A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man

by Celeste Bradley

  I began to writhe once more, raising my hips from the bed, straining toward his touch. His mouth moved to my other nipple while his unoccupied hand toyed with the already aroused one. My awareness shrank to those three points of exquisite sensation. I was clay in his big hands, a moaning, gasping creature of his making. He drove me upward, using his fingers, his lips and teeth, until I fought for more, crying out in my need for … fulfillment.

  His hands stilled. His mouth left my nipple. The chill of the room hardened the sensitized tip to aching fullness. I protested, opening my eyes, trying to speak, reaching for him with my hands. “No…”

  He took my hands and pressed them to the bed over my head again, keeping them there with the pressure of his own. When he rolled onto me to lie between my damp, trembling thighs, I nearly wept with gratitude.

  I gazed up at him above me, dazedly admiring the glow of candlelight upon the rippling, perspiration-glossed perfection of his chest and shoulders. I was more than ready to receive him. Sighing, I rolled my hips upward, reaching for the satisfaction I knew his cock would give me. “Please,” I whispered. “Please fuck my cunte with your cock.”

  His eyes locked with mine. I breathed deeply, my lips parted, so very ready. He tilted his hips until the bulky weight of his cock rolled into the slick crevice of my open thighs. My breath stopped as I waited. A tiny flash of fear in my mind must have shown in my expression, for his eyes narrowed. I hungered for him more than ever. I wanted this. I wanted to experience everything, to feel everything, to live, fully and unrepentantly, to suck the marrow out of every moment of freedom. I wanted to touch and be touched, to love and be loved, to fuck and be fucked.

  It was only an instant of worry that he might not fit but that moment cost me greatly.

  His jaw tightened. He began to move. Instead of entering me, his thick cock slid upward along my slit, parting the wet lips of me and stroking slowly against my swollen, sensitive bud. The pleasure of it made me roll my head on the coverlet. Then he drew back and the slow, drawing ecstasy increased as the hard ridge at the head of him tugged at me as it passed.

  I was pinned beneath him like a butterfly, my arms above my head, my thighs pressed wide by his weight and by my own need. The only touch, the only caress was that long, torturous, wicked slip and pull of his cock sliding against me.

  I lost my mind. I cried out, I begged, I bucked and convulsed in his grip, I wept from frustration and arousal. I pleaded against that sweet, endless, aching pleasure that nonetheless held me just short of that unnamable moment I needed so badly.

  “Please!” I shouted. “Please fuck my cunte with your cock!”

  At that instant, he released my hands and fell upon me. His strong arms enfolded me and he covered my mouth with his own as he at last allowed the large, blunt head of his jutting cock to press into me.

  I was no true virgin and I was wet and so very ready, but I could not help but cling weakly to Sir as he entered me. He was careful but implacable. His thickness stretched me to aching. I shuddered in the grip of the pleasure/pain and even whimpered into his mouth but he neither slowed nor increased his merciless pace. I was to be impaled and nothing would stop him now. I fisted my hands in his dark hair and gave myself completely to his rule, melting into his hold, opening to his wicked invasion.

  As he drove the last rigid inch of himself deep into me, I wrapped my arms about him and buried my face in his neck and shivered in sweet agony as I was opened nearly beyond bearing.

  I felt a shudder go through his big body. Sir was not so in control of himself after all. I knew then that he desired me every bit as much as I wanted him.

  He stayed deep inside for a moment longer as my body eased about him. Then he slowly withdrew, leaving behind him a glowing trail of delicious pleasure inside me. I gave a long, slow exhalation of ecstasy and eased my tight-fisted grip on his hair, stroking my hands down his long back. I could feel the flex and draw of his muscles as he began to thrust into me once more. I could feel my cunte grow slick as he filled me again and nearly laughed at my own worries of a few moments before.

  Then the pleasure swept me away once more, fully now, a whole-body ecstasy that tingled from my cunte all the way to my fingers and toes, to the roots of my hair. Oh sweet heaven.

