by Shirl Anders
“Oh, Wyndham,” Orelan exclaimed, just as their lips met in an intimate kiss.
Long moments later, he raised his mouth from her well-kissed mouth. “And now we will consummate the marriage,” he murmured, gazing into her passionate eyes. “To hell with tradition,” he added with a grin.
“To hell with the traditions,” Orelan quipped, smiling at him.
Wyndham adjusted his position, allowing his hands to cup Orelan’s face. “I have one serious question first,” he said, brushing her chin with his thumb.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to know what the tattoo says, my love? Because I could not care one wit.”
Orelan slowly licked her plush lips, gazing at him, as he watched the decision being weighed in her mind, then she whispered, “Yes, I want to know.”
“As you wish, my lady, my love,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her softly. When he was certain his lips had told her how much he loved her, he lifted his head and whispered, “Lay back, Orelan.”
“Si, Wyndham”
Wyndham smiled. Orelan always reverted to a bit of Spanish whenever she was nervous, angry, or excited, as in passion. The nuance clung to him warmly.
“Will you be honest?” she asked nervously.
“Always, baby love,” he murmured as he separated her trembling thighs, then he looked downward. He kept a hand on her warm satin belly, stroking it gently, as she jerked her hands and the piece of cloth away. The scents of her earlier arousal lifted to his nostrils, like a musky piquant dream. He looked closely on the left side of her coral pink and perfect labium’s lip. The lingering dewiness there glistened over the tattoo.
“Wyndham?” she asked anxiously.
He lifted his head, gazing deep into her eyes as she lifted her head looking down on him. “It says, Orelan, the words, I love you.” Her eyes widened as she gazed at him. “And that is all it says,” he finished on a murmur.
“Wyndham!” she exclaimed, and not at all unpleased.
“I—” Wyndham began, “Will consider this Alexei’s wedding gift to us.”
“Oh, si,” Orelan replied, smiling with him.
“And now,” he murmured, tugging off his shirt and pants. “For the consummation, hm?”
Orelan giggled. “Si, Wyndham, we will consummate together.”
“At least,” he answered, waggling his eyebrows at her, and making her giggle again. “I have one question,” he said, as he bent down again, and slowly crawled up her body. “How does a widow continue to remain a virgin?”
Orelan laughed, reaching for him. “It is a very mysterious story, my golden puma. Perhaps, I might not be a widow at all.”
“Ah,” Wyndham replied. “Using it to keep the swine away?”
“All but one, my handsome puma,” she said chuckling.
“That, baby love, is the only way I would have it,” he said with the tip of his cock, nudging her wet and welcoming opening.
“Oh, si,” Orelan gasped, clutching his shoulders as her hips rose to meet his.
The way was tight. Not an easy conquest. Just as he would have it, as he nudged and retreated and nudged a little deeper again. But the haven was dribbling and hot, clutching at the head of his cock exuberantly and making him groan as Orelan gasped. He pressed harder, demanding surrender, slipping deeper. Then, he felt the fiery circle of Orelan’s feminine flesh enclosed around the column of his throbbing dick. The inner walls were slippery and gripping. Tight then lax, tighter, then lax again. The heat sizzled along his cock and saturated him to the core.
“Christ,” he groaned hoarsely as Orelan passionately panted beneath him. It seemed that raised and tilted as he was, only on one knee, produced a riveting angle for both of them, and it also showed him that he could, if he wished, fuck his woman in any way he could imagine. Leaning on one hand he clasped Orelan by the small of her back, and thrust into her, seating himself with a groan, to the hilt of his thickening cock.
“Oh hhh hh,” Orelan cried, arching beneath him.
He instantly felt the inner walls of her vagina clench around the full length of his dick, making him tense in pleasure. But he held still, deeply embedded, and raised his head, whispering hoarsely, “Do it again, baby love. Grip my big cock inside you.”
Orelan’s red lips parted on a gasp as she looked at him with burning passion in her eyes. The intimacy of what they both felt, being joined, feeling each other, was written there, as she tightened her inner muscles stroking him deep. “Oh,” she squealed and the pleasure flashed across her lovely features, as he belly-groaned his immense approval.
