicked and exploded into the first orgasm she’d experienced in over a year.

  Daphne eased Alexandra off the edge of bliss slowly then washed her a final time before offering her a robe. “I think you are clean, m’lady, but we are not yet finished.” Daphne gestured toward the bed as she retrieved a small copper pot from the hearth and set it atop the bedside table.

  “What is that?” Alexandra’s words broke in her dry throat.

  “Wax.”

  * * * * *

  “Alexandra!” Sebastian bellowed from the library as she and Daphne were headed toward the front door.

  “I will wait in the carriage, m’lady.” Daphne left Alexandra standing in the open doorway watching her husband frantically rummage through a heap of clutter atop his massive mahogany desk.

  When he caught sight of her, his search ceased. “Where are my spectacles?”

  Alexandra sighed and plucked his glasses off a table beside the chair facing the hearth. She handed them to him, wishing he would take the time to brush her fingers or notice the way Daphne had fashioned her hair with braids and jeweled hair pins, but he did neither.

  “Thank you, love.” Calmer, he set them atop his nose and returned his attention to his desk.

  He was a beautiful man. Tall, with wheat-colored hair and aqua-blue eyes. Beneath his aristocratic clothes lay a sea of muscles and bronze skin she hadn’t seen in far too long. They’d been married three years, and Sebastian had come to rely on her to manage the household. But Alexandra no longer wanted to be the mistress of Pendleton. She wanted to be her husband’s mistress. She wished he would look at her the way he once had before they fell into this cold, dismal distance. She wished he would touch her, to give her some sign of interest that proved he was worth fighting for.

  Sebastian tucked a sealed envelope inside his tailcoat and rounded the desk. Only then did he take in her attire. Daphne had chosen a dark blue gown dripping with white lace for their outing. The bodice swooped so low the rims of her rosy nipples nearly peeked out of the silver ribbing.

  “Are you going out?” His gaze dropped to her breasts.

  Alexandra inhaled with purpose, hoping to entice him. “I’m going to see the modiste about a new corset.”

  Sebastian pulled a stack of bank notes from his tan trousers and stuffed them in her hand. “Buy yourself something beyond your pin money. I’m going to Lexington to see about a horse. I’ll be back Sunday.”

  She knew he lied but held her tongue.

  He pecked her cheek with no more passion than he might have kissed his forty-seven-year-old aunt, then plucked his riding gloves off the chair and started for the door.

  She wanted to scream at him to come back. She wanted to show him her smooth cunny and tell him she’d agonized beneath the pain of it all for him. She ground her teeth with such intensity, she feared they would crack.

  Damn you! Bend me over the desk and give me a proper farewell, you blind fool! These were the words she wanted to speak, but not the words that came out. “Enjoy your trip, darling,” was all she said as she watched him disappear into the corridor.

  Chapter Three

  “Enjoy your trip?” Delacroix frowned at Alexandra later that morning in the alleyway behind the modiste’s shop. “Do you expect the man to read your mind? Had you said what you’d been thinking, Warwick might have fucked you senseless and we could put this whole travesty behind us.” He shook his head and blew a frustrated breath. “Are the appropriate words even in your vocabulary?”

  “What words?” Alexandra didn’t care for his patronizing tone.

  “Had you actually been capable of telling Warwick your true desires, what would you have said to him?”

  “I would have asked him to make love to me.”

  Delacroix shook his head and waggled his pointer finger. “A temptress wants to fuck her husband.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Alexandra started to fidget, but deep inside she wanted to learn.

  Delacroix held her chin and forced her eyes on him. “Say it.”

  “I want to fuck my husband.” She rushed the words out quickly.

  “Say it again with a bit more enthusiasm.”

  “I want to fuck my husband.” That time the words felt exhilarating.

  “What else, Alexandra?” Delacroix prodded.

  Heat crept up her neck but she forced it back down. “I want to suck his cock.”