  I wrapped my arms about him. I wrapped my legs about him. I kissed him long and hard and deep as he fucked me. I moaned into his mouth and panted into his neck and begged, oh how I begged for that final moment, that vaporous ambition that he had held back from me. I used all the words he’d taught me. I slid hot, seeking hands down to cup his flexing buttocks, digging needful fingers into his muscled flanks.

  There was no need to fear. Sir kissed me back as he drove his cock deep into me, through at last with restraint. Together we climbed, two panting, sighing partners in creation, building something that at that moment we needed more than breath itself.

  And then I found it. I at last rose above the peak of the mountain and for an instant glimpsed an eternal ecstasy I had never before imagined. There was nothing in the world but Sir and his magnificent cock and that dazzling, golden moment of pure bliss. The rhythmic detonation of hours of unreleased pleasure rocked my body in waves. I clung to Sir and wept with the strength of my release.

  In that moment, he tightened his arms about me and drove deep. I could feel the rumble of a repressed roar in his chest as he held me tight. His thick cock throbbed inside me even as his great heart thudded against mine. I shivered in time with the pulsing of his cock, small shocks of pleasure still coursing through me.

  We stayed thus for a long moment. Breathing was all we could do, helpless as we were in the wake of such overwhelming pleasure. Then Sir lifted his head. His masked eyes were a bit glazed, as I expect mine were as well.

  He drew in a long breath. “You are … more than I expected, sweet Ophelia.”

  I blinked at him. “The sentiment is most sincerely mutual, Sir.”

  He smiled then, quickly, merely a flash of white teeth. That almost shy expression, combined with the dark mystery of the mask, sent another heated pulse through my body.

  I rather thought I’d like to do it again.

  * * *

  The morning found me sprawled deliciously nude in the giant bed, alone. I hadn’t truly thought he would stay, though I had hoped.

  A note lay upon a silver tray. It was from the Swan. “Welcome, beloved sister.”

  I lay there, contemplating the bed hangings, the complex appeal of the male body, and my newly ruined status until the Swan’s maid came to rouse me. It was an hour until dawn and time for me to flutter back to my dreary cage.

  Flight had ruined me for treading upon the ground.

  That afternoon, after a bath and a nap, I managed to make stilted boring small talk with Aunt Beryl’s guests at tea. I rather thought that the night before would be shining from my face like a flaming brand, but no one seemed to notice my awkward distance.

  Pleasure still shimmered through me every time I shifted my perch on the hard, overstuffed sofa. My body tingled with memory and just a little of last night’s swollen sensitivity. I tended to blush at random mental flashes of his mouth, his hands, his hard, muscled body.

  His cock.

  No one gave my scarlet cheeks a second glance.

  Of course they wouldn’t. Who noticed the carriage horse’s feelings until he actually came up lame? I was nothing more than a means to an end to my guardians.

  A small smile crept across my face. I longed to leap up and announce my ruin to all present. My marvelous, wondrous, delicious ruin! Uncle Webster must not be up to snuff, for if Aunt Beryl knew aught of such wicked pleasure, she would never leave her bedroom!

  The dull feeling of disconnection faded and I began to enjoy my secret. Gazing around at the visitors seated in the parlor, I wondered what the parson would say if he knew the exquisite pleasure I’d lately experienced at Sir’s talented hands? What would old Mrs. Simpkins say if I reenacted my orgasmic screams for
everyone’s educational benefit?

  I am wanton.

  The word slipped sensuously across my mind like Sir’s fingers on my wet slit. Other words did as well—wonderful words, like “wicked” and “wild” and, my new favorite, “willing.”

  Willing. Will. My will. My choices. My decisions.

  My future.

  Mine.

  Nine

  Late that night, as I lay sprawled naked upon Sir’s chest, dreamily thinking him such a magnificent beast, I spared a moment to fear that no other man would ever live up to such delicious expectations. Then I bent to worship his body once more.

