“You are not sending me off to that school.”
Lady Arabella Main folded her arms before her velvet-covered chest, her satin azure skirt nestling soft beneath her as she struck a defiant stance.
One that her mother Lady Vera met with a yawn and the exaggerated roll of wide dark eyes that mirrored those of her nineteen-year-old daughter.
“Your father and I feel that you did not get a sufficient education at the girls’ school.” She pursed her full lips in the direction of her daughter. “Specifically, we feel that you did not get a sufficient education in the area of domestic arts.”
Arabella snorted.
“Ah, so that’s what is behind all of this.” She ran frustrated fingers through the luxurious strands of her full auburn curls. “I earned high marks in English, science, drama and history, as well as possible marks in math.” She cringed at the mention of her least favorite subject. “What I failed to attain was an all-important Mrs. Certification.”
“What you failed to get was a firm grasp on the concepts of manners and courtesy,” her mother contradicted, lifting her chin to haughty effect. “You are a smart, young lady, to be sure. What you are not, my dear, is a proper lady.”
Arabella laughed.
“And heaven knows that in this society, a woman cannot be both.” It was Arabella’s turn to roll her eyes heavenward, drawing as she did a gasp of indignation from her disapproving mother whose face, she couldn’t help but notice, burst out in a shade of brilliant red that struck a sharp contrast to her placid emerald gown.
“And that is precisely why we are sending you to Lady Grace’s finishing school. She will teach you manners, courtesy and ladylike bearing.” She paused, pointing a stern finger in the direction of her down faced daughter. “When you return, young lady, I expect you to appear and act as just that—a young lady.”
“As opposed to what I am now, which is what precisely? A unicycle? An elephant?” Arabella figured if she rolled her eyes just one more time, they might just pop right out of her head. “Fine then. When do I meet the magical Lady Grace?”
Her mother sighed.
“Well unfortunately, the wonderful woman who also taught your aunt and I recently retired.” She cocked her head, eyes narrowed in what seemed to be a show of keen contemplation. “Her youngest son—his name is Colton, I believe—is the new headmaster and chief instructor of the school that bears her name.”
“A man overseeing a girls’ school?” Arabella giggled in spite of herself. “This will be interesting.”
***
“You are not sending me off to that school.” Lord Colton Murray towered above his mother, the venerable Lady Grace, by at least a foot and a half.
That didn’t keep him from being downright terrified of the intimidating miss on more than one occasion. Even so, he had to stand his ground on this particular matter.
“Mother, I am only twenty-one years old and just graduated from university.” He spread his arms before him. “What on earth would I know about running a girls’ school?”
“What on earth did I know at your age, when I started said school?” Lady Grace Murray, a petite, snow haired woman in her fifties, looked up at her son with folded hands and a stern, hard gaze. “I was a young lady, Son. I was not able to attend the best university in London. I was not able to serve as a page at the royal palace. As a lowly female, I really wasn’t allowed to do very much at all.” She sighed in frustration. “Even so, I took what I had—a basic degree from a finishing school and a brief tenure as a lady in waiting to her majesty Queen Victoria—and put it to work, beginning as I did the most successful school for young ladies in all of Great Britain.”
His gaze softening, Colton took his mother’s hands in his and graced her with an affirming beam.
“I know that, Mother.” His voice was warm with pride. “And I so admire you. You and Father have set a splendid example for my brothers and me to follow.” With this, his beam dissolved, and he released his mother’s hands with a deep sigh. “In this case, however, the bar you set is simply too high for my liking. I’ve just now earned my teaching degree, and you expect me to assume the role of headmaster at the top girls’ school in London.”
Her own gaze softening, but only somewhat, Lady Grace fixed two affirming hands on her son’s broad, sturdy shoulders.
“I am sorry to have to ask this of you, Son.” She nodded, biting her lip. “The fact is, however, that all of your brothers are long married and secure in their lives and professional positions. You are the only one fit to replace me as head of the finishing school.”
Colton sighed.
“And why must you retire?” He spread his arms between them. “You are still so young and vital, Mother. You have so many good ideas, and your mind remains sharp and clear.”
Grace smiled.
“Thank you dear.” She ran an affirming hand through the silken locks of her son’s honey gold hair. “I do indeed have many good ideas and grand plans when it comes to the running of this school.” Yet with this her tiny shoulders hunched, and she fixed her son with imploring eyes. “What I find I lack, however, is sufficient energy to carry them through—at least not on my own.” She dropped her hands to her son’s firm arms, taking them in a desperate clench. “I can give you the plans and concepts that you need to run the school, my son. What I need is your strength and youth to make these dreams a reality.”
Colton paused, gaping at the sudden transformation in his mother’s tone and demeanor. Suddenly, he no longer saw the head and leader of the most exclusive girls’ school in all of Great Britain. Instead, he saw only his ma.
