In Service to the Senses (2 page)

Isabella lay bent over before him as Edward set about a regular spanking, varying his strokes, some a mere tickle, some a ferocious pelt. She took each one—she sought each one, her body craving every sensation he deigned to give her. By now the pain had dulled into blissful floating heat and she stared blearily ahead, the copper pots on the opposite wall dancing before her lust-ravaged eyes.

Edward delivered two more searing final blows, his breathing heavy. Isabella gripped the table for dear life. She would slump to the ground if she didn’t.

“There. You’re as red as one of Cook’s strawberry tarts. Come to think of it, I’m just goin’ t’ have t’ eat you.”

With that, he knelt swiftly and took her burning cheeks in both hands, spreading them apart and making her groan with ripe agony. And before the burn had time to fade, he plunged his tongue into her dripping quim. Her right leg gave an involuntary twitch as pleasure hurtled her closer to the precipice. She sobbed, incapable of words.

Edward’s tongue had a knack of exciting places other tongues couldn’t reach, and even in this position he was able to swirl and suck and drag on her swollen clit with perfect accuracy. It didn’t take long. Isabella came so hard he had to grip her arse brutally yet again to steady her. She juddered uncontrollably as wave upon wave of melting pleasure ravaged her abused body, drawing the most profound groan of fulfilment from her.

As soon as she had settled he was on his feet, releasing his heaving erection. Placing his ample girth at her opening, without warning he thrust in to the hilt in one go, jolting her against the table so that her thighs were rammed against the hard edge. Another cry.

Edward leaned over, clasping her wrists and pulling her arms back. Crossing them behind her, he held them in one large firm hand and started to move. Fast and brutal, working-class cock ploughed relentlessly into upper-class cunt. She was sobbing with each plunge, loving it, taking it, wanting more and more.

Her cunt gripped him, tightening upon him, preparing. But he held back, slowing his strokes.

“Ask me. Ask for it this time.”

She could only moan—her orgasm was poised to rob her of thought.

“Fucking ask for it!” he demanded, gripping her wrists and ploughing ever more powerfully into her, hitting her sweet spot each time, making her task increasingly improbable.

“Please…please…” she mumbled.

“Please what…
my…La…dy?
” Each syllable was punctuated by another driving thrust of hard, thick cock.

“Please, please let me come, Edward!” She screamed it out, desperate, helpless, her body so alive, so hot and tight and ready.

At first he didn’t answer. She wept for release, wept for pleasure, wept for him inside her.

“All right then. Come for me, Isabella.”

And she did. With a rising wail, Isabella shattered, her face pressed hard into the wood of the kitchen table. She let the sound rise from her in tune with the shaking of her body. On it went, on as his cock didn’t slow, until she knew she could take no more.

He withdrew suddenly, and with smooth but certain strength, spun her over so that she was lying back, facing him. Edward dug his hands into her hips, pushed again into her, then, his eyes intent on his cock as it plunged in and out, he released in long bursts, cum spilling hot and plentiful into her depths.

They didn’t speak for a time. At length he pulled out, observing his seed leaking from her, dragged out with his still-firm cock. His hair was dark and damp and he ran a hand through it in an attempt to tame it.

The countess took some time to even attempt to stand. She wasn’t sure her legs would function. Her backside throbbed agonisingly. She wanted it no other way.

After a while, she dared push herself up and found—luckily—that she did in fact remain upright. Her skirts fell around her and she glanced down to adjust her bodice.

Then, raising herself tall, she cast a dismissive eye over the valet. “The others are returning soon. You had better tidy yourself up and clean the table, Marham.”

Edward averted his eyes, placed his hands by his side and held his chin up, returning immediately to deferential servant. “Yes, my lady.”

“I understand we’re down a footman and that you are waiting at table, tonight?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“We have important guests, Marham. Make sure all is in order.”

“Very well, my lady.”

And she turned and walked out. Not in a straight line, admittedly, but she did walk.

Chapter Two

“We’re appointing a new footman tomorrow, Marham.”

Edward was forcing Lord Atherton’s top button through its eye. He could smell his master’s stale breath as the words came with their usual barked condescension.

“Yes, my lord.”

