They walked and chatted about the village, about the war, about how Clara hoped for a son, although she did not reveal why. Mr. Bridgers asked Annabella discreetly about Redmond. Annabella merely blushed and said he was very well, thank you.
The walk to the dressmaker’s front door took all of five minutes, but for Clara it was five minutes of agonizing heaven.
“This is where I must leave you, my lady.” Mr. Bridgers turned to her once again and took her hand in his as a gentleman might. But, instead of offering a simple bow, he brought her fingers to his lips, then kissed them softly, delicately, the warmth of his breath permeating the soft leather of her glove.
The simmering exploded through Clara’s entire body, shooting sparks through every nerve. For one blissful moment this man she admired—no, desired—was touching her in the most intimate way an acquaintance may touch a lady in public. She was utterly unused to such romantic gallantries. It was the most sensually thrilling experience of her life.
Then Mr. Bridgers bowed and continued on his way, crossing the street. Clara finally exhaled.
Annabella took her lady’s arm with a little whimper of delight as they turned to enter the dressmaker’s shop. “He likes you,” she said clandestinely.
“Who?” Clara hissed.
“Why, Mr. Bridgers!”
“Don’t be silly, Annabella. Of course Mr. Bridgers is fond of me. He works for my husband. He has to maintain a certain level of civility amongst his clientele.”
“No, I mean, he, well, seems to enjoy your company as a man might enjoy a woman’s company.” Annabella squeezed Clara’s arm. “You know, like Redmond enjoys my company.”
Clara knew she should reprimand her maid. But Annabella was neither a flatterer nor a schemer. She was far too guileless. She was telling Clara the truth of the situation as she saw it. Still, it would be improper to acknowledge that such an attraction might exist. “Don’t be foolish, Annabella. You know only my husband enjoys my company.”
“Of course, my lady,” Annabella replied quietly.
The maid’s observation, however, incited her fantasies, making it very difficult to stand still for her fitting … making it very difficult to concentrate on anything. Mr. Bridgers would be occupying every second of her dreams that night.
* * * * *
Paul Bridgers watched surreptitiously behind the Strathmore carriage as Annabella and her lady entered the dressmaker’s shop. His stones throbbed from restraint. With her soft honey-brown hair framing an angelic face set with piercing emerald eyes, Lady Clara Strathmore was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, probably had ever even seen, and that included all the whores who had ever worked at his brothel. He ached to have her in his arms, to hear her moan underneath him in his bed. Every encounter meant his dreams that night would be filled with her, with the two of them tumbling together in a lover’s embrace, her cries of ecstasy filling the night and the void in his heart.
But he had not expected Lady Strathmore to become pregnant with the general’s child. He had presumed—hoped, he had to admit—she would be widowed at her very young age and desperately in need of male companionship. General Strathmore did not realize the prize he held in his home, did not deserve such a charming, kind, beautiful soul as she. General Strathmore did not deserve much of anything, really.
Paul sighed. He would be in need of one of his girls’ oral expertise that night. Constance would be good. Yes, Constance, who looked quite a bit like a blond Annabella. He chuckled to himself. So artless, so buoyant, so buxom. Annabella would make a very good whore, indeed.
* * * * *
Over supper that evening, her husband dictated Clara’s future—or, rather, the future of his unborn child.
“I just spoke with Colonel Phillips. You’ll have to be moved somewhere much safer than here,” he said, jabbing into his chicken. “Somewhere with much better medical care.”
Clara was a bit taken aback by the pronouncement. She had just gotten used to living in the inelegant farmhouse, had just gotten to know some of the locals, and already was being sent away. “Really, sir, I don’t think that’s necessary,” she replied.
“You’ll do as I say, madam,” he responded sharply. “You will go to Manhattan Island for your confinement. You may take that girl of yours—”
“Annabella.”
“—and I’ll make arrangements for you to stay with one of the other officers’ wives. You are to prepare yourself so you can leave at a moment’s notice.”