And Ma looks weary. His lips pursed in concern as he drew her to the depths of a long and loving embrace. “Of course I’ll help out Mama,” he whispered soft and sweet. “I’ll give it a go.”
***
“A young lady must always conduct herself with the utmost courtesy and grace. She must remain gentle and soft spoken at all times, and must never express a bold opinion or speak out of turn.”
“Oh what a bunch of bullocks.” Seated in the front row of the main classroom at Lady Grace’s Finishing School, Arabella pinned her new instructor—the venerable Colton Murray—with her second disbelieving stare of the day.
The previous stare had been administered first thing that morning, and for a far more flattering and commendable reason.
“To put it simply,” she told the slender blonde who sat beside her at the front of the class, “he has to be the most beautiful man I ever have seen.”
“Agreed,” the blonde sighed.
For the better part of the morning, the two young women stared in silent admiration at their new instructor: a tall, strapping young man with shoulder length hair of golden blond and piercing blue eyes.
His muscled form was ensconced that day in a tight button down suit, one that, despite its common ebony shade and clean conservative cut, still seemed to showcase his bulging muscled chest and long trim legs.
“He’s gorgeous,” Arabella breathed. “And he can’t be too much older than we are.”
“He’s twenty-one,” supplied Bette Ramsey, her newfound friend at Lady Grace’s Finishing School. “And conveniently unmarried.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I make it a point to do my research.”
“Do you also make it a point to do your studies?” Bette jumped as her words were met with a low, stern voice, one that emanated from the handsome source of their mutual admiration.
“And then he has to go and open his mouth.” Arabella rolled her eyes.
Still, she and Bette continued to ogle their young headmaster, who delivered his lessons in a commanding voice—as well as in a deep, thick accent that bespoke his cultured background.
In spite of herself, Arabella found that she quite enjoyed the day’s lessons; this owing, not only to the attractiveness of the presenter, but due to his firm and obvious grasp on a number of interesting subjects.
She listened rapt as he presented the finer poin
ts of English literature, emphasizing the works of Miss Jane Austen, her current and all-time favorite author.
“It’s rare that one finds a male instructor who will even acknowledge the existence of a female author.” She nodded approvingly, relishing in the open and avid discussion of Sense and Sensibility, her favorite work from the esteemed pen woman who had taken the world by storm.
She was equally amazed by the fact that the new (and, as she’d noted before, extremely male) head of school actually encouraged the young women in his class to express their opinions regarding the work of Miss Austen; and, indeed, about any number of topics presented on the subjects of science, government and mathematics.
By the end of the day, Arabella had expressed her opinions on these and other topics, all the while reveling in the spotlight cast by a bright, attentive teacher.
He’s right amazing! She graced her teacher with a warm beam that reflected her genuine feelings.
She amended this opinion moments later, as the beloved Mr. Murray delivered a dry, stagnant reading of a little ditty he liked to call ‘The Official Code of Victorian Conduct for Sensible and Successful Young Ladies’.
And apparently, being a successful and serviceable young lady was truly no fun at all.
“A young lady must always conduct herself with the utmost courtesy and grace. She must remain gentle and soft spoken at all times, and must never express a bold opinion or speak out of turn,” said the schoolmaster, voice soft and solemn as he studied his copy with steel blue eyes. “Remember this, young ladies…Miss Arabella?”
Arabella sat up straight in her seat, jutting her arm upward as she fixed her teacher with steely, unyielding eyes.
“Excuse me, Sir, but I really must ask,” she tilted her head in his direction, “do you really believe the rubbish you’re talking right now?”
She tensed then in her seat, bracing herself for what surely would be a stirring censure, one in which her schoolmaster—like so many before him—would remind her of the immense importance of ladylike behavior as well as all the various ways in which she herself did not display this behavior.
Much to her surprise, however, the only response that she received came in the form of a smile; and a very sly and sexy smile at that.
“You are a very spunky young gal, aren’t you Arabella?” Murray winked. “I quite like spunky chits.”
Keeping his gaze trained on his surprised young student, Murray tossed the piece of paper in his hand blithely over his shoulder; drawing a collective gasp from the same young ladies who’d earlier cringed at his words.
“And as it happens, my dear, you are absolutely correct.” He nodded, folding his arms before him. “I did not write the words I just wrote—nor do I happen to believe them, in any way, shape, or form.”
Striking a strong stance before his class, the teacher raised a firm finger for emphasis as he continued to stare at a stunned Arabella.
“How would you feel if I told you, dear ladies, that I do not want you to act like ladies in my classroom?” He arched a sly eyebrow for emphasis. “How would you feel if I gave you leave to be rebels? To have an opinion that might differ from my own—and, for that matter, to express that feeling? Freely and openly, here at this very school?”
“Why I would say I loved you!” Arabella burst forth with these impulsive words, regretting them as the class erupted in a round of jarring and unmitigated laughter.
