The Red Velvet Horse (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Iona Blair

  Curtis cut the engine and lights. “You do, do you?” He pulled her head down so he could French kiss her deeply on the mouth.

  “Wow…I could feel that right down to my toes.” She squeezed her eyes shut to better savor the wonderful sensations. She wished she had a blindfold.

  “Sit on me,” he ordered. She needed no second invitation.

  With deft movements, she quickly unzipped his fly and straddled his nine-inch cock. She moved her hungry cunt up and down its rigid length until she convulsed and throbbed out a cornucopia of bliss.

  Another bus roared by precariously close––had they been seen? And then parked directly in front of them.

  “This is what I don’t like about shagging in public.” Curtis zipped himself up and straightened his uniform. Just in time too, before the other driver appeared at the door and asked him when he was due to leave.

  That was a bit too close for comfort April had to admit. Still surreptitiously smoothing down her skirt and coat while staring fixedly ahead with feverish eyes. Yet, it was this very sense of danger––were you going to get a chance to climax before you were interrupted––which made it so breathtakingly erotic and exciting.

  She did her level best to stay off the bus for the remainder of the week. By Monday, after a grueling weekend at the shop, she was overtired yet unable to rest because of a mounting sexual build-up. Masturbation didn’t help. In fact, it made her hornier.

  “If I don’t get bonked soon I’ll implode,” she joked to Curtis as she boarded his bus. Then settled herself back against the hard seat with her legs spread apart in lascivious invitation.

  “You’re incorrigible,” he told her with a smile. When they got to the layover point he wasted no time in laying her out on the back seat and mounting her enthusiastically.

  “Oh God…that’s great...great…” She pumped her hips around energetically to meet his thrusts.

  * * * *

  As the months passed slowly by, I dreaded Joseph Murchison’s visits to my bed more and more. It was the betrayal of my dignity by my own body that grew feverish from his persistent probings and fuckings that I dreaded most of all. I was a virtual prisoner, with no resources other than those he provided.

  It was around this time that a notorious brothel in a neighboring town was the target of a police raid. “This has happened before and no doubt it will again,” the proprietor, Mrs. Dolly Brackenshaw, was quoted as saying in the local newspaper. She had also vowed to remain open for business as usual. It immediately gave me an idea.

  Pleading the need to take long walks by myself, which often lasted many hours, I set out for Dolly’s on a tawny October afternoon. “Yes, I think you’ll do very nicely, luv.” She turned me this way and that while she looked me over approvingly. “Afternoons it is, and the house takes fifty per cent.”

  So it was that I began whoring several times a week, and in fact became so popular with the clients that Dolly tried to persuade me to come in evenings as well.

  “Sorry, that’s impossible,” I told her with some regret, for I was anxious to make as much money as possible in the shortest period of time. Winter was just around the corner and would make travel that much more difficult.

  Yet on the other hand, I had no wish to become a full time whore again either.

  * * * *

  “Why you dirty little bitch,” Joseph exclaimed, with a face dark as pitch. I had just finished an afternoon at Dolly’s and was heading home astride a rented mount. It was my custom to leave the horse at a stable, about a half-mile from the orchard, and walk the rest of the way. “I’ve been suspicious of your doings lately and today I decided to follow you.”

  For a moment, the world heaved around me. Flashes of panic zigzagged behind my eyelids. This was one eventuality that I had not expected.

  “Peddling your ass at a whorehouse, then coming home to sleep with me,” he added furiously, the veins fairly sticking out at his temples in ugly blue knots.

  It was a bright and crisp December day, and I was aware of a flock of snow geese flying in perfect formation across the sky on their yearly migration from Canada.

  Caught in the act, so to speak, I was for the moment bereft of words. The possible ramifications of this unfortunate occurrence I had not had time to contemplate. Perhaps this was an advantage, for they must by their very nature be dire, indeed.

  Joseph was sitting astride Maggie, his trusty chestnut mare. Every so often she would toss her head and whinny in alarm, sensing the threatening atmosphere that was percolating furiously all around her.