  “Good. What else?”

  Alexandra thought about the smooth petals of her womanhood. “I want him to kiss my…flower garden.”

  Delacroix laughed outright, ridiculing her. “Your flower garden?”

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she tapped her toe. “Is there a preferred vulgarity?”

  A single black brow slid up Delacroix’s forehead. “Cunt. The word of choice is cunt.”

  “Very well. I want my husband to lick my cunt.” She inhaled and squirmed at the thought.

  “You are learning.” Delacroix smacked her backside—hard.

  “Ow!” She scowled at him and rubbed her rump thinking the man was enjoying his position in this whole affair far too much. She couldn’t help but wonder if he eagerly awaited the moment he would couple with her on stage. Or was the act so commonplace to him that he gave it little thought?

  “Stop frowning. It doesn’t become you.” He smoothed the wrinkle out of her brow with the tenderness of a born lover. “Come. Let’s see what Daphne has found for you.”

  “Are the costumes not already made for the performance?”

  “Yes, but you’ll need something to keep Warwick in your bed once you get him there.”

  When they entered the dressmaker’s shop, the modiste—a thin elderly man—came rushing toward them. Alexandra was thankful they were in the Boroughs where she wouldn’t be recognized.

  “Mr. Delacroix, I’ve already prepared the back room for you and your lady companions. The lovely Daphne has chosen several articles for you to admire. Buy as many as you like. Buy them all. I’ll make more.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gibbons. Your hospitality is much appreciated, as always.” Delacroix led Alexandra through a pair of heavy damask curtains and into a sweet-smelling dressing chamber. A freestanding mirror sat beside a large chair in the corner where Delacroix positioned himself.

  Alexandra panicked. “Would you not be more comfortable waiting with the modiste?”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable here.” He grinned and folded his hands in his lap.

  “Which one?” Daphne held up two lacy corsets—one black, one red. Hanging from hooks on the wall were matching silk stockings.

  “The black one.” He decided and fixed his stare on Alexandra. “Remove her garments.”

  “Mr. Delacroix! Please. This is highly improper,” Alexandra protested.

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Propriety has no role in seduction, sweetling. Consider my presence part of your education.”

  Daphne turned a grumbling Alexandra away from Delacroix’s watchful eyes and assisted her out of her attire a layer at a time. First came the gown, then the camisole, corset, petticoats and crinoline, followed by her chemise and drawers and garters. Delacroix’s breaths deepened as the pile of finery grew, but he held his tongue until Daphne rolled the second stocking off Alexandra’s toes.

  “’Tis now clear to me why Warwick made no attempt to seek out your favors. In the future, wear less. Much less.”

  Was
he actually chastising her? She’d been stripped of her garments as well as her dignity, and he thought now was an appropriate time to be flippant?

  “He is trying to be comical,” Daphne explained softly so Delacroix couldn’t hear her. “He turns into an ignorant ape when he is nervous.”

  “Nervous?” Alexandra’s lips twitched wanting to smile.

  Daphne nodded and plucked the black corset off a nearby table.

  “Wait. I want to look at her.”

  Oh my good heavens. The tiny ounce of assurance she’d gained in knowing Delacroix suffered from nerves vanished with his words. A fierce blush burned her skin. She cowered and attempted to hide her nudity with her hands.

  “When you are on stage, there will be dozens of eyes on you. If you are apprehensive here, you will not be able to perform for them.”

  “Trust him.” Daphne pulled Alexandra’s hands to her sides and pushed back her shoulders. “Display your body with pride, m’lady.”

  “Turn her around.” Delacroix’s tone took on a dominant edge and told Alexandra he grew impatient.