Clara continued eating the now tasteless food. At least she was allowed to take Annabella. But the idea of living in someone else’s house and giving birth to her son amongst strangers dismayed and even frightened her.
She wanted to distract the frenetic worrying of her brain with talk of poetry or politics. The classicism of Alexander Pope or even the presumed tactics of General Washington would take her mind off her husband’s settled future for her. She glanced up at the man sitting across the table. He appeared to be in no mood to discuss anything, much less the “intellectual nonsense”—as he was wont to call it at times—that she needed at the moment.
The rest of the meal was spent in silence, as it often was.
Chapter Three
Annabella waited in the corridor, knowing her master would call for her, then peered through the crack between the parlor doors. General Strathmore stretched out his long legs in front of the fire, enjoying his after-dinner port alone. He regarded his black leather Hessian boots for a moment in the dim light.
“Jenkins!”
The frail, bony servant appeared almost immediately. “Sir?”
“Get me that girl, my wife’s maid.”
Annabella swallowed hard.
“Yes, sir.” Jenkins bowed and left.
After she was bidden, Annabella entered the parlor reluctantly. While it was much warmer than her tiny closet of a room in the lean-to off the kitchen, she knew what her master would demand.
“You called for me, sir?” she said meekly.
The general sipped at his port. “Yes, my dear. Come closer.”
Annabella did so.
“Don’t be shy.”
She moved forward until she stood between his opened legs, her skirts brushing against his thighs.
The general reached out and grabbed her limbs through her skirts, squeezing the tense muscles above her knees. “Take off my boots, girl.”
Annabella knelt down and proceeded to do as she was told, pulling off each polished Hessian revealing Lord Strathmore’s masculine stocking-clad calves. When she finished setting each boot next to the chair, she remained on her knees.
“You may unbutton my breeches now.”
Annabella dared not look the general in the eye. She was here to service the man, not to seduce him. She did as asked and unbuttoned the placket of his trousers, then folded down the fabric.
“And my drawers.”
She did the same for the undergarment, revealing the general’s magnificent prick. Even in its semi-hard state it was long and thick, resembling a ruby-topped ivory scepter befitting a military leader.
“Now suck me.”
Annabella enjoyed sucking Redmond when she got the chance. He was playful, appreciative. The general, however, was different. He was demanding, forceful, unconcerned for her comfort. He sought only his own satisfaction. Still, she loved it. His commanding presence roiled her senses, leaving her wanting more of his wickedness.
She took the bulbous head between her lips, rolling the prepuce back and forth with her tongue. In a moment he was fully erect, smooth and hard to the touch, the purplish-red glans glistening from her ministrations. She released him to lick the shaft, wetting the skin before taking the length of him into her mouth.
The general groaned his approval.
He was huge, too long for only her mouth, so she had to use both her hands. She would really rather have him somewhere else, and imagined taking him between her legs. It made the experience more diverting, especially if she were
in a position to squeeze the tops of her thighs together, as she was now.
She sucked the swollen glans while grasping the bottom of the thick shaft with her small hands, bobbing her head up and down, languidly at first. She knew he did not like to come too quickly.
“Take me deeper.”
Annabella released her hands and adjusted her position. Slowly she took his cock as far as she could, until it touched the back of her throat.
“Deeper, girl.”
She inhaled so as not to gag and swallowed as much of him as possible.
“Yes,” he murmured.
When she had to take all of him, she could only do the act gradually, but that never satisfied the general. She knew what would happen next.
His hand pressed down on the back of her head insistently every time she swallowed the tip. He grew more and more forceful with each stroke, increasing the pace of the action. She had learned to breathe when she could, to relax the back of her throat, to let him take control. He would come soon, anyway. Her very presence meant he had not been pleasured in at least a day.
