by Sarah Thorn
Annabelle smiled and laughed, and one of the servants by the door turned to show them the way to the ball room.
The ballroom was as big as you would expect by looking at the house. The dance had already begun. A band played along one side, and a large number of guests surrounded the dance floor. Lady Patterson was dancing with an older gentleman. His hair glistened the color of snow and he had a bushy moustache, which reminded Anna of her father’s.
He was Duke Rathers, a well-known bachelor who had never married. There had been some hushed whispers in the last couple of years about Lady Patterson and the Duke’s relationship. It was a scandal waiting to explode.
When the song was over, Lady Patterson held a chubby hand up to the band so they wouldn’t start anew and then addressed the crowd.
“Thank you for coming,” she said loudly, Duke Rathers by her side. “I am not one for long speeches, so let me just say I hope you enjoy yourself, and I hope some of you may find a happiness here you have not yet felt.”
It was common for young people to court one another at dances like this, and there were always more than a few proposals. As the band began to play again, it did not take long for a man to appear by Anna’s side. His name was Bertram Sutherland, a Duke. But his reputation was less than stellar in terms of an addiction to drink, women, and horse racing. Still, he was as handsome a man as Anna had ever seen, and she found him wickedly funny. He had proposed to her more than once and had tried to get inside her small clothes even more than that.
“Beautiful Annabelle,” he said, reaching out for her hand. She allowed him to take it, and he pressed his lips to it after drawing it to his mouth.
“My Lord,” she said softly. His lips were plump and wet, and though he had kissed her hand before, it always made her wish he was kissing her somewhere else. Her lips, her neck, between her thighs.
Annabelle was not a virgin. There had been a rather forgetful night where she and a young man who worked in the stables had drank her father’s wine and made love outside under the stars. But that had been it, and Anna had wanted to experience it all again with a clear head and a bit more of romance.
“How many times must I ask you to forgo the titles? Call me Bertram, my dear,” the Duke said.
Annabelle nodded. “Betram it is, then.”
“Will you dance with me?”
“I will.”
Bertram led her to the dance floor, and Annabelle stole a glance over her shoulder at Mrs. Clack, who beamed at the young woman as she went.
Bertram proved to be rather adept at dancing, and they twirled about the room together at a fast pace, matching the band’s quick tempo. Anna looked up at the man, taking in his features. His jaw was perfect as if it had been chiseled out of a stone by a talented artist working in marble. His eyes were a soft gray color, almost like the fur of a rabbit. His hair was dark and fell to his collar, shaggy without looking unkempt. He was a tall man, her head only came to his chest, and he felt strong, one hand on her waist, his fingers gripping tightly.
They didn’t speak as they danced, and they didn’t need to. The dance was one of passion, of desire, and they both felt the heat between them. As they moved about the floor, Annabelle fantasized about what the man would look like naked, and how he would feel, guiding himself into her between her legs. She desired to learn, and once she stepped too close to him. She felt his manhood through his breeches, engorged and pushing against her belly since she was so much shorter. It was nice to know Bertram was thinking similar thoughts.
The song ended, and Annabelle desired nothing more than to dance again. But the Duke led her from the dance floor, to a secluded offshoot from the main hall, quickly, before Anna’s chaperon could catch them.
“Forgive me for being so forward,” he said, and then he bent at the knee, and his lips were pressing against hers. He tasted of a liqueur, and his tongue pushed passed her lips to dance in her mouth. Annabelle groaned against his mouth, running a hand up his back to his hair, where her fingers brushed through his locks. Both of his hands were on her waist, and he pushed against her, and once more she felt his penis, hard and yearning for her young, lithe body.
“We should be married,” he said as he broke the kiss and pulled away.
“This is not the first time you have asked me,” Annabelle said.
“And what say you this time?”
“My father agrees finally, I am of an age to be married,” Annabelle said.
“So, is it a yes?”
“Let me think on it, just for the night,” Annabelle said.
“Very well,” Bertram said. “May I have another dance?”
“Perhaps.” Anna left the Duke and returned to the ballroom alone, making sure no one would notice she had been unchaperoned with a gentleman.
Immediately another gentleman approached. “Excuse me.”
The man was a few years older than Duke Sutherland, and shorter. He was broader at the shoulder, and almost just as handsome. He had long sideburns, which reached almost to the point of his chin, his blonde hair otherwise cut short, a stark contrast to Duke Sutherland’s.
The newcomer was also a Duke, one that Anna knew well. He was an acquaintance of her father’s. His name was Christian Blackburn, and he was a rather sought after bachelor. He had seemingly resisted other women’s advances, and he had seemed interested in Anna for the last couple of years.
“May I have this dance?” Blackburn asked the young woman.
She smiled and nodded, noticing Duke Sutherland watching from afar.
Annabelle took Duke Blackburn’s arm, and he led her back to the dance floor. They danced to a considerably slower tune, and where Bertram had seemed keen to press against her body, Blackburn was quite the opposite. He seemed respectful almost to a fault. Still Anna enjoyed herself, and she found herself having some of the same thoughts she had had about the other man. They were both attractive, they both excited her.
