The Harlot Bride (15 page)

Lord Tazewell knew there would be several trunks of nursery attire in the attic over the girls’ quarters, so in the future, until her re-education was complete, he would permit Lucy only juvenile attire. That would serve well to remind her of her reduced status in the household. And it would be a useful humiliation, for one who had so ardently put on airs with the staff, to now spend her days dressed as much younger dependent.

He heard a snuffle below. He had kept Lucy at her task for some time now, and while he didn’t care much if she was simply tired, she had been crying on and off and it was likely her nose needed clearing. And perhaps she required a bit of water by now. As he himself was feeling a thirst, it seemed likely she must feel the same. Much as he would regret separating himself from that delicious mouth, Lord Tazewell decided to let Lucy up for a rest.

“That will do for now,” he said, looking down fondly at the girl in his lap. “Come, Lucy, you may rise.” He put his hands on her gently, intending to help her up into a sitting position. But she was barely halfway up before the objections started.

“Oh! How....how..dare you!” she sputtered, the syllables oddly misshaped as she tried to regain mastery of her lips and tongue after so long in unfamiliar positions.

This time she yielded with a strangled cry, and he pressed his organ immediately into her mouth. When she continued to fight him, he punished her with a dozen strokes deep into her throat. She coughed and struggled through each one.

Lucy came up slowly. He watched carefully, ready to instruct her again if her manners were wanting, but she was much more subdued. It was hard to tell in the dim light of the carriage, but he thought she blushed as their eyes met.

He watched her with keen interest and a new tenderness. He had her cut bread and cheese for him, and pour him a cup of cider, and only when that was done would he allow her to take her own refreshment. As he watched her raise her cup to those pretty lips, he felt his arousal return, and so it was after the most modest of nourishment for them both that he directed her to repack the hamper. And as soon as she had finished, he put his hand once again on the nape of the neck and pressed her face to his lap. With only small whimpers of protest, she took him in her mouth once again, resuming her efforts, and showing some slight improvement in both skill and comportment.

As Lord Tazewell enjoyed Lucy’s mouth, he used his right hand to explore the lines of her upper body. She was on her side now, or as much on her side as possible given how she must hold her head, her left shoulder under her and tucked up against his trouser leg. He caressed her shoulder, and gave her upper arm an almost affectionate squeeze. It was so seldom that the two of them had been close in anything like ease, he thought, then smiled as he reflected that their present situation was no doubt easier for him than for Lucy.

He permitted his eyes to roam lower, appraising now the lower half of her form. Her full bottom, regrettably obscured under layers of skirts and petticoats, was nestled against the seat back. Through the cloth that covered them, he could make out the lines of her slender limbs, which were bent appealingly at the knee and settled one atop the other in a delightfully feminine pose. The hems of her skirts had risen such that he could see most of her ankles: how charming they were in their tightly buttoned boots!

Feeling quite pleased, Lord Tazewell slid his hand over the dip of her waist and then gripped her there with a proprietary squeeze. Busy as her mouth was, she emitted a little grunt of surprise, and the sensations this produced filled him fresh arousal. He moved his hand to her bottom and squeezed again, causing a second and someone louder squeal.

Lord Tazewell was now impatient to touch her freely, without the encumbrance of her clothing. He tugged at the fabric of her skirts, but there was a great deal of it and she was wedged tightly between him and the narrow carriage seat. It would have been easier if he had allowed him up to facilitate her disrobing, but he kept her head firmly in his lap, enjoying the sound of her muffled protests, as he slowly and determinedly drew up her skirts. What a joy it was to watch her legs in their lacy drawers emerge. And then, just as a cloud moved on in the sky and the carriage was filled with moonlight, he had her uncovered clear to the waist.

Not content to merely gaze, he slipped a hand into her drawers. He was very glad that he had mandated the open variety for her, for even with them tied sweetly at the waist they provided no barrier to his hand, which roamed freely under the cloth, exploring the contours of her warm bare hip. He nudged her forward, parting the sides of her small clothes, so he might fondle her buttocks. Then his fingertips found the welts he had put upon her with his birch, and the very air in the carriage changed, as if something electric had passed between them and crackled alive.

His heart was beating hard. Her entire body had gone tense. Lord Tazewell felt as if every fiber of her body was focused on him, and the thought caused him to swell bigger and harder than he had ever been. With a burst of passion, he silently vowed to train her so he might always have her attention as he had it now!

For a long moment, neither one of them moved. Then very slowly, and very deliberately, Lord Tazewell pressed his hand between Lucy’s body and the seat back, finding first the place where those luscious globes met, and then on to the point where her thighs lay pressed together. Drawing in a breath, he thrust his hands between them and found to his utter delight that she was hot and slick with desire! What better proof could there be of a wanton nature, that she responded like this to serving him with her mouth.

Right then and there, Lord Tazewell decided he had waited long enough. He took his hand from her abruptly and banged it loudly three times on the ceiling of the carriage. Lucy was so startled that she bolted straight up in her seat.

“Rearrange yourself, and quickly,” Lord Tazewell ordered, already buttoning his trousers. As the carriage began to slow, he undid the clasp holding the window closed and allowed the upper glass panel to slide down against the lower half of the window. A blast of cold air entered the carriage.

There was no response, but then in the next instant the carriage lurched forward, and Lord Tazewell refastened the window. He did not look at Lucy, who stared at him, her eyes round with questions.