His frantic moaning resonated in her ears as his palm held her head steady. The prefatory emission oozed its salty essence on her tongue. Tears welled in her eyes as he rammed the back of her throat with his potent rod, shoving his hips against her. She sucked harder. Popping sounds filled the air whenever the tip left her lips, becoming the meter to his familiar rumbling growl indicating it would be over soon.
With a husky cry, the general stopped the upward thrust of his body. He continued to hold onto her, trapping her head between his pelvis and his hand as he spewed hot semen into her mouth. Annabella quickly swallowed. Lord Strathmore hated stains on his breeches.
The general grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her off him. She pitched backwards, her legs splayed open, her skirts above her thighs. The general looked at her knowingly and laughed.
“Does my prick excite you that much, girl? You are as wet as a whore in heat.”
Annabella flushed and pushed her skirts down.
“Someday, I’ll have you for my own. I suppose it ought to be soon as you’ll accompany my wife during her confinement.”
Unsure if she was meant to say anything at all, Annabella kept silent.
“Come here,” he commanded.
She stood up and went to her master. His hand snaked up her skirts seeking the glistening jewel he had just seen. When he found it, he played in her folds briefly before rubbing her clitoris with the most delicate of touches. For an instant, Annabella worried that he might probe further, discovering she was no longer a virgin. But he merely massaged her pleasure spot until she instinctively began to move against his finger.
Then suddenly, he took the finger away.
“I won’t sully your virtue tonight,” he said, wiping his fingers on a handkerchief. “I suppose girls of your class know how to gratify themselves. I will leave that chore to you.” He casually buttoned up his flies. “You may go.”
Annabella was frantic, in need of her own release. Encounters with her master always left her unsatisfied, as only his pleasure mattered. In her bed that night, she fingered herself slowly, imagining it was not Redmond licking her but General Strathmore. She wanted the general’s tongue to excite her, longed for his massive cock inside her. She stroked herself frenetically, concentrating on the slick nub of pleasure, infuriatingly losing her grip. Spreading herself with the fingers of her left hand, her right hand worked harder, until her ravenous body reached its peak.
Exhausted, she fell asleep with both her hands between her legs.
* * * * *
“Manhattan Island? I don’t want you going to Manhattan, love. I want you here.” Redmond linked his fingers on top of his head and stared up at the stable rafters. “There’s a whole damned no-man’s land between here and the patriots up north. And a blasted doctor in Chesterton. I don’t see why you just can’t stay here.” He let out a sigh of exasperation.
Annabella blinked. “‘Patriots’?” He had never referred to the rebels as such.
“What?” he replied distractedly, his blue-green eyes flashing with annoyance.
“Patriots. You said patriots. Aren’t they the enemy?”
“Damn, woman! Anyone who wants to reduce the king’s bloody taxes is a patriot in my mind,” he snapped.
Annabella stared at him in hurt and confusion. His expression quickly softened. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m upset. It seems like I’ve only just gotten to know you and now you’re being taken away.” He kissed her forehead. “Maybe I can convince Lord Strathmore to at least let me drive your coach.”
Annabella encircled his neck with her hands and pulled herself up to brush her lips against his.
“Damnation, you shouldn’t do that—”
She giggled and drew her tongue along his plump lower lip.
“Your mouth is an instrument of the devil—”
Which didn’t stop him from giving in to her demanding kiss.
“I’ve got work to do, love.” He pecked her nose. “Although, at the moment, I can’t quite remember precisely what it is.”
Annabella pulled back a little. “Redmond,” she said quietly. “We’re alone. I’m not sure, but I think General Strathmore is in Chesterton with some Hessian officers, going over military plans and such.” She pressed her body more closely against his. “At least that’s what my lady says.”
Redmond was dubious. “Then they must have walked. No one asked for horses this morning.”
“Then only the horses will see us, love.” She slid her hand down to cup his utterly hard prick.
“Oh, damn. Christ and damnation, you minx.” He looked around for a secluded spot.
A listless old mare occupied one of the stalls. He raised a brow at her. She nodded. It would do just fine.