  Daphne wetted her fingertips before she palmed Alexandra’s hips and swiveled her around for inspection. Delacroix’s gaze roamed over her person like hot, licking tongues. Heat seared her insides and only escalated when Daphne wrapped her arms around Alexandra and began titillating her breasts with wet, wicked fingers. She rolled her semi-erect nipples in unison, tugging them repeatedly until they became distended pearls of rose-colored flesh. Daphne’s hands then descended. She flattened the backs of her fingers against Alexandra’s inner thighs and presented her freshly waxed mons.

  “She is lovely, no?” Daphne asked Delacroix and kissed the back of Alexandra’s shoulder.

  “She is exquisite. You did well.” His smile of approval was directed at Daphne, and it was then Alexandra realized she, too, wanted to please him.

  “You may now dress the countess.” Delacroix never once looked away, and Alexandra found his attention stimulating. She wanted someone to desire her the way Sebastian didn’t. And that someone at the moment was Delacroix.

  He was undeniably a very comely man—broad of shoulder, heavily muscled and dark. He stood and circled them like a sly fox hunting his prey, making no effort to hide the erection tenting his trousers.

  Daphne tightened the laces of the black corset and propped Alexandra’s breasts atop the short, rigid cups that were really more like shelves for they displayed her breasts instead of hiding them. Daphne proceeded to sheath Alexandra’s legs in black stockings and held them in place with matching silk garters. With the ensemble complete, Daphne stepped away.

  Delacroix took his time studying her. She pretended to be his equal by holding his stare, but her daring spirit began to wither after long moments of silence. She lowered her lashes and pinned her chin to her chest.

  “Look at me.” He lifted her chin. “You must exude confidence at all times. There will be eleven other women on stage with you, but you must make the audience want you. You must make Warwick want you.”

  “Do you doubt your skills as a hypnotist?”

  He grinned. “I never fail.”

  “But what if I fail?” She experienced another moment of trepidation.

  “You will not.” Delacroix plucked out the pins binding her hair and set her before the mirror. “Do you see that woman?”

  She looked at her reflection and saw a woman she didn’t recognize. A woman with shimmering blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires. She was shapely with pert breasts and porcelain skin. “I see her.”

  “She is beautiful. Is she not?”

  “She is.” Her chin raised an inch.

  He pressed his chest to her back, grabbed her hand and forced her to caress her cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You are seductive.”

  She drew a deep breath of musk and citrus.

  “When you are on stage you must tease the crowd. Touch yourself and make them wish it was their hand caressing your skin.” His hot cinnamon breath tickled her collarbone and sent a shiver up her spine.

  With Delacroix’s hand guiding her, she traced the column of her neck, the curve of her breast. “Remember, you are the mistress of your own being.”

  You will not show fear in the presence of women. Nor will you show insecurity in the company of men. The remainder of Delacroix’s silent words rolled through her head, empowering her as her hand glided over the lacy black corset toward her smooth mound.

  Delacroix continued the path with both hands. He curled his fingers round her inner thighs and encouraged her to part her legs. “Make them fantasize about what secrets you hide beneath your gown.”

  The inferno building between the walls of her womanhood incinerated her morals. She inhaled a shaky breath. Her head fell back against his solid chest giving her a glimpse of Daphne watching in the background.

  Their attention will arouse you, and you will submit to your body’s demands without reserves.

  Small tremors racked her body. Her calves burned. Her toes curled.

  He kissed his way up her slender neck and nipped her earlobe. “Since you came to me yesterday, I have thought of little else aside from taking you during the finale.”

  His admission sent a bolt of hot lightning straight through her core. The part of her yearning for fulfillment wanted him to take her right now. She covered his hand, now resting beneath her navel, and moved it lower.

  His growl hummed against her shoulder as she pushed his two middle fingers inside her to the third knuckle.

  A squeak escaped her throat when he found the erogenous spot deep in her womb. She succumbed to her body’s needs and watched him pleasure her in the mirror. He bit the shell of her ear, tightened his hold around her waist and pressed his hard cock into her backside. “My dearest Alexandra, you tempt me so.”