  A few of the townsfolk had stopped to gawk and listen to the angry exchange. An inebriated man in workman’s clothes uttered an obscenity before lurching on his way.

  “We are making a spectacle of ourselves and our private business,” I protested, although feebly. “May I suggest we discuss this in a quiet manner at home.”

  “You can suggest all you want, you filthy little whore, but you won’t set foot in my house ever again.” With that ominous parting shot, Joseph dug his heels into Maggie’s flanks and galloped off down the cobblestone road.

  By the time I reached the stables it was full dark, but instead of leaving the horse and continuing the rest of the way by foot, I made arrangements to keep him for I would require transportation for myself that very night.

  My mind felt numb and was unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a string of them. What would I do? Where would I go? was about the limit of its present capabilities. For I had been well and truly stunned by Joseph’s furious appearance as I trotted quite happily down the main street. My cunny still wet and twitching from a most delightful encounter with a farm machinery salesman. Who, incidentally, had tipped me most generously for my enthusiasm.

  Yet my financial situation was by no means solvent, and I had intended to tough out the winter with Joseph before striking out for greener pastures in the spring. When the periwinkles are in the lane, I promised myself, every time I had to submit to this uncouth man’s crude embraces and vulgar expressions.

  Of course, this afternoon’s events had broadsided all that. When I rode into the orchard courtyard and left my horse with the groom, I contemplated the vagaries of fate while gazing up at the night sky where a tiny crescent moon kept company with a dazzling Venus.

  All my things had been packed by an embarrassed and harassed looking kitchen maid who bobbed an awkward courtesy before beating a hasty retreat in the direction of the scullery.

  I never saw Joseph Murchison again.

  It was impossible to carry all my belongings––although meager––on horseback. My attempts to rent a buggy, at such short notice, failed. So it was that I ended up pushing what remained of my earthly possessions in a rough-hewn handcart I had bought from the village carpenter at an over-inflated price.

  Traveling on a muddy rutted path made by carriage tracks, my feet sinking into the mire and then struggling out again and grappling for purchase, I was chilled to the bone and shaky with fear.

  A bird of prey screeched overhead and from the woods, on either side of me, wild things scampered and cried out eerily in the darkness.

  I had no clear plan in mind for my future, except to retrace my footsteps to Mrs. Knowles’ hotel in Richmond Hill. Where I could at least be sure of a clean bed and decent board at a reasonable price, although my memories of the place were of the most heart-rending kind. For it was there that I had learned that Tom no longer cared. In fact, he must actually have started to hate me, otherwise why would he refuse to even acknowledge a telegram sent in such distress?

  It was also in the good Mrs. Knowles’ parlor that I had subsequently met the loathsome Joseph Murchison. To dwell on past miseries is a fool’s game, so here I must desist, lest I become one of their number.

  I walked all night and into the next day, stopping only for sustenance breaks––the carpenter’s wife had sold me a loaf of bread and some cheese––and to go to the toilet. By the time the lights of a town appeared on
the horizon, freezing rain was falling like a black opaque screen. Exhausted, my clothes muddy and wet, I stumbled along with renewed vigor. Here I could at last rest for the night and get a good meal inside me for the next day’s ordeal.

  Youngstown was a small but thriving community on Lake Ontario with several boarding houses and hotels to choose from. I settled on one called the Wentworth Arms, a reasonably priced establishment catering to the commercial traveler.

  “My, you look as if you’re just about all in,” the landlord commented kindly. “You’re too late for dinner, but I can have a simple supper prepared for you, if you’d like.”

  “That would be much appreciated, sir,” I replied gratefully. For in truth, I felt I could not have taken another step in that wet and icy night to save myself. “I am also in desperate need of some good hot water that I might bathe.” I added ruefully, indicating my soiled and splattered state.

  The room was plain, but comfortable, with well-worn antimacassars on the armchairs. It was electrically lit, with a bright bulb hanging from the ceiling in a fringed and tasseled shade.