“You?!” Bette, the girl she’d considered a potential friend and possible confidante, now joined their classmates in ridiculing her words. “You are seated beside Bonnie Bette, the princess of last year’s Mayfair Festival in London.” Her gaze raked the robust length of Arabella’s tall, voluptuous form. “You look as though you might have worked concessions at this same fair.”
Arabella stared for a moment in abject horror at the smirking face of her attacker; then, drawing her full lips together in a hard, firm line, she stood from her seat and turned with a flourish in the direction of the classroom door.
“I’m well done with this place,” she declared, holding her chin up high as she ignored the laughter of her cruel and impertinent classmates and, for that matter, the lone voice who begged her to stay.
She heard this same voice an hour later, as she stood before the cherry wood wardrobe that held the small but illustrious supply of clothes she’d brought with her to the school.
Ignoring the elegance of this glamorous collection, which included everything from gowns crafted from the most luxurious pink silk to long skirts and evening jackets created from scarlet satin (all emblazoned with collars and cuffs made of fine lace), Arabella clutched at her clothes with angry fingers and ripped them from her racks; tossing them article by article into an open ivory trunk she’d just emptied days before.
“I’m bound to leave this place, as there is no earthly reason for me to be here,” she said aloud, her movements swift and jerky as she tossed her defenseless clothes hard into their resting place. “I have nothing more to learn.”
“Oh I don’t know about that.”
She jumped at the sound of the masculine voice that emanated from her doorway; a portal that, in all her frustration, she’d forgotten to seal or lock.
Now filling that entryway was the tall hulking form of a golden, gorgeous man, one who fixed her with a sly look and a teasing, knowing smile.
“You are indeed a bright girl, Arabella.” He advanced with slow and deliberate steps into her room, quickly eliminating any and all distance that stood between him and his student. “And I can tell that you are also possessing of a great deal of spirit—a great deal of fire.” His tongue massaged this last word to scintillating effect. “Even so, my dear, rest assured there is much I can teach you.”
Arabella snorted, trying to affect a casual stance as he kicked the door closed behind him.
“Oh, do tell me sir,” she folded her arms before her, “what exactly do you have to teach me?”
Colton shrugged, pinning her with an unnerving stare as he continued to hover over her.
“Well that all depends, bella, on what you want to learn.” His voice softened to a sultry whisper as he cupped her cheeks in two tender hands and stared deep into her eyes. “I can teach you all about the ways of a man and woman. And I well assure you Miss, the lessons will be pleasurable.”
Arabella let loose with a startled gasp as he swept her into his arms, pressing his perfect body tight against hers as he covered her mouth with his.
She sunk in his arms, her voluptuous body pressed tight against his hard and sculpted one.
“Teach me,” she hissed, hoisting her chin to meet his lips in a hot, passionate kiss. With a ravenous mouth, she kissed him senseless, moaning as their lips moved against each other with passionate intent and again as his tongue flowed sensuously inward to engage hers in a forbidden tango.
And a third time a moment later, as he tore himself away from her to fix her with a foxlike smile.
“I want you.” She tore at his clothes with insistent fingers, barely able to hear her own voice above the pounding of her heart.
“And you shall have me,” he whispered, holding their gaze as he reached into the pocket of his tight ebony pants. “First, though, I’m sad to report that I shall have to punish you for leaving class early.”
Arabella was far from sad when she spotted the object produced from her lover’s pocket: a padded paddle that seemed specifically designed for pleasure—not pain.
With a giggle, she took the hand of her playful punisher, grinning as she thrust her body full across his knees and awaited her punishment.
Her cries of ecstasy more than drowned out the light strikes of the paddle; an object that, with each soft blow, brought far more pleasure than pain. Setting off a string of rhythmic vibrations that ran wild across her ass, the paddling did nothing to stop or subdue her wild, rebellious nature. Rather, it did everything to bring out that nature in full and delicious accord.
She sighed in ecstasy m
oments later, as an aroused Colton swept her from his lap and carried her to her bed, tossing her to the depths of its soft cotton sheets. He stood tall and proud above her.
“Have you ever born witness to a man’s naked body?” he hissed, unbuttoning his jacket and tossing it from his shoulders in one smooth flourish.
“No, Teacher.” Arabella licked her lips, relishing the sight of his newly bare chest in all its golden and muscled glory. “Show me.”
With a wicked chuckle, Colton stripped his pants down the length of his long toned legs, revealing as he did a bulging cock that seemed to salute her presence.
“I think at this point, Arabella, it’s well and safe for you to call me Colton.” He covered her body with his, planting sweet baby kisses on her flushed cheeks as he unhooked the dainty lattice work buttons that secured her proper dress.
Filthy Smut (Vol. 4): 35 Erotic Stories (Over 400 Pages of Hot Sex) Page 37