Portia Da Costa (21 page)

“Look!” he ordered her, fingers under her chin, thumb cradling her jaw. “And don’t try to hide yourself. Don’t insult me by hiding yourself.”

She snapped her eyes open, peered at herself framed by Wilson’s hold on her chin and her sex. His thumb and fingers divided the dark cluster of her
motte,
and she could see the muscles of his hand flexing as he worked her. Even as she writhed, her belly in a tumult of gathering lust, the detached aesthetician in her admired the juxtaposition of him and her, and stored the image for future reference.

“You’re magnificent, Della, magnificent.” Wilson rubbed his face in her unbound hair, like a male animal nuzzling its mate, a wild beast compelled into some kind of faux display of affection before mounting her and copulating. “You said I can have you, and I shall, but I’d like to spank you first. You have the most divine bottom....” For emphasis, he circled his hips, rubbing himself against her buttocks, butting at her with his cock, so hard inside his trousers. “I know you’ll never be one of these sniveling misses who grovel to please a flagellant...but at least I can fool myself for a little while that you might submit to me.” His teeth caught her earlobe and he nipped it lightly. “Even if I know you’ve got a spirit no man can conquer.”

Adela trembled from head to foot, almost spending, but whether from Wilson’s grip or his thrilling words, she did not know. His finger was hard in the groove of her sex, right up against her clitoris, and she imagined it still here while he slapped her on her bottom. Pleasure and pain. Pain and pleasure, becoming one. Enjoying a few playful spanks from the boys at Sofia’s house had never stirred her like this. But with Wilson, all was different. All was real.

His finger moved. Her crisis welled. She couldn’t help it. The pleasure was stolen and she knew that he’d beat her for it.

“Wicked, wicked girl.” Wilson laughed, rubbing her as she pulsed. It was as if he wanted to get the orgasm over quickly so they could move on directly to the spanking. Adela’s knees weakened, but he held her against him, still holding her chin. “Greedy, lewd and licentious....”

I am. All three. Even the boys at Sofia’s don’t realize how much.

Wilson walked her across the room to the map chest. It was a deep wide structure, and just the right height to bend a woman over, whether to smack her bottom or to fuck her soundly from behind. He nuzzled her hair again for a second, then snatched a cushion from the settee and set it over the hard edge of the chest. “There you are,” he said, settling his hand at the small of her back, to urge her forward.

The odd little moment of solicitude confused her. Wilson could be so unexpected. Arrogant, selfish and willful one minute, capable of sweet kindness and consideration the next. Adela’s eyes prickled a little as she laid herself across the surface of the chest. So many years had been wasted because she’d kept herself away, unbending, and resisted the challenge of his complexity.

The intricately patterned inlaid wood was cool beneath her cheek, and her arms, where she circled them around her head. Against her breasts, though, it pressed hard, chafing the aching points of her nipples. The cushion protected her pubis, but she almost wished it wasn’t there. The urge to grind herself against something hard was unbearable. Surreptitiously, she shifted her hips.

“Uh-oh... Naughty, naughty! I know what you’re about.” Wilson’s palm pressed on the small of her back again. “Keep still, my randy madam, keep still.”

Holding her firm with one hand, he began an exploration with the other, sliding his fingers over her thighs and buttocks, investigating both the curves and indentations. Adela’s face flamed with embarrassment, even though she’d expected this trial and wanted it. When Wilson squeezed one cheek of her bottom and then pressed its soft contour sideways, opening the cleft, she moaned out loud.

“You like that, don’t you?” He bent over her, his voice rough yet breathy in her ear. “Don’t you?” he persisted more forcefully, as he put both hands to her rump to manipulate her. Pulling apart the lobes, he exposed the tiny vent, then leaned over it, blowing his warm breath on it and making her shudder wildly.

“One day I’ll have you there, Della. I’ll take you and I’ll plow you, right up to my balls in your gorgeous backside.” He dropped a kiss on first one cheek and then the other. “But not today, my sweet... Today is for spanking and servicing your cunt in the standard manner.”

“Well, that’s very civilized of you, Wilson.” The robust words he’d used thrilled her, even while the threat of sodomy made her heart pound. That was something she’d never done, never wanted. But now a dark imp whispered, “What would it be like?” One or two of the more risqué ladies of the circle seemed rather keen on backdoor pleasure, and proclaimed it sovereign as a way to fuck and not conceive.