“Just a quick fuck then, sweet.”
Lifting Annabella up by the haunches so her legs wrapped around him, Redmond carried her over to the back wall of the old mare’s stall. She suppressed a squeal against his shoulder as he unbuttoned his breeches, then pushed her skirts farther up her thighs. He embedded himself fully inside her in one thrust, relief washing over his face to mirror her own satisfaction. He gazed at her lovingly, needfully, and slowly began his lover’s motion.
“I had no idea I was running a whorehouse.” General Strathmore’s voice was forceful and deep, a tremor of distaste betraying his contempt.
Annabella pushed Redmond away and frantically flattened down her skirts while he furiously worked on buttoning his breeches.
“Seize him,” the general snarled.
Five Hessian officers came forward, each one a wall of a man, clearly chosen for his role because of height, strength, and, apparently, virile good looks. They were dressed casually, with unbuttoned waistcoats and shaved heads bare of wigs and hats, their thigh-high jackboots polished to gleaming. Two grabbed Redmond by the arms, the half-buttoned flaps of his breeches and drawers hanging open, and dragged him to the workbench in the center of the stable.
Annabella shrank back against the wall and timidly looked up at the general. He was livid. Three of the Hessians stood behind him awaiting their orders, ogling her lustfully. Rumor had it that the general would fulfill any desire to those who were loyal to him, and the Hessians were fiercely loyal.
“Tie my groom to a chair,” the general barked. “And bring the girl to the worktable.”
The officers carried her across the stable floor. She watched in anguish as Redmond struggled futilely against the German soldiers tying his legs and arms. He flinched as one of the Hessians reached to button his fly.
“That won’t be necessary,” the general said curtly. “Leave it open.”
Annabella stood terrified as two of the officers gripped her shoulders, one on each side. Without an order, they did not dare touch her indelicately, but looked as if that were the foremost thought on their minds.
�
�You, girl,” the general spat, “live in my house as my property, for me to do with as I wish. You may not make your own choices about your life. And yet, it appears that you have.” He circled around behind her and unfastened her neckerchief. He slowly pulled the lace-trimmed fabric across her flushed skin, then threw it to the ground. “I paid good money for your virtue. I’ve taught you particular skills for my own indulgence.” He leaned in. “My own indulgence.” His breath was hot on her neck. He reached around and untied the sash of her working short gown then slipped the garment off. She stood half-dressed before the group of rapacious military men, her breasts barely contained by her shift and stays. Instinctively, she covered her chest with her arms.
“Don’t you touch her!” growled Redmond.
“Silence!” the general bellowed. “Restrain that man’s mouth,” he commanded. He returned his attention to Annabella. He drew a finger down her neck and traced her collarbone gently, as if he were seducing her in private. “Take your hands away, my dear.” His tone was equally seductive.
Annabella quivered, unsure whether out of fear or anticipation.
“Take your hands away or I will have one of these men do it for you.”
Annabella complied instantly.
“Good.” Still behind her, General Strathmore pulled back the neckline and shoulders of her shift, then reached over her to free her breasts from beneath her stays. He turned to one of the hungry-looking officers. “Suck her.”
Annabella gasped.
The Hessian carried out the command with alacrity, sucking in each nipple in its turn, then pushing her breasts together to facilitate his endeavor. His efforts were frenetic, seeking his own pleasure, certainly not hers.
“Touch him,” the general ordered softly in Annabella’s ear.
She did not need to ask where. She reached out to the German’s crotch, feeling his huge erection hot against her small hand, finding it very difficult to mask her lewd delight at the attention being paid to her breasts.
“Apparently it doesn’t matter who you fuck, my dear,” her master said derisively. “Would you like to fuck this man?” he said, gathering up her wool skirts to her hips. He reached his hand between her legs, parted her swollen sex, and stroked her languidly.
The General’s Wife: An American Revolutionary Tale Page 3