“I am going to make you come like this,” he vowed in a deep tenor voice as he twitched his thick cock strongly inside her, making her squeal excitedly. He never thrust. He never left his deep haven, as he murmured, “Grip my cock, baby love. Try to push me out.”
“Wyndham,” she cried out, as she followed his command, squeezing, then releasing, in ever faster tremors around his impaled cock.
“Ah, Christ, baby,” he groaned harshly as he too twitched his broad stiff root up inside of her, while they gazed at each other, seeing each motion reflected in the other’s eyes. The pleasure was intense and expanding, rippling . . . overpowering. Suddenly, Orelan cried out, arching up against his stiffly inserted cock as her exploding climax convulsed over his dick, and he bellowed. “God!” His cock drew inward, and then burst forth with raw pleasure so deep it burned his guts, as his seed ejaculated. “Ah,” he grunted, beneath the powerful rapture, shuddering through his body.
“God, I love you, baby,” he belly-groaned.
“Oh, my Wyndham, I love you too,” Orelan gasped.
The End
My Lady Taken
By Shirl Anders
Chapter One
“You are as mad as a March hare, man,” Brynmore declared.
“I do not see why,” Radford responded. “It is a foregone conclusion that I must marry.” Radford’s sculptured lips grimaced plentifully. “This year,” he sneered, before he continued, with his more normally cultured baritone voice. “I am a fine catch, I understand, even given the eye patch.” He paused, sipping his whiskey. “Inasmuch as I am a Duke . . . and so young, they will come.”
“Yea, they will run to your side,” Brynmore agreed, interrupting. “And they do present all form of nuisances to you already, man, falling all over you. But a contest?”
“To win your hand in marriage and not the other way around?” Saxonhurst questioned. “It is nobly conceited,” he finished grimly.
“Nay, comrades,” Radford quipped. “I say it is a masterpiece of wit. A consummate plan of attack. I shall never be so fortunate as our compatriots Harrison, Wyndham, and our veritable leader Drummond, in finding the perfect woman, as they have. Each woman beautiful and classic as they stand, yet each with overflowing spoonful’s of the naughty vixen beneath their lovely exteriors.” Radford paused, striking a tall and languished pose. “Nay, it is impossible to think I could have enough time within this year alone to aspire to my companions’ good fortune... Unless, I cheat.”
Both men glared at him, thoughtful now. Yet, both of their intelligent minds were turning with the possibilities and apparently coming to the same obvious conclusions that he had. It was an amazing sight with the rogue Brynmore beginning to lecherously grin, while Saxonhurst stared at him intense but solemn. But in the end they both gambled to the same conclusions that he had.
“They will be trying to fuck you!” Brynmore blared.
“Tup you royally!” Saxonhurst exclaimed at the same moment, so that both men’s voices pounded loudly over each other’s.
“Exactly!” Radford responded, with triumphant.
“But how would ye do the thing, man?”
“And their mamas would never allow it,” Saxonhurst declared, overriding Brynmore.
“Ah, but their mamas would, gentlemen. I put forth those mothering hens are more ambitious than Napoleon and his armies put together.” Radford turned his good cr
ystal blue eye, not covered by the eye patch he wore, toward Brynmore. “And as for your question, Bry, I really intended not to do much of anything, but to show up.” Radford paused, swirling his glass of whiskey before him and staring at the amber liquid. “A weekend event in the country I believe should do it. At my estate. Soirées, a hunt, and a masquerade ball, all that sort of trivial. The second part of the plan shall encompass both of you and White’s Gentlemen’s Club.”
“White’s?” Brynmore asked with his lilting Scottish drawl.
“What?” Saxonhurst questioned.
“Actually,” Radford responded “It shall encompass both of you and the betting book at White’s.”
“Ack, you one-eyed devil, you are as long winded as a Northeastern gale,” Brynmore muttered.