When the song was over they didn’t leave the floor, but they did move to the side.
“I must admit, I’ve thought you beautiful for some time,” the Duke said.
“I know you have,” Annabelle said truthfully.
“It seems I am not the only man who thinks such things.” He glanced over at the first Duke. “I saw you dancing with him earlier.”
“You perhaps would not want to know what Duke Sutherland thinks,” Anna said. And that made Blackburn laugh.
“I think not. I know him of course. Not well, but he certainly has a reputation. Is that the kind of man you are interested in?”
“I do not know him well. He has proposed to me.”
“I seek to do the same.”
“You would have me as your wife?”
The Duke nodded. “I would.”
“Then I have a decision I must make.”
“It seems that you must.”
“May I have the night? I must confess, I don’t know either of you well enough to pledge myself to a lifetime of marriage. My father trusts me to be happy and will want me to decide. You are both men of great standing.”
Duke Blackburn nodded his head and took her hand to kiss it. “I will appreciate any decision you may make.”
“I think I will speak with Duke Sutherland first, since he proposed first,” Annabelle said. “I trust I will be able to speak with you later?”
“You will,” Blackburn said, and then, after another kiss of her hand, he left her at the edge of the dance floor.
Before finding the other Duke, Annabelle made her way to her mother. The woman was speaking with an older woman, but she broke of the conversation to speak with Anna in a secluded corner of the room.
“Two suitors?” Anna’s mother asked. “And I would say I think you may get more as the night wears on.”
“I don’t think I should need more. Both of them men would be a proper match.”
“Duke Sutherland has a reputation, however,” Anna’s mother warned.
“I expect he is a passiona
te man,” Annabelle said.
“There is more to marriage than passion, my dear daughter.”
“I will speak with them both. Get better acquainted.”
Chapter 4
Duke Sutherland was not hard to find. He was in a drawing room off of the ballroom, surrounded by a group of laughing men, telling one of the wild stories for which he was well known. Annabelle pretended to be searching for someone. It would not have been proper to approach the Duke so directly. When the Duke saw Annabelle, he cut the story short and left the men calling for the ending. “Another time perhaps.”
Bertram led Annabelle down the hallway. Anna was sure no one had seen them, it would be quite the scandal.
“Blackburn proposed to you, did he not?”
“He did.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I wanted to get to know you both better before I decided,” Annabelle said.
“A fair deal,” the Duke said with a node of his head. “Perhaps we could talk somewhere upstairs. We are unlikely to be bothered there.”
Annabelle tried to hide a smile, but she couldn’t keep one corner of her mouth from rising. She felt butterflies in her stomach, excited by the impropriety of being alone with a gentleman. It was forbidden, and that made her legs shake and her loins tingle. “Perhaps that is best.”
They walked quickly up a nearby staircase, and though they were both unfamiliar with the home, the first door they tried in a long hall opened into a bedroom. It wasn’t the master bedroom, it was smaller, for guests perhaps, with a small bed adorned with pillows, and a small writing desk along one wall.
“This will do for a chat,” Bertram said, and Annabelle shook her head. Something was taking a hold of her, a passion she felt growing in her loins, a warmness that reminded her of a fever in a way.
“I don’t think you really wished to speak, did you?” she said, stepping forward so his body was close to hers.
“Right you are,” the man said in a hushed whisper, and then his mouth was on hers for the second time that night. He was hungry, passionate, and their kiss was deep and long. He put his hands on her waist, lifted her into the air, and spun. He carried her to the bed, and then dropped her upon it. The young woman laughed as she bounced a few times on the soft mattress, no doubt expensive and filled with down.
Her laugh died in Bertram’s mouth as he lay down upon her and kissed her once more.
His hands were on her again, but not on her hips. He moved them up, across the front of her gown. The tops of her breasts were heaving above the scooped neckline and his lips tore from hers and went there, planting a wet trail along the top of each breast to the other and then back again.
She wondered if he would stop and ask her before disrobing her, but he didn’t. He wasn’t that type of man. His hands were at her breasts, replacing his lips, and fingers hooked into that plunging neckline, and he pulled the material down, tight as it was. Her breasts spilled forth, still held up by the half cups of her corset. Her nipples hardened in the cool night air, coming in through an open window, dark red, the color of good wine. He groped at one breast with one hand, using his other to hold him up over her. His hips dipped through, and he kept grinding back and forth upon her, his hard manhood pressing against her pelvis between her legs. It felt like heaven even though it had to get through both his pants and the material of her gown’s skirt.
Bertram squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and the young woman groaned. Her other nipple remained free for only a moment longer, and then the young Duke lowered his head and ran the tip of his tongue over the sensitive bump.
There was a fire burning in her loins, and Anna closed her eyes as the man took his hand from her breast, though his lips and tongue remained on the other. His newly free hand went down between their bodies, grinding and rocking still against one another. He gripped her long skirt in one hand, and tugged it upwards. She lifted her hips so he could push the material up and over her rear, and then with one quick motion he took a hold of her small clothes and pulled them off, ripping them in the process. She squealed and he dropped the material over the side of the bed.