The button was proving stubborn against the fat that spread thickly around Lord Atherton’s neck. Edward’s hand slipped and knocked against His Lordship’s chin.

“Careful, you fucking idiot!” spat his master.

“I do apologise, my lord,” said Edward, biting back a retort with his usual suppleness.

“Brewer says you’re acquainted with one of the candidates for footman.”

“I believe I am, my lord. Frederick Upton.”

“How do you know him?”

“We’re from the same village—old schoolmates, and we worked together on the farms before I went into service. He decided later to do the same.”

“Trustworthy? Discreet?”

“As good a man as me, my lord.” Lord Atherton didn’t see the wry smirk that tugged at his valet’s mouth.

“His references are damned flawless and he’s already been footman for a while. But Foresham is higher up the pecking order for him.”

“I have personally told him there is no better place to be in service. Foresham is the pride of Yorkshire. It’s a fine opportunity for him, my lord.”

“Well, I can’t be buggered to give it much thought.” Lord Atherton tugged himself abruptly out of his valet’s grasp. “If he looks the part, the job’s his.”

“I’m sure both you and Lady Atherton will be most pleased with the appointment, my lord.”

“Hmm. Let’s hurry up with dinner. I’ve got a wager with Barnsley at ten. It may run into the night. And I’ll be needing some French letters. Barnsley’s found some dancers he’s keen to show off.” And without a word of thanks to his valet, the earl stamped from the room. Edward stared after him, his face laced with hatred.

* * * *

The next day, Edward wasted an hour cleaning the vomit from one of His Lordship’s dress shirts. The shoulder contained smears of cheap French lipstick, bright red and oily. The cloying tang of whoring wafted from the material, mingling with the stench of puke.
Never again,
Edward vowed as he scrubbed. He had his little nest egg tucked away and he knew exactly what he was going to spend it on.

In the afternoon, with a few minutes to spare, he took himself to the Long Gallery, the most secluded and peaceful part of the Hall, to gather his thoughts and clear his mind. If anyone found him there, he’d invent some excuse. He always got away with it.

He stared out over the immaculately landscaped gardens. It might be beautiful, but he wouldn’t miss a single part of the estate when he left. Not the land or the building, at least.

“Marham? What on earth do you think you’re doing here?”

He turned. Lady Atherton was standing at the far end of the gallery, exuding effortless, green-clad superiority. He looked back out to the lawns.

“Taking some time.”

“You are not permitted here.”

“His Lordship asked me to find a book for him. I came looking for it, my lady.”

“My husband hasn’t read a book since he was thirteen. You are a terrible liar.”

“Only to you, my lady.”

She came and stood beside him. “It’s spectacular, isn’t it?”

“S’all right, I suppose, my lady.”

“A man like you could do a lot worse. You have a good position.” She spoke with the disdainful contempt which came naturally from her breeding. “You should consider yourself lucky.”

He turned on her, his face twisting spitefully. “You think I’m going to waste my life cleaning up your husband’s piss and shit? You think I’m going to spend the rest of my days like old Brewer—bitter and wasted away? Oh no. I’ve got plans, me. This is just for starters. I’ve been savin’, and when I’ve got m’self a nice bit stashed away, I’m gone. America. New life. I’ll be richer than yer husband one of these days.”

Her eyes flickered dark for a brief second. “And how do you intend to do that, Marham? You? The son of a farm labourer? Don’t be ridiculous!”

For a moment Isabella was fearful. Edward’s face hardened and he stared into her coldly. His strength and dominance sometimes overwhelmed her senses. But then he relaxed into a smile. “Oh, I have me brains. Self-taught, me. Worked hard to learn to read early. I were readin’ all the classics by the time I were twelve. Earned me beatings by my father, it did, but I didn’t care. And…I have me looks, my lady.”

“You intend to sleep your way to the top, do you?”

“Well…” The smirk deepened and he took a sauntering step towards her, letting his eyes linger on her supple breasts. “It’s worked so far.”

She slapped him. She hit him so hard, square across the face, that the sound resonated off the high windows of the Long Gallery like a pistol shot. But Edward’s face showed only momentary shock, shock which quickly turned to ferocious intent. He brought his hand up as fast as lightning to grip her across the chin, his fingers and thumb digging into her tender skin. Her eyes widened in alarm as he moved in, heated and malevolent.