“Fix your skirts,” he barked, his face turned away. And just when she was about to speak, as if he divined her intentions once again, he wheeled upon her, his eyes dark and frightening.

“Do not question me, young woman! It is not for you to name the time or place!”

Minutes later the carriage drew to a stop and, not waiting for the driver to dismount, Lord Tazewell threw the carriage door open. He jumped out and reached back in to take a hold of Lucy by one wrist, pulling her out so that she was standing in the road without her bonnet or bag. Lucy shivered, clasping her arms across her breast, casting a worried glance in the direction of the faint light coming from the tavern.

It was indeed a rough place, low and close to the road, the white plaster along its front long since faded and soiled. The door and a small window was tucked under a poorly maintained thatch roof. There was the sound of low voices from within and the smell of a peat fire in the cool night air.

The driver had jumped down. He stood beside Lord Tazewell, the confusion plain upon his face.

“Shall I go in and make inquiries, yur grace? Does the lady need the conveniences?”

“No. Remain here, and keep a watch over the carriage. The girl is coming with me.” He seized Lucy by the arm and propelled her towards the door.

Confused, the driver called after him. “Should I unhitch the horses, yur grace?”

“No, but water them if you can be quick about it. We shan’t be inside long.”

At that, Lord Tazewell reached around Lucy and pushed the door to the tavern open, nudging Lucy up the step and up onto the rough-plank floor inside. Instantly all conversation ceased. Everyone within turned to take in the unlikely sight of a well-dressed gentleman at the door, and with a well-bred woman at that!

Lucy blinked, her eyes pricked by the smoke. There were two wooden tables in the front of the smoldering fire, at which sat pairs of tradesmen and farm hands. The tavern keeper stood silently behind a counter at the side. A stout middle-aged woman came out of a low doorway at the back, wiping her hands on a dirty apron.

No one said a word. They waited for the gentleman to speak whatever it was on his mind.

When he did, it was to ask for a room. Lucy started visibly, and all eyes shifted to her. It was plain on their faces what they were thinking about her. She was too shocked to utter even a word of protest, and before she knew it, a deal was struck and the woman was leading them up a narrow staircase.

The room, at the top of the stairs, was cold and cramped. There was a narrow bed in the center, and next to it, under the eaves, a crude table and chair. There was no carpet on the floor and not even a wash basin. Keeping a firm hold on Lucy, Lord Tazewell stepped to the bed and flipped back the coverlet, regarding the bedding with a critical eye.

“Washed last week, sir,” the woman said from the door.

Lord Tazewell very much doubted the veracity of that statement but nevertheless handed the woman a coin. She left, and when her footsteps were heard on the stairs he bolted the door and pushed Lucy towards the bed. His need was great and he had no desire to tarry longer than necessary in such rude surroundings.

“I know what you need, and it is certainly not! More to the point, I know what
I
need and I intend to have it, right here and right now!”

He pressed her from behind. Uncertainly, she went up upon the bed. A moment later he was upon it too, kneeling directly behind her. He took her cape from her shoulders and spread it on the coverlet in front of her.

“The less contact with this bedding the better,” he said. With the palm of his hand firmly in the center of his back, he pressed Lucy down until she was on her elbows, her hips and bottom raised high.

“I..I...don’t know what to do,” she stammered, blushing quite red due to her embarrassing position.

“You need only follow my instructions,” he said.

And with that, Lord Tazewell gathered up Lucy’s skirts and threw them across her back, and when she tried to protest, he pressed her upper body down against the bed, her face flat against the rough wool of her cape. She had to turn her head to the side in order to breathe.

“No, no, no,” she cried, now truly in a panic.

“Be still!” he commanded. “My decision is made.”

Lord Tazewell opened his clothing. His erect member sprang out against Lucy’s bare bottom. He of course required no further preparation, so strong was his arousal, and checking her situation he found she was as ready as a maiden can possibly be: the whole pouch of her sex was slick with her excitement from in the carriage, or perhap the moment at hand.

He positioned himself against her, and holding her firmly by the hips, made an exploratory thrust. Lucy squealed and tried to rear away, but he held her close against him. He changed his position slightly and pushed again, harder this time, but made only the slightest progress into her tight little virgin quim. Lucy gasped at the uncomfortable stretching sensation, and pleaded with him to desist.

At this point, Lord Tazewell judged it would be kinder to be ruthless, and bending over her upraised bottom so his thighs were tight against her, he passed his left arm around and under her, so that her hip was in the crook of his elbow and his forearm tight against her belly. And when he had her in such a grip that she couldn’t make the slightest move, he gave a mighty thrust and her virgin flesh yielded to him: his ruby head was lodged well within her slick little cunny, and it remained only for him to press in his full length!

Lucy let out a shriek at the moment her maidenhead was breached, but Lord Tazewell paid no mind to either her cry nor that it had surely been heard by all in the tavern below. He withdrew slightly, observing with satisfaction the smear of virgin blood that came with it, and thrilling at the heat and tightness of her, set a rhythm to his movements as he slowly worked his shaft deeper into her impossibly tight quimmy. Lucy mewed and pleaded, but before he’d been in and out a dozen times, her body began to relax. He set a slightly faster pace, and with his hands, showed her how to tilt her hips and find her own position against him.