  A maid appeared shortly to light the fire, and as I stripped off my travel stained clothes, reappeared with a jug of steaming water.

  In the dining room, I was seated close by the fire and served a most appetizing supper of cold beef, pickles, and sweetbreads, to which I did considerable justice.

  “Thank you, sir, that was indeed delicious,” I said most sincerely to the landlord. He was a slightly built man of about fifty, with long graying hair tied back in a ponytail, and the largest brown eyes I had ever seen.

  He introduced himself as Barry Sims, and I could sense his interest in me, immediately. “Are you a widower, Mr. Sims?” I asked, after joining him in the dining room for a nightcap.

  “No, I’m not.”

  It seemed the good Mrs. Sims had run off with a gentleman who traveled in formal wear.

  “He stayed here quite regularly for a while, and I actually bought a very nice suit through him,” he reminisced, the light from the fire reflecting in his eyes. “That all happened a long time ago. I am free to marry again, as I had her declared legally dead after seven years.”

  I found this cuckolded husband with the shy manners exceedingly attractive. However, even if he had repelled me, I would still not have hesitated to use his fondness for me to my own advantage. For life is hard for a woman alone in the world, and penniless.

  “You cannot walk all the way to Richmond Hill pushing a handcart in this weather,” he told me firmly.

  I explained to him about my state of penury, and he offered to pay my train fare.

  “I will accept your generous offer most gratefully, Mr. Sims,” I said.

  It was then, sensing that some explanation as to why I had walked so far on a night like this was called for, that I told him I had recently been made a widow, and had been turned out of our home by an unscrupulous landlord.

  He shook his head angrily as I recounted this sad tale, but only sadness touched his eyes.

  Somewhere on the upper floor, a door closed quietly followed by heavy footsteps, and then a kitchen maid poked her head around the door and asked if there would be anything else.

  “Not tonight, Daisy, you may go to bed. I’ll lock up.” My newfound benefactor’s tone sounded somewhat distracted. For all the while, he was gazing at the whiteness of my throat and caressing my breasts with a longing eye.

  I could feel the desire stir in my groin. I smiled invitingly and raised my skirt slightly to display a trim ankle. Yet despite this quite blatant display of coquetry, he made no move to touch me.

  He set down the brandy snifter carefully and rested his hands on the tabletop.

  “You have nice hands,” I told him softly, and covered them seductively with my own.

  He flushed and looked startled, and for a moment, I thought he would withdraw them from my caressing fingers. The moment passed, and the only other sound save for our tense breathing was the steady tick-tock of the mantelshelf clock.

  I slipped off my shoe and rubbed my foot against his ankle, then poked it up his trouser leg and explored his stockinged calf with my toes.

  While working at the brothels shy men had always intrigued me. It was with a great deal of pleasure that I set about seducing them. So it was with Barry, on that freezing winter night.

  I could feel my cunny twitch and throb in eager anticipation, and my nipples quicken and harden against the sensuous silk of my blouse.

  “Let’s retire for the night.” I ran my hand up the inside of his thigh so that he would have no doubt as to my meaning.

  The fire spluttered and flashed blue flame and in the courtyard, a horse whinnied in alarm and was calmed by a soothing voice.

  Still Barry hesitated in a state of nervous uncertainty.

  “It’s been a long time for me, Hannah,” he explained haltingly. “Believe me, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, because I surely do.”

  “You need more time…I understand,” I told him charitably. Although I did add the disclaimer about that being one commodity we did not have. “For I must be away again at first light.”

  “Look, I’ve been thinking about that,” he replied thoughtfully. “Why don’t you stay here for a while, you look fair tuckered out? Then you can get on the train and complete your journey once you are well rested.”

  “Thank you Barry, you are kind to a fault,” I responded with heartfelt gratitude. I resolved to sharpen up my seduction skills while under this most hospitable of roofs.