  His taste filled my mouth, the salt of his skin mingling with the flavor of the honey I had drizzled over his chest. I felt him draw a startled breath when I let my teeth graze his nipples every so slightly, but it was only fair. My own nipples had been dusted with sugar and suckled until they stood diamond hard and tingling, jutting forward as if asking for more.

  Then he had pinned me down and filled my cunte with raspberries, which he had then extracted one by one with his nimble tongue. I kissed him again, just to taste the lingering flavor of berries on his lips.

  Soon, however, the honey infiltrated our entire bodies, making even parting our laced fingers difficult. Laughter overwhelmed our lust and we made for the tub that stood by the fire.

  The water in it had chilled but more pails stood in the coals, steaming gently. While Sir poured the hot water into the cold, I found a dish of soft soap that did not waft too greatly of femininity. I settled upon something citrusy, in the spirit of our exploration into foods. When I turned back to the tub, I found him lounging within it. He leaned back with his muscled arms draped along the sides and his thick erection clearly visible through the clear water.

  He still wore his mask. I frowned at him. “In the bath? Truly?”

  His lips twitched. “It will dry.”

  “Why will you not show me your face? You must know that I would keep your secret.”

  “Whom would you keep it from?”

  Hmm. It seemed oddly indelicate to discuss our careers while soaping each other in the bath. I let my gaze wander to the glowing coals in the hearth. “I would not tell your patronesses. Is that the right word?”

  “My patronesses.” His tone was very neutral.

  I twitched one shoulder in a discomfited shrug. “I mean to say, your female … protectors. Oh dear, that sounds odd.” I met his gaze with a frown. “Is there a better term?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Did the Swan tell you about my … lovers?”

  I had been indiscreet. I was only a neophyte but even I knew that discretion was everything. “She only mentioned that you did not wish to be known by your true face. She would not say more, but I know that you have been part of her world—this world—for years.”

  His silence began to alarm me. I rushed on. “It is perfectly understandable that ladies might wish a discreet alliance with an … imaginative, talented lover. I would recommend you most highly—”

  He snorted. Then it seemed he could not hold back his laughter any longer. He threw back his head upon the edge of the tub and laughed until the water threatened to slosh over the sides. At first I was relieved that he was not upset over my blathering, but after a time I folded my arms over my bare bosom and tapped my fingertips impatiently. “If you’re quite finished?”

  Still chuckling, he smiled, a flash of white teeth beneath the mask that made my knees weak. “Sweet Ophelia, I shall gladly call upon you for references, should it ever be necessary. In the meantime, I would very much like to impale you on my cock whilst I wash all the stickiness from those lovely breasts. And no, I would prefer not to discuss other lovers in our time together. I find it douses the flames.”

  His flame did not look any too doused to me, but I did not argue. Instead, I clambered eagerly into the tub with him.

  He did not impale me straightaway, despite his proposition. First he tenderly soaped my skin from between my toes to my scalp, removing every last bit of honey and berries and—did I forget to mention the chocolate? As he washed my hair, he had me sit within the vee of his open thighs and tilt my head back as he poured warm water over my scalp. He seemed to like the way my hair streamed down my back. I liked the way his big hands stroked gently through it, massaging and combing without ever pulling.

  Feeling soothed and cherished, I took the soap and did the same for him. I had touched him everywhere, but using my hands to spread the soap over every inch of him warmed more than just my lust. I liked caring for him. I liked feeling as though I had the right to, even if only for the duration of one bath.

  When the water cooled, he added more hot water without comment. I understood. I lay quietly upon his broad chest, my legs entwined with his, as he held me loosely in his arms. Lolling in the warmth, tending each other, basking in the heat of the coals was so decadent and yet so sweetly innocent.

  That is, until his hands slowly swept down my thighs to cup my buttocks. Without a word, he slid me up his body, bringing my mouth to his. His kiss began soft but soon I had my fingers tangled in his wet hair as I clung to him. Our tongues battled even as our hearts began to pound. When he pulled my knees wide to straddle him, I opened readily, more than eager to take his thick cock into me. With his big hands wrapped over my hips, he restrained my fervor. I whimpered in protest as he forced me to move slowly over him, letting his cock penetrate me inch by exquisitely agonizing inch. I was forced to feel, forced to wait, forced to take him on and on and deeper than I ever had as he pressed me down while thrusting upward.