“Touch me,” Annabelle whispered in the darkness, the only light was blue, from a full moon and streaming in through that open window.
The Duke didn’t speak, but he complied, his lips still locked around one nipple. He ran the pad of his index finger up the wet pink lips between the young woman’s legs. He didn’t penetrate her, he just ran it up and then down her slit. Annabelle groaned, and she widened her legs, and when he looked up, tearing his mouth away from her breast she was looking at him, her eyes begging him to make love to her.
“Do it,” she said in a breathless voice. “Do it.”
He would oblige the young woman. He rocked back away from her, standing at the edge of the bed. She watched him, her eyes going from his face to his trousers as he undid them lowered them to his ankles. His cock was pulsing before him, red and big and yearning for her tight womanhood.
Bertram used his hands to push Anna’s knees further apart, and then he was back on the bed, kneeling before her. Annabelle lifted herself up onto her elbows so she could look down and see herself. Her womanly lips were slick with her own juices, just below a curly tuft of pubic hair.
Bertram touched her there once more, using his fingers to spread her lips wide as his other hand guided his penis towards her. The swollen head of his cock pushed against her, moving up and down her slick lips. And then he was going inside her, and it was all the young woman could do not to yell out in pleasure.
“I’ve never felt tighter,” Bertram gasped as he pushed further into her, the head of his cock disappearing completely, and then his shaft sliding in. He fell forward, on top of her, his hands holding himself up, and their lips were clashing sloppily together, their passion overtaking them.
Anna ran her hands along the man’s back, pulling his shirt up so her nails could drag across his muscular back. His cock was sliding in and out of her in a furious pace. There was love making, and there was something else, and what she and the Duke were doing was decidedly something else.
One hand continued to hold himself up, and the other groped at her breasts, even as their tongues danced together.
“Oh, God,” Annabelle groaned into the man’s mouth. Something she had not felt before was growing in her loins, deep within her. It was a feeling that she could hardly bear, it felt so good. It was a growing sensation, hot between her thighs, in the pit of her stomach. An orgasm rocked her body, and then she was crying out, so loudly that the Duke laughed and covered her mouth with his hand, so no one would think a woman was being attacked and come searching upstairs.
Her body quaked, and spasms tore through her inner walls, the sensation on Bertram’s cock as her vagina squeezed him unlike anything he had felt with any other woman. It was almost too much, but he didn’t want the feeling to end, he wasn’t ready to finish, so he fought off his own orgasm.
He kissed her once more, and then he pulled out of her and the girl let a look of worry flash across her face. “Is that all? Did I do something wrong?”
Bertram grinned and shook his head.
“No my love, nothing wrong at all.”
And then his strong hands were on her waist, and he was moving her, rolling her over. He tugged on her waist so she went onto her hands and knees, and he positioned himself behind her, and once more he was sliding inside of her tight, wet pussy.
His rough hands were on the cheeks of her rear, squeezing and gripping almost painfully, but Annabelle never wanted him to stop. He pumped in and out of her at a furious pace, the sound of her rear and his pelvis making an audible slapping sound each time he pushed into her.
He couldn’t hold off for long, her womanhood was too tight, the sex too good. He felt himself nearing climax, and he had the mind to pull out just as he came. The Duke gripped his own cock and jerked his hand back and forth, spraying thick strands of semen over the
girl’s plump, pale ass. She lay down on her stomach as he did so, breathing heavily. Their bodies were slick with sweat, which shone in the moonlight.
“I can’t go back down there,” she said softly, and the Duke laughed as he moved to lay next to her.
“Take a moment, they’ll never know,” he said.
“You ripped my small clothes.”
“Well, don’t make love with anyone else, and they won’t know you aren’t wearing any,” he said with a wink.
“That’s what you call that? Making love?” Annabelle asked.
“What would you call it?” Bertram asked.
“Being used,” Annabelle said with a grin to the man. “But I enjoyed it.”
“Marry me my sweet lady. Marry me, and I will use you often.”
Annabelle began to laugh. “I should return.”
“Are you going to speak with Duke Blackburn?”
Annabelle nodded. “Does that bother you?”
“No. He may speak to you. With his words or with his manhood. If anything, I am confident that my cock can speak better than any man’s.”
Annabelle smiled as she stood up. She kept her skirt hiked above her hips as she bent to retrieve her torn small clothes. She wiped his semen off of her bottom with the small clothes, and then dropped them back to the floor. Certainly some servant was in for surprise on the next morrow.
“I like your confidence, Bertram,” the young girl said.
“And I like you and your body,” the Duke said, shocking Annabelle and making her blush.
They worked in silence to make themselves presentable, and then she left first to return to the party. Bertram would wait a few moments and then follow her down.
Chapter 5
Annabelle found Duke Blackburn dancing with another young woman and so she waited in his line of view until the dance had finished. She was glad when he dismissed the other woman and approached her.
“Would you care to dance?” the man asked her.
“I would rather speak with you,” Annabelle said.