“Oh no, my lady.” He leant down, his eyes searing into hers, his hot, sweet breath dangerous against her lips. “You love yer fury, don’t you? You crave all that rage and passion. You might live in this grand house with all yer fine clothes and yer fine pretences, but inside you’re as hollow as a shrivelled nut shell. You need me to shake up yer stagnant, grey little life. And you don’t want to lose it. You can’t bear the thought of me leaving you all alone with that great stinking bastard you call a husband. You wanted to see what it was like, didn’t you? The sting on yer palm when you strike.” With that he spun her around with brute force. “Lean on the desk. Palms flat on it.”

“Not here. Damn you, Marham. Someone will see.”

“They’re finished here for the day. Now shut yer mouth and wait.”

He threw her skirts up over her hips, revealing a naked backside—she wore no drawers at his behest. And he made her wait. For long moments, minutes even, he simply stood in silence while she lay before him, hands flat on the table, her rump exposed, waiting for his touch.

“Does Violet know you dispense with your drawers the minute after she’s got you into them? Tut tut. After all the trouble she goes to to set them out for you.”

“Edward…”

She was expecting the sting, longing for the burn, but instead there was a sweet unexpected stretch, and she sucked in a breath. “Oh yes, oh fuck, oh yes, oh yes.”

“What’s happened to yer fine words now, my lady?” His long forefinger was probing her arse. With a groan she relaxed onto it. He tried another. It too was sucked up with subjugated resistance to nestle beside the first.

“Oh, you want it, don’t you, you little harlot? You want it right up yer tight hot arse. And luckily for you”—he slapped his rock-hard erection across the cheeks of her bottom—“I’m more than up for the job.”

Yes, she wanted it, she wanted that red fullness, that stretching, cramming feeling she only got with a cock there, but even Lady Atherton needed a little preparation. She tensed, pulling away.

“Don’t fret. You know me…always prepared.” A smooth, cool substance was smeared over her. And there it was—his hard, thick cock-head pressing deeper and tighter into her most guarded space.

“Don’t look around,” he stated with steely conviction as his cock entered her arse. Edward went at her with long, slow strokes. She felt the tight muscle grip him on the push in then expel as he withdrew. Always her favourite and, as she knew from the moans of the man possessing her body, his favourite too.

Isabella lay with her head resting on the cool, dark wood, thinking only of the complete stinging stretch of cock inside her. And what a cock. She’d had many. The convention of a monogamous life had never appealed, although she had at least kept her carnal shenanigans private. But, Edward! Her King of Cock. As her arse took him deep and true, each thrust sending much needed pleasure-pained fullness into her psyche, she knew he was the one.

When he came in her arse she felt it even more, felt the heat of his juice pouring into her. And fuck, she wanted that now. She moved against him, urging him to release hard. As he crammed the last of his seed into her, she tipped over. This man did it like no other. Profound pleasure. Isabella’s orgasm shattered her senses, tearing through to her very bones. She lay afterwards, damp and limp, unable to move for a time. Edward pulled out with a chuckle, wiping her arse with his own handkerchief.

She eventually pushed herself up and smoothed her skirts down, turning to him with a ferocious glare. “Don’t you ever do that to me above stairs again, you depraved bastard.”

“What? I got the feeling you rather enjoyed it.”

“Someone could have seen.”

He laughed long. “Do you honestly think people don’t know about yer little dalliances, my lady? You’re out of yer mind, Isabella.”

She tried to hit him again but this time he was too quick for her and caught her arm. “Uh-uh. You won’t do that again. If you let me spunk in yer arse, you can let me call you by yer name. Isabella.
Isabella.
It’s a beautiful name. Isabella. I like the sound of it on my tongue as much as I love the taste of you on my tongue.”

She met his eyes, bright and blue and penetrating her very soul. And it was suddenly so clear. Isabella curled her arms around him and let herself drown in his kiss. “Anywhere, everywhere, Edward, Edward…I can’t be without you, you know I can’t.”

And, at that precise moment, Edward didn’t think he could either.