Claiming Her Innocence

Claiming Her Innocence

By

Ava Sinclair

Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Ava Sinclair

Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Ava Sinclair

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Sinclair, Ava

Claiming Her Innocence

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Images by Period Images, Bigstock/sonnydaez, and Bigstock/Macrovector

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

Chapter One: Downstairs Debauchery

“Did you hear?” the plump redhead turned to whisper in the ear of the man behind her as he nibbled on the curve of her neck. “Lady Penelope arrived today.”

“Lord Westcott’s bride-to-be?” The man kneeling in front of her pulled his mouth from the nipple he was suckling and looked up, his hands roaming her ample curves as he asked the question.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you saying ‘yes’ to me or to Davy’s question?” The tall, handsome man behind her laughed as he resumed his nibbling.

“Oh, Tom,” Betsy giggled as she pushed her bottom back against his hard cock. “You know I say ‘yes’ to everything, especially this time of year.” She reached behind her to stroke the length of him. “‘Tis the season for sharing, after all, and I’m happy to share myself with both the valet
and
the footman.”

The three tumbled to the bed, laughing.

“They’re to be married on Christmas Eve!” Betsy said, pulling Davy’s head to her breasts as Tom’s cock continue to nudge her from behind. “Lady Penelope Lennox, pure as the first snow of winter. Like a lamb to slaughter she’ll be. They say Lord Westcott’s as randy as they come.”

Davy raised his head to kiss Betsy’s mouth as his fingers moved between her thighs to play with her pussy. “Do you speak from experience?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” she sighed as she pulled his head down to her breasts. “I’m just a simple lady’s maid, after all, and he’s not one to dally with servants. But he’s had his share of lovers. I’ve heard the rumors. It’s said he’s tireless. And
big
.”

“Is he as big as
this?
” Tom, now tightly curled behind Betsy, shoved his cock into a passage well lubricated from Davy’s ministrations.

“Aah!” Betsy said. She wriggled her hips as she adjusted to fully seat Tom’s cock before laughingly answering his question. “Bigger, I’m thinking.”

Tom’s response was to growl and grasp Betsy’s hips. Raising her to all fours, he slapped her ass several times with his open hand before plunging back into her. The maid’s cries of pained pleasure only stopped when Davy rose to offer her his cock. With a practiced hand, the maid gripped the base of the turgid shaft and slid her lips over the head, causing the footman to gasp and take hold of the headboard to keep from falling backwards.

Betsy moved between the two with an almost feline grace, her round bottom moving in time to Tom’s thrusts as her head bobbed up and down on Davy’s cock. The two young men were strong and virile; both struggled to hold out, but their lusty partner was too much for them. Davy came first, crying out as he arched his back. Betsy swallowed his cum, her brown eyes boldly meeting his gaze as she did. With Davy satisfied, she raised herself up to her knees, bouncing up and down now on her second partner’s cock. As Tom continued to fuck her with long, eager strokes, Davy moved forward to grasp her in an embrace, pressing her pillowy breasts against his hairless chest.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m coming!” Tom cried out, and at that moment—sandwiched between her two lovers—Betsy came, too, her pussy contracting hard on Tom’s thick cock until he was as drained as Davy.

Now sated, the three lovers collapsed back onto the bed. Betsy giggled as she nestled in the bedclothes flanked by the two happy men.

“You think Lady Prim-and-Proper will give his lordship such a present on Christmas Eve?” she asked.

The men laughed.

“Not a chance,” Tom said. “Those fancy ladies with their airs and manners. I hear that they come to the marriage bed without a clue of what to expect, and then just lie in the dark and let the men have their way.”

Betsy shrugged. “It’s what them fancy lords want, though. An untouched bride.”

“Well, I’ve never understood the appeal of it—a virgin, I mean,” Davy said.

“And more’s the better,” Betsy replied with a smirk, “seeing as how you won’t likely be finding one downstairs.”

“I’m quite serious, really,” Davy insisted. “Seems a fair amount of work, training someone to please a man with skill.” He paused. “Must have taken you years to learn, Betsy.”

When Tom guffawed at this, the maid drove an elbow into Davy’s ribs.

“Not all of us need to be trained.” She playfully slapped him. “I was born with these skills, I was.”

“She’s gifted,” Tom said. “Truly.”

Betsy grew quiet for a moment. “It is a bit sad, though, when you think on it,” she said. “A poor innocent girl coming to a man like his lordship. They say Lady Penelope’s mother is deeply religious, and wanted to become a nun. When she was forced to marry Lord Lennox, she decided if she couldn’t give herself to God, she’d give her daughter to him instead. Lady Penelope was just a wee thing when her mother packed her off to the convent school to be educated. Word is she hoped her daughter would take vows, but Lord Lennox wouldn’t hear of it. He said no daughter of his would wither away in a convent. So a marriage was arranged between her and Lord Westcott. And her without a clue. I pity the poor girl.”

“What?” Davy raised himself up on an elbow to look down at Betsy. “No pity for poor Lord Westcott? He’s the one we should feel sorry for, soon to be served up an icy bride after getting used to all those helpings of hot quim.”

“I’m sure her money will ease some of the pain,” Tom replied cynically. “Westcott’s new wife comes with a fortune. It all becomes his once the banns are read.”