Radford winked, as he quipped, “Large minds, my friend.” But then, he leaned forward with the intent expression of pure conspiracy. “Gentlemen, you my friends, shall bet on the date of my marriage and also to whom I am aspiring to marry. The matron hounds, from all counties around, will have this momentous piece of gossip ferreted out before the ink dries. Then, when my invitations arrive on the same day, as the bet, for a weekend retreat, giving them all enough time to work out their schemes properly, I shall have my contest with none of them being any the wiser, but for you two, my dearest friends.”
“Stow it,” Saxonhurst muttered, to Radford’s outrageous outburst of embellished endearments.
“This is why Drummond always appoints our Radford here the organizer,” Brynmore addressed sagely.
“But what of the screwing, Rad?” Saxonhurst asked. “If anyone should catch you plying an over achieving maiden, the conclusion will be forgone.”
“Marriage,” Brynmore added, stating the obvious.
“Yes,” Radford muttered. He’d realized this was the only skip, in his brilliantly formulated plan. As society stood now, a man would be walking the marriage shuffle if he were just as innocently caught alone in a room with an unattached young pigeon. Oh, for the more progressive continent, he silently lamented. Yet, there had to be a perfectly good solution.
“You know with every one of them vying for you,” Saxonhurst said. “Each one will be unwilling to accuse the other, for the fear of losing the prize.”
“And some will not bring their mamas or chaperone’s if they are clever, bold, and determined enough,” Brynmore added.
“I should surely keep to those,” Radford agreed.
“And lock all doors behind you!” Brynmore advised.
“With a pocket full of French sheaths or our grand English island will be populated with snooty aristocratic rogues, looking uncommonly like vagabond pirates,” Saxonhurst said.
“It might just work,” Radford stated.
“I do not know,” Saxonhurst said. “I believe I will place my bet on the English women’s stodgy sexual morality, and I will say that they will never be so bold.”
“Ah, but if only one does. She could be the truest prize of all,” Radford murmured.
Chapter Two
“You shall be able to send your serious young brother Galen up to Oxford with the amount I have purposed in this envelope, Madam.”
A white evening glove floated out of the darkness drawing forth a fat parchment envelope tempting Nia O’Shea’s waiting grasp. She did not, however, instantly and more uncouthly snatch the small fortune tantalizing her yearning fingertips. Her momentary reticence due mostly to the alarm tripping down her delicate spine.
“A promising mind, Madame, is not something to be wasted.” The gentleman’s voice sounded deeply contrived as it issued forth out of the dimness like a mesmerizing command.
“How dare you!”
Nia turned her profile away from the shadowy gentleman standing with her in the tree-darkened alcove off one of the paths in Vaudeville Gardens. The gesture was as if she might leave. Surrounding them the well-manicured but thickly dense foliage seemed like ghostly black soldiers. There was a half-moon and perfume from the summer roses hung heavy in the night air. Off in the distance, Nia could hear the nightly fireworks display beginning. The atmosphere was dramatic and Gothic enough to make her want to shiver, but instead she chose to advance her indignation. “To think that you could know anything about me is daft, sir. I do not know this Galen you speak of and if you think to blackmail me, I will be leaving this instant!”
The white gloved hand instantly sailed aloft in the darkness before her gaze with a halting motion. Nia pouted her lips, squinting slightly in an attempt to gain a better look at the covert gentleman. He would not allow it of course and she was certain that was why he had picked the obscure and shadowed location for their final meeting. Yet, she knew that she would not leave and she could feel the confidence in which her mysterious gentleman also knew that.
“I do not suffer fools easily, Madame. Let us just say the sum of money we are concerning ourselves with allows me a modicum of privilege. Furthermore, if you cannot produce precisely what I am asking for, I shall have to look elsewhere.”
Backtracking with a fine art that barely rivaled her quickness, Nia abruptly laughed in a gay, yet flirtatious manner. She used the ploy to ease the tension. However, even as she did, she also wondered how it was that she knew that the gentleman would not look elsewhere. He needed her. Precisely her! Yet, by all the bonny Saints of Ireland, what should she care about what his reasons were? Or the fact that he knew of Galen and therefore must know of her other four parentless siblings?