“Yes, I think so,” Wilson replied jauntily, and as he straightened up, he shrugged out of his dressing gown as if stripping for action. Out of the corner of her eye, Adela saw it float away across the room. He really was the most untidy of men, and didn’t seem to put anything anywhere if there was the slightest opportunity to throw it on the floor.

Straining, she followed his small movements of preparation. Rolling up his sleeves. Unfastening another button or two of his shirt. Even cracking his knuckles, the devil.

“Right, my dearest voluptuary...just a few licks to warm you up.” His hands were on her rump again, measuring, testing.

“Don’t you think I’m warm enough? I seem rather hot already.” She did feel overheated and sweaty, her skin almost sticking to the smooth surface of the map chest.

“You are hot, beautiful, Della, a furnace of temptation, and I’m eager to burn.”

As she opened her mouth to tell him he spoke nonsense, as usual, the first blow fell, a slow, lazy spank that landed hard against the underside of her bottom.

Heavens, how it stung, how it stirred her. One little tap and she
was
a furnace, the embers of her pleasure instantly rousing. He slapped again, and she yelped, moving helplessly, her body craving more, so much more. More of his touch, more of his energy, more of him.

Blows fell, burning, sizzling...and yet in a certain way, she barely felt them. They were but a precursor to the real act she craved. The act for which she’d been yearning for seven long years, despite all her caprices with Sofia’s accommodating gentlemen.

Adela parted her thighs, lifting herself, flaunting herself.

Take me, Wilson. Possess my body. Make me yours, if only for today.

It was madness. This...this hysteria for him. He was a peril to her, to her heart...to her body, too. With a shock, she admitted the danger, yet knew she must embrace it.

“Enough, Wilson! I can’t wait. Fuck me now.”

“My, aren’t we the impatient one? Shouting for service. Is this the way you conduct yourself at the man brothel?” Wilson’s hand stilled on her bottom, fingertips pressing, stirring the ache there, and the other, inner ache.

“Damn you. Stop taunting me,” she gasped, still rocking. “If you won’t do the business, I’ll leave. I’ll put my clothes on, hail a carriage and take myself to the wretched ‘man brothel’ and get what I want. With what’s in my portfolio, my credit will be good, an all-time high.”

“No, you will not go.” The words were hard, cold, like wrought iron. His hands were hard, too, holding her shoulder now, and her burning bum. He was indomitable, immovable. More thrilling than ever. “Stay exactly where you are.” Then the pressure was gone, and he was stomping away across the room.

Adela trembled, in chaos, listening to the sound of him dragging open a drawer in a bureau, and searching within it. As he returned, she craned to look over her shoulder and saw he had a small tin in his hand. It was of a size and shape well known to her, and even though thought of its contents had slipped her mind, she almost gasped with relief and recognition.

“Yes, I use them, too. I always have. Except just once...but then, you were there, so you’d know that.”

Had he really? Most men barely knew of the existence of prophylactics, and if they did, eschewed them for reasons of expense or inconvenience. After all, it was the woman who got with child...and as to
other
consequences, well, so many thought only with their cocks, not their brains.

But Wilson was ever different. No doubt he’d read a paper or a report somewhere, and decided scientifically on the most prudent course of action. He might be behaving like a wild man now, but with him, the intellect was always foremost.

“That’s very forward thinking of you, cousin. Now please proceed.”

He came up very close beside her, as if wishing to assure her he was going to use a device. Adela rolled onto her side, unable to look away as he unfastened his trousers, fumbled with his shirttail and drawers, and drew out his cock.

This was substance, not shadow. Faced with Wilson in all his glory, Adela found the energetic boys at Sofia’s house paled to insignificance, even though she’d admired all their handsome organs at the time, and taken pleasure in them. As before, at Rayworth Court, when she was with Wilson, only
his
cock seemed to exist. Fanciful as it seemed, his member set the standard of excellence for all others, so thick and eager and rosy. The artist in her protested when he clothed the length in a coat of fine rubber. “My own formulation,” he remarked, adjusting the fit. “I sold it to the manufacturer for shares in the company. It’s bringing in a considerable profit and growing by the day. All the more satisfying for the knowledge that I’m promoting health, too....”