“Aye,” Davy countered. “But what does he need with money? He’s got enough for both of them. Besides, money never warmed a man’s bed.” He paused. “I suppose he’ll seek out others soon enough.”

“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Betsy turned to look at Davy. “If he starts philandering, he’ll risk his reputation among those who hold the Lennox name in high esteem. That’s more than a couple, and make no mistake.”

“What does she look like, his new bride?” Tom asked. “Has anyone seen her?”

Betsy laughed. “Likely pale as milk and thin as straw,” she teased. “Like all those grand ladies. You lads get stuck with us solid below-stairs girls.”

“I happen to like the solid ones,” Tom replied, grabbing her bottom. “Nothing like a fat arse to slap your balls against.”

“There’ll be no more ball-slapping tonight. I’ve work to do.” Betsy sat up and climbed over Davy, ignoring her lovers’ protests as they sought to convince her of having another go.

Once they realized they could not sway her, the two men rose as well to dress in their dapper service uniforms. Betsy, standing in front of a small looking glass set atop a bureau, tucked her hair back under her cap.

“Who’s to be her maid then?” Davy asked.

Betsy shrugged. “She’ll likely bring her own. They usually do.”

“Pity,” Tom said. “You could teach her a few tricks to please her new husband.”

Betsy’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I’d be a most unlikely choice, don’t you think, although you’re right—I could teach her a trick or two.” She smiled at her reflection, the knowing smile of a woman who appreciates the happiness that comes with the freedom of enjoying a good fuck. She looked at the image of her lovers reflected behind her. “Unless he’s the patience to teach and her the willingness to learn, it will be a most disappointing Christmas Eve for both of them.”

Chapter Two: Upstairs Innocence

Lady Penelope Westcott.

The slim hand moved the quill away from the name drying on the paper as the writer looked down at the words in her elegant script. In two weeks, that would be her title.
Lady Penelope Westcott.
Lady Penelope Lennox would be no more.

Two weeks. That was all she’d been given—just two weeks to get to know the man who would marry her on Christmas Eve. Her eyes moved the small glass figure of the Virgin Mary sitting on the windowsill. The little statue had been a gift from the nuns who’d tearfully pressed it into Penelope’s trembling hands the day she’d been borne away from the convent.

It had grieved Penelope to leave. A month earlier, when she’d turned eighteen, she’d allowed herself to hope that her heartfelt letters combined with her mother’s entreaties might have finally swayed her father to allow her to join the sisterhood of gentle nuns who had raised and educated her.

She’d been kneeling in prayer begging God for that very thing when Lord Lennox’s secretary, Harvey Grayson, had arrived to brusquely tell her otherwise. She was to gather her things, he said. Her father had arranged a marriage for her. Penelope would be taken to see her parents and then travel to the home of her betrothed, where they would get to know one another before an arranged wedding the day before Christmas.

Penelope later learned the reason for the haste. Her father was ill, and while William Lennox loved his French-born wife, he’d never embraced her Catholic faith. He’d capitulated to the convent education for his daughter, but would not consent to her taking vows. There was more to life, he insisted, than living in a cloistered community behind high stone walls. He was determined that his daughter would know love and motherhood. He also knew if he died before Penelope was wed, her mother would certainly push her along the path to taking vows. Lord Westcott, a man of wealth and good judgment was, he heard, weary of sowing his wild oats. He was ready to settle down, and both agreed that his age, stability, and experience would make him a practical choice for the only daughter of Lord and Lady Lennox.

Now everything Penelope had wanted for her future was in tatters.

Crossing the room, she picked up the statue of the Virgin. Mother Mary represented everything Penelope had ever wanted to be—brave, graceful, and eternally pure. A tear rolled down her cheek to fall on the bodice of her simple blue traveling dress. She’d never be any of those things now. She was afraid, lost, and in two weeks’ time would be defiled by the touch of a man she was yet to meet.

“Accept that God has a plan for your life,” Sister Agnes had said just before Mr. Grayson had led her to the carriage.

But what manner of plan was this?

By the time she’d arrived at Lennox Hall, even her mother seemed resigned to the plan. The wealthy Lord Alton Westcott would give her Penelope a life of comfort and ease, Lady Lennox had begrudgingly told her daughter.

“You must be obedient and amenable,” her mother had said. “Lord Westcott is a former military man. He is stern and exacting and seeks a sweet, compliant wife. You must give him the same sweet obedience you gave the nuns.”

But Penelope did not want comfort and ease. She wanted the predictable, unassuming life of the convent with its modest furnishings and more modest dress. The form-fitting gown she’d been given to wear to Lord Westcott’s grand home seemed as ill-fitting as the house itself. A tear sprang to her eye. Try as she might, she could not see herself as the person she was about to become. And she could not believe this was God’s plan. It had to be a mistake.

Dropping to her knees, Penelope kissed the rosary wrapped around her left hand and began to pray for forgiveness—not for what she had done, but for what she was about to do. For the first time in her life, Penelope was about to practice disobedience to those in authority by being the antithesis of the woman her mother had described. It was, after all, the only way to preserve her purity and put the true plan for her life back in motion.

“Please, Mother Mary,” she said. “Give me strength to make Lord Westcott see that I am the last woman he would ever want to marry.”

A knock at the door jarred her from her prayers. Hastily wiping a tear, she rose and kissed the statue before placing it along with the rosary on the windowsill.