She had to admit, secretly to herself, that the money enticed her beyond any objections. So with that goal firmly set in her intentions, she saucily shook back her long mane of red hair, then smiled in her best coquettish manner, while settling her mouth in the direction she knew the mysterious lord’s face must be. It was hard to ascertain, yet he appeared rather to be her same height, she thought, which was unusually short for a gentleman. “I would be the woman for you, sir, and I dare you to say that I am not!” Her rich laughter followed, while she settled her hands on her hips, swaying them in an openly provocative manner.
“Precisely the fille de joie I envisioned!” Uncharacteristically the gentleman’s white gloved hands clapped together nearly gleeful, combined with an unusually high note in his voice.
Nia nodded to him with her eyes twinkling in a suggestive manner. She would readily admit that she was that! A whore. A beautiful one she had been told, and one that was a wee bit new to the trade, but a whore nonetheless.
“I can masquerade as the best of ladies!” Nia straightened to a more proper bearing, showcasing her willowy figure, which was clad in a black taffeta silk gown trimmed in red. The gown sported an indecently lower collar and stretched tightly across her bosom. It was the classic apparel of her trade. “I can do it so well this Duke of yours, Lord Radford Sutherlin, will not know what has befallen him! Is this a practical joke then?”
Nia peered into the shadows as the gentleman cleared his throat, gaining a suddenly deeper voice than the gleeful one of moments before. “The reasons are not germane, Madame, to our dealings. Just seduce him with all the skills you possess, while following my written instruction precisely and this amount again, shall be yours.”
Nia nearly gasped at the new added offer and it was only with great effort that she held it back. Double the amount? For an instant, she wondered what instructions could be inside the envelope for such a sum. However, in the next second her hesitations disappeared as she realized that with the amount being offered she could retire, and retire nearly as quickly as she had started her newest profession. For that she might do anything this side of murder. It was not that she disliked the men. She loved men, and she’d also found out quickly and quite by surprise that she was a sexual woman. She had yet to experience a bad liaison with any gentlemen. Quite the contrary, the few men that she’d entertained thus far had all been delightful and a font of information into the variety of sexual relations to be had.
Nay, her vehemence came from need. It was
the need of her five siblings, who all but for Galen, were so young. They needed her older guidance, but of course they had needed the income more. In the end the income had won out over guidance, but now with the sum of money teasing her, she could return home.
“We have a deal, sir! And, an O’Shea never breaks their word, my lord.” Nia thrust her hand forward as a gentleman might for a handshake, along with a crooked smile, for being so improper. Her impishness gained her a chuckle from the gentleman.
“You shall do, Nia O’Shea. You shall do,” he said, purposefully inflecting an Irish accent into his rather high voice.
Nia laughed as he took her hand, while further placing the hefty envelope into it. “You will find directions to Lady Nia O’Shea’s new townhouse, which is staffed with a cook, a maid, and a butler, who are all awaiting your arrival as we speak. And...” the gentleman’s voice became low in tenor, as he warned. “I shall be watching you.”
An hour later, Nia shivered beneath her silk pelisse cloak as she looked up at the lighted townhouse before her. The structure stood solidly and at the height of fashion on a well-noted London thoroughfare, she would give him that. “Hm,” she mused out loud. “You, my mysterious nobleman, need a name.” Nia smiled, gathering her cloak up above her ankles, as she announced. “Lord Benefactor! That is what I will call you and Lord Benny for short. And what’s more, Benny my love, I will vow on my sweet mum’s grave that I will do you proud!” Nia pulled the edges of her cloak snugly together. It would not do for her new servants to catch sight of the gown she wore beneath the pelisse. “Give away the wee lark, before I start!” she proclaimed, and then she said, “And now, the newly arisen lady should meet her staff.”
Nia laughed as she stepped up to the front door of the townhouse and instead of pulling the bell, she turned the knob and she waltzed inside. It was after all, completely hers for a time.