  She began to pant when he palmed her mound, pushing on her clit. She bucked against him and squeezed her aching breasts.

  A fierce sound rose out of his chest. A muscle flexed in his jaw. His nostrils flared angrily just before he jerked his hand out of her and set her aside. “Warwick is a damned fool! If you were mine, I’d fuck you senseless every night.” Vexed, he unbuttoned his trousers. “Get dressed before I take you prematurely.” He peeled out of his waistcoat, ripped the cravat off his neck, then whipped his chin over his shoulder. “Daphne!”

  The woman responded immediately. She dropped to her knees between the V of Delacroix’s legs, pulled his enormous cock out of his trousers and licked him.

  Delacroix’s attentions—both mental and physical—confused Alexandra. He wanted her, but his loyalty to her husband prevented him from taking what she so willingly offered. For too long she’d craved the attention of a man, and now he, too, sought his pleasure elsewhere, the same as her husband. Was it her lack of skills that drove them away? Would they want her if she indulged in debauchery?

  She’d never taken Sebastian into her mouth. It certainly wasn’t for lack of want. She’d been raised to believe such acts were reserved for harlots. But her title and her fortune had brought her more misery than joy. And if truth be told, she was tired of this cold separation from ecstasy.

  Delacroix grunted and wove his hands through Daphne’s silky black hair. Alexandra craned her neck to watch, curious about the talents other women had that she obviously did not.

  Daphne popped Delacroix’s cock from her mouth. “Do you know how to please a man with your tongue?”

  Alexandra shook her head sheepishly. “’Tis not a skill the headmistress taught us in finishing school.”

  Without breaking the back and forth rhythm of her hand, Daphne smiled and patted the space beside her. “Delacroix taught me. Now I will teach you.”

  “I’m not a bloody mannequin.” Delacroix frowned at Daphne as Alexandra knelt on the carpet.

  “Shush!” Daphne silenced Delacroix when she angled his cock so it pointed straight out from his body. “A man will moan when you touch him here.” Daphne h
eld him with both hands and dipped the tip of her tongue into his small hole, flitting about delicately, teasing him, before she curled her tongue around the bulbous, purple head.

  “And here.” She fondled his groomed sac, sucked each testicle before taking them both into her mouth. Next, she licked him with the flat of her tongue from root to tip, then enfolded her lips over the top of him. She sucked hard, rotating her head in circular motions, pumping him with one hand and massaging his scrotum with the other. Then she started the process over again, never once faltering in her rhythm.

  Squirming, Alexandra bit her bottom lip and resisted the urge to touch herself. She wasn’t a stranger to her own hand, but the nights she’d gratified herself, she’d done so in private.

  “Does it excite you, Alexandra? To watch?” Delacroix’s question came out raspy.

  “It does,” she admitted freely.

  “Then pay attention. You won’t want to miss this.” Delacroix tightened his hold on Daphne’s hair, holding her in place. “Open.”

  Alexandra’s eyes were already dry, but she didn’t dare blink when Daphne cupped his hips and spread her mouth wider. Delacroix held the back of Daphne’s head and pushed his cock into her throat. Her eyes pinched shut, but only for a moment until he withdrew. He did it again and again, thrusting a little deeper each time.

  Alexandra might have thought the act cruel if Daphne hadn’t been the one forcing the remainder of his cock down her throat.

  Shaking, he held her there. Sweat seeped through his shirt. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  Alexandra held her breath waiting for him to release Daphne, and when he finally did, she inhaled a great gulp of air and turned toward Alexandra. “Now you try.”

  A proper woman would have run out of the dressing room screaming. But running was the furthest thing from her mind when Delacroix spread the tails of his shirt, swiveled his hips, and offered her his manhood.

  “A temptress should know how to suck a man’s cock.” Delacroix’s prodding was unnecessary. She wanted to know what he tasted like, what he would feel like in her mouth. She wanted to experience the thrill of stripping a man of his control.