  I shuddered and moaned but his grip was merciless. He controlled me completely, allowing me only as much movement as he wished. As he raised me upward once more, I threw back my head and wailed as he slowly left me, only to drive torturously into me once more. It was such gorgeous, wicked patience—surely meant to drive me completely mad as I writhed helplessly in his hands.

  I fear I went quite wild, crying out and clawing at his shoulders in my frenzy. He would not relent until my body had eased about him completely and my cunte was wetted with more than bathwater.

  His hands slid upward then to cup my breasts. “Ride me now, sweet. Ride hard.”

  Freed at last, I wrapped my hands over his rigid biceps and rose and fell upon him with all the fury of my trapped lust set free. I forced his hard length so deep that it made me gasp in pleasure/pain, but I could not stop myself. Ignoring the cooling water, deaf to the splashes striking the floor, I shut out all the world but for that massive, rock-hard cock I rode with all my might.

  My orgasm struck me like a speeding cart, flinging me out of my own mind. I fell. I flew. I spiraled across the sky like a kite lost to the storm. I was scarcely aware of Sir’s own deep roar of completion as my cunte convulsed about him. He thrust deep and hard as he came.

  I let out a single, final squeak and collapsed upon his heaving chest.

  Exhausted and barely conscious, I only dimly recall how Sir lifted me from the tub, wrapped me in a generous swath of toweling, and tucked me into the bed we had never managed to use that night. I think I reached for him, wishing to be clasped in his arms once more, but my hand found only the chill air of the bedchamber as he closed the door behind him as he left.

  Our night of fulfilling our appetites had only left me wanting more.

  * * *

  That afternoon, as I attempted to yawn demurely through Aunt Beryl’s interminable callers, yet more gifts came from Lord Malcolm Ashford.

  “If he truly wished to be generous, he would give me my freedom,” I complained to Sir that night as we lay exhausted from our hours exploring the Sin of Indulgence.

  I had come to our bower of Sin to find Sir prepared to introduce me to the sensuality of the finer things in life. Expensive scents, fine wine, silken sheets, luxurious naughty lingerie—which now dangled from the chandelier. We had played with everything a very exclusive scarlet woman needs to surround herself with—and use to snare a
man’s every thought and desire. I had no idea that peacock feathers were not just for bonnets!

  I stretched languorously into Sir’s side and walked my fingers along the trail of dark hair leading me temptingly down his belly. My body ached from the strenuous pleasure he’d provided me. Even now I could feel the cool silk sliding beneath my heated skin and I shivered against the lingering throb of desire.

  Sir grunted in response to my judgment. “Perhaps he is merely generous,” he murmured without much interest.

  I scowled and began to stroke my fingers back up his body. “He gives me the gift of gold and diamonds, empty gifts, for they would belong to him again once he wedded me. He wants to put me in one of his velvet boxes to be taken out and displayed at his pleasure.”

  I went up on one elbow to glare down at Sir. He opened one eye behind his mask. “There was a note with the gift,” I told him indignantly. “It said, ‘I’m looking forward to the world seeing you in my diamonds.’ Can you believe that? I am to be a display stand for his wealth!”

  “You’d make a lovely one, with these breasts.” He gave my nipple a teasing tweak. “Why, you could hire yourself out to display all sorts of wares. Jewelry, mufflers—”

  “Cowbells!” I laughed. “Oxen yokes!”

  He gave me that half-grin that always made me melt. “You could have everything you ever dreamed of.”

  I shrugged. “I could sell my soul for it, yes. Or I could keep my soul, become a courtesan, and have it all anyway.”

  Shaking his head, he pushed a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “You never fail to surprise me, sweet Ophelia.” His husky murmur never failed to make my toes curl. “Most women want jewels.”