Adela almost choked with laughter. Only Wilson could reason this way at the very moment before penetration.

“Where do you get yours?” His voice was low as he leaned over, pressing his rubber-coated cock against her tender haunch and making her hiss.

“My friend gets them from France, surprisingly enough.”

Wilson swirled his hips, rubbing himself against her as if savoring the heat in her skin through the prophylactic. “Good...that’s excellent. The French-manufactured ones are generally far superior to the ordinary English product.”

Rolling her onto her front again, he continued to massage himself against her. It was hard not to moan at the fires he stoked. Adela found herself biting her lip again, desperate to touch herself. She was just about to do it, Wilson be damned, when he reached around and beneath her, burying his fingers in her fleece and finding her center.

He rubbed her briefly, and a little roughly, but it was still wonderful, reigniting her pleasure. It seemed that, like the most experienced gigolo, he was devoted to ensuring his partner’s delight as well as his own. Adela supposed that was one of the reasons Coraline had taken up with him, until the financial and titular benefits of her Italian nobleman had proved more tempting than simple physical pleasure.

“Oh, Della, Della,” Wilson breathed against her hair, nuzzling it again as he readjusted their positions across the chest. Grasping her tingling thigh, he lifted it, opening her up, making her ready. Then, guiding his flesh with his fingers, he found her entrance.

Oh, Wilson!
she wanted to cry, but the words wouldn’t form. He was there, the thick head of his cock touching her, nudging, probing. With a hitch of his hips, he pushed in a little way.

“There, do you feel me? Do you welcome me home?” He pushed again, a bit more of him pressing in. Adela wanted to scream at him to drive in to the hilt. Strange as his harsh muttering might be, it did feel as if something beloved and familiar had come back to her.

“Yes...yes, of course I do, Wilson. You’re not an insubstantial man, and you know that. So why ask?” Her own words were harsh, but had to be. Otherwise, she might reveal too much, to herself as well as to the man possessing her.

Another inch. It felt like a yard. Intellectually, she knew that was nonsense, but her perceptions were with her heart and soul and flesh, not her brain.

“Good. I want you to feel me properly. To feel
me
and
know
it’s me, and no other.”

He forged in a little farther, but still not fully. He was taunting her, compelling her to comprehend every fraction as it entered, so that the slow introduction would expunge all memory of any other man.

She jerked her hips, pushing back against him, compelling him this time. With her inner musculature, she gripped him hard, squeezing his cock with her body to impose herself on him as he imposed on her.

“You witch...you witch! You’ll unman me with those tricks.”

She gripped again, feeling a faint ripple of response along the length inside her.

“Do you want me to come off before you do, Della? Is that really what you want? To make me your slave again as I was before, defenseless against you?”

Defenseless? He’d never been defenseless. It had always been the other way around.

“You, you’re the one with tricks. Don’t give me half measures. Stop taunting me, you beast,” she muttered.

Wilson didn’t answer. He just shoved. Hard. All the way in.

Adela howled. Lord be praised. At last. Grinding her hips, she pushed at him, then at the desk beneath her. The way he held her open, with one thigh up, meant her puss and her clitoris were bumped as she undulated...and he thrust.

And he did thrust. Again and again. Ferociously. Desperately. The cloth of his trousers and linen chafed cruelly against her punished bottom, but the simmering pain only seemed a different kind of pleasure. She surged and circled, rubbing and writhing, half...no, almost completely out of her wits.

This was Wilson. Her Wilson. At last. Pushing at her. Pounding her. Almost climbing inside her soul, as much as ravishing her body.

“Is that enough? Is that full enough measure for you?” His voice was angry, almost from another place. He thrust again, nearly sending her sliding across the top of the chest. She hung on to its edge, bracing herself, thrusting back at him.

“More,” she groaned. “Give me it all. Give me everything.”

He jerked, hurling himself into her. “Jezebel! I’ll make you forget those men.” His fingers gouged into her thigh. He pushed her wider, went in deeper, deeper. “You’re mine, Della. You’ll always be mine, even if you fuck a hundred thousand men. They’ll never have you the way I do.”