  * * * *

  “I haven’t had a woman since my wife left, and that was all of ten years ago,” he confided to me shyly, as I sipped on an excellent brandywine in his bedchamber. It was now almost a week since I had arrived, and during that most pleasant of periods, I had insisted on helping out with the day-to-day running of the hotel in exchange for my keep.

  Now, at last, I had been able to entice this most bashful of men into allowing me to join him in his private suite on the top floor of the hotel.

  The light from a small, but warming fire, cast a cozy glow around the walls and ceiling, creating mysterious shadows and shapes in the dimly lit corners. “I hope I won’t disappoint you,” he added with genuine concern.

  “Don’t even think about that.” I laid a finger across his mouth before replacing it with my own hungry lips.

  I could hear his sharp intake of breath as my tongue insinuated itself around his own. “Oh darling,” I whispered. “Kiss me.” When he answered this plea with the chaste type of peck one reserved for an aunt, I added in no uncertain terms, “Kiss me properly.”

  Just to make sure he got the message, I guided his hand onto my breasts and pressed my aroused body hard against his own.

  In other cases of this sort, once the shyness had been conquered, these bashful types became veritable tigers. Barry was no exception to the rule.

  “Oh God…this is marvelous…” he gasped, jiggering me to yet another blistering climax, just as the dawn’s snaky fingers poked through the casements.

  “Yes it is…” I agreed breathlessly and to demonstrate my enthusiasm took his rigid member in my mouth yet again and treated it to the best tongue bathing it had ever had.

  “You’re wonderful Hannah...just wonderful...” he moaned, while I cupped his tight bollocks in one hand and explored his back passage with the other.

  I could feel his sphincter tense up as if to deny me entry, but I quickly overcame this obstacle and was soon stroking his most sensitive of places with deft and practiced fingers.

  His cock was shagging my eager mouth with what can only be described as intense enthusiasm, as I licked and drooled and sucked him to yet another blowout of an orgasm. The first weak rays of a rising sun infiltrated the highly charged bedchamber. The hot night of love we had spent there had altered its staid and chaste atmosphere forever.

  “Marry me, Hannah?” he proposed with all seriousness, as I dressed with unhurried ease the next
morning.

  Stepping nimbly into my black lace-up boots, I swung my shawl around my shoulders and turned a flushed face towards him before replying.

  I was not surprised by this turn of events, in fact, quite to the contrary. For given the gentle and lonely nature of the man, I was halfway expecting it. But, what should my response be? After all, I was already twice married, with both husbands, to my knowledge, still living. The great advantage here was that I was in the United States. The crime of bigamy had been committed in the Dominion of Canada.

  I then turned my thoughts to the less legal aspects of our proposed union, contented, that the time I had spent with him, although short, had been pleasant indeed. One could not hope to find a more considerate and satisfactory lover.

  This was indeed sanctuary of a kind I had never even dared aspire to, when I had been thrown out of Joseph Murchison’s mansion just a short time ago. While I was not deeply in love with Barry, I did have the utmost affection and attraction for him. Love, I told myself resolutely, would surely follow, but all in the fullness of time.

  “Yes, Barry, I will marry you. You do me a great honor choosing me to be your wife, and I consider myself the most fortunate of women.”

  Barry and I had agreed that for reasons of propriety I should reside away from the town for a few weeks prior to the wedding. Doubtless, there had already been enough gossip about our present situation. As Richmond Hill had been my original destination, we decided to stick with that plan.

  “I’ll miss you.” He looked almost comical in his sorrow as he heaved my bags into the back of the buggy, while Buffy the fawn-colored gelding munched on a carrot.

  “It won’t be for long,” I reminded him with a delighted chuckle. For it was gratifying to know that I had won the heart of one at once so dutiful and constant.

  I sent Mrs. Knowles a telegram regarding my expected arrival time, and sat back to relax and enjoy the railway journey across rolling hills and flat farmlands. When the train crossed the border and entered Canada I experienced a slight twinge of unease. However, this was short-lived, and there was not another cloud to mar the wondrous blue of